by Emma Curtis
She felt a frisson and it crossed her mind that they could start an affair, that despite, or because of, the age gap, she wouldn’t be averse. He was so charismatic. She silently chided herself. She would have to be nuts to go there. This was Tim all over again: her falling for a father figure. Ben had been much older too. Seventeen years her senior. She should stop looking for a daddy and find someone her own age.
He was talking to her, telling her about an author whose work he enjoyed, and she was mesmerized, though not by what he was saying, but by his mouth. It was the combination of relaxed self-confidence and the dizzying sense of ruthless power that provoked the fantasy.
‘It’s been good to see you again,’ Angus said, smiling as she put on her coat. ‘I hope I’ve helped.’
‘You have.’
‘Speak to your mother. It would do you both so much good.’
She shrugged, a lump forming in her throat. ‘She never loved me as much as the others.’
‘You mustn’t think that, Taisie. Parents are always harder on the oldest. It’s just the way things are.’ He smiled. ‘Not a problem Lorna and I had, of course.’
‘My name is Anna now. I’m not that little girl any more.’
He looked directly into her eyes. ‘No, you’re certainly not.’
They stood in the street, and it was as if the world fell away. The silence between them was almost a living thing, surrounding them with its tentacles, drawing them together.
‘Can I take you to bed?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
He strode past her, lifted his hand in the air and a taxi pulled into the kerb. The next thing she knew they were kissing, and the smell of his shaving lotion was in her nostrils, their mouths were locked, their hands roving under their coats. She barely had time to notice the wide avenue, the stucco facade of the house they drew up in front of, or the stone steps up to the pillared portico, before he swept her inside and upstairs, where he undressed her slowly. He didn’t appear concerned about Lorna suddenly turning up, so Anna assumed she was away. She wasn’t going to be crass enough to ask. The sex was utterly fantastic. The chest hair, which had fascinated her as a child, was grey now, but just as abundant. She ran her fingers through it and tugged playfully. He grasped her wrist and dragged her against him.
He was getting dressed in the en suite bathroom when the doorbell rang. He told her to stay put, closed the bedroom door and ran downstairs. Hearing raised voices she came out on to the landing to listen. Whoever it was, was male and Angus was trying to calm him down. What she heard was enlightening.
‘It’s against the law, Angus. I can’t believe you’re justifying it.’
‘You’ve got it wrong.’
The man laughed. ‘I don’t have to be particularly intelligent to know dodgy when I see it.’
‘No one’s been hurt. I smoothed profits, that’s all. It’s technical.’ His voice was calm and assured, but there was an edge to it.
‘You paid millions under bogus re-insurance contracts so that you could bring the money back onshore in fallow years. All perfectly legit, if ethically unsound. Then you realized that no one had missed the money paid offshore, and you couldn’t resist the temptation to trouser it. I’ve found it, Angus, including the captive insurance company. Christ, you even made sure it was associated with a Swiss bank. All above board? I don’t think so. It’s sleight of hand.’
Then the door closed, and she didn’t hear any more until the front door thudded shut. She sat on the bed, thinking. It was impossible to know, but that could have been Nick Ritchie. Would he have been either courageous or foolish enough to confront Angus in his own home? Possibly.
Five minutes later, when Angus came back upstairs, he was keen for her to leave. It was a little humiliating, but she understood that he had a problem. She tucked the information away in the back of her mind.
You never know, she thought, as she got into the cab, it might come in useful one day.
They only slept together that one time, and that seemed right. He was a wealthy, successful older man; she was a young woman with a tragic past. What they gave each other was balanced, was perfect.
What remained with her was the image of an adult Nick Ritchie at his side, like some kind of dynasty. She couldn’t imagine what Nick looked like now, so she googled him and found a photograph on the Financial Logistics website. He had broadened out; he looked confident and muscular, pleasant. Angus had talked about him a lot and she didn’t like it. The Moodys had been her family friends, not Nick’s. He had insinuated himself in there, and now he was taking what should have been hers and her brothers’. Angus hadn’t offered jobs or mentoring to Rory or Alex, she noticed. He had shown no interest at all in them.
Angus had let fall enough to allow her to stalk Nick online and off and build a picture of his life. It was so much better than hers. He was more than financially secure, he had a beautiful house, a pretty woman at his side, and the look of someone for whom success has come easily.
It was simple enough to find herself a snug little house close to where Nick lived when she sold the flat she and Ben had bought together. It was a probate sale and unmodernized, so she could afford to buy it outright.
There was no problem getting Kai into Cedar Heights either. It was oversubscribed at the bottom, but by Year 6 the classes had thinned out, with families moving out of London. Yes, she had to congratulate herself. She had been stuck in a rut for years, but now she was being proactive; creating an opportunity to have the life she wanted and deserved. If that meant Nick Ritchie suffered, she could live with that.
GRACE
Friday, 4 May 2018
‘I’M SORRY,’ TIM SAYS. ‘REALLY, I AM. WE COULD HAVE handled that better.’
‘Understatement of the year.’
I could tell him he’s weak. I could tell him I can’t stand to even look at him, but I really don’t have the energy. With Cora out of the house, the fight has gone out of me.
‘I’m cooking supper.’ His hangdog expression almost makes me smile, but not quite. I’m still in shock.
‘Thank you.’
I switch the television on and search for something to take my mind off all this, but my heart is racing and I can’t settle. I throw the controls to one side. Tim is conciliatory, but I’m tired of their good-cop-bad-cop nonsense. I sit hugging my knees, focusing on the middle distance, trying to work out what to do. With Cora out of the way, it should be possible to have a sensible conversation with Tim. Maybe. I drag myself off the sofa and open the door. In the kitchen, Tim has put on my Jack Johnson CD. The one that I play when I need to unwind, when I don’t want a random stream from Spotify to ambush me with something inappropriate to my mood. And, true to his word, he’s cooking. Tim does charm well, but two can play at that game. I nip upstairs, put make-up on and run a brush through my hair.
His smile, when I appear looking normal and cheerful, is genial. He pours me a large glass of Nick’s favourite wine. We maintain a flow of chatter, mostly about Lottie and her school, and the locals who he’s fast getting to know. I laugh too much but he doesn’t seem to notice that. I steer the conversation round to him and he becomes expansive. In a small corner of my mind, I’m thinking, what would Anna do if she wanted to wrap a man around her little finger? I run my fingers through my hair and flick it back.
Tim serves up a grilled-chicken risotto and baby new potatoes roasted in garlic, rosemary from the garden and olive oil. On the side we have French beans, steamed to perfection, with a melting knob of butter drizzling over them.
‘Smells delicious.’
‘Oh, I make it all the time,’ Tim says. ‘It’s my stress-free supper. Bon appétit.’
Tim is comfortable at my table, with me, the woman he’s just told he’s intending to kick out of her own house. He’s comfortable because he only ever looks for the easy option, and right now, the easiest option is to go with the flow. I am being friendly, so he’s happy to be friendly too. It’s the
way he’s built. I’ve been blind, deliberately so, because he’s so much easier to like than Cora. As I watch him eat, I wonder if Cora knows this, whether she married him to disguise her own deficiencies. If I was being really bitchy, I’d suggest that people put up with her because Tim is such good company. Without him, I reckon half her friends would fall away.
I rest my knife and fork on the plate and sit back. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
His eyes widen. He looks like Nick when he does that, and my heart contracts.
‘Do you think Nick’s dead?’
To his credit, he doesn’t hesitate. ‘I don’t want to, but I do. You should try and accept it too.’
‘You know I can’t, Tim.’
He nods, understanding. ‘You must do your best, though. It’ll eat you up otherwise. You’ve got so much going for you.’
I smile at that. ‘So my friends keep telling me. Are you happy with what Cora’s doing?’
Because it is mostly Cora. On his own, Tim wouldn’t have the energy.
He sighs. ‘My darling girl. Of course not. I’m extremely fond of you. You know that. But you can’t expect Cora to hand everything to you on a plate.’
‘I would honour Nick’s wish to help you,’ I say. ‘You’d lose nothing.’ Inside I grimace. I’m not at all sure this will be possible. I think Tim knows that too, but he’s kind enough not to point it out.
‘I don’t need much. But Cora, well, she’s used to better. She doesn’t like Leicestershire, to tell you the truth. She wants to be in London again. It’s where most of our friends are. She gets bored.’
‘She could get a dog.’
He laughs. ‘Grace. I wish none of this had happened, with all my heart. I miss my son. But he’s gone, and things are changing. Cora and I are in our sixties, we don’t have opportunities any more. You have years ahead of you. You can pull yourself out of this, start again. And like we said, we’ll set up a trust for Lottie. Nick would have wanted that.’
I look at him. ‘Was that your idea, or Cora’s?’
‘We came up with it together.’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Well, maybe I suggested we do something for her, and Cora thought of that. We adore Lottie. As far as Cora and I are concerned, she is our granddaughter.’
‘I don’t think Cora thinks that way.’
‘Of course she does. What she said … Well, she was only trying to needle you. You have to forgive her.’
‘Why?’ I’m really interested.
‘Because she’s lost so much.’
‘She’s gaining a house. I hate to sound heartless, but won’t her mother leave her anything?’
‘Well, no. The house had to go when she went into care. It wasn’t worth much anyway. Most of it has gone.’
He starts clearing the plates, scraping the food into the recycling and rinsing them, while I polish off a glass of wine.
‘Please try and change her mind,’ I say.
‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’
I hand him my empty glass and leave the room without a word. I’m so angry, I don’t trust myself to speak.
‘Grace,’ Tim says, coming after me. ‘Whatever Cora says, I know how much Nick loved you. No one can take that away from you.’
‘Much good it did me.’ I hit the wall with the side of my fist, choking on a sob. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’
Tim’s phone beeps. He pulls it out of his back pocket, reads a text, and his eyes shutter. I take the opportunity to escape, running up to my bathroom to rub at my cheeks and eyes with cotton-wool balls soaked in make-up remover. I stare at my blotched face. What the hell was I expecting?
He’s coming up, as I come down. He’s in his coat; a Barbour. Another expensive purchase.
‘I’m going to the pub,’ he says.
‘Right.’
We look at each other, then we both speak at once.
‘Tim …’
‘Do you want to come?’
His expression tells me he’s only asking out of courtesy. I could go. That would throw him. We could sit in the Queen’s Arms and discuss the past. I pretend to think about it – for long enough for worry to start rucking his brow. Finally, I let him off the hook.
‘I’m tired. You’ll be OK on your own?’ Of course he will.
‘Toffee and I will keep each other company.’
‘I thought dogs weren’t allowed in there.’
‘He’s invisible to this particular landlady.’ Tim winks.
‘You’re quite a hit round here, aren’t you?’ I say.
He catches my tone, tilts his head and looks at me. There’s a nervous energy about him that turns the charm into something else, something with a fizz of threat. ‘Grace …’
‘Got your key? I’m going to have an early night.’
He nods, chucking it up in the air and catching it. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
While I wait for my bath to run, I go on to In-Step and my group. There are only two people on the move, which is normal, because most of us are home right now, except Nick, of course, who isn’t moving for other reasons. I should take him off, but I can’t bear to. No, the two who are moving are Anna and Tim. I feel a quiver in my belly. How long ago was it that I sat watching Nick’s and Anna’s steps? I test the water, turn off the cold tap and look again. They’re still moving. Tim is walking Toffee and then going to the pub; Anna, frankly, could be anywhere. I try not to look but I can’t help it. It feels like my life is on repeat. Tim stops. Anna keeps moving. So it’s nothing.
I light candles and turn off the spotlights, shake a few drops of essential oil into the bathwater, then slip out of my robe. Before I get in, I can’t resist one last peek at my screen. Neither Anna nor Tim is moving. This is paranoia, I think. To stop myself looking again, I put the phone out of reach and get into the bath. The water is the way I like it, hot enough that it takes a second or two to get used to, stinging my skin. I sink down with a sigh. A weight has been temporarily lifted. I am on my own; or as good as. Cocooned like this, I can imagine that Nick is downstairs scrolling through our TV recordings to see if we have an episode of some engrossing drama to catch up on. I feel a lump rise in my throat. There are several things on there that we had been enjoying together, that now he won’t see the final episodes of.
In the privacy of my bathroom, with the steam rising round me, I allow myself the luxury of crying.
When I come out, warm in my dressing gown, the house is silent. I’ve never felt nervous on my own here before, but something raises the hairs on the back of my neck. I move aside the curtains and look up and down Burnside Road, but even its respectable serenity unnerves me. A car turns the corner from the direction of the Common and I’m sure it slows as it passes this house. My heart hammering, I open Nick’s wardrobe, push his clothes aside and lean into the corner where he keeps his old school cricket bat. I lay it on the carpet beside the bed and it makes me feel better.
I read for half an hour, then switch off my bedside light and fall asleep. Some time later I’m woken by a sound and sit bolt upright. I bend slowly and reach for the bat, curling my fingers around the handle. Then I hear the distinctive jangle of keys and breathe a long sigh of relief, but I still creep out on to the landing holding the bat, in case I’m wrong.
Downstairs Tim tells Toffee to sit. He says, ‘Good boy.’ He takes off Toffee’s lead, and the dog’s toenails skitter on the floor as he runs into the kitchen to look for me, then runs out again.
There’s a moment of silence, then Tim calls my name softly.
I don’t answer. He goes back into the kitchen and I close my bedroom door. It’s eleven thirty. I read a new chapter, to settle myself, then switch off the light and watch the numbers on the digital clock slowly change. Somewhere in the house running water burbles from a tap.
My mobile vibrating against the painted wooden surface of my bedside cabinet wakes me up. I fumble to twist the clock round and stare bleary-eyed at the time. Almost one in t
he morning. I check the caller display, recognize Anna’s home number and very nearly don’t pick up. Then I reason that for her to be ringing at such a late hour, it can’t be for anything trivial.
‘Anna?’
‘It’s Kai,’ a small voice responds.
I’m immediately alert. ‘Kai? What are you doing up this late?’
‘Mum’s not come home.’
ANNA
March 2018 Two Months Earlier
‘YOU’RE A STAR,’ GRACE SAID. ‘I AM SO GRATEFUL.’
Anna had her mobile trapped between her shoulder and ear while she rinsed her paintbrushes under the tap in the kitchen. Creamy-white swirls spiralled around the stainless-steel sink and disappeared down the drain.
‘No problem. What time will your ex pick her up? Will she want dinner, or does he like to do that himself?’
‘Oh. Gosh, I don’t know. I’ll text him if you like.’
‘No, don’t worry. I’ll give her a snack when we get in, that way she won’t be starving, but she won’t have spoilt her appetite either.’
Anna was gushing, trying too hard to please Grace Trelawney. Grace’s ex, Douglas Parr, was supposed to be collecting Lottie from school, but he’d been delayed, and Grace was in town, picking out soft furnishings for some swanky house she was getting ready for tenants and meeting Nick for supper and the theatre. Anna wasn’t sure why she had been chosen to help her out instead of one of Grace’s small coterie of close friends, but maybe none of them were available. She didn’t mind that she was way down the list if it meant she got her foot through the door.
She wanted to meet Nick Ritchie again casually, to be introduced to him at a dinner party or something like that. She wanted to see his face as he tried to work out where he knew her from. To be honest, she was getting a little impatient. It was very cliquey round here, though they were friendly enough. Perhaps it was because she was on her own. Maybe they were the sort of women who had the vapours at the very idea of uneven numbers. She had only moved here six weeks ago, but she was beginning to get a sense that this was the case. It wasn’t easy to break into established circles. Everyone had been welcoming, but there’d been a point where she had felt encouraged to stop and come no further. Like a line drawn in front of a cash machine or a dartboard. It was early days, though. Things would change. Grace asking for her help was proof if she needed it.
