Parky stands up, face redder than ever. ‘She does indeed. I completely agree. We all need to lavish her with as much love and understanding as possible. Children at this age are love sponges. They soak it all up.’
‘That’s right, Mrs Baker,’ Mrs Worthington adds, rising to her feet, and crossing her arms. ‘We just wanted to let you know that we think it is very important that we all work together to lavish her with attention right now.’
91
Erica
Mouse is here. Taking me in his arms for the first time. I am clinging on to him and crying. He is stroking my back to comfort me. What have I done? Why am I here? Why can’t I just go home with Mouse?
92
Jonah
So pleased you have invited me for supper – like you used to in the old days. So busy with your own lives since you had the children, you haven’t invited me for a while. I have been really looking forward to it. I walk up the steps towards the front door of your modern town house, almost tripping over the pot of winter pansies you always place on the top step. I knock on your roaring lion brass doorknob. Very faux-Georgian. As you know, Faye, you get the real thing at my place.
Phillip opens the door, wearing jeans and a Gant T-shirt. He hasn’t shaved. His face is murky and messy, no designer stubble.
‘Come in,’ he says with a grin.
Phillip. I look into his eyes. Nothing hard-edged or controversial about him. And I am back remembering a summer night drinking vodka on the banks of the Cam, the river so hot it felt oily, daring him to swim and race me from Magdalene Bridge to Queens. He wouldn’t rise to the challenge. He needs to rise to my challenge now, if he wants to keep you, Faye.
I step into your compact hallway. Do you remember the way you screamed, Faye? Soon you will be screaming for me in a different way.
And now you are here, pursing your lips and brushing them across my cheeks, gently in welcome, for Phillip is watching us. I step back to admire the lavender silk dress that clings to your body. Long black hair tumbling down your back.
‘Thank you, Jonah. Thank you so much.’
‘The least I could do,’ I reply. ‘What a trauma you have been through.’
Your eyes gleam with suppressed tears.
I follow you and Phillip through the tiny hallway that opens out into your tiny open-plan living room. Down the steps that run across the width of the room, into the sitting area, opening onto the pocket handkerchief of a garden.
I sit on a sofa, opposite you both. Phillip opens the champagne. The cork explodes from the bottle and hits the ceiling. You laugh. I wouldn’t laugh if my house were being damaged. Even after three years at Cambridge the idiot doesn’t know how to open champagne. One day soon, Faye, we will drink champagne together, in my beautiful home, incomparable to Phillip’s, and celebrate the start of our new life. But tonight Phillip pours us a glass each and we stand in the middle of this cluttered room, raising our glasses.
‘Cheers,’ he says, ‘We will never be able to thank you enough.’
‘It was a no-brainer. Just lucky I was going past at the same time.’
We clink glasses and sit down.
I watch you lift your glass to your creamy lips. Your eyes are shining. Your cheeks are flushed.
Phillip offers me an olive. It squashes between my fingers as I raise it to my mouth. I play with it between my teeth before I bite into it. It tastes bitter, salty.
‘I must just check the food,’ you say with a smile.
Clutching your champagne, you make your way to the kitchen. As your hourglass figure sways across the room, I undress you with my mind. Your silky dress slips to the floor. Your lacy bra and panties. I want to walk up and take you from behind. You like that position don’t you, Faye? You climaxed twice. And then I climaxed. The best climax of my life.
93
Phillip
I am grateful to Jonah, but you were right, Faye: I do not like the way he is staring at you. I’ve always thought he fancied you, and that his eyes lit up when you were around, but this is different. This is predatory. I try to distract him but he is so entranced by you, he doesn’t move or speak until you leave the room. Then he places his champagne on the coffee table.
‘Is Tamsin all right now?’ he asks.
‘Yes. Seems to be. But she’s a bit clingy. Frightened if she doesn’t know where we are.’
I sit sipping my drink. Saturday night. Why is he wearing a suit? He is always overdressed. I remember a time at Cambridge, when we took an old friend from school punting. Jonah turned up looking like a real plonker in a blazer and straw boater. Who owned a straw boater in 2004? You would have thought it was 1904. And tonight, wearing a suit on Saturday evening. Completely over the top. Look at his tie. A Cambridge club, and far too garish. He smiles and crosses his legs. His trouser leg rides up, well past his ankles. Bright orange socks. Always showy and flamboyant. I used to like him for that. It compensated for my dowdiness. He said and wore things that I would never dare. I could sit in the background and enjoy watching and listening, soaking it up. But I no longer need his colour. I have your colour, Faye.
‘I suppose being a bit clingy after what’s happened is par for the course,’ Jonah says, with an inappropriate grin, so wide and glaring that these days it just sets my teeth on edge.
‘I suppose so. But fortunately I haven’t had to cope with my five-year-old child being abducted before.’
Silence settles between us.
‘I recognised the woman who took Tamsin,’ he announces after a while.
‘You did? Do you know anything about her?’
‘No. It’s just I’ve seen her around quite a lot.’
‘The police have informed me she’s called Erica Sullivan. Does that ring any bells?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘The name isn’t familiar, just the face.’
‘Maybe she’s got one of those generic faces.’
He smiles. ‘Maybe.’ He presses his hands together, tapping fingernails against fingernails. ‘Or maybe she’s been stalking Faye.’
Stalking Faye. How would he know whether anyone is stalking you, Faye?
94
Faye
‘Supper’s ready,’ I announce, placing the starter on the table. Asparagus wrapped in pecorino and prosciutto.
Phillip and Jonah walk towards the table. Jonah is smiling at me with his eyes. Phillip’s face is leaden. Has Jonah said something?
Phillip pours the drinks. I take a large slug of red wine and cut into my asparagus.
‘Jonah suggested Erica might have been stalking you. Do you think that’s possible?’ he asks.
‘How would you know that, Jonah?’ I ask, voice on the edge. High-pitched.
Jonah smiles a high-wattage smile and raises his eyebrows. ‘Just a guess of course.’
My heart is racing. I cannot eat. I sit pushing my food around my plate.
‘Did you say anything to the police?’ I ask.
‘No.’
I sigh inside, with relief.
‘If it’s what you think, why didn’t you tell them?’ Phillip asks.
‘Because it’s such a random guess.’
Just a guess. A random guess. When will Phillip guess? I look across at him eating his asparagus, looking so dear, so familiar. What have I done? Will I ever be able to move past this?
95
Jonah
The evening is dragging. Every time I ask Phillip a question his answers are monosyllabic, as if he is withdrawing from me like he used to at the end of a heavy night; too much alcohol making him silent and flat. Faye, you look so worried. So beautiful. Worried suits you – makes you look vulnerable.
You place a pot of coffee on the dining table, and a box of mint chocolates.
‘I’m whacked out, after everything that’s happened,’ you say, rubbing the side of your head, as if you have a headache. ‘I’m so sorry but I’m going to have to excuse myself and go to bed.’
‘Are you all right, darling?�
�� Phillip asks, standing up and moving towards you, body stiff with concern.
You smile, a half-smile. ‘I’m fine. Just tired. It’s all been so stressful. You know stress makes me tired. I can hardly keep my eyes open.’
Phillip kisses you. You kiss him back and run your fingers through his hair. Your gesture of affection stabs into me. You should not touch him like that in front of me. We need to talk. We need to sort this out. Then you step away from Phillip and move towards me.
‘Thank you again, Jonah, you’ve been such a brick.’
I stand up and pull you towards me. I inhale your scent. I try and hug you closely but you stiffen, so I just breathe you in. One at a time your lips brush across my cheeks like feathers, almost too light to feel. This is not good enough, Faye.
‘Goodnight,’ I say as you walk away.
You disappear upstairs.
Phillip pours the coffee and offers me a chocolate.
‘No thanks.’
‘A liqueur perhaps? Drambuie, Cointreau? Or what about Glenmorangie, your old favourite?’
‘Oh yes. Glenmorangie please.’
‘Still a whisky boffin are you then?’ he asks as he walks to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the living room and pours us a large tipple each, into chunky crystal glasses.
‘Yes. Have a nightcap to help me sleep every night. You should try it. It’s fantastic with my sleeping pill, zopiclone. Puts me in a trance. Makes me feel so relaxed.’
Ignoring my medical ramblings, he asks, ‘Shall we sit in the comfy chairs?’
We settle ourselves on opposing sofas, with coffee, mints and whisky. The gritty silence that has fallen between us so many times this evening descends again. Phillip sips his coffee and stares into the air in front of him.
I look at the photograph of you, Faye, in the middle of the coffee table. Long hair pulled up into an elaborate bun. Smile pronounced. Wearing a purple silk evening dress that accentuates the colour of your hair. I stare at you for a second too long.
‘That’s Faye,’ Phillip says. ‘When I took her back to my college ball.’ There is a pause as he takes a sip of his drink. ‘You’ve always found her attractive, haven’t you?’
I lean forwards and cross my legs.
‘I hate to tell you, Phillip, but she finds me attractive too.’
96
Phillip
‘… she finds me attractive too.’
His words jolt me. As if I have been attacked with a cattle prod. He sits on my sofa looking smug and self-satisfied, like he always used to when he boasted about making a conquest. Even though he may well have saved my daughter’s life my fist clenches. I want to punch him in the face.
‘What makes you think Faye finds you attractive?’ I ask.
He grins a wolfish grin. ‘Can’t you see the pull between us? It has always been there but it has intensified recently.’
‘No. I’m her husband, so obviously I assume she’s in love with me.’
His sips his Glenmorangie and raises his eyebrows. ‘In that case why has she spent so many years flirting with me, and finally managed to seduce me?’
I shake my head in disbelief. ‘Seduce you? What are you talking about?’
‘She came back to my house and we made love, the night of Sophia and Ronald’s party. When you were away at a conference.’
I want to hit him so hard that I pulverise him into the carpet, but I clench my teeth, breathe deeply and hold back. Ultimately I trust my wife, not my friend.
‘I don’t believe you.’ I stand up and walk towards him. ‘Even though I’m grateful you rescued our daughter, I think you’d better leave our home right now.’
97
Faye
Tired. So tired. So glad to be away from Phillip and Jonah. There is an atmosphere between them that is draining, and after being so worried about Tamsin, my mind can’t deal with any more stress. I am so scared that Jonah will tell Phillip but I can’t police their every conversation. I will just have to deny it. It will cause a rift between them, but I have to trust Phillip will believe me, not Jonah. I will just have to be strong and stick to my guns. Dogmatic. Emphatic. Trusting that Phillip will want to believe me. Trusting that I can play on that despite the truth.
I drag my heavy limbs away from the living room, temples pulsating, leaving the men to put the world to rights, over coffee and chocs. I take some ibuprofen, clean my teeth, put my silk teddy on, and slip into bed.
But I can’t sleep. I need Phillip’s warmth in bed beside me. The reassuring rhythm of his sleeping breath. I lie, too tired to be downstairs socialising, mind buzzing too much to sleep. I will deny it. A denial so deep even I will start to believe it never happened.
Jonah won’t dare tell Phillip.
If he does, Phillip won’t believe him.
Even if he does believe him, I will deny it.
If I deny it, Phillip will believe me.
These four thoughts spin round and round in my head for what feels like hours. At last I hear footsteps padding up the stairs. At last Phillip is coming to bed. He opens the bedroom door and steps through it. I snap the light on and sit up.
‘Has Jonah gone?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
Phillip but not Phillip. A face with a look on it that I have not seen before. My heart begins to race. My stomach constricts.
‘Did you sleep with him?’ he asks.
‘What are you talking about? Of course I didn’t,’ I reply.
His eyes shine in the electric light as if they are about to fill with tears. He raises his shoulders a little. ‘Then why did he say you did?’ Phillip sits on the edge of the bed, eyes burning into mine. ‘He said you went back to his house and seduced him the night of Sophia and Ron’s party.’
‘In his dreams.’ I pause. ‘Your best friend is a weirdo, who’s always had a crush on me. He is just jealous of you. Of our relationship. So he is deliberately trying to come between us. I will be insulted if you even think about believing him.’
98
Phillip
‘I will be insulted if you even think about believing him.’
A defensive line. Not a good sign. My veins are pulsating with alcohol. I need to calm down. I need to lie down and think. Do I really doubt that Jonah is jealous of what I have, and wants Faye for himself?
‘Please, Phillip,’ you say. ‘Jonah’s a real bad apple. He’s just trying to wind you up.’ Then your voice weakens and becomes plaintive. ‘Phillip, I’m so tired. Please let me go to sleep.’
I lean across and kiss you. Your lips feel thin. I switch the light off, and pad through darkness, to the bathroom to clean my teeth. You have been through so much; I know I must try not to put you through any more. By the time I get into bed, you are sleeping or pretending to. No guilty conscience to keep you awake? Is this what my life has been reduced to, looking for signs to try and determine whether or not I have been cuckolded?
I sink into bed, anger and alcohol pounding through me, and fall into a restless sleep.
99
Erica
Lying on my bed in my cell at the police station, so bored I feel like screaming. The electronic lock whirrs and a police officer appears. So many different officers.
‘Erica, please come with me. I want to introduce you to your appropriate adult,’ he says with a slight lisp.
An appropriate adult. They must be so worried about me. Don’t they know I have spent my whole life looking after myself? That never once have I had an appropriate adult in my life? I slip off the bed and follow him, along the contorted corridor to the interview room where I slump into a chair and wait. He stands and hovers.
After about five minutes a young woman with honey blonde hair divided into two doll-like plaits enters the room. She is wearing denim shorts, a plain T-shirt and wedges. Her finger and toenails are painted bright green and doused with silver glitter.
‘Hello,’ she says, ‘I’m Perdita.’
Voice high-pitched and thin. Appropriate ad
ult. She looks like a child. With a child’s appreciation of life. She sits next to me, pushing watery green eyes into mine.
‘I’ve come to explain to you that you will be transferred to the remand wing of the local prison in the next few days. Do you know what remand is?’
‘Yes,’ I snap.
‘Shortly after you have settled in, you will start a course of DBT.’ She pauses. ‘Do you know what that is?’
‘Yes. Yes. The psychologist explained. Dialectic Behavioural Therapy.’
‘Yes. But do you understand what it is?’
‘It’s a talking therapy that changes the way you think and behave,’ I parrot from the leaflet I was given.
‘But do you really know what to expect?’ Perdita pushes.
‘Not really but I know I need help.’
Perdita leans forwards and puts her head on one side. ‘That’s a good start, accepting you need help. But let me explain – it will help you replace negative thought patterns with positive ones.’
‘They’ll have a job on with my life.’
She leans across and takes my hand in hers. ‘It worked for me and they had quite a job on with mine. I’m here to help you. Is there anything at all you’d like to ask?’
‘Yes. When can I see my friend Mouse again? I need to see Mouse.’
100
Phillip
Days move on and still anger pulsates inside me. Do I trust you, Faye? Do I trust Jonah? One of you is lying. But how do I decide between my wife and my friend?
101
Faye
I move towards him. He smiles half a smile. His eyes shine into mine. Surely that’s a good sign? He steps from the classroom door, and the classroom assistant takes his place, to slowly, carefully, let the children out. Parky stands in front of me, so close I can taste his breath. A smoker. I never realised that before. My face burns with embarrassment. The other mothers must be watching.
Envy Page 13
