The Adults

by Caroline Hulse

  Patrick walked away from the lodge, not looking back. He knew the door to another world had closed, never to open again.

  45

  Scarlett watched the end credits travel down the iPad screen.

  Scarlett held Posey’s paw as the two lay together under the duvet. Posey squeezed Scarlett’s hand. Scarlett didn’t squeeze back.

  They stared at the screen again.

  When the credits stopped, the two sat there in silence. Scarlett pulled the bedding closer round her. She was trying not to cry again.

  Posey started to speak. “That was…”

  “Some of those rabbits were awful.”

  Posey said nothing. He looked scared, like there might be a ghost in the bed. He looked how Scarlett felt.

  “I thought I knew all about rabbits,” Scarlett said.

  “So did I,” Posey said.

  Scarlett pulled her hand out of Posey’s paw. “They turned on each other. All that blood.”

  Scarlett wanted Posey to say it had all been a mistake.

  But he didn’t. “Maybe…maybe we don’t know as much about rabbits as we thought we did.”

  Scarlett thought about this. She stared straight ahead.

  Eventually, she said, “Would you mind getting out of my bed?”

  Posey pulled back the duvet and got up. He placed the duvet carefully back round Scarlett.

  He stood across the room, by the door, watching her. “I’m sorry.”

  Scarlett said nothing.

  “We…rabbits must get in bad moods sometimes. I didn’t know, honestly. I’m as surprised as you are.”

  Scarlett pulled her knees up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her knees.

  “Are you scared of me after watching that?” Posey asked.

  Scarlett squeezed her knees in tighter. “A little bit. Yes.”

  “I don’t think I’d ever do anything like that. Not the…you know. Turning on other rabbits.”

  “Please stop talking.”

  He stayed there for a moment longer.

  “Do you want me to go back to the airing cupboard now?” Posey asked.

  “Yes, please,” Scarlett whispered.

  46

  Alex squeezed herself more tightly into her curled-up position on her side. She tucked the duvet under her chin.

  She had expected to be able to get to sleep quickly, with the effects of the evening’s ethanol acting on her medulla. The quality of the sleep itself would drop because—of course—the alcohol would suppress the production of vasopressin. But getting to sleep should be fine.

  Instead, she’d lain here for an hour, thinking about what she’d said. Her thoughts kept returning to the inch of wine, still left in the bottle on the bedside table.

  Alex leaped out of bed, grabbed the bottle, and headed for the en suite. She poured the wine down the sink and placed the bottle on the side of the bath.

  She got back into bed.

  Once Matt had left the house, Alex’s bluster snuffed out in an instant. Matt slammed the door and something within her crumpled, leaving just self-disgust to balloon within, filling her mouth and throat.

  Alex stared at the table. “I’m sorry.”

  “Maybe you need some sleep,” Claire said.

  Patrick quietly let himself back into the house.

  Alex put her hands over her face. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, voice muffled.

  “Alex,” Claire said. “However bad that was—and it was pretty bad—it was just us. You’re drunk, we’ve all done it. Nobody’s died.”

  “There’s no point discussing it when you’re in this state.” Patrick’s voice was much harsher. “Just go to bed.”

  Waiting for Matt to return, Alex had cleaned her teeth; she’d taken her makeup off. She’d got into her pajamas. She’d even flossed.

  And she’d lain here ever since, curled up, occasionally turning her open mouth into the pillow, thinking about what she’d said, muffling herself too late.

  After drinking so much, she should be benefitting from increased dopamine levels right now. It didn’t feel like it, though.

  Alex curled her hands into fists. She dug her nails into her palms till it hurt.

  Her heart was beating too quickly. That would be a result of anxiety, causing increased intensity of the neurons in the locus coeruleus. Norepinephrine would be acting on her heart, and on her blood vessels and respiratory centers.

  Alex turned over in bed.

  The alcohol must have an effect on her medulla soon.

  * * *

  —

  The bedroom door creaked open; Alex woke with a start.

  She forced herself to sit straight up, despite the pressure in her head. “Matt.”

  She had no clue how long she’d been asleep. Minutes? Hours?

  “I’m only coming to get my duvet.” Matt’s voice was businesslike in the darkness. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

  “But”—the dryness of Alex’s mouth made her voice click as she spoke—“what will they think? If they find you there?”

  “They will think I can’t bear to be in the same room as you. And they would be accurate.”

  Alex felt a chill spread across her chest. She pulled her duvet up farther.

  “You care about that now, Alex? What people think?” Matt’s voice was quiet. “Because if you think the others haven’t noticed something’s wrong, then you’ve lost it even more than I thought.”

  Alex’s eyes acclimatized and she saw Matt’s shape across the semi-darkness. A rigid shape, striding toward his side of the bed in jerky movements.

  “I threw some of the wine away. I didn’t drink it all.”

  “Go to sleep, Alex.” Alex wondered if Matt’s voice had ever been as heavy with dismissal as it was now.

  He pulled at his single duvet but it didn’t move from the bed, a part of it trapped underneath Alex.

  “After Claire was so nice to you.” Matt gave the duvet a vicious tug. Alex jerked to the side and the duvet flew out from underneath her. “And this is how you treat her.”

  Alex grabbed the corner of the duvet to stop Matt pulling it free; she clutched it tightly. “Saint perfect fucking Claire.”

  “Oh, OK. So that’s how it is. That’s nice.”

  “I’m bored of kneeling at the altar of Saint Claire.”

  “And when were you kneeling tonight? Tell me. Was it when you were asking her how many people she’d slept with, in front of Patrick?” Matt pulled at the duvet but Alex wouldn’t release the corner she was holding. “Or when you said you could hear them having sex?”

  “I didn’t say, I just implied—”

  “Or when you told her about Walshy having Scarlett’s money? And—by the way—thanks for that. Darling.”

  Matt tugged the duvet harder; it jerked out of Alex’s hands.

  She grabbed for the duvet but Matt whisked it away with a bullfighter’s flourish.

  Alex rested her back against the headboard, defeated. “If you feel like that about Claire, you might as well remarry her. Go to Paris and renew your vows.”

  “Tonight, I’d kill to marry Claire again.” Matt pulled his duvet along the floor behind him. “Just to get away from you.”

  Matt opened the door. Light from the hallway filled the room long enough for Alex to see the sneer on his face. “Go to sleep, you nasty lush.”

  Matt slammed the door and was gone.

  Alex blinked in the fresh darkness. She shuffled down the bed till she was under her duvet, the pressure in her head building. Knowing she had the whole night ahead to obsess about the coldness on Matt’s face: hours to wonder whether he would ever look at her again without that scornful expression, or whether he would hold it there for eternity and keep it there, just for her.

  47

/>   Patrick heard the front door open and close while Claire was in the bathroom, cleaning her teeth.

  Claire padded back into the bedroom.

  Patrick put down his phone. “Matt’s back in the lodge.”

  Claire switched off the main light. “That’s good.” She slipped under the covers. “I pictured him sitting by the lake, shivering, wondering how long he had to stay out to prove he was still angry.” She gave a snort. “He must have decided it was too cold not to forgive Alex.”

  “He hasn’t forgiven her. At least, he hasn’t gone into their bedroom. He’s put the telly on in the lounge. He’s watching an old episode of ’Allo ’Allo.”

  Claire picked up her phone and set the alarm. “Let’s go home tomorrow. Tonight tells me this was clearly a mistake.”

  Home. Patrick thought of his kids. That there would be prearranged plans, excuses, awkward phone calls. The evidence of his family’s ambivalence to him would be right in his face, and being home at Christmas would make it all so much worse.

  “But what about Scarlett?” Patrick said.

  “I suppose you’re right. Let’s see what it’s like in the morning, but we don’t have to stay. No one can make you stay for the rest of your holiday.”

  “Did you and Matt argue like that? Like Matt and Alex did tonight?”

  Claire rolled onto her side, facing away from him. “Everyone rows.”

  “Alex is a loose cannon.”

  “She’s not herself. This holiday’s making her crazy.”

  Patrick wished Claire would look at him. “I still don’t understand some of the stuff she was talking about.”

  Claire yawned loudly, not bothering to cover it. “She was hammered, Patrick. It’s not meant to make sense.”

  “But I’m not surprised this weekend’s sent Alex loopy,” Patrick said to the back of Claire’s head. “She’s scared.”

  Finally, Claire rolled over to look at him. “Why?”

  “It’s obvious. Matt wants you back.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “Alex sees it.”

  “And he adores Alex. He’s just frothing with her today because she got pissed up and super-mouthy.”

  “He was crushed when the two of you split up.”

  “Old news. Dead and buried.”

  “You’d never get back with him, would you?”

  Claire yawned again. Patrick still wished she’d yawn more quietly. More nicely.

  “Please, Claire. I want to hear you say it. I need to.”

  A sigh. “Of course I’m not going to get back with him. No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “What’s going on between us has nothing to do with Matt.”

  Patrick sat up straighter.

  “Pat.” Even Claire was at it now. “Getting back with Matt would never be on the cards. Never, ever, ever. Maybe if we hadn’t had Scarlett, if we’d had a simpler life, we would have made it work. But it doesn’t matter that we get on now, because it didn’t work when we had to function together. It’s that simple.”

  “But what did you mean by ‘what’s going on with us’?”

  Claire turned back to face the wall. “Figure of speech.”

  “Claire—”

  “I’m tired. It’s been a long day and I’m too exhausted to talk. I’m going to sleep. OK? Please.”

  Patrick stared at the back of her head, taking in the kink in her hair from where she’d tied it up in a hairband.

  “Night,” Claire said into the wall.

  Patrick reached out and stroked Claire’s arm. “Night.”

  When she didn’t say anything else, he said, “I love you.”

  Claire leaned an arm back and patted Patrick on the hip. “Night.” She took her arm away and shuffled an inch toward the wall.

  Patrick continued to stroke her arm. He breathed in the scent of her neck. The mixture of familiar smells. The almond oil shampoo she bulk-bought off the Internet. Her perfume. Even the faint chemical tang of her contact lens solution. Claire’s signature smell.

  Within seconds, Claire’s breathing deepened and she started making a whooshing sound with her mouth: Claire’s presleep countdown indicator. She would be dreaming soon.

  But what do you dream of, Claire? Patrick stared the question into her hair.

  Post-shooting interview. Sophia Trevor, 11.

  Happy Forest guest.

  Face-to-face. Happy Forest lodge.

  Mum, I can’t think properly with you here. You’ll try to do the talking for me.

  You will, you know you will.

  Thank you. And close the door behind you, please.

  Mum fusses. She thinks I should be upset, but I didn’t even know him. She likes having things to worry about, and if she can’t find anything then she makes something up. It’s hard for me because I’m the oldest and doing everything first. Emily gets away with murder. Mum lets her do loads of stuff she wouldn’t let me do when I was nine. We have the same bedtime now, how’s that right?

  Yes, I saw the little girl in the dance class. When the dance lady came and said her parents were delayed, Mum wanted to wait with her. We hung around for half an hour and got crisps and drinks from the vending machine, then the dance lady told Mum it would be longer. So we took the girl back to our lodge till her gran turned up.

  It was a great class. If I get a chair I can show you.

  Oh, OK.

  I’d never met any of them before the trip, just round the holiday park. The problem with Mum is she likes everyone. It can make going anywhere slow. Aldi, Morrisons, Tesco, she knows them at every checkout.

  I didn’t see the people next door much. Mum wanted me to go round and play with the little girl, but I’m eleven, so why would I want to? Emily’s bad enough. And there was singing from their lodge. Grown-ups singing old songs. What’s that about? I said to Mum, “I’m definitely not singing, they can’t make me.” And Emily wouldn’t go then either, because Emily’s a sheep and does what I do.

  So Mum gave up in the end and said we could stay with Grandma. Mum put on her best top, the silvery one she was saving for Christmas Day. Grandma noticed Mum’s special top too, she gave Mum a look. Mum said she’d run out of clean tops. Grandma said, “People who play with fire get burnt.” Mum turned to me and said Grandma was going quietly senile.

  Half an hour, maybe? An hour? Not long. We played one game of chase the ace. Which I won.

  The man from her school, Patrick, walked her back and they stood talking outside for a bit. He fancies her.

  It’s obvious, if you have eyes.

  Mum encourages him, but it’s not her fault. She’s lonely. I want Mum to meet someone, but someone better than him. Though he did have a good car, until he squashed a pheasant with it.

  Just ran it over in the street. So now the car has a pheasant’s life splatted all over it. Even though you can’t see it, you know it’s there.

  I didn’t like him. He talked to Mum in a special voice, like he had a script. He barely looked at us, which was fine by me. He wore shorts, even though it’s December, and he was always stretching. Like—big stretching.

  Mum didn’t even know him at school. She said seeing someone from school made her feel young, so I told her, “You’re not young, so it should make you feel old, if anything.”

  I’ve definitely never met him before. And Mum only met him again when we came out of the lodge after he’d squashed the pheasant.

  He said that to the lady behind the desk? But that’s a lie!

  I knew it. He’s properly creepy. I bet he’d stalked her here from Facebook. What did Mum say when you told her that?

  Mum’s too nice.

  She was telling you the truth. I know when she’s lying. She lied about wearing her best top, her other clothes w
eren’t all dirty. She lied about Santa’s grotto being full, she just didn’t want to spend the money. But she was surprised when she saw the man next door.

  Poor Mum. She always gets the weirdos. I didn’t really feel sorry for him anyway, but now I think he actually deserved to get shot after all.

  It’s only fair. And he ran over that pheasant, and what goes around, comes around.

  SUNDAY 24 DECEMBER

  Christmas Eve

  Day 4

  Extract from the Happy Forest brochure:

  In December, the Happy Forest turns into a Winter Wonderland. Give your little ones the Christmas gift of seeing Santa and his elves in his award-winning grotto.

  Or why not learn a new skill with the help of our experienced archery hosts? If that’s not your thing, we have dance classes suitable for all the family!

  48

  No no no no no! Alex woke in an explosion of nerves.

  She pushed herself up from the bed, despite the ache in her head and her kaleidoscoping vision. She pulled her duvet round her shoulders and adjusted her pajama bottoms, pulling them higher up her hips.

  She took a breath and opened the bedroom door.

  Matt sat on the sofa in the lounge, his arm round Scarlett, the two watching cartoons on the television. Matt had spread his single duvet across their knees like a blanket.

  Alex took a step forward.

  Matt didn’t take his eyes off the telly. “Morning.”

  Alex faltered, her duvet-cape sagging around her. “Morning.”

  “And how are you today?”

  “I’ve been—better.”

  “Are you not well?” Matt still didn’t look at her.

  “I appear to have picked up some kind of virus.”

  “How odd. Maybe you’d better go back to bed.” Matt squeezed Scarlett’s shoulder and took his arm away. “Back in a bit, chicken.”