My Husband's Lies Page 8

  ‘You feel you don’t meet your mum’s standards. How does that make you feel?’

  The graduation photos on Facebook back then. Smiles, champagne, mortarboards, proud parents. She can give an honest answer to this one. ‘It makes me feel under pressure.’

  ‘What do you mean by pressure?’ the woman asks.

  Anxiety, anxiety, crippling anxiety. Not to lose Will; to be the perfect wife. And fear. Fear of discovery; fear of Will lying.

  She tries for a smile. ‘Like most women, I suppose. A need to get everything right.’

  Will used to think she was perfect. She feels the tears breaking through for the first time since the wedding, but she sniffs them away. She has to get her Will back. She’ll do whatever it takes.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Dan

  Maya pops her head around Dan’s office door.

  ‘Wasn’t sure if you were still on the phone. Is Geri OK? She sounded a bit anxious when she called earlier—’

  Dan smooths his soft beard and shakes himself back to Maya’s voice. Geri is nearly eight months pregnant and every unexpected call makes his heart lurch and race with anxiety. He wouldn’t dream of telling anyone, not even Maya. They would think he was stupid, a pathetic weak fool. ‘Bloody men!’ he hears Jen Kenning laugh. ‘They’re not the ones who have to scream, puff and push, never mind dealing with the bloody haemorrhoids.’ Yet that’s the problem. If he was the one puffing and pushing, he could deal with it head-on. It’s being a helpless onlooker which scares him. ‘Yes, she’s fine thanks,’ he replies automatically, but Maya still hovers, a frown on her small forehead. ‘Well, she had a bit of a fright this morning,’ he explains. ‘The baby hadn’t moved for a while …’ The thought of losing the baby almost paralyses him. He doesn’t really want to talk about it, but knows Maya has his best interests at heart. He tries for a smile, taking in her fringe, which has changed colour since yesterday. ‘But it’s fine. By the time I’d finished with the Hendersons and phoned her back, she said the baby was doing somersaults. So all’s good now.’

  Maya raises her eyebrows. ‘Sounds like a lazy boy.’ She hands him the second post. ‘There’s the signed inventory for the Oak House penthouse.’ She puts her hand on a hip. ‘I wouldn’t mind that swanky new furniture. But then again, a cigarette burn or a coffee stain …’ She grins. ‘Then there’s chewing gum, tomato ketchup, curry, hair dye. Ouch! Can you imagine the bill?’

  Dan feels a prickling on his spine. ‘Oh, it’s gone then? Someone has signed up?’

  ‘Yeah, your dreamy chiselled friend.’ She looks for a moment at his face. ‘I assumed you knew. He signed up last week, I think. Andrew sorted it out.’

  ‘Oh, right. Great.’ He picks up his mug. ‘I’m parched. I don’t suppose there’s a coffee going?’

  When Maya leaves the room, he sits back in his chair and breathes, feeling surprise, and if he’s honest, slight pique. Seb Taylor hasn’t been in touch, but then again, why would he? They’re not really friends. He’s the younger brother of a friend; just an acquaintance. Yet after the viewing they drove back to Chorlton Green. When they arrived, he could see Geri was dead beat, but she made pasta, then sat on the sofa in her fleecy pyjamas and chatted amiably with Seb for more than an hour.

  Leaning forward, he doodles, picturing the scene. He made up the fire, then sat opposite them in the armchair and watched, mesmerised by their striking and contrasting beauty: Geri, her face plump and rounded, her black skin and dark eyes glowing and warm, against Seb’s. His face so sculpted, his nose straight and sharp, his eyes piercing and blue. The conversation was fascinating too. Geri asked the questions he wouldn’t have broached, and though Seb’s face was thoughtful, he replied easily. Information about his life, a world away from theirs. The ins and outs of modelling, the sort of money he earned, the famous people he’d met or worked with. And about Claudia, also a model, how they had loved and lived and how it stopped, suddenly.

  ‘I just fell out of love,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I couldn’t get enough of her one day, then the next it just ended, like I was living with a stranger.’

  The fire had sizzled and snapped, the conversation moved on, eventually to sport and swimming came up.

  ‘Dan likes to swim,’ Geri said. ‘You should see him on holiday in his budgie smugglers. Races of course. Every blooming stroke, even butterfly. He always has to win.’

  ‘That’s just the toddlers pool,’ he quipped. ‘Though, seriously, there’d be no chance of beating Sebastian Taylor. A county champion, Geri. He could beat everyone. Though if it was squash or tennis, I might be in with a shot …’

  ‘Sunday morning, then,’ Geri replied, smiling. ‘We can sign Seb in at David Lloyd as a guest. I can go swimming, at a gentle speed for once, you two can play squash and then we can all meet in the cafe for a bite of lunch. The winner pays!’

  ‘You’re on,’ Seb replied, the grin back on his face. Then Geri said she was exhausted and had to go to bed. Seb ordered a taxi and they hugged at the door. An easy friendly hug, a pat on the back, see you on Sunday. Relaxed and so natural, the whole evening had felt good, really good.

  The aroma of coffee alerts him to Maya’s presence at his desk. He lifts his head to her questioning dark gaze, wondering if he has a smudge of ink on his nose, but she simply asks for the last tape so she can push on with the typing in time for the post.

  Not friends, not really, he’s thinking. Seb sent him a text the next evening. ‘Sorry, squash another time,’ it read. He hasn’t been in touch since.

  Dan looks at his watch; the second hand jerks, much like his heart. He put on his bright confident voice when he phoned Geri back. ‘A baby acrobat, eh? Sounds like my boy! Everything is fine, Geri. No need for you to worry.’

  But still, better safe than sorry, and the midwife said to call any time.

  He picks up his mobile and scrolls down the contacts. The midwife’s voicemail message kicks in, so he leaves a reply. ‘Hi, it’s Dan Maloney from Chorlton Green. Everything’s fine with Geri and the baby, but could you pop by this evening? Just tell Geri you were passing? A little reassurance would be great.’

  Dan washes the dinner dishes absently, then takes the coffees through to Geri. She’s curled on the sofa, her eyes on the television screen.

  ‘Come on, Dan, you’re missing it.’

  She turns to him with an amused smile on her face; it’s a comedy they both like, and he sinks down next to her, aware of sounds and seeing colours, but his ears tuned for the doorbell. Trying not to glance at his watch, one programme merges into the next.

  The bell finally rings at eight-thirty. A plump midwife bustles in with the cold February wind. She’s called Bernadette; she’s visited before. Looking at Geri, she crinkles her freckled nose. ‘I could say I was just passing, but that wouldn’t wash, would it?’

  Dan rakes back his hair, aware of Geri’s embarrassment, the flash of irritation in her eyes.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says to Bernadette. ‘I hate making a fuss. It’s fine now. The baby didn’t seem to move last night, then again this morning, but now I feel as though I was imagining it; he’s been moving non-stop since.’

  ‘He?’ Bernadette asks, digging in her bag and extracting a number of items, much like Mary Poppins.

  Geri nods her head in Dan’s direction, but won’t look him in the eye. ‘A lazy boy, according to his secretary.’

  Dan watches with folded arms as Bernadette listens to the baby’s heartbeat, then manipulates and measures Geri’s bump with a tape measure not dissimilar to the one in his mum’s sewing box.

  ‘Baby is fine. Head not engaged yet but a lovely steady beat,’ she says. ‘Now what about Mum? I’ll take your blood pressure while I’m here.’ She hands Geri a small container. ‘Then can you do me a little pee? Mid flow as usual, please!’

  ‘Are you still cross with me?’ Dan asks later, perched on the bed in the dimmed bedroom.

  Geri is tucked in and looks sleepy, thank God. Bernadette’
s friendly face clouded after testing her pee with a stick. Everything was well with the baby, she explained, but Geri’s blood pressure was raised and there were traces of protein in her urine. She’d be back again on Thursday, but if the reading was any higher, she’d refer Geri to hospital. High blood pressure in the last weeks of pregnancy wasn’t unusual, but it had to be monitored. So Geri needed to rest: no household work, no heavy shopping, no stress. She turned to Dan then. The best way of ensuring rest, she said pointedly, was for someone else to do the chores.

  For the past hour Dan has taken Bernadette at her word; he’s emptied the dishwasher, vacuumed downstairs and badly ironed seven shirts.

  ‘Course I’m not cross,’ Geri replies, reaching for his hand. ‘In fact, you did the right thing. I don’t have an antenatal appointment for five days. The blood pressure might have been worse if I’d waited.’

  ‘Can I have that in writing? You did the right thing. Just to record it for posterity?’ Dan laughs, but feels shaky and powerless inside. He releases Geri’s hand and stands. ‘Right, an online supermarket delivery next. Before you drop off, anything particular we need to buy?’

  Geri rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, God. It’s all going to be beer, blue milk and red meat again, isn’t it?’

  ‘Pretty much.’ Dan turns off the light as he leaves. ‘Now get off to sleep, and no snoring!’

  He struggles with the washing machine. He’s put in the dirty clothes, pleased at having remembered to keep the whites separate, and he’s firmly closed the door. He’s guessed the quantities of fabric liquid and conditioner, hoping for the best. But as he crouches at its front and stares at the programme options, he has absolutely no idea which to select. Pre-wash or quick wash, synthetics or cotton? Of course, he could call his mum and ask her, but Annette would want to know why he was doing the laundry at this time of night and why he couldn’t ask Geri. Then she’d either imply Geri wasn’t pulling her weight or she’d sense imminent doom, and after checking her appearance in the mirror, she’d be round to the house clutching her rosary beads, with his poor dad in tow. Father Peter too, if she could.

  Of course, Dan could be truthful and tell his mum about Geri’s high blood pressure, but he and his dad have spent years not being entirely truthful with her. Nothing that really matters, but sometimes it has been easier lying low with a problem rather than facing the fuss. Like when he was caught drinking cider at school, or the time he was arrested on a march. When he bumped his dad’s old banger before he had a driving licence, when he ‘borrowed’ coins from the swear box. Even when he was made redundant. It was better for his mum not to know.

  He smiles wryly. Only child syndrome. Strong-willed, self-important, controlling and confident. Even arrogant, apparently. But he’s never had to worry about that. His mum was the child in their family.

  His mobile vibrates in the back pocket of his jeans. It’s a number he doesn’t recognise.

  ‘Is that Daniel? Daniel Maloney?’ a woman asks. Her eloquent thin voice is familiar. ‘Hello, Daniel. I’m sorry to call you like this. It’s Yvette Taylor, William’s mum—’

  ‘Oh, hi, Mrs Taylor,’ Dan starts, thinking, Will, oh God, what’s happened? I’ve hardly been in touch. I should’ve been in touch. ‘Is Will OK?’

  ‘It isn’t about William, it’s Sebastian. It’s hard to explain on the telephone, but he’s asked for you. I said I would call his brother, but he insists on you. I’m sorry to call at this time and I know your young lady is pregnant, but I’m not sure what else—’

  Hearing the crack in her refined tones, he interrupts quickly, ‘Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’ll come straight away. I’ll only be ten minutes.’ He suddenly remembers Seb’s Wilmslow flat. ‘Where are you now, Mrs Taylor?’

  ‘Sorry, of course. We’re both at home in Withington. Sebastian’s back with me now. He has been for a while.’

  Almost holding his breath, Dan checks on sleeping Geri and leaves her a note, puts on a jacket, feels his pocket for his mobile and steps outside. He climbs into his car, then noticing the frosted windscreen, he strides out again to scrape it with a credit card. His heart thumps loud in his ears. What the hell is going on? He knows Mrs Taylor from childhood parties and occasional sleepovers and of course Will’s wedding, but not that well. The A Team lived in different parts of Manchester, so it wasn’t like playing with the lad next door; unless there was a sporting activity at the weekend, their friendship stayed at school. And Seb wasn’t even part of the A Team. Why ask for a random friend? Why not his brother?

  Arriving in Withington, he indicates left onto a cul-de-sac hidden by thick-trunked trees, then into a cobbled courtyard. His breath shallow in his chest, he strides to the last house, the only one not lit by an outside light. As his eyes accustom to the dark, he hops up the stone steps and rings the doorbell, watching the steam of his breath in the frosty night air. There’s no answer for a while, so he rings again, wondering what this strange situation is about. Maya said Seb had signed up for Oak House. Why was he still here? And why the hell was he asking for him?

  The door finally opens. Mrs Taylor is as tall and dignified as he remembers, but her handsome face is pale and tight and she’s breathing heavily. She adjusts the scarf tied chaotically around her head. ‘Daniel, thank goodness. He’s still upstairs in the bathroom. I don’t know what’s going on.’

  Dan removes his shoes at the door just like when he was a boy. ‘Shall I?’ he asks, nodding to the stairs, the dash up to Penny suddenly fresh in his mind.

  ‘Yes. Please do go up. It’s the bathroom at the very top.’ She puts her hand on her chest and raises her chin. ‘I think he might have locked it.’

  The stairs cold under his feet, Dan climbs, leaving Mrs Taylor below. Turning at the first landing, he sees her lift trembling hands to her face. He takes the next flight two steps at a time, annoyance replacing anxiety. What the hell is Seb playing at? He’s a grown man; he saw how Penny’s attention-seeking spoilt Nick and Lisa’s wedding.

  He takes a breath and knocks briskly at the bathroom door. ‘Seb? It’s Dan. Open the door.’ He raps again. ‘Seb. Open the bloody door.’

  Seconds pass. The anger turns to alarm, his heart thrashes. He stares at the oak door. It looks pretty solid. The police or an ambulance or even the bloody fire brigade? But he’ll have a go first. Maybe oak has a soft spot. His shoulder or his foot? Instead he tries the porcelain handle and the door breezes open.

  Propped against the side of an old bath, Seb’s arms circle his knees. His head is bowed, his face hidden by hair. He’s wearing jeans and trainers but his chest is bare.

  Crouching down, Dan takes a shallow breath. What if Seb doesn’t wake, if he’s unconscious, even dead?

  ‘Seb? Seb?’ he asks, holding his shoulders and gently shaking.

  Sebs lifts his head and opens his eyes. For moments they’re glazed and confused, then recognition sets in. ‘Dan,’ he whispers.

  ‘What’s going on, Seb? What have you taken?’

  ‘Nothing. A sleeping pill.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Just one, maybe two.’

  ‘What for? Why are you in the bathroom?’

  ‘Cheating,’ he says quietly.

  Dan feels strangely calm. He dips his face to meet Seb’s. ‘Cheating? What does that mean?’

  Slowly shaking his head, Seb opens his fist. His fingers are darkly stained and it takes a moment for Dan to spot the glint of metal. ‘I didn’t do it,’ he says. ‘I knew you’d come.’

  ‘Seb …’ Carefully removing the razor blade, Dan wraps Seb’s hand in a flannel, struggling with an urgent need to cry. ‘Seb. Why would you do this?’

  Seb rocks his head as the tears spill from his eyes.

  ‘What’s going on, Seb? Talk to me.’

  He mumbles and drops his head to his knees.

  ‘What?’ Dan asks, instinctively pulling the wounded man into his arms and holding him tightly. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I’m lost,’ Dan t
hinks he hears.

  He puts his lips to Seb’s hair, aware of an ache he’s never felt before, certain in this moment that he’s hopelessly lost too.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Jen

  ‘I like your blouse, Mum,’ Holly says, munching her cereal at the small kitchen table. Anna nods too, her mouth crammed with toast.

  ‘Thanks, love. Dad bought it for my birthday, but I thought it was too small. Must’ve lost a few pounds.’

  Maria walks into the room, her school skirt rolled up at the waist. ‘Holly creeping up to Mum again,’ she comments. She mimics Holly’s voice. ‘“Oh, you do look pretty, Mum. This food is really nice.” Blah, blah, blah …’

  ‘There’s no harm in being pleasant, Maria.’ Jen tries to say it evenly; she would rather give her a mouthful, but as Ian points out, it would be counterproductive, resulting in the usual retort that she does nothing right, ‘perfect Holly’ no wrong.

  It’s a question of Maria’s age and personality, Jen knows, and the truth is they’re alike. At thirteen she was equally as opinionated and difficult, but her mum’s patience was admirable.

  ‘I’ll go to Daddy in Ireland; he loves me,’ she’d frequently hurl at Nola if she wasn’t getting her own way. Despite her dad’s absence, she saw him often, was still his ‘precious only girl’. He’d welcome her in Ireland at the drop of a hat. Not that she wanted to leave her mum and her friends in Manchester, but it was nice to know she could escape if she wanted to.

  Nola snapped only once, and from the hand covering her mouth and her remorseful eyes, immediately regretted it. ‘I’m sick of hearing it, Jennifer! Has it never occurred to you that he chose her over you and your brothers?’ Then later, more softly, ‘I’m sorry for snapping, love. You can’t always have your cake and eat it. It’s just one of life’s hard lessons.’