‘Maybe now’s not the best time to try to speak to Susan.’
‘Have they fallen out, is that it? I knew it wouldn’t last, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before now.’
‘Not fallen out, exactly. Susan’s away from home.’
‘Away where?’
Frances backed off, unable to have this conversation by telephone. ‘She goes to this retreat for women, for meditation, that sort of thing.’
A pause, while Grace took this in. ‘So she abandons her daughter to you again.’
Her mother had not forgotten; for a few seconds, thirteen years vanished. Frances’s anger against Susan and Alec revived suddenly, a flame of pain burning as hard as ever.
‘I don’t know,’ Grace went on. ‘It seems a funny business. All we ever wanted, your Dad and me, was a quiet family life. It doesn’t seem much to ask.’
All these years, her mother had probably felt like this: resentful and annoyed, as if she had been the one betrayed.
‘We can talk about it when you and Dad come up at Easter, if you like,’ Frances said, weary of it now, longing to put the phone down.
‘I don’t know that there’s much to say. It’s very hard on you, dear,’ Grace said, her voice softening. ‘I’ll speak to your father. Are you sure you want us at Easter?’
‘Of course I do.’ What else could she say?
Grace had decided to change the subject. ‘How about Jack? We never see him, but I suppose student life must occupy him full time.’
By the time this terrible conversation was over Frances, wrung out and hopeless, had forgotten Kate’s birthday. Over the evening meal, she thought of it again.
‘You’re fifteen on Sunday, aren’t you?’
Kate looked surprised. ‘How did you know?’
‘I just do.’ I ought to, she thought, recalling suddenly a cake with two candles, a toddlers’ party. ‘I wondered if there was anything special you wanted to do. Go to the cinema or something? What sort of present would you like? Andrew always wants money.’
‘I like presents too,’ he said, grinning, ‘if there’s any on the go. Like a Ferrari or a Rolex watch, or maybe a round the world ticket?’
‘You’re hopeful,’ Frances retorted, getting up to clear the dishes. ‘No chance of any of those.’
‘It’s Ok,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t want any of them.’ She smiled and Frances, her heart turning over, thought, how pretty she is sometimes, and smiled back.
‘So, any ideas?’
‘Clothes? ’
‘Better give you money and you can choose your own.’ Frances sighed. ‘I’d take you up to town on Saturday myself but we’re going to have visitors.’
‘Who?’ Andrew asked as he cut himself another chunk of cheese.
‘Gill’s coming, and Alec.’
‘Nobody important then.’ He sloped off with the cheese and a glass of milk, disappearing up to his bedroom and computer.
‘Ignore him,’ Frances said.
‘I do,’ Kate answered.
‘Would you like anything else to eat?’
‘No, I’m fine.’
‘You haven’t had much, are you all right? You look a bit peaky.’
‘I’m tired, that’s all.’ Kate pushed some crumbs around the table, poking them into heaps with one finger. ‘What’s Alec coming for?’
‘Just to see you.’
Kate looked up. ‘Does he want me to go home?’
‘It’s probably better if you finish the term here. What do you think?’
‘I don’t mind. Probably.’
Frances got up and began to pack the dishwasher, closing it with a rattle of china. Kate went on sitting at the table. Then, remembering it was time for a programme she wanted to watch, she got up and headed for the living-room.
Frances stood alone in the kitchen. ‘There you are, Susan,’ she said aloud. ‘Life goes on without you. Your husband runs his restaurant, your daughter goes to school and watches TV. So no need to hurry back, eh?’
She closed her eyes for a moment, reminding herself Susan was ill. How ill was she thirteen years ago, when she took my husband and Katy and left? Susan had been all right before that. Self centred, yes, careless, but lucid and sane – until she went off with Alec. Perhaps she had a conscience after all, and it drove her mad. For the first time, a quiver of pity encroached on all the other emotions Susan had aroused.
5
Gill arrived by train late on Friday evening so Frances left Kenny at ten to go and meet her.
‘What about our curry tomorrow night?’ he asked as she put on her jacket.
‘Oh help, I’d forgotten. Let’s still do it. Gill can come with us and Alec can look after himself.’
‘Alec?’
‘Remember he’s coming tomorrow as well, though just for one night, thank goodness. He’s taking Kate out in the afternoon, so maybe he’ll give her a meal. It’s her birthday on Sunday. If Andrew’s free, he can come out with us. You wouldn’t mind, would you? He’d be aggrieved if he thought we were going for a curry without him.’
Kenny looked doubtful. ‘Sounds to me as if you should be having a family party,’ he said. ‘Leave me out of it, eh? You all go for a meal for Kate’s birthday instead.’
Frances was dismayed. ‘Can’t you come with us?’
He laughed. ‘No thanks. Keep your family dramas to yourself. I have enough of my own.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘I’m going to be a grandad again.’
‘Not Nicky?’
‘No, Neil and Anne again, so no surprises there.’
‘That’s lovely. There’s no drama in that.’
‘I suppose not.’
She pulled on her gloves. He looked downcast and she felt guilty. She did not give him enough attention. He demanded so little; that was the great attraction of Kenny. She kissed him. ‘Poor you,’ she said. ‘Does it make you feel out of it, that’s there’s a step-grandfather on the doorstep?’
‘Oh no, he’s a nice enough chap, and a much better match for June than I was.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘I know.’
‘I have to go or I’ll be late for Gill’s train. I’ll ring you tomorrow. You know I’d rather spend the evening with you, don’t you?’
‘Do I?’
‘Now stop it, you’re getting despondent. Not like you.’
‘I’ll have another whisky when you’ve gone,’ he warned her, teasing. ‘Several.’
‘Ach,’ she said, going out, ‘that’s nothing new.’
Gill was unusually silent on the way home.
‘You must be tired,’ Frances said, ‘with the journey on top of a full day’s work.’
‘I am.’
‘You’re not ill, are you?’ Frances asked, sounding sharper than she meant to. Encouraged, Gillian was too open, telling you things you wished she would keep to herself.
‘Just tired.’
They drove the rest of the way in silence, Frances’s thoughts reverting to work problems. She should go into school tomorrow: there were things she had not had time to do in the week. As they climbed the hill to the house, Gillian said, ‘How’s Kate? I meant to ask.’
‘Quite at home now. It’s her birthday on Sunday.’
‘How old is she? I can get her something tomorrow but I wish you’d said before.’
‘I’ve only just found out myself. Guess who told me.’
‘Mum.’
‘She was asking about Susan.’
‘Did you tell her?’
‘I couldn’t, somehow, on the phone. I just said Susan’s away for a while, on Retreat. I could tell Mum didn’t think much of that. We’ve got to tell her the truth soon. Kate might say something at Easter, then where would we be. The thought of it.’
‘She’ll say we’ve been deceiving them.’
‘We have.’
They drew up at the house and got out, Gillian lifting her bag from the back seat. She stood for a moment
looking up at the clear sky.
‘You can never see the stars like this in the city. Lucky you.’
In the morning, Frances rose early, and leaving a note for whoever got up next, drove to school. She did two hours solid work and left feeling better. She shopped at Tesco on the way back, joining the long Saturday queues so that it was almost one by the time she got home. Andrew, hearing the car, came out shuffling his feet into trainers. ‘Want a hand?’
Gillian was reading the local newspaper in the kitchen and drinking coffee.
‘When’s Kate coming back?’ she asked, as Frances began to unpack groceries.
‘Not sure. Her friend’s mother is dropping her off sometime today.’
‘When will Alec get here?’
‘Early afternoon, probably.’
They were eating lunch when Kate rang.
‘We slept in,’ she moaned, ‘and now Amy’s Mum’s gone to work. Can you come and get me?’
‘What a bore,’ Gillian said when Frances told her where she was going. ‘Can’t she catch a bus?’
‘In about an hour and a half, maybe. This isn’t Edinburgh.’
‘It’s hassle all the way with kids, isn’t it?’ Gillian asked, getting up to help Frances clear dishes. ‘You have to keep running after them.’
‘I’m a great asset,’ Andrew protested, in mock indignation. ‘Brought in hundreds of mega-heavy bags, didn’t I?’
Kate, when Frances collected her, was white and lethargic.
‘What time did you all get to sleep?’
‘I dunno. About four.’
‘No wonder you look tired.’
‘We slept hours. I feel sick.’
‘Oh dear, what did you eat last night?’
‘Loads of popcorn. Then we had a Chinese.’
‘You deserve to feel sick, in that case.’
Kate groaned. ‘Drive more slowly,’ she said. ‘I feel terrible every time you go round a corner.’
‘That will be nice for Alec. He said he was planning to take you out somewhere.’
‘In the car?’ Kate looked appalled.
‘I think so.’
‘Oh God, I’m going to bed, I don’t care.’ Kate sat upright, lips pressed together, keeping as still as possible.
Alec’s long silver car sat outside the house.
‘Any better?’ Frances asked, as they went indoors.
‘A bit,’ Kate admitted.
‘You can go and lie down in a minute, Alec won’t mind. He can talk to you later.’
‘Talk? What about?’ Kate’s white skin coloured suddenly. ‘Is Mum – ’
‘Don’t worry, nothing’s happened. I think he just wants to spend some time with you.’
Alec got up from the sofa as they came in. Gillian had made him coffee.
‘Hello, Kate, my lovely.’ He made to embrace her, then seemed to change his mind and held back, smiling.
‘Hi,’ Kate said.
‘She’s not too well,’ Frances told him. Late night, Chinese food.’
Andrew, behind her, muttered something and Kate said, ‘Shut up you.’ She slumped on the sofa. ‘I feel awful.’
Frances nudged Andrew out of the room. ‘Gill and I are going for a walk. We’ll leave you in peace.’ In the hall, as the living-room door closed behind them, she said to Andrew, ‘What was that about?’
‘What?’
‘You know.’
‘No, I don’t.’ He escaped upstairs.
Frances and Gillian walked up the hill past the farm. The air had the scent of early Spring, fresh and balmy, giving the illusion winter was over.
‘Look, will I tell Mum and Dad?’ Gillian offered. ‘Tell them nobody knows where Susan is. You’re right, somebody’s got to do it. I could take the train down to Aberdeen tomorrow and spend Sunday night with them. They’re always complaining I never go and see them.’
‘Would you?’
‘Easier for me than you, eh?’
‘I know, but – ’
‘You don’t have to be the one who does it all.’
Gratefully, Frances gave in, feeling she had been unfair to Gillian. ‘That would be such a relief. And then we could discuss it at Easter if they wanted to, but it wouldn’t be a shock any more.’
They stopped at the brow of the hill and looked over the fields to Ben Wyvis beyond, still snow-capped.
‘It’s lovely here,’ Gillian sighed. ‘You’re so lucky to live in a place like this.’
‘You’d hate it. No shops, hardly any pubs.’
Gillian did not laugh, or answer. She seemed to lose all at once the energy that had taken her up the hill. ‘Can we go back now? I’m so tired.’
‘Has it been a hard week?’ Frances could not understand what was tiring about Gillian’s job. How could being in an office and going to meetings (which was what she imagined her sister did) compare with running a primary school? Gillian began telling her about the San Francisco contract.
‘What an exciting life you lead.’
‘I spend most of my time in hotels and conference centres, and they’re all alike really. I’m looking forward to this, though.’
She seemed anxious rather than excited, Frances thought.
‘Have you ever been sorry you had kids? Of course not, stupid question. If, say, you had your life to live over again, would you still have them? Children.’
Frances looked at her in astonishment. ‘Of course.’
‘You think it’s worth it then, the expense and the worrying and all that?’
‘What on earth has brought this on? I think every time you come here you imagine the life you might have had with Michael if you’d married him. Odd, when that’s been over for years. I’ve noticed that every time there’s a change in your working life, even if it takes a turn for the better, you can’t quite believe in it. You start wondering if maybe you’d have been happier if you’d made a different choice. You’re frightened you missed something.’ Frances found her voice rising. ‘We all have these alternative lives but you can’t waste time fretting about them.’
They had almost reached the house again.
‘I know that,’ Gillian said, her voice cold, as she went indoors. Frances followed with a sigh. Despite her good intentions, she had failed again to be sympathetic.
Alec was on his own in the living-room, standing by the window looking into the garden. Andrew had gone to the Ross County game; very faintly, sounds of cheering floated up from the town.
‘Where’s Kate?’
‘She’s gone to lie down.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘Hung over.’
‘Oh surely not. All she did was spend the night with some other girls her own age. …’ Frances flushed: she should have recognised that.
‘Never mind, she seems OK.’
‘I’ll have to speak to her.’
‘Might be better not.’
This was what had been wrong before, Frances was sure. She felt a fool, and was angry with him, as if he and not Kate were the cause. Before she could argue the point he said,
‘I need to have a word with you.’
‘What is it?’
‘Can we sit down?’
Gillian had come in. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’d better hear this too,’ Alec said. The women waited, but he did not seem able to begin. He sat looking down at his hands, twisting his long fingers together. ‘Susan’s been home.’
Frances and Gillian exclaimed aloud, cries of surprise. He put up his hands as if fending them off.
‘I haven’t seen her.’
‘Then what – ’
‘A couple of weeks ago when I came home from the restaurant, I discovered there had been someone in the house.’
‘How did you know it was Susan?’ Stupid question, Gillian thought, as soon as she asked it, but Alec did not seem to think so.
‘The wardrobe’s nearly empty.’
‘She took clothes?’ Frances asked. ‘Was anything else missing?’<
br />
‘Jewellery. Not all of it. Quite a valuable pendant is still there. She had something to eat as well. There were dishes used.’
‘You do know it was her?’ Frances persisted.
‘It was Susan. I could smell her scent all through the house.’
Gillian shivered. ‘Did she leave a message?’
‘I didn’t find one.’
They were silent, trying to imagine Susan hauling clothes from the wardrobe, piling them into –
‘Did she take suitcases?’ Gillian asked. ‘What did she put the clothes in, do you think?’
‘I’ve no idea. We keep the big suitcases in the loft. I never checked. My own bag was in the cupboard as usual. I’ve got it with me.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t think she’d gone into the loft. She always had trouble putting the Ramsay ladder away so she wouldn’t have gone up there.’
‘Someone could have helped her,’ Gillian suggested.
‘A lover, you’re thinking.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘That’s obviously what the police believe.’
‘But you don’t?’
‘No’.
That’s cocky of him, Frances thought. If she’d steal one lover, why not another? No, not fair to think like that. Susan was ill. Or maybe not. It was harder to believe in Susan’s illness now. To come back for clothes and jewellery, but not all of it, not anything you disliked, looked calculating. Then she stayed to eat. A sense of unreality crept over Susan’s sisters. Somewhere else she wore her usual clothes, clasped on her watch and bracelets, slept, ate, made plans. They looked at Alec, knotting his fingers.
‘Have you told Kate all this?’
‘It’s what I came for. ‘I thought it might reassure her to know her mother had been home.’
‘What did she say?’ Frances rose, wanting to go to Kate.
Alec bit his lip. ‘I didn’t do it. I couldn’t, somehow.’
Frances let out a breath of relief. ‘I think you were quite right.’ She moved to the window, too restless to sit down again. ‘Quite right,’ she told the garden, where birds were singing and sunshine lay across the grass.
‘Don’t you think she’s got a right to know?’ Gillian asked.
‘Think about it,’ Frances said, turning towards them. ‘Her mother comes home but makes no attempt to contact her. Takes her clothes, but doesn’t leave a message. How would that make you feel, at Kate’s age?’
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