‘So they were mates – Gill and Emma?’
‘No. Apparently not. Only met socially a couple of times. In fact, none of it makes any sense at all, Matt.’
CHAPTER 33
BEFORE
Theo took out his torch from his pocket and shone it at the books. He wished he were big enough to read properly. When they lived in Manchester, Nanny Lucy said you really didn’t need to understand all the words when the pictures were so good, but there were some drawings in these books which were weird, and he couldn’t understand them at all.
He turned the page and noticed a spider, right in the corner of his cave. Theo wasn’t at all frightened of spiders. He didn’t understand why Ben didn’t like them. He liked the way they scuttled about and then suddenly stood very, very still. If the words weren’t all swollen up, deep inside him, he would tell the spider that he could stay in his cave, right here under the bed. Be his pet. He shone the torch on the spider and it ran right up the wall. Like Spider-Man.
Theo had wanted a pet all his life. He had begged for a guinea pig but his mum said they were disgusting creatures, like rats with more fur. Ben had two guinea pigs and three cats – one black and white, one marmalade, and one which was grey and shiny and hissed a lot. Even Slinky – the hissy one – Theo liked a lot. Mummy said it was a spiteful cat and that he had better watch out, but Theo wasn’t scared of Slinky. No way.
It wasn’t Slinky he was scared of . . .
And so now he snuggled up into a tighter ball in his cave and waited for Ben. Just lately he had become terrified of the doorbell when waiting in his cave, in case it was the police. He saw one of their cars on the square recently and had nearly wet himself. He didn’t like the dark and he didn’t think they fed you in prison. On the television, people in prison always looked hungry and some of them stole knives from the canteen and put them up their sleeves.
Theo closed his eyes and thought of Krypton. One day he was quite sure that if he waited long enough there would be a knock at the window and it would be Superman. He would have heard all the words which Theo had kept deep and safe inside. He would have picked them all up with his X-ray vision and super hearing and he would scoop him up from his cave.
Then Theo and Superman would know exactly what they needed to do. They needed to get his mummy to Krypton to ask them to give her shiny eyes. They would keep her looking the same from the outside – the face and the hair and everything, otherwise people would know what they had done and the police might come – but they would get her a completely different inside. From Krypton.
An inside like Ben’s mummy.
Theo moved very quietly – shuffling across the floor of his cave to find the Penguin biscuit he’d saved from this morning. Ben was downstairs with Mummy, really upset about something, and Theo was trying to make a plan for them. An escape plan.
The trouble was Ben kept crying and Mummy got more cross when you cried a lot. He needed to tell Ben this; that it was best to keep all the worrying and the words and the crying deep in your tummy and wait for Superman.
When Ben’s mum got back from London, maybe Theo could go round for tea and cakes. Ben’s mum let them dip their chocolate biscuits into their tea. He liked to hold the piece of biscuit in his mouth and suck until all the chocolate had come off and the inside bit had gone soggy on his tongue. One day they had a competition, him and Ben and Ben’s mum, to see how long they could leave the biscuit dipped in the tea without a bit falling off and sinking to the bottom. They timed it and were laughing and laughing. And he won.
Ben’s mum let him feed the guinea pigs on his own and she let them make a new cave under Ben’s bed. They put one duvet cover on the floor to make it soft and Ben’s mum hung another one over the side of the bed so that it was all dark inside. Ben had one of those beds on stilts so there was loads of room. You couldn’t quite stand up but it wasn’t as cramped as the cave under his own bed. This one. Which was actually quite small and not very comfortable at all.
Ben’s mum took them to the zoo once, too. It was the first time Theo had ever been to a zoo and he was amazed and just a little bit scared. Ben said he liked the hippo the best but Theo thought it was rubbish. It hardly did anything. Just pooed – a really big, stinky poo.
No. It was the desert that Theo had liked. It was in a dome and was really hot and bright, just like off the television, and there were birds flying about. He watched the birds and thought of his robin flying free somewhere and he could picture the blue sky and the clouds and there was this sort of pressure behind his eyes. He didn’t understand because it made him feel really strange – both happy and sad all at once; as if he wanted to smile but also cry every time he thought of his robin far, far away.
There were little lizards in the dome too, hiding behind rocks, and also some really beautiful fluffy guinea pigs.
It was a white-and-brown guinea pig at the garden centre that Theo had wanted for a pet most of all. With Nanny Lucy, when they lived in Manchester, he had asked for the brown-and-white one for his birthday, but Mummy had said over and over that guinea pigs were absolutely disgusting.
And when they got home from the zoo that day there was a message from Mummy saying that her headache had gone and that he could come home at five o’clock. And Theo had started to cry and Ben’s mum said it was OK. It wouldn’t be long until five o’clock. Gone in a flash. She had fetched paper and crayons for him and Ben to do pictures from the zoo.
And Theo didn’t know how to explain that he didn’t want it all to be gone in a flash. The truth was he didn’t want to go home at all.
CHAPTER 34
TODAY – NOON
I stare at the fruit cake. I don’t especially like fruit cake, to be frank. The colour of the cherry is borderline alarming but Mark likes a medley of ‘bits’ to go with coffee when we travel by train, and fruit cake is always a part of this picnic. For no good reason other than habit and association, I tend to do the same when travelling alone.
‘Anything else?’ The man behind the buffet counter sounds impatient; only now do I realise I have been daydreaming. Dithering.
‘Sorry. Slice of fruit cake, please. And some of the oat biscuits.’
Back in my seat, I check my watch. Should be in Paddington around 3 p.m. Not too bad. I take out my magazine and sip the coffee through the little opening in the lid, relieved the train is so quiet, allowing this rare treat, albeit temporary, of a table for four to myself. Two reservation tickets slotted above the seats opposite confirm company beyond Tiverton, but I will have a good spell of blissful solitude.
I put the ridiculous spare phone on the little table. So stupid of me. When packing earlier, I knocked my smartphone off the dressing table and smashed the screen completely. Only just had time to transfer an old pay-as-you-go SIM to this spare. An ancient model with no Internet. Phone and text only – and not all my contacts have transferred. I can’t even find the number for Mark’s new work mobile. Of all the days . . .
I check the bars – just about enough – and dial Emma’s mobile; thank heavens I jotted her number in my diary. Ben seemed fine when he packed his little case last night, excited even, but this is his first sleepover with a friend. Though Emma said it would be as good for Theo as it was helpful to me, it was still so kind of her to offer.
‘Hi. Just being a fussy mother. Everything OK?’
‘Sophie? You got a new number?’
‘Don’t ask. Spare phone. Can you store the details? I’m on the train. So – all OK?’
‘Yeah. All good. They’ve been playing knights in full costume from the dressing-up box and now we’re going out for cakes.’
‘Theo talking? To Ben, I mean?’
‘Nope. Not today. Using a weird sort of sign language but it’s fine. Ben is being absolutely sweet about it. Kids are so much more accepting, aren’t they? Wish I could be so relaxed.’
‘Can I have a word, then?’
‘Sorry?’
‘With Ben?’
> ‘Well, I think he just went off to the loo, actually. Might be best to let him settle.’
I begin opening the fruit cake, tucking the phone under my chin to struggle with the cellophane. ‘Oh, I know I’m being pathetic but you know what I’m like. Call him, would you? I absolutely promise I won’t ring again.’
There is a clattering and a click, then a long pause, which I assume means Emma has put the mobile down to fetch Ben. In the distance I can hear some voices for a time and what sounds like crying, then a clatter as Ben is picking up the phone.
‘Mummy, I don’t want to go swimming.’ He is gasping for breath as if in-between sobs. ‘I don’t want to go out. I want you to come home. You need to come home.’
‘Shhh, Ben. Honey. What on earth’s all this about, love? You’re not going swimming, you’re going for cakes. You like cakes.’
‘Emma says we have to go swimming first. It’s a surprise . . .’
‘No, no, darling, you must have misunderstood. Emma knows how you are about water, love. Honestly, she does. Look – put her back on and Mummy will sort it all out. You’re not to worry now. Emma just wants you both to have a nice time together.’
‘When are you coming back?’
‘Tomorrow. Just one sleep, remember? Now have a think what kind of cake you would like and give the phone back to Emma. Big kiss. Mummy loves you. To the moon and back – remember.’
There is a pause, then some more clattering and finally Emma.
‘I’m so sorry, Sophie. No idea where all that came from. He’s got himself into a tizz suddenly. Right out of the blue.’
‘You’re not going swimming?’
‘No, no, of course not. I don’t do phobias, not even for you, darling. I just put towels in the bag in case we go on to a theme park later. Theo always gets soaked on the rides. Ben must have seen the towels and got the wrong end of the stick.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I said. Look – will you have another chat with him? Explain about the towels. I know I’m being a pain but he sounded really upset. It’s freaked me out a bit.’
‘Of course. So will he be all right? With the water rides? We can do something else entirely. I don’t want him upset.’
‘He should be fine. Ask him. It’s only proper swimming that freaks him out. Anything out of his depth.’
‘OK. Well, look, I’d better go. I’ll settle them both down with chocolate.’
‘OK.’
‘And you’re not to worry. He’ll be fine in five minutes. You know what kids are like. Tantrum one minute. All smiles the next.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘You have fun now.’
The coffee is bitter and I wince, wishing now that I hadn’t phoned. Kids. I break off a piece of cake, remove the cherry and pop it into my mouth. It is my own fault for letting Ben’s water phobia go on for so long. We will have to do something about it before swimming lessons start in school. There must be some specialist I can take him to. I’ve been avoiding the whole thing for too long. Guilt.
I close my eyes and remember that terrible moment of realisation at the holiday villa. Where’s Ben? Oh Jesus, where’s Ben? His tiny face just visible below the surface of the water, looking up. Mark diving into the pool, fully clothed. It was my fault; so very traumatic that I’ve ducked the whole issue of swimming ever since. Just one minute I took my eye off him. I will never again opt for a villa without a gated pool.
I think of him choking and gasping; of how unbearable it must be to drown. I feel a tightening in my chest and, without thinking, press the palm of my right hand against the top of my lungs, as if to steady my own breathing.
The phone call has pulled me up. Poor Ben. His phobia is getting out of hand. Yes. I will make inquiries about one-to-one lessons as soon as I get back. Find someone really patient and experienced. Fix this.
I open my eyes to look out of the window and try to let go of the worrying. A fine, clear sky and quite warm too, though they are forecasting rain for later. Next, I glance at the case on the luggage rack and wonder what Mark will make of the new dress. It was a shock in the shop to acknowledge how much weight I’ve lost. I look better for it, but it presents that familiar conundrum – buy the dress in the smaller size which is unlikely to fit for long, or buy my normal size? Given the magnitude of the occasion, I switched several times, eventually throwing caution to the wind and opting for the smaller dress.
The cover story to get Mark to the awards has been tricky. I have arranged for Polly to book a phantom dinner with an important client at a hotel near the ceremony. The plan is for me to surprise him there early with his dinner suit, and then whisk him away by taxi to the awards.
As the train finally pulls into Paddington, I’m feeling quite nervous, wondering if I should simply have tipped Mark off. It would have made things so much easier. But I think of all the driving, all that Mark does for us. I think of what we have been through lately and I really want to see his surprise; to see him happy.
I phone Polly en route and she confirms Mark has already left for a genuine meeting off-site. From there he’s going straight to his rented studio flat to shower before the fake dinner meeting at 7 p.m. I decide, while the coast is clear, to pop into the office briefly to check all the other arrangements for our tables at the gala.
Mark’s company moved offices just three months back when the old lease ran out, and I haven’t seen the new place in the flesh yet. It was a bit of a shock to me, the move, as I was rather hoping the next step for the business would be relocation. But it is what it is. Mark needs to keep his clients happy, and on the website the new premises certainly look impressive – a third of the ground floor of a remodelled building just a stone’s throw from Oxford Street.
The reception area is just as depicted online – all steel and white and modern art. I feel a surge of pride. Good for you, Mark. Nice choice . . .
Polly, who’s covering reception, grins broadly as I struggle in with my suitcase and Mark’s suit bag. She orders me a taxi for later while I check over the table plan before setting off for the loo.
Polly directs me along a corridor behind reception. ‘Tell me what you think of the new pictures along the wall, will you?’ She has stood up. ‘I had them framed as a surprise but Mark hates them. Wants them all taken down. I could do with someone on my side.’
‘And you think he’d listen to me?’ I like Polly and am laughing as I set off along the corridor. A couple of the office doors are open and I feel a familiar surge of excitement at the glimpse of storyboards for new logos and branding.
The series of photographs start just past the offices – half a dozen large pictures in contemporary steel frames which match the stairway. I can see why Polly is miffed. They chart the company’s development from the small South London office from which Mark launched the business a decade earlier, to the temporary Docklands studio which saw the second expansion. It is a nice touch, I think, and I can’t understand Mark’s objection – though maybe he doesn’t want clients reminded of the agency’s humble history?
There are several posed team photographs from various successful campaigns, alternated with more candid shots, including staff plastered in mud on army assault courses from the corporate compulsion that is ‘team building’.
And then, just ahead of the sign for the toilets, I am suddenly stopped in my tracks by the final framed photograph in the sequence.
At first, the non sequitur strikes me absolutely still, like that moment in a dream when you open the wardrobe door to find clothes you cannot recognise. The first evidence that you are not awake after all. Something apparently innocuous but so out of place that it becomes threatening. Shape-changing.
For just a few seconds, it is as if my brain cannot compute the information in front of me and is instead trying, as I feel my brow tighten, to come up with a different image.
And then, with the realisation that the picture is not going to change, however long I stare at it, a cold wave of dread passes
through my entire body.
CHAPTER 35
TODAY
Matthew is exhausted as he checks the map on his phone. Next right, then left. There were no cabins left on the ferry and it was impossible to sleep – noisy and crowded.
Sorting out the hire car was the usual nightmare and his head is swimming. He’s left the car in the town’s central car park and is now on foot, keen to move things forward and get home. His research says Emma’s mother used the surname Bell while living in Brittany. Maiden name? Maybe. Her nurse, Aveline, is apparently no longer working with the care agency; she threw in the towel after Emma mysteriously sacked her from the job with her mother. Matthew managed to get all this by sweet-talking the agency secretary. Aveline’s husband has a bakery just off the town’s main street and she now works there with him. Bit odd. To suddenly give up the nursing.
Aveline had very quickly got terribly upset on the phone when Matthew contacted her from England, gabbling about Theo and then putting her husband on the line – both of them speaking very good English. Leave her alone, please. This is too upsetting . . . My Aveline. She did nothing wrong. You need to leave her alone.
But it was all the muttering about Theo which alarmed Matthew. Aveline seemed unnaturally worried about him.
Ten minutes of walking and he can see the bakery just ahead. A smart double-fronted shop with a magnificent window display; he checks the name against his notes and waits until there are no other customers inside.
‘Is it Aveline?’
Her wary expression is confirmation enough. Matthew wishes he spoke French.
‘Look. We spoke on the phone. Matthew Hill. And I know it makes you anxious to talk about this and the last thing I want to do is upset you, but I am here because I’m worried about what you said. About little Theo, Aveline. I just need to ask some questions about Emma.’
She gasps, hand up to her mouth. ‘He is all right? Little Theo? Nothing has happened?’
The Friend: An emotional psychological thriller with a twist Page 22
