Beneath the Skin Read online

  She glances up at Sami. His jaw is clenched. His knuckles are prominent on the metal bedstead.

  ‘What am I supposed to say? To Antonia, to Mike and Olivia, to Charlie. To our friends, Sophie. What am I supposed to say?’ His voice is tight, controlled.

  ‘That I’ve gone away for a few days, of course.’

  She can feel his anger like a hot burning coal in her chest. She doesn’t want him to be angry. She wants everything to be OK. Only it isn’t. She turns and looks at Sami’s beautiful face, then lifts her trembling hand to touch the small scar on his forehead. ‘I’m sorry, I really am. I just need to get away.’

  She knows Sami will flinch from her touch, even before he jerks away and stalks from the room. ‘Don’t you want to know where I’m going?’ she calls after him.

  ‘I don’t give a shit,’ he shouts. ‘And this time, don’t bother coming back.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The day of the funeral is like flash photography. It gallops by, leaving only a few mental images. An album of moments and snatches of conversation stored temporarily in Antonia’s mind.

  David’s coffin is brass and mahogany, an elegant dark box covered in an exquisite wreath of white lilies that someone has chosen. Today is surreal; his death doesn’t feel real. She didn’t see him after the bath. She declined when they asked if she wanted to. A dead David wasn’t David. Even to say goodbye.

  The weather is wrongly dressed for a funeral. It’s bright, far too bright for October. But unusually chilly too, there’s a thin covering of frost on the gravestones. Grace, Elizabeth, Ethel, Margaret. Names she might have chosen instead of Antonia.

  The church is her local Anglican. A proper old stone church with a steeple, an archway and a choir. A kind place, she senses. The pews are scratched and worn, the hymn books are tatty and the sun shines colour through the stained-glass windows. It feels warm and welcoming. Not the cold and impersonal crematorium at Southern Cemetery with one in and one out like a take-away shop. David deserves far better than Jimmy. Thank goodness for that.

  There are many people in the small crowded apse as she walks to the front. People she knows, people she doesn’t, faces she recognises but can’t name. She sees a row of young lads at the back, their heads bowed as they whisper. Two of the girls from the book club. Then little Rachel in a hat, squashed between Olivia and Mike, her eyes huge in her small face.

  David’s work partners and their wives sit to one side. They’re chatting. Too much chatting, she thinks, and too loud. Charlie isn’t there but his mother and her brother sit solemnly. Valerie has a violet handkerchief to her face and the uncle looks ashen and frail. A slim, attractive older woman with red ginger hair sits on one side of Helen. A huge man on the other. Then there’s Rupert, lovely Rupert, tapping his leg, his fringe in his face.

  She glimpses Colin Green and his wife, plain and pregnant, next to Candy and her carer. Does her mum look bewildered? She said hello and gave her a reassuring kiss earlier, but it’s difficult to tell. There are too many faceless hands and cheeks to know what anyone might be thinking. Their words are murmured and instantly gone. But Sami is there. Solid Sami, his face set. He’s waiting for her on the front pew and he holds out his hand to take hers. He’s alone.

  Antonia doesn’t think she’ll cry, but the burning at the top of her nose starts the moment Rupert rises and walks to the front of the church. He stands next to the coffin holding a sheet of paper, his face white with nerves. He’s wearing a too-short school suit. She had no idea he would speak.

  ‘As many of you know, my father is still unwell in hospital. He tried to escape, but they caught him.’ There’s a small tremor of polite laughter. ‘But he asked me to read a few words.’

  The few words are many, which Rupert reads with shaking hands but in a loud clear voice. Loving words, warm and funny. Tales of school and sporting achievements, stories she hasn’t heard before. An explanation about David’s parents too. Loving parents, Rupert reads, who tragically died together in a car crash, when David was so young. He’s at peace with them now.

  Black ice, Antonia thinks. Like so much in life. You can’t see it but it’s there.

  ‘David was loved,’ Rupert finishes, his tears soaking the paper. ‘Loved very much.’

  Charlie’s tender words from the voice of his boy.

  The Anglican hymns and prayers are so similar to hers. Not a priest, but a vicar, with a kindly booming voice. ‘A popular man,’ he says. ‘A generous man. Much loved by all.’ He offers David back to God.

  Antonia turns her head, then. To Candy and the carer. Is this the same God that her mum adored but forgot, she wonders. Does Candy remember him now?

  Then it’s over, so quickly. Her limbs are automatic as she stands. But she’s grateful for Sami’s firm hand under her elbow as he guides her down the aisle to an open world without David. ‘I’ll drive you back to White Gables,’ she hears him say. ‘I’m so sorry Sophie’s not here. It’s unforgivable.’

  Sophie’s car has a sat nav, but she hates the female voice. It’s smug and satisfied. Sophie is well aware that’s what people think of her too; they’ve said it enough times. She knows she can appear that way, sometimes even feel that way. But what she’s not, she’s absolutely not, is unstable, depressed, bipolar. Or whatever her fucking mother might think.

  She glances at the AA route planner on the passenger seat, still damp from her earlier tears. She feels fine now, absolutely fine. In fact the rush of adrenaline she felt when she drove out of Didsbury is still with her after thirty fast miles, goading her on.

  It’s a right on to Meadow Lane and then first left. She’s sung along with Madonna the whole way, belting out the lyrics through the open window even though it’s so cold. ‘The Immaculate Collection’ CD, bought by her dad when she was a kid. They used to sing it together. She still knows every word.

  She pulls up the car, flips down the mirror flap and presses the lipstick on her mouth to get an even full spread. Then she fluffs up her hair. She grins at herself and nods. Here goes.

  The door is answered eventually. ‘Yes?’ The girl is young, certainly no more than twenty-five. She’s not conventionally pretty but has a stunning ponytail of thick blonde hair down the back of her petite frame. A T-shirt barely covers her thighs. The girl puts a hand on her hip and examines Sophie with luminous eyes, her lips in a dismissive slant.

  Sophie pushes past her into the warmth of the flat. The aroma of sex and dope fills her nostrils. She didn’t expect it to be so small. The bedroom door is ajar, the bedcovers rumpled and the curtains closed.

  ‘I take it that you know Baz.’ The girl has a high-pitched southern accent. Essex, Sophie guesses. ‘The sort of accent that makes her sound stupid,’ she would laugh with Antonia.

  ‘I do. Where is he?’

  The girl falls back on to the sofa and folds her arms. ‘I’m not sure if that’s any of your business.’

  ‘I’d better wait then.’

  Sophie sits down in the armchair opposite, her chin high and her eyes on the girl. She folds her arms. Smug and satisfied, she thinks, don’t desert me now.

  Sami holds Antonia’s hand in the car. He squeezes tightly and silently as she closes her eyes. She understands they are friends again after their spat about Sophie. Warm and dependable once more, like the big brother he’s always been, which is such a relief. Then suddenly they’re back on the large driveway at White Gables. Antonia shakes herself and turns around to look through the rear window. Cars have followed. People are climbing out. They’re milling and chatting. Hungry and thirsty, no doubt.

  She strides from Sami’s car. There’s a job to be done; she has a purpose now.

  Like a wedding, she thinks, as she opens the fridge, turns on the ovens, peels away cling film and foil. Nibbles are heated, drinks are poured, time flies and Antonia floats above it all.

  ‘We’re here to help, remember. Where are the tea towels?’

  ‘I’ll carry that tray, Antonia. Sami�
��s opening the wine.’

  ‘I’m Robert Smith. We met at law college. Such a great guy.’

  ‘We’re so sorry for your loss. The other girls send their love.’

  ‘What a fabulous eulogy. Chip off the old block. Hope Charlie’s on the mend.’

  She walks from room to room with a bottle or a tray. Hearing everything. Hearing nothing.

  ‘We heard you were stunning, Mrs Stafford. Dave had a great left foot!’

  ‘A hundred not out, and a hat trick if I remember. Should have gone into sport.’

  ‘Sorry I’ve left all the visiting to Mike. Thank you for being so sweet to Rachel. She adores you, you know.’

  ‘Dad sends his love. Hopping mad he couldn’t come. I hope I did OK.’

  ‘You look really pretty, Antonia. Can I help?’

  From the lounge to the kitchen, she offers snacks from silver trays. Hears snatches of conversation as she glides among the guests.

  ‘Can I see you, Olivia? I really miss you.’

  ‘They confiscated her scarf. I can see it now after all these years.’

  ‘I didn’t think people had mistresses any more. And look at her, she’s so old.’

  ‘You’ve done an excellent spread, Antonia. I’ll make sure to tell Charles I was wrong.’

  ‘No smoke without fire.’

  People want to talk, but she finds it’s easier to keep moving. There are glasses to fill and plates to collect.

  ‘Should I turn off the oven?’

  ‘No kids. I wonder why.’

  ‘She’s called Misty, apparently! No, really, that’s her name.’

  ‘Come on, one more time. It was great, wasn’t it?’

  The party is going well. She should stop and chat. But still Antonia drifts, not chatting, not speaking, but still hearing and seeing. Hearing things she doesn’t want to. Seeing glimpses of David. She offers sweet treats. Checks platters and plates.

  ‘It’s very red, her hair. It must be dyed.’

  ‘Please leave it there and let’s stay friends.’

  ‘Keep your voice down. She’s just there.’

  ‘Should I turn off the oven?’

  ‘Antonia, love, should I turn off the oven?’

  It seems to Antonia as though everyone leaves together, suddenly. The house is full one minute and empty the next. Just Mike, Rachel, Olivia and Sami are left. They’re standing in the kitchen with twitchy feet, all eyes on her. ‘Are you all right? Would you like us to stay?’ said almost in unison.

  Antonia looks around and shakes her head. The platters are mostly empty, just cocktail sticks, flakes and crumbs remain. ‘The food’s all gone. Do you think everyone had enough to eat?’ she asks.

  Sami laughs and kisses her cheek. His eyes seemed distracted and she guesses the answer is Sophie. Sophie’s absence. But Antonia is glad that she didn’t come, the fine line between her kindness and her cruelty was one less thing to worry about.

  ‘The spread was fantastic,’ Sami says. ‘You did David proud. Really proud. I’m going now, Antonia. Call me if you need me. Anything, yeah?’

  ‘We’d better get back to Hannah,’ Olivia says as Sami walks away. ‘I’m sorry we can’t stay longer, but my sister needs to get back to her kids.’

  Antonia nods. ‘Of course, thank you for everything. Especially you, Rachel. You were a star.’

  The cold breeze blows in through the open front door as they leave. Someone has moved David’s car and the loose bricks of the small wall have been stacked neatly to one side. Antonia didn’t notice before. ‘Who’s Misty?’ she asks.

  Mike takes a breath, but it’s Olivia who answers. ‘She’s married to Seamus, the really big guy. Isn’t she, Mike? They own the Royal Oak.’ She pauses for a moment, her eyes flickering to Mike’s. ‘Do you know, I don’t like to leave you all alone so soon,’ she says, putting a hand on Antonia’s arm. ‘I’m sure Mike won’t mind staying for a while. He can just about manage to wash up the dishes, but I’d keep an eye on your best crystal.’

  ‘That’s true, Dad,’ Rachel laughs. ‘And maybe Mum will let me come round tomorrow for a bit. You could give me some tips on make-up and stuff.’

  ‘Hey cheeky, you’re only twelve,’ Mike says with a smile, but he’s looking at Antonia.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  ‘Do you think Antonia will be all right, Mum? It must be so horrible for her. She’s really nice, don’t you think?’ Rachel asks from the passenger seat of the car.

  Olivia stares ahead through the windscreen, her body plugged into the miraculous autopilot she’s used for days. Rachel is chattering, has been chattering since they left White Gables, pulling at a loose strand from the black ribbon on her hat. There’s too much noise, it’s too invasive. Olivia’s mind is jangling, she needs silence to think.

  ‘I was starving in the church, but the food was ace. You know those mini banoffee tarts? Antonia showed me how to make the salted caramel, so I sort of helped. Do you think Dad will drive me over tomorrow? Or you could drop me off if you’re going to M&S. You said Hannah needed socks.’ She looks over at Olivia. ‘Mum, you’re not listening.’

  ‘Of course I am,’ Olivia replies. She’s holding on to her reasonable voice by a thread. ‘Yes, that’s fine, I’ll take you. Stop pulling the ribbon, Rachel. You’ll ruin it.’

  Rachel is silent for a moment. Then another torrent of patter. ‘What did you think of the funeral, Mum? How many people were there? Uncle Sami was on his own, wasn’t he? Where was Sophie? That man was so fat! I thought that Rupert was really brave to stand up and read out Charlie’s speech. He’s so tall! But quite good looking. Is Charlie still in hospital, Mum? Is he going to get better? I really hope so for Rupert’s sake. It was so sad when he cried. I thought that Uncle Sami looked quite cross. Do you know why Sophie wasn’t there? Mum? Mum?’

  The thread breaks. ‘Rachel. Can you shut up, for just a moment! Stop asking so many questions.’ Sharply, like a slap.

  Rachel looks hurt and turns away, the hat sullen on her lap. The car jolts as it stalls. Olivia sighs. ‘I’m sorry, Rach. I didn’t mean to shout. It’s dark and I’m just trying to concentrate on my driving. OK?’

  ‘Have you broken any yet?’ Antonia says to Mike’s white-shirted back.

  He’s at the large sink with his sleeves rolled up. Suds are bubbling on to the drainer.

  ‘Absolutely not, not a chip in sight. Though I might’ve used too much washing-up liquid.’

  Antonia smiles. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll give them a rinse in the other sink. That’s the beauty of having two!’

  Mike turns his head and grins. She notices his teeth. They look very white against his stubble. He’s so darkly attractive and yet kind. His looks and personality don’t match, she thinks.

  ‘This feels like washing up at a friend’s house when you’re ten. Wanting to please and your mate looking daggers at you when his mum says how helpful you are.’

  ‘Were you always a good little boy? Wanting to please?’ she asks, her back to his at the sink.

  ‘Well, the mums liked me! But in my own home, if I’m honest, Mum did all the household stuff. Dad and I weren’t expected to.’

  ‘That’s terrible.’ Though as Antonia says it, she wonders why. David never lifted a finger in the house. She didn’t want him to. The house was her job and she liked it. Being David’s wife too. It made them both happy. But she hears Sami’s words from a few weeks ago when she tried to talk to him about Sophie. ‘Look at your own marriage,’ he said. What did he mean?

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, Olivia soon had me trained,’ Mike replies, turning back to his sink. ‘I should have taken my tie off, shouldn’t I?’

  He flicks his black tie over his shoulder and continues with his chore as Antonia watches the soapy fingerprints on the tie disappear.

  The washing up of the glassware has been a distraction. As has the sweeping of the kitchen floor and the emptying of the bins. Mike knows that the question will come at some point, but has no idea ho
w he should or will reply.

  He hovers near his jacket on the coat stand in the hall, debating on whether or not to call a taxi and escape, but Antonia appears from the kitchen. Her lips are slightly parted as she concentrates on carrying a full large glass of red wine. ‘Your reward for being such a “good boy” seeing as you’re not driving. Come on through and sit down.’

  She’s tied her hair in a large knot at the top of her head. Mike thinks how young she looks. Exotic too. Her neck is long and slim, but her eyes seem hidden somehow, though he can see them quite clearly in her serious face.

  Cheers, Olivia. You’ve really put this one on me, he thinks vaguely. But it feels right. Antonia’s shown him the cut, he’s already involved.

  She sits down on the sofa, curls up her legs and bows her head. ‘I trust you to be honest, Mike,’ she starts and he knows that he will answer truthfully.

  ‘Was David having an affair with this Misty person?’

  Mike takes a deep breath before answering. Seconds pass. His eyes reach hers, then he speaks. ‘I never discussed it with him. I believe that he saw her from time to time, but it’s not something I would describe as an affair.’

  ‘How would you describe it, then?’ Her question is immediate, her voice tight.

  Mike rakes his hair. He finds it hard to explain what he thinks, but he wants to be honest. ‘She’s a fair bit older than David and it’s not as though he was after women in general. To be honest, I don’t think he particularly noticed them.’

  ‘Did he pay for it?’

  Her question throws him. ‘No. I don’t know. Does it matter?’ he replies.

  She stands from the sofa and stalks to the fireplace. ‘It does, actually.’ Then she turns and glares at Mike, her eyes dark and fierce. ‘What about you? Do you go to other women for either paid or unpaid relief? Is that what married men do? Am I just out of touch?’

  ‘No, I haven’t ever …’ His voice trails off. The conversation is going badly. He didn’t expect such anger. ‘Look, he adored you. You know that. I have no idea what their friendship was. It was just rumours. I’m sure it didn’t mean anything.’