The Night You Left

by Emma Curtis

  Above them the rain battered the skylight, but Izzy was right, it was warm and muggy. Taisie had played the scene out in her mind many times since last night, imagining her mother’s face, her relief and gratitude, her pride in her eldest daughter. It would go down in family lore. The idea of not doing it, of letting the opportunity slip away, was too tragic to entertain. And Izzy being so upset helped; she could blame it on Nick. It would serve him right.

  ‘Let’s go through it one more time, then,’ she said. ‘You go to the river. I’ll be right behind you. I’ll shout from the woods so that you hear me coming and have time to go in. You swim out a couple of yards and then you scream – don’t go any further and make sure you can still touch the bottom with your toes. Then I’ll save you. You’ve got to act it properly though, Iz, in case anyone sees, or there’s no point doing it at all. So no laughing, especially when I carry you back. Mum’s got to believe you were really in trouble.’

  Izzy was practically jumping with impatience. ‘I won’t. I promise. I’ll tell Mum that I thought I was going to drown and that you were amazing.’

  Taisie hugged her. ‘I will be amazing. Don’t you worry.’

  A scream, followed by a burst of laughter, startled them. A door slammed. Taisie and Izzy crept out on to the landing, then took the back stairs into the snug and to the old scullery door.

  ‘Go,’ Taisie said. ‘I’ll count to sixty and then I’ll come after you.’

  Izzy scooted off, pulling her cardigan over her head to protect her from the rain, and Taisie counted, eyes closed. As she stood there, two cool hands covered her eyes, making her cry out in irritation, thinking it was Alex or Rory. But as soon as she tried to pull them off, she knew who it was. The hands were far too big and clean-smelling to belong to either of her brothers.

  GRACE

  Saturday, 21 April 2018

  ‘ANOTHER ONE?’ CORA COMMENTS AS I POUR MYSELF A second glass of white wine.

  I can feel myself blush. I put the bottle down, my glass half full. I only wanted to dull the voice in my head.

  ‘What time are you going out?’ she asks. ‘You don’t want to turn up already tipsy. It isn’t dignified.’

  ‘I’m not going out.’

  I said yes to Cassie on impulse, but I’ve had time to think better of it. I’ll only want to turn round and go home the moment I’ve got there. I’ve already texted Cassie to let her know. She understands.

  ‘Really?’ Cora says, not bothering to hide her disappointment. ‘Is it that detective inspector? He’s not going to think any the worse of you.’

  ‘It’s not the inspector. I just don’t feel up to it.’

  She looks at me through narrowed eyes. ‘Won’t you be letting your friends down?’

  ‘They’ll understand.’

  She wanders over to stand where I usually do, her back against the counter. She even echoes my posture, arms loosely folded around her stomach, the small of her back against the edge, one ankle crossed over the other. The hostess’s perch.

  ‘What a shame.’

  Tim appears, wearing Nick’s leather slippers. ‘You haven’t got your face on.’ To give him credit, he doesn’t look as disappointed as his wife.

  ‘She’s not going out after all,’ Cora says. ‘I’ve told her she should.’

  ‘Of course you should,’ Tim says. ‘It’ll perk you up. You don’t want to spend your Saturday night hanging out with the oldies.’

  ‘You need your friends, Grace,’ Cora says. ‘Don’t push people away.’

  It’s the first thing she’s said to me that I agree with. Since last Sunday, apart from the coffee morning that I floated through like I was on an acid trip, I’ve avoided my friends. I can’t believe it’s only been a week. It feels like a month has gone by. My phone beeps to tell me I have a message. I glance at it. It’s from Douglas, and my stomach drops. It must be about Lottie.

  Lottie told me Tim’s been reading her bedtime stories. I don’t want that happening again.

  I glance up at Tim. He’s decanting Toffee’s food into his bowl.

  I type back. You’re being paranoid.

  I’m being careful. This isn’t a suggestion. This is what I expect you to do. Do you understand?

  I don’t answer at first, because I don’t know what to say. Instead I scrape my chair back and take my glass to the sink, tip out the dregs of my wine and wash it up. On second thoughts, I can’t stay here.

  Cora brightens when I tell her.

  It feels all wrong to be dressing up, but I make myself flick through my clothes. I pick skinny black jeans, a silky green top with the corners of the shoulders cut away in two large scoops, another scoop for my cleavage; the highest heels I possess, lifting me four inches in a pair of studded black boots. I wet my hair, rub in some mousse and blow-dry it upside down. I put make-up on, add a brighter lipstick, stare critically at my reflection and wrinkle my nose. Trying too hard, it makes me look like I want people to think I don’t care. Douglas hated it if I overdid it. He said it demeaned me. Nick isn’t keen either, but he’s kinder about it. I brush the oomph out of my hair and tone down the lipstick. My phone dings and I pick it up, expecting it to be Cassie or one of the others, but it’s Douglas. I never responded to his last message. He won’t like that.

  So? his text says. Have you finished mulling it over? I need to know I can trust you, Grace.

  I tap out a curt response.

  Lottie would tell me if there was anything about Tim that made her feel uncomfortable. She certainly wouldn’t willingly spend time with him. You don’t have to worry.

  He doesn’t reply.

  ‘My goodness, don’t you look stunning,’ Tim says when I totter downstairs.

  I get into the people carrier, hired for the occasion, squeezing into the back row between Mara and Cassie, while Anna sits between Cherry and Kit. Susanna sits beside the driver. I note Anna’s easy familiarity with these women. I didn’t know she’d become so pally with my friends. Then I spot Mara flicking Kit a glance. Anna is pissed. She must have had a drink or two before she came out. I feel for her; she’s nervous, keen to be seen as fun, to be part of the in-crowd, so scared of missing out that she’s overcompensating. I resolve to be extra nice to her.

  We head north through South London, over Waterloo Bridge and up to the West End where we tip out into the noisy gaiety of Soho and saunter into Astra. It’s a long time since I’ve done anything like this, a long time since any of us have. The noise blasts us as we mince down the stairs on our silly heels, a heavy beat that vibrates through my body and lifts my spirits.

  Cassie puts her mouth close to my ear. ‘Any news?’

  I shake my head and pull away, get to the bar. We order luminous cocktails, cram round a tiny table, sharing squat, velvet-covered stools and yell at each other. I demolish a delicious, icy banana daiquiri, enjoying the intense hit of sweetness and alcohol.

  Anna starts to sway in time to the music, glossy hair falling forward as she hunches her shoulders, closes her eyes and dips her head.

  I stand up. ‘Want to hit the dance floor?’ I survey the group. ‘Anyone?’

  They look at me oddly. No one expects me to be the life and soul.

  The speculation begins when we sit down again, fresh drinks in our hands. My companions seem to think it’s acceptable to theorize, to suggest, to repeat anecdotes that are no more than urban myths, unaware that my mind has already covered every possible scenario. But even if it hadn’t, the onslaught feels like an attack.

  ‘Did you read that article about …’

  ‘God, how well do we know our husbands?’

  ‘What about old girlfriends? Have you checked none of them have been in touch?’

  ‘I heard about this girl, well, woman really …’

  ‘Grace, you mustn’t blame yourself …’

  ‘Do you think the police will want to talk to any of us?’

  All this yelled above the pumping dance-floor beat. Some of it I don’t catch. I ans
wer the questions, but they’re so intrusive that I begin to feel as though I’m under siege. The only person not part of the barrage is Anna. She’s quieter now, her energy apparently burnt off. From time to time I feel her eyes on me.

  ‘Was your sex life still good?’ Cherry says.

  Granted, this is her party and she’s hammered, but that question is too much. I shout that I’m going to the loo and stagger off. A man comes out of the crowd, drunk and leering, putting himself in front of me, his hands spread wide, mouthing a question. Dance with me? I recoil instinctively, my ankle buckles on its high heel, and I go down, sprawling across the floor. Someone laughs, and Anna leaps to my rescue, pulling me up and helping me hobble to the cloakroom. She pushes me through the cloakroom doors.

  I shut myself into a cubicle. Other people bang in and out, using the loos, gossiping through the partition walls, while I lean on my knees with my head in my hands.

  Anna taps on the flimsy door. ‘You coming out?’ She pauses as a woman bangs into the cubicle next to mine and retches. ‘It’s not exactly five-star luxury in here.’ Her voice is fuzzy at the edges.

  ‘Dunno. I might do when they’ve all left.’

  She laughs. ‘Come on. Let’s get our coats and sneak off. They won’t be bothered.’

  I open the door and go to the sink, turning to smile, grateful that she understands. ‘I’m not dragging you away when you’re having a good time.’

  ‘I’ve had enough.’ She pulls her fingers through her hair and yawns. ‘You all know each other so well and the drunker you get, the cosier you become. I’m better off leaving before it becomes obvious I’m the lemon.’

  ‘Anna! You are no such thing. I don’t feel part of it tonight either. I’ll stay if you want me to.’ I’m prepared to hang around for another half-hour if my presence gives her confidence.

  ‘No. Really, I’m done.’

  ‘OK. But we’re not sneaking off. We’ll say goodbye properly.’

  In the event, I acknowledge that Anna is right. They don’t mind her being there, are pleased she came, but are equally happy that she’s leaving them to it now. As for me, Mara reaches out and takes my hand, and the others jump up and surround me, insist I call if I feel down and if there is anything they can do to help, I mustn’t hesitate, and they will have Lottie whenever. No problem. Only say the word.

  ‘Call me,’ Cassie says, and I can see that she’s hurt that I’ve chosen Anna to lean on. But the truth is, I’ve recognized in Anna someone as torn to pieces and patched-up as myself.

  I open my eyes. I must have dozed off. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘About to cross the river,’ Anna says.

  I lean forward as we sweep on to Waterloo Bridge, so that I can enjoy the light show. The drink must have made me maudlin because the Millennium Wheel moves me to tears, and so does the white dome of St Paul’s and the skyscrapers with their aircraft-warning lights, like a cherry on top, and the cranes rising like aliens from the streets.

  ‘So, tell me about Lottie’s father,’ Anna says. ‘What happened with him?’

  ‘I was too young. It didn’t work out.’

  ‘But you must have loved him, to have his child?’

  I pause. ‘I think it was more infatuation.’

  ‘On his side or yours?’

  I smile. ‘On mine. Douglas doesn’t get all hot under the collar about love and romance. I was desperately young when I met him and had a lot of growing up to do. I stayed until I saw that what I was doing was growing into the mould he’d made for me. I needed to find out who I was, for myself.’

  ‘Have you ever wondered whether it was you, not him?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I mean, if you were projecting your own lack of self-esteem on to him. That it wasn’t him you weren’t good enough for, but yourself?’

  It’s an odd thing for her to say but I give the question some consideration. Have I blamed my own failures on him? My self-esteem was dangerously low when we met, but the momentum to improve came from Douglas, not me.

  ‘Admit it,’ she says teasingly. ‘He was actually good for you.’

  ‘Are you serious? Or are you playing devil’s advocate?’

  She laughs. ‘Devil’s advocate. He and Lottie have a lovely relationship, don’t they? She’s so lucky having two dads. I wish Kai had Ben.’

  A silence falls, and I almost doze off before she speaks again.

  ‘Does Nick mind you seeing so much of your ex?’

  I rub the crick out of the back of my neck. I feel blurry, and not really up to this conversation. ‘I wouldn’t say he’s Douglas’s biggest fan, but he knows how much Lottie loves him and he wouldn’t mess that relationship up for the world.’

  ‘Why did you split up?’

  ‘What is this? The third degree?’

  ‘Sorry. Don’t tell me if you don’t want to.’

  ‘I don’t suppose it matters.’ I blow out a breath. ‘Among other things, I caught him in bed with another woman.’

  ‘Shit,’ Anna says. ‘That must have been awful. Why on earth did you go back to him?’

  Did I tell her that? I must have done. I’m so tired, I can’t remember exactly what I’ve said.

  ‘Good question.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m incurably nosy.’

  I smile. There’s something about being drunk in a cab that invites intimacy. It’s seductive. ‘My life had been chaotic; Douglas gave me rules, he gave me structure and he had expectations.’

  ‘You haven’t mentioned love.’

  I don’t answer, because I can’t. I didn’t know what love was back then. I look out of the window, feeling a sense of relief as we leave Battersea behind. We’re on the home stretch.

  ‘He was a substitute parent,’ Anna supplies. ‘I can understand that.’

  I drag my gaze away from the windows of a bus going in the other direction. ‘You can?’

  ‘Ben was a lot older than me.’

  ‘What was he like?’

  ‘He was serious, and kind. Very bright. How did you and Nick get together?’

  A neat deflection. ‘At a charity bash I was helping to organize. The company he works for were major contributors. They still are. He changed my life.’

  I feel her eyes on my profile and glance at her. ‘What?’

  ‘First Douglas and then Nick. Do you always need a man to change your life? Sorry,’ she says, after a pause. ‘That was unfair.’

  ‘No, you’re right. I met them both at low points and they helped me get on my feet. I … um … I had been in care before I met Douglas, you see.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I don’t look at her, I don’t need to. I can hear the surprise in her voice.

  ‘I’m not what I seem,’ I say with a smile that feels weirdly coy. ‘This is all a facade.’

  ‘A good one,’ she deadpans. ‘I thought you were the perfect South London yummy mummy.’

  I laugh. ‘Hardly … Anna, none of my friends knows about this, so please don’t talk about it.’

  ‘You haven’t told Cassie? I thought you were so close.’

  I feel a stab of guilt. ‘We are, but that time is behind me. I don’t want it seeping into the life I’ve got now.’

  ‘No one would even care, Grace. They’d respect you for it.’

  ‘Still, please don’t say anything.’

  ‘I won’t say a word; I promise.’ She takes her phone out of her bag, swipes the screen then puts it back, turning to me eagerly. ‘And I get it, I really do.’

  ‘Thank you. Nick needed me as much as I needed him, you know,’ I add, wanting her to know that it wasn’t only me who needed saving. ‘He said it had been years since he’d felt so happy. He told me once that he couldn’t believe I’d chosen him.’

  ‘Really?’ She sounds disapproving. ‘He sounds needy. Like your little rescue dog.’

  ‘He isn’t like that at all,’ I protest. ‘He’s the strongest person I know.’

  Or I th
ought he was. I look down at my hands and a tear drops into the dip between my knuckles.

  ‘What if he’s left me? What if it’s something I’ve done?’

  ‘Don’t be silly; you couldn’t have done anything so bad that he’d leave without telling you why. That would have been the act of a coward.’

  I dart a look at her as the cab turns into Camomile Avenue and she fumbles in her bag for her keys, but there’s nothing apart from concern and sympathy registering. Even so, the moment sent a shock wave through my body, because in that split second I believed she knew what I had done. It was a gut feeling caused by an almost imperceptible change in her tone. A tiny ripple that disturbed my subconscious.

  But of course she doesn’t know; she can’t do, because the only person who knows is Douglas.

  I stagger through Sunday morning, hungover and miserable, keeping to the sanctuary of my study or reading in my bedroom. I listen to Tim and Cora’s movements, the little conversation they have, the hum of the radio or television, footsteps, the clink of cutlery; sounds that once upon a time meant Nick was downstairs. At lunch they go out to visit friends and I come downstairs to root around the cupboards and fridge for comfort food, hoping to feel relief, but feeling weird in the empty house. I give myself small jobs: I wander round with a damp cloth dipped in washing-up liquid, cleaning the finger marks off the light switches; I put on a wash; I go through my diary for the next week; I finish typing up an inventory that should have been in on Friday; I take Toffee for a walk, driving to a park a couple of miles away so that I don’t bump into anyone I know. I feel like I did when my grandmother died. Dumb with misery.

  That evening, I find Cora sitting white-faced on my sofa, a photograph of Nick in her hand. This is real. Her son may not come back. For the first time, I feel genuine sympathy for her. We are both in pain. I wouldn’t wish this situation on my worst enemy.

  I sit down beside her and reach out, my hand hovering above hers before taking it. We never touch each other; the closest we’ve ever come is an air-kiss. It feels unnatural, and unnerving.