Beneath the Skin Page 12

  He rolls away from her waking hand and bunches up his body like a huge fist. Reality has hit him immediately on waking, his mind prodding viciously with a stream of recrimination. Fool, fool, fool. Debts, huge debts. Insurance, indemnity, money – client money, ethics and rules. And theft, oh God, theft. Charlie’s fury, his disappointment. ‘A failure, David. Again. Get out of my sight.’

  David scrunches up his eyes, willing reality to disperse, wanting to climb back into his dream, the dream he hasn’t had for many years. The one of a small boy gliding to and fro on a pond thick with ice. A smiling fir tree glistens in the middle, its lights like warm eyes winking. Then the ice begins to crack, a thunderous black noise in his ears. But despite the screams all around him, the boy isn’t afraid. He doesn’t fear the face slowly rising to the surface, or the hand, white with death, reaching to pull him in. For the man-boy has been in this dream before. He knows not to fear the stinging slap of the icy water but to welcome the touch, the comfort and love as he slides into death. Not into the cold black ice of a pond, but hand in hand with his mother, into the warm soapy sleep of the ocean.

  ‘No, he’s stable, he’s alive, love,’ Antonia says, still standing beside the bed. ‘Why would you think that? But you need to wake up. Rupert’s all alone, so I’ll drop you at the hospital and then drive on to Hale.’

  David averts his eyes from his watchful wife as he climbs from the bed and reaches for some clothes. He feels leaden with grogginess and his head hurts badly, from the alcohol, from the impact. He fumbles with the buttons on his shirt then gives up, rips it off his hot torso and pulls a jumper over his head. He can feel Antonia’s eyes on him, wondering what he meant. Eyes like saucers, he thinks.

  ‘Divine justice,’ he mutters in reply. But it’s fine. He doesn’t mind divine intervention. It all makes sense really.

  ‘I do love you, you know,’ Mike says as he leaves the house. A glint of sunshine through the clouds catches the top of Olivia’s face. He means it. He really means it. ‘I’m not always good at showing it, but I do.’

  ‘I know,’ she replies, rearranging his ruffled hair with a half-smile. ‘It’s a good job I love you anyway.’

  He grins as he climbs into his car. His heart hasn’t felt this light for as long as he can remember. The black dog is missing, gone for now at least. He arrived home from work yesterday evening as usual, trying to leave his feelings of boring, dull despondency in the car for the sake of the girls, but immediately he stepped into the house, Olivia pulled him into the kitchen, away from the girls who were watching television in the lounge. ‘Let’s be friends again. I’ve missed you,’ she rushed, putting her arms tightly around him and burying her head against his chest until Hannah appeared and elbowed into the hug.

  Mike is loath to leave the house and drive into Manchester today. His feelings of contentment and relief spread like osmosis, giving the whole house a party atmosphere throughout last night and again this morning at breakfast. It made him realise just how much his happiness or otherwise with Olivia affects the girls.

  He thinks back to his own childhood as his car crawls with the other early commuters into town. It was happy, both parents loving and supportive, his sister joyful despite her disabilities, but he can still remember the cold dreadful atmosphere when his dad was in one of his dark moods. It was never physical, there was only shouting and stomping, but still it frightened the family into silent submission every time. Mike doesn’t generally shout, instead he withdraws, which he now understands can be just as bad. His father was vocal, so at least the family knew what was eating him. Silence is infinitely more difficult to interpret.

  I must try harder, he muses, as he bounds up the stairs into work. Family is everything.

  Antonia’s mind is buzzing as she drives from the hospital to the Proctors’ house in Hale. David was quiet in the car on the way to see Charlie, far too quiet. She put her hand on his and gave it a squeeze. He smiled in reply, a soft shy smile, but he was miles away. She wanted to apologise, to say the words of love that had been snatched away, but it felt too indulgent when Charlie was in hospital. Then there’s Sophie. Bloody Sophie. Antonia called her to say that she wouldn’t be able to go round to her house this morning, perhaps not all day, but Sami answered the telephone and it was strained, embarrassing.

  ‘What does she want at this time?’ Antonia heard Sophie grumble from the background. There was a muffled conversation between Sophie and Sami; Sami’s voice was raised. Then Sophie came on the line, angry and petulant. ‘He’s a teenager, isn’t he? Why does Rupert need you to hold his hand? You promised you’d be here. I thought we’d go out for lunch.’

  Antonia ended the call without saying goodbye. First time ever and so easy. ‘You’re being completely selfish, Sophie. I’m not speaking to you when you’re like this.’

  Then there was last night, when David got home in the early hours. The sharp memory of her words and her actions needles her as she drives. She was still in the dream with her father; she thought David was him. Oh God, what she said, what she did. There’s no point thinking about it now. But still she does.

  ‘He’s asleep,’ Helen says flatly. She’s swung from an intense fear that Charlie is going to die, to a mild irritation that bloody diabetes might put a spanner in the works (an expression she does understand) of New York. The stress of it all has created an irresistible urge to sleep, but here’s David, his sheepish face unshaven and bruised. ‘What on earth …’ she begins, but David is staring down at Charlie with a look of sheer hopelessness on his pallid face. ‘Sit down, David, before you fall down. You look worse than he does. He isn’t dead or dying. At least they don’t think so.’

  She waits for David to sit down and to speak, but he remains silent, pale and impassive, so she continues to talk. ‘The main problem is diabetes. It’s buggered up his blood sugar, which they’ll have to balance with insulin, and his blood pressure and cholesterol levels are alarming too. He’s lucky not to have had a heart attack, but there could well be one in the pipeline.’

  She removes her glasses, automatically polishing the lenses with her blouse. ‘Of course I didn’t know anything about it.’ Replacing her glasses, she looks pointedly at David. His swollen nose and stubble make him look like a cliché of a criminal. His eyes shifty and hooded, he looks guilty too. ‘Did you know he was ill? David?’ she demands. ‘David? Be honest.’

  ‘Well, he did mention something.’

  ‘When? When was this?’

  ‘A while ago.’

  ‘And you didn’t say anything to me? You didn’t force him to go to the doctors or to speak to me about it? For goodness sake David, what sort of friend are you? Charlie could have died. He might still do if he’s not very careful, his arteries will be caked.’

  She’s silent for a moment, embarrassed by the shrill tone of her words, knowing she’s unfairly taking out her anger and frustration on David, when it’s Charlie’s fault for not confiding in her and perhaps her fault for not being amenable to such a confidence. But she’s cross, cross with David, cross with Charlie, cross with herself and so she can’t stop.

  ‘And what was all that about last night in the study? All that shouting and swearing? Demanding that you leave? I’ve never seen him so upset. That’s probably what brought it on. You’re meant to be his closest friend, David. I don’t know what you’ve done but …’

  Helen rages at some length as she stares at the three differently coloured lines on the monitor above Charlie’s bed, aware that she’s fully attributing blame to David when both she and Rupert have played their parts. When she turns her head to inspect David’s guilt-ridden face, he’s gone.

  ‘Cheer up, Rupert. Stable is good, isn’t it?’ Antonia smiles encouragingly. ‘Why don’t you give your mum a ring to see how he is now?’

  It’s still only ten-thirty in the morning. She’s made Rupert several drinks, ranging from Ovaltine to a glass of soda from an antique-looking syphon, but they’ve all gone untouched. Rup
ert remains slumped in an armchair chewing his thumb. She’s been through Helen’s kitchen cupboards in search of something a youth might like to eat – crisps, biscuits, even jam for toast.

  ‘My parents don’t do junk, treats, whatever you’d call them. “Not very healthy” they say, which is ironic, considering,’ he mutters. So Antonia resorts to creating something from the ingredients she can find, trying not to pay too much attention to the long-gone ‘best before’ dates.

  ‘Like Ready Steady Cook,’ she declares, which is rewarded with the slightest of smiles. ‘Flour, sugar and butter. That’s all it takes to make a biscuit, right? Come on, you need to help me out here, Rupert. I hated domestic science. Always skived it at school.’

  ‘You’re joking, right? Come on, Auntie Antonia, Dad’s always on about your fantastic cooking. I bet you were the perfect schoolgirl, top of the class, star of the week, every week.’

  It strikes her then how little anyone really knows about anybody else. But Rupert is animated, at least for a while, as the warm shortbread is eaten. Then time hangs again with nothing to say and Rupert retreats to his chair.

  ‘Mum should have called me by now. I’m her son. She’s meant to care about my fucking feelings. She’s never loved me, neither of them has.’

  Antonia tries to argue, to cajole and reason with him. ‘Of course they love you, Rupert, of course they do,’ but her words aren’t convincing. Not even to her. Helen and Charlie sent him away from the local primary school in Hale where he was happy and settled, to a far-away boarding school, a fragile only child who needed his mum. Then when he was home for the holidays, they barely noticed he was there, leaving him alone for long days with their elderly housekeeper.

  For a moment, but only for a moment, the thought pops into Antonia’s head that perhaps it was better to have her father, as terrible as he was, rather than to have no father at all. But then she remembers the dream on the sofa last night, so deep and intense that she thought it was real, that her father was real. And her words to poor David when she thought he was him. ‘Get off. You disgust me. Don’t touch me. Never again. Do you hear?’

  She checks her mobile with a sigh. There’s no answer from David to her texts, but that’s not surprising. He’s at the hospital with Charlie where no mobiles are allowed. They’re probably laughing about old times, Helen looking on, bored. She’ll try again later.

  ‘I know, Rupert. How about a game of Snap?’

  A groan in reply from Rupert. ‘I’m not ten, Auntie Antonia.’ But at least there’s a smile.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Sami’s face is tight, his body tense as he strides past the flurry of lunchtime shoppers in St Ann’s Square. He’s angry with her for humiliating him, for making him look like a fool. But most of all he’s angry with himself. He’s said too much to her, he’s exposed his inner self and let emotion get in the way.

  As a cautionary measure against Sophie’s snooping, their texting over the past few weeks has been infrequent, though he’d never been so meticulous about it with women before. It was always easy to shrug and to say to Sophie, ‘The girls at work having a laugh, you know what they’re like.’ But this time it was too close to home, too difficult to explain away and it mattered. Only God knew why, but it mattered.

  She was usually at home in the mornings but her car was missing and the house was empty, so he waited for her a distance away, hoping the neighbours wouldn’t think it odd that a man in a smart suit was waiting and watching, alone in his newly polished car. The sports pages of the Telegraph bounced in rhythm with his impatiently jiggling knee, but he didn’t read a word.

  Their last tryst had been sublime. He’d relived it in his imagination time and again. Before leaving her bed, he completely covered her soft naked body with his, lying perfectly still, trying to preserve the moment.

  ‘We’re a perfect fit,’ he whispered.

  ‘Lying down, yes,’ she laughed in reply.

  He didn’t want to leave. Unusually for him and his occasional conquests, he wanted to stay. To inhale that special smell, to chat, to cuddle and to kiss. He had to wrench himself from her bed, from her, but she promised to call him at work on his private line.

  ‘Soon,’ she said in answer to his question as to when they would meet. ‘Soon,’ she said in answer to when she would call.

  Over the last few days he found himself sitting idly at his desk, watching the telephone like a silly bloody teenager. But no call came and he began creating different scenarios in his head as to why she hadn’t called. The sex was fantastic for them both, he was confident of that. So what was the problem? He liked her and she liked him, no one else knew about it, so it wasn’t hurting anyone.

  As he waited down the road this morning, he caught himself in the car mirror, adjusted it to see his whole face and grinned. He was looking good. He smelled good, his body was nicely toned from the gym. He couldn’t imagine that she might have gone off him. No one ever got bored with Sami Richards before he became bored with them.

  ‘Hey, Sami,’ a voice shouts.

  Sami looks across the cobbled square. It’s Mike, who’s seen him first, so there’s no chance of escape. Dodging a heave of sandwich shoppers, Mike approaches with a look of friendly concern. ‘Are you OK? You look as though City have scored six times!’

  Wrenching his focus to Mike, he tries for normality. Mike is carrying a large blue and silver brolly with the name of an accountancy firm printed on it in huge letters. Sami lifts the collar of his coat. He hadn’t noticed the rain.

  Sami nods at the umbrella. ‘And you have the cheek to call me a corporate freebie bitch. Those bastards too!’

  ‘Not guilty.’ Mike laughs. ‘Found it in the boot of my car.’

  ‘With the bodies? That’s what they all say.’ The need for distraction suddenly overwhelming, Sami nods in the direction of Sam’s Chop House. ‘Man, am I glad to see a friendly face. I’ve had a shit morning. Do you fancy a quick pint?’

  Mike looks apologetic. Sami has forgotten how Mike hates to let anyone down. ‘Sorry, Sam. I’m on an errand for Olivia and I’ve an appointment in the office at two. How about tomorrow?’

  ‘You’re getting soft in your old age, man. Lunchtime used to be boys only, remember?’ He manoeuvres himself under Mike’s umbrella, shakes away the stab of rebuff. ‘And what is it that you’re buying for your lovely wife?’

  Mike lifts a green shopping bag. ‘Not buying. M&S returns, actually. Not very macho, is it? I bet the Boot Room boys would be disappointed in me.’

  ‘Too bloody right.’

  Sami laughs, but he’s disappointed. Despite his conflicting emotions, it would be good to talk to Mike. He always has a knack of turning the downside of life on its head and seeing the comedy. And more to the point, just when it’s needed, he’ll gently take the piss out of ‘Sami and his pedestal’, which no one else is allowed to do.

  Sami shrugs off the thought; he needs to get out of his own head somehow. ‘I’ll walk with you and the brolly bastards. Don’t want to spoil my lovely locks in this piss.’ He looks at his watch, still pleased with its e-Strap. ‘Besides, I think a bit of retail therapy is just what the doctor ordered.’

  Antonia picks up the bundle of bills on the doormat, flicking through the envelopes absently before leaving White Gables yet again. She looks at herself briefly in the hall mirror, surprised at how composed she looks. The packed morning has been a nightmare from start to finish. Her hand is trembling and she feels slightly breathless. It’s all she can do not to retreat back into the house and search out the razor blade she hides beneath her old diaphragm in its box. But she knows the calm it gives her is only ever temporary and she has things to do, Sophie for a start.

  She doesn’t feel guilty about having reprimanded Sophie for her selfishness. It’s surprisingly satisfying. But she is aware of a feeling of culpability, even though she was trying to put things right. She sat at her kitchen table with an espresso for at least half an hour, mulling things
over and trying to calm herself, but the rare caffeine boost is having the opposite effect. Still, it gives her the energy to move. And with Sophie I’ll need energy, she muses, as she climbs into the car.

  Rupert’s outburst troubles Antonia as she drives. Once he started to tell her his problems, he couldn’t stop and they tumbled out in a deluge along with his tears. It’s the detail in which he related every incident, she thinks, from his mum’s failure to join his class on school trips like the other mums, to being left alone with his chronic asthma in hotel rooms, while his parents, oblivious to his loneliness and panic, ate their dinner à deux in the restaurant downstairs.

  Her heart went out to him and yet still she found it difficult to give him her full attention. She found her mind kept straying to another only boy who’d been left all alone at such an early age. ‘Be careful driving, darling. It could be icy. It’s the black ice I worry about. You can’t always see it.’ David’s words of concern, so often repeated. Yet they’ve been married for five years and never specifically had the ‘How did your parents die?’ conversation. The ‘What happened? How old were you? How did you feel?’ discussion. What little she knows of David’s parents’ death comes from Charlie, a snippet here and there, spilled out quickly when David’s not in the room. But of course that’s her fault. Any wife would ask, wouldn’t they? But if she asks, he’ll reciprocate and what then?

  A beep from the car behind makes her start and she puts her mobile down on the passenger seat. Still no reply from David. Or from Helen, for that matter. She suspects Helen is angry with her for interfering, but she doesn’t much care. She still feels empowered by her sudden decision. ‘Come on, Rupert, you need to see what’s happening at the hospital for yourself. I’ll text your mum and tell her we’re on the way.’ It makes her feel like a real grown-up; not only the empathy and understanding she feels for Rupert, but the decision to do something about it.