My Husband's Lies Page 28

‘That means nothing, nothing.’

  The consequences game starts again in his head. Nick ‘met’ Susan. But it didn’t begin then. Dora ‘met’ Susan. Dora cut her out. Why? There has to be a reason why. He picks at the scar, the scar from the fall. The fall, the bloody fall. How did it happen? He climbed over the bannister and plunged. Cracked his head, needed stitches. That’s what Dora said. How old was he then? Three or four. Oh no. Was Susan around then? Was the tumble her fault? Is that why she left? Oh God, oh God, did she push him?

  Closing his eyes, he tries to go back. Nothing, there’s nothing. He doesn’t know, can’t remember, but finds himself swaying, listening to a tune. Didn’t someone sing? After nightmares? He can remember those. Someone immediately there; fair-haired, loving and gentle. He’d always assumed it was Patrick. Maybe it was her; perhaps she loved him once.

  He opens his eyes to Lisa’s; knows the last thought is the one he’ll hang on to. ‘Even if I did want to find her, how would I? Without asking Mum or Dad, without letting them know …’

  ‘What about asking Patrick?’

  ‘No, never. You should have seen him that day, I couldn’t do it to him again.’

  They talk intermittently for several minutes, unwrapping the tight folds of paper, skirting and analysing, projecting and dodging. About Patrick, the fishing trip and what he knew. His yearly holiday in France. His secret box of postcards. Could it really be possible he’s kept in touch with his sister? About Iris and her boys, who’re now Nick’s half-brothers. They have kids, he’s an uncle. Then Susan, what of her? Is she married with more children? Would she want Nick in her life?

  Then they’re silent for a time as he unfolds another thought. ‘Why didn’t Mum and Dad tell me? Patrick too? They let me live a lie for thirty-four years.’

  Lisa sighs and smiles. ‘That one’s easy. They clothed you, supported you, kept you safe, played with you, praised you, read you stories at night. They nursed you when you were ill, protected you from harm, paid for your education, only ever wanted your happiness. I could go on, but the answer is pretty obvious.’

  So, there’s the consequence. ‘Love?’

  Lisa nods and grins. ‘A funny old thing, isn’t it?’

  Safe in his wife’s arms, his mind lets him float with that nice thought for a while. Then the game starts again.

  Derek met Susan.

  In Iris’s bed.

  He said, ‘Such a pretty girl. My own movie star! So relaxed by sweet sherry. Let Uncle Derek have you.’

  She said …

  His heart whips as he stares at the ceiling.

  She said no, she said no. Oh God, she said NO.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Penny

  Stepping from the car, Penny stares at the huge yellow and blue sign on the warehouse building.

  Stop and breathe; stop and breathe, she says to herself.

  It’s a Tuesday morning; she’s come early as planned. It won’t be busy. No need to panic, just buying crockery, it’ll be a breeze!

  The list in one hand, her handbag in the other, she counts the metal stairs, then stops at the beginning of the walkway. Oh God, she’s been here before. It’s like a run, a long sprint. But that’s fine, really fine. Just get on the starting block. Wait for the gun. Follow the track. Round and round, round and round.

  Like a teddy bear.

  She takes a deep breath, looks left and then right. Living space, it seems, sofas, wardrobes and beds, curtains and candles. She doesn’t need those and it’s fine, really fine. It’s not a race, no. More like the yellow brick road; she just needs to stroll and follow the path.

  A mirror, a mirror. Don’t look in the mirror!

  That’s silly of course; she knows that. She just made a mistake when she looked at her reflection this morning. Thought she saw specks of blood, moving and crawling. But when she leaned closer, nothing was there.

  Debbie’s fault; stupid Debbie. Got her thinking about that when it was all in the past. A bad penny. Not that she was bad. Just exam stresses, that’s all. Letting off steam in the student kitchen.

  A loud crash brings her back to today with a jolt. A serving bowl rocks on the floor, but it’s not broken, thank goodness. That’s why she’s here. To buy crockery! Ironic when you think of it. She only hurled plates, really. Maybe some cutlery. A few glasses too. Whatever came to hand. But she didn’t aim them at anyone. Not deliberately, at least. Except him, of course. Just stress, exam stress. It didn’t make her a bad person; that’s what Dad said. Mum didn’t understand, but he did. Bad Penny, that’s what she thought. Which is why Will doesn’t know; why he must never know!

  Breathe Penny, breathe. It’s fine and he doesn’t. The sessions are confidential and everything is perfect. They are escaping! Very soon! Letting out the house and going to Grand Cayman. A red telephone box! Sand, sea and sunshine, just the two of them together. And, even better, her period is late. She just needs to get the house organised. Twelve, the agent said. A dozen of everything for the new tenants. She can’t use the Denby, it was bought for their wedding. That’s why she’s here. Time to concentrate, Penny!

  Shielding her eyes from the glare of bright light, she stares at the crockery displays. Bowls, plates and side plates. Mugs, cups and saucers. So many shapes and sizes. Oh God, what about egg cups and serving dishes? And the colour? White, yellow, blue or green? What if everything goes wrong? Like Debbie, nice Debbie. Debbie who frowned, deeply frowned. She didn’t like that. She won’t go again.

  Stupid, stupid woman, bringing that back. Violence, she said, a delusion with violence. Not a nice word, not a nice word at all.

  Wickedness, as if! Bad Penny didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Exam stress, that’s all. And it wasn’t her fault. The pills were the fault! Ritalin, Adderall, Dexedrine, Modafinil. Whatever was going.

  ‘Mother’s little helpers,’ some people call them. Definitely some irony there. But then again … Now there’s a thought. Packing is so stressful. Perhaps they’ll help now …

  ‘Need any assistance? Those plates are pretty heavy. Shall I get you a trolley?’

  A young man’s voice brings her back to the china department at Ikea.

  ‘No, thank you. I’m not sure now. I think I’ll start again.’

  Breathe, Penny, breathe. Everything’s fine, really fine. What did Will say? ‘Don’t worry so much, Pen. Whatever you organise, it will be perfect.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Dan

  That broken, anguished face, oh God.

  Trying to shake the image away, Dan looks at the moody sky through the windscreen. April showers in May; it’s been a long time since sunshine.

  After a busy day at work, he drives past the glistening swings in the park. Unlike when he was a kid, they’re empty today. He and his dad didn’t worry about the weather. Come rain or shine they’d be in that very park after tea, kicking a ball, throwing a frisbee, practising batting and bowling. Then onto the swings with a lolly, Jed fooling about on the slide or the roundabout, making him laugh. That’s what he wants for Teddy.

  At the sound of a shrill beep, he looks in the mirror. The driver behind avoids a dog in the road. Quickly averting his gaze, he comes back to the windscreen, but he’s caught it already. His face, his sad face, the one which morphs into Seb’s the last time he saw it.

  Though only moments from home, he flicks on the radio and turns up the volume. He doesn’t want to think of that night, nor the choice he made, but he does. After showering and dressing, he searched for Seb in the lounge and the kitchen. He’d left, Dan initially supposed, but he found him in the guest bedroom, staring at the black night through the window. He didn’t turn when Dan called his name. He didn’t turn when he said goodbye. But he finally appeared when Dan opened the door to leave. With that face, that broken, anguished face.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ he asked.

  ‘The right thing,’ Dan replied. ‘I have no choice.’

  Seb’s voice broke then. ‘Ther
e’s always a choice, Dan. No one needs to know about us. We’ll carry on just like this. Don’t decide now. Just think about it.’

  And Dan did think about it as he headed home, already feeling the weakness, the pull, the need for Seb Taylor. He sped down the motorway desperate, uncertain and torn, finally recognising he’d fallen in love for the first time, but knowing his duty lay elsewhere. The conflict was unbearable, the onus of having to decide overwhelming, but he was reprieved by Geri, strong certain Geri. ‘I want you to stay,’ she said and he knew then he’d do the right thing.

  He now parks the car, hops up the wet steps and opens the front door of his home. With a small jolt to his chest, the smell of hygiene greets him, then his mum, wearing her Marigolds.

  ‘Nearly finished,’ she says. ‘I’ll put the fish pie in the oven and then I’ll be off.’

  Organised by Geri, Annette comes twice a week to help out with the cleaning and cooking. His parents turned up at the door one evening with a warm casserole and a new mop.

  ‘Why didn’t you say, you silly sod?’ his dad said with a laugh, once Annette was out of earshot. ‘She’s been waiting by the phone for the call. It’s what grandmas are for. It should’ve been you who asked her, mind. You’ll have your work cut out smoothing that one over.’

  Geri now appears from the lounge holding Teddy. ‘How was your day?’ she asks, giving him a peck.

  ‘How was yours, more like,’ Dan replies. ‘Everything all right at the check-up?’

  ‘Yup, mother and son healthy and hearty. I’m all healed up and allowed to drive again, and Teddy’s on the 100th centile—’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘He’s going to be a big boy.’ She smiles her sunny grin. ‘Like his dad.’

  Dan takes Teddy and kisses his soft curly hair, grateful for his beautiful son, for Geri, her smile and her positivity. Though he occasionally glimpses a wary sadness behind her chestnut gaze, it’s almost as though their personal blip didn’t happen. If it wasn’t for his guilty thoughts, he could believe it hadn’t. He hasn’t seen Seb. He hasn’t contacted him at all. He sent a single text late that night saying ‘sorry’ and Seb didn’t reply. But he’s been there, an ache in his chest, a blemish on happiness, almost constantly. Like Seb’s temporary tattoos, Dan knows the stain will wash eventually, but it’s hard, especially in the silence at night.

  Geri puts Teddy to bed, then they sit in the kitchen to eat the fish pie and drink wine. Geri chats about her day, the visit to the doctor’s, Teddy’s loud protest when his hips were checked, the new cafe she tried with her mum friends, the appointment she’s made with the priest.

  Dan listens quietly, thinking back. The childhood blip had been erased; his teenage and twenties loathing of the church and its hypocrisy was intellectual, not personal. Other than his disbelieving mother, he’d never told anyone about Father Peter. But he’d needed to tell Seb, so perhaps it was personal. He’d tried to analyse that need in the dead of night. Fear, he supposed. Fear he was damaged somehow. And trust. Giving it and needing it.

  Geri’s still chatting. ‘I think he’ll say yes to the baptism, Dan. Perhaps he’s just keen to increase the numbers in church, but who cares! He’s young and trendy and seems open-minded. Of course, he needs to see us together before he decides.’ She’s looking at him earnestly, and for a second he sees that hurt in her eyes before it disappears. ‘Are you listening, Dan? It’s still a yes from you too, isn’t it? You’re OK with the idea of a christening?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ he replies, trying to sound enthusiastic, wondering what more he can say to convince her when he’s not sure if he can do it, but the peal of his mobile saves him. He answers and listens for some time as Geri watches, her head cocked to one side.

  ‘What was that all about?’ she asks.

  His breath is shallow. ‘It was Penny,’ he says, endeavouring to sound normal, trying to hide his tumult of emotions at the mention of Seb’s name. ‘Yvette’s had a bad fall. Will’s abroad and she can’t track down Seb. She said his mobile number isn’t recognised, wondered if I had a new number for him.’

  Reaching for her phone with a frown, Geri scrolls down her list of contacts, rings Seb’s number and listens. ‘Same, number not recognised. How strange. What’s happened to Yvette?’

  Dan realises he didn’t ask. ‘I’m not sure. She’s in hospital. They’re doing tests, apparently.’

  Geri gazes for a moment, then nods. ‘Then you need to find Seb.’

  His heart races, sweat cold on his spine. ‘I’m sure Penny will find him. Jen will know where he is. Besides, it’s Friday, I’m home early for once, I should be chilling out with you—’

  ‘Come on, Dan. It’s Will’s mum and she’s getting old. Anything might happen. And Seb’s become a good friend too.’ She dips her face to his, her forehead still furrowed. ‘Hasn’t he? He’d do it for you, wouldn’t he?’

  Dan drives towards Oak House, trying to keep the surge of his thoughts and anxiety at bay. There’s no point projecting, no point looking back. His mission is simply to see if Seb’s there. If he is, he’ll tell him about Yvette. If he isn’t, he’ll go home and carry on with his life. Simple.

  Climbing the sweeping drive, he looks up to the attic. Seb’s windows are in darkness. He knows he isn’t there, but still he parks on the sparkling pebbles, stalks through the open front door to the lift, rings the intercom at Seb’s flat, rings it for longer, then knocks and knocks louder. Tapping his foot and trying to block out thoughts of the razor blade, he takes out his mobile, tries Seb’s number again.

  Staring at the open lift, he endeavours to focus, to summon someone else he could call. The only one he can think of is Seb’s modelling friend Lorna, but he doesn’t know her surname, let alone her number. He texts Geri and Jen. ‘Nobody in at Oak House,’ it says. ‘Going to wait for a while. Then I’ll come home.’

  He crouches at the door. Drowsy from the dinner wine, he drifts, eventually jerking awake with a shiver. The hallway is cold; his fingers are numb.

  ‘Time’s up,’ he says, realising with a pang that he couldn’t have contacted Seb over the past few weeks even if he’d tried; that resisting those strong desires just to text him had all been in vain. He’s been cut off, blanked out from Seb’s life. Chances are he’s on a shoot, getting out and about, meeting people, having fun, just like he described.

  Heading towards the motorway, the drizzle finally clears. Dan thinks of Will organising his new life in Grand Cayman and Penny’s shaky voice on the phone. If it was his mum in trouble, they’d look out for him, for sure. So he takes the slip road and makes his way to the hospital.

  The car hums as he waits at the car park barrier, but it doesn’t lift up, so he parks where he shouldn’t. He strides over the wet grass instead of taking the path. He drums his fingers on the counter as he waits at reception. The computer’s on the blink; they can’t locate an Yvette Taylor, and when they finally do, it is the ward furthest away.

  The lights are dimmed in the unit, a single nurse sits in the office, her face lit by a computer screen. Dan knocks quietly at the door, conscious of the mud on his shoes, and she turns.

  ‘I’ve come to see Mrs Taylor …’ he starts, feeling the need to whisper. ‘Yvette Taylor.’

  She looks at him curiously. ‘Visiting time’s over. Are you family?’

  ‘No, just a friend of the family.’ He feels his face colouring. ‘Is any family here?’

  ‘No, she’s asleep.’ The woman stands and steps forward, gazing with a frown as though she knows. ‘But she’s fine and settled. No need to worry. I’m sure tomorrow …’

  Retracing his steps without thought, Dan finds himself back in Chorlton Green eventually, but instead of going home, he pulls up by the park. Sitting in his car, he gazes at the black night enveloping the playground. He’s deflated and tired, knowing perfectly well why he diverted to the hospital, but trying not to focus on his hope, his disappointment, his inescapable weakness. He climbs out, lifts his co
llar and strolls to the swings. Sits down on the plastic seat, wondering how many times it has been replaced since he was a boy.

  A blind eye. His dad was weak. He turned a blind eye. The ten-year-old buried the blip, found a football team that clashed with Sunday church, said hello to Father Peter when he had to, got his scholarship to St Mark’s, made new friends. It was forgotten, all forgotten. Then at thirteen, alone with his dad, the usual comment about something or nothing: ‘Best not mention it to your mum.’ Out of nowhere, it came thundering out. The hurt, the anger, the outrage. The crushing disappointment. Pumping from his heart to his fists, he lashed out wildly, hitting and punching and shouting until realisation dawned that his father was accepting every blow, doing nothing to defend himself. Staring at his knuckles, Dan had found blood.

  Now, wiping the tears, he returns to the car. Too old at thirteen, he’d sobbed in his dad’s arms. Sobbed and couldn’t stop. That day he made a vow never to cry again. Yet look at him now.

  Finally home, he puts his key in the latch, hoping Geri has gone to bed, but he hears the sound of the TV escaping from the lounge. Taking a deep breath, he pushes the door. Geri’s in the armchair, her feet curled up. ‘Oh, Dan,’ she says. ‘I think Teddy is smitten. He woke up and as you can see he’s having too much fun to contemplate sleep any time soon.’

  He turns to the opposite chair. Teddy is on Seb Taylor’s lap, exploring his face with damp chubby fingers. Seb’s poking out his tongue, Teddy’s chortling.

  Geri lifts her eyebrows and smiles. ‘They’ve been doing it for ten minutes. What can you do?’

  He finally finds his voice. ‘Clearly nothing.’ At the sound, Teddy turns and lifts his arms to his daddy. Scooping him up, Dan kisses his soft cheeks, glad of an excuse to hide his relief and breathe.

  ‘Jen told Seb you’d been to the flat,’ Geri’s saying. ‘She was at the hospital when he arrived. Yvette’s doing fine. A broken ankle, which as Seb says, is better than—’