A Hidden Life (38 page)

Phyl sat down and covered her eyes with her hands. He was at Ellie's. She was willing to bet money that he'd fixed up to go there, knowing he'd be alone tonight, knowing she was far away in London and preoccupied with Poppy. Ellie … ever since Constance's funeral, Phyl had been wary of her. This wasn't, she thought, simply a hangover from the way she used to feel about Ellie when she was married to Matt. She might easily have appeared at the funeral and then disappeared, but she didn't. She'd moved into a flat far too close to Haywards Heath, and from the beginning there was something predatory about the way she'd made a point of cultivating Matt. When she appeared at Phyl's house, dressed in clothes that would have been more suited to a cocktail party, on that trumped-up excuse, Phyl had been quite certain that she intended to make some kind of trouble. The only question in her mind at the time was what, exactly.

Now she had a good idea, but she had to make sure. If it turned out that Matt had spent the night with his first wife, Phyl needed to decide what she was going to do about it. But not yet. I don't have to do it until I'm quite ready, she thought. I can leave it for now, till I'm sure. I can do whatever I like. For a few minutes she ran through a scenario that had her walking out. Leaving him. Setting up in a flat in London with Poppy and Lou – that wouldn't be too bad, would it? The moment this image entered her head, she started to cry. Oh, no, she told herself. No crying, whatever happens. Phyl scrabbled around in her handbag and found a tissue. She blew her nose and shook her head and told herself not to be so spineless. But imagining a future without Matt was unthinkable. I won't let it happen, she told herself, before realizing that there was little she could do about it if he'd suddenly taken it into his head to dump her. But he won't do that, she thought. He'd worry, wouldn't he, about how Lou would feel. He'd know she'd be on my side – the worries chased themselves round and round in her brain till she felt as though her head was about to split open. She put her hands to her temples and shut her eyes and squeezed hard. Stop it, she chided herself. You're tired and hysterical and you can't decide anything yet. Wait and see what happens tomorrow.

She went and lay down on the bed in Lou's room and stared at the ceiling. It was getting later and later and she was wide awake. I've got to think what to do, she reflected, but what if I'm wrong? What if he's not with Ellie? What if the bridge story is true? The least she could do was find out exactly what had happened to him: where he was and what he'd been doing. Was still doing, for all she knew. Also, she had to try and sleep, she knew that, or she'd be half dead tomorrow. With Poppy, you never knew when the morning would come. It might turn out to be an extremely short night.

Just as she was about to get into bed, her mobile trilled again. It hadn't stopped making its silly little noises on and off for the last couple of hours, calling attention to itself, saying, ‘I'm not going to stop irritating you till you read your message, you know.' Phyl sighed and flipped the lid open. It would be Matt – perhaps she ought to see what he wanted. She stared at the message: it was from Lou, and Phyl's heart turned over in her chest and she was all at once icy-cold
and terrified. Why was Lou texting her? Something must have happened. Visions of theft, injury, illness … every imaginable scenario flashed through her mind as she punched in her daughter's number.

‘Mum? Is that you? Oh, God, I'm so glad you've rung!'

She was alive. Phyl said, ‘Lou, are you okay? What's happened? What's the matter?'

Instead of an answer, she got a torrent of wailing. She said, ‘Lou, stop crying, my darling. I can't talk to you if you're crying. Go and sit down. Are you sitting down?'

‘Yes. I'm okay. I'm better now.'

‘Tell me what happened.'

‘Harry's met someone. In America. He says he's in love with her. I don't know what to do.'

‘Oh.' There had to be something more intelligent she could say, but the relief was enormous. Not injured, not ill, not robbed, not damaged in any way, but terribly, terribly hurt. Poor Lou. Phyl said, ‘You thought it would be – you reckoned he liked you, and you … I know you liked him a lot.'

‘God, Mum, don't be so – so bloody
blandí
It's not
liking.
That isn't remotely what it is! I really, really wanted it to become something. I wanted to go to bed with him and we nearly, so nearly … He kissed me, Mum, as though he really meant it, you know? Properly. For ages. And then he backed off. That's it – he just – he told me about his American person and said he didn't want to be unfaithful to her and it was wrong of him to kiss me and everything and I don't know what to do …'

‘Lou. Listen to me, Lou. It's no good thinking about anything now. It's late. Very late and you must be tired. Go to bed. Try and sleep. In the morning, come back here. I'll stay a few days with you. I don't mind sleeping on the sofa.'

‘What about Dad? Won't he want you back home?'

‘Probably. I'll speak to him. He won't object, I don't think. He'll be glad of the peace and quiet, I should think.'

‘Okay. That's kind of you, Mum.'

‘It's a pleasure, sweetheart. Now, are you going to sleep?'

‘I suppose so. I'll try …'

‘And Lou?'

‘Yes?'

‘It must have been awful for you. I can see that, but you should try and be a little optimistic about it, too. You're obviously ready to start another relationship, aren't you? Remember when you thought you'd never want to?'

Lou's laughter came down the phone sounding tinny and slightly hysterical. ‘Can't get it right, can I? No sooner does my sex drive return than the only nice man I've met for ages takes it into his head to fall in love with someone else. Good timing, right?'

‘You're very young, Lou. There'll be lots and lots of other men.'

‘Don't bet on it, Mum. I'm not going to. Night night.'

‘Are you seriously saying,' Nessa frowned at Gareth, who was sitting on the very edge of his chair, as though he was getting ready to get up and flee, ‘that you're going to believe Tamsin's version of events?'

‘I don't know. She seemed very sure of what she'd seen …'

Keep cool, Nessa told herself. Don't let him see you're rattled. How was she going to get out of this one? She had worried that Tamsin might have caught sight of her kissing Mickey goodbye rather too enthusiastically the other day, but figured that a) it wouldn't mean much to a child and b) she wouldn't immediately go and tell her father. They didn't see all that much of one another. She said, ‘Haven't you two got better things to talk about when you're together than what I'm getting up to?'

‘Well, yes, but this clearly made an impression on her. She said you were kissing Mickey sloppily.'

Okay, time to start diversionary tactics, Nessa thought, and smiled at her soon-to-be-ex-husband. ‘I was hugging the woman, for God's sake. She's my partner. My best friend. Don't you believe me? I'm sorry if you don't, because if anyone ought to know what I like in bed, it's you, right?'

Gareth blushed and moved to put his hand on Nessa's knee. She wanted to flinch but steeled herself and grinned inanely. ‘I suppose so,' he said. ‘We did have some good times, didn't we?'

‘You're getting sentimental, darling. This isn't the sort of thing you ought to be discussing with your ex-wife.'

‘You're not my ex-wife. Not quite yet.'

He sounded sad. For two pins, Nessa knew, he'd be back at her side and grovelling over the Melanie mistake. Well, too bad, chum, she thought. ‘Now, now, you're expecting a new baby. I don't think Melanie would be too pleased to hear you talking like this.'

Gareth looked shamefaced and Nessa felt quite sorry for him. Still, he
had
stopped going on and on about her kissing Mickey ‘sloppily'. She felt like laughing. Sloppily didn't begin to describe it, but she made a mental note to be more careful when Mickey and Tamsin were around together. For the moment, anyway. It wouldn't be for long. If her plan came off, if Mickey agreed to marry her, then of course Tamsin would have to know. She'd probably enjoy being a bridesmaid. God, Nessa thought, I've lost it altogether – what's the matter with me? Daydreams of weddings kept popping into her head at the most inconvenient moments, together with visions of herself and Mickey, stretched out on a Caribbean beach … that was where they'd go for their honeymoon. St. Lucia. ‘I'm sorry, what were you saying? I was miles away.'

‘I noticed,' Gareth said. ‘It wasn't important. I was just saying: the lawyers reckon the divorce will come through in the next month or so.'

‘As soon as that?' She tried not to sound too delighted, but she felt like punching the air. ‘They've been very quick, haven't they?'

‘Because we've agreed about everything, I suppose. I didn't fight you in any way, did I? I'd better go. Melanie's expecting me.'

Gareth, it was true, had been good as gold since that night when she'd chucked him out of the bedroom, being cooperative and lavish with the child maintenance and not even putting up a fight about the house. This, it turned out, was because Melanie thought it was ‘old-fashioned' . More fool her. They'd bought a property where the paint had only just dried on the walls and they were welcome to it. Nessa's happiness made her feel generous. She stood up to accompany Gareth to the door and kissed him before he left. ‘Do give Melanie my best,' she said, and waved as he got into his car and reversed into the road. She waited till she was sure he'd gone and then flew to the phone in the hall. She dialled Mickey's number.

‘Darling?' she said. ‘He's gone. A bit of a narrow shave. Tamsin
told him we were kissing sloppily.'

‘That sounds good. Sloppily. We should do that again.'

‘Stop, Mickey … too much to do. I can't start feeling randy now.'

‘Later then, okay?'

‘Yes … I'll be there at six. But listen, Gareth said the divorce would probably be through next month. I want to take you out. Let's go up to London. Let's do lunch. Some French bistro in Soho or something, and then go to a ridiculously posh hotel for the whole afternoon and overnight. How about it? A celebration. My treat.'

‘We could have lunch here and go to bed for the rest of the day.'

‘God, woman, have you got no sense of occasion? I want to have a party. I want luxury. A hotel with a spa. I love you, Mickey. Do you realize that?'

‘And I love you.'

Nessa heard her voice tremble a little as she said, ‘Then I'm going to book it. Week after next, okay? Thursday.'

‘Okay. Gotta go, Nessa. One of us has got to keep the firm going here.'

‘I'll see you later. I'm going online to find us a blissful hotel … Bye.'

She put the phone back on its cradle and went to the computer. She typed
luxury spa hotels + London
into Google and peered at the screen, considering the results. This was going to be huge fun.

A bolthole, Lou thought. That's what this flat is. Grotty, small, not very conveniently situated and undesirable in almost every possible way but still, somewhere to run to when you were feeling wounded. She'd managed to endure a post mortem that her mother felt would make her feel better and which had actually made her feel worse. She was now in her bedroom, considering the wreckage that passed for her life.

She hadn't even bothered to unpack her case properly, just thrown it into the tiny cupboard to attend to later. She emptied the contents of her good leather handbag on to the bed and then hung it up on the back of the bedroom door in a drawstring cotton bag that reminded
her of school. She transferred everything into the rather shabby sack that was her everyday handbag and came across a white envelope with her name on it.

‘Oh, God …' she whispered. It was Mme Franchard's letter. She'd forgotten completely about it. That shows, she thought, what a state I'm in. Mme Franchard and the time she'd spent with her had been pushed to the back of her mind since she'd got home. Poor Mme Franchard. Tears came to her eyes at the thought that she didn't know whether she'd ever see the old lady again. But I'm not going to cry, she told herself, and went to put the envelope away in a safe place. For a moment, she couldn't think of one, but in the end she placed the letter or whatever it was between the pages of
Blind Moon.
The book lay always on her bedside table. She didn't need to hide it, just keep it in a safe place that she'd remember. No one else was after it.

But what, she wondered, could be in the letter? She lay on the bed, fully dressed. I could have a look. Why don't I? Had she actually promised not to open it till the old lady was dead? Lou could no longer remember. But she wouldn't open it. She mustn't. It was as though there were something magical sealed in with the letter which would evaporate if she disobeyed her instructions. Also – and this was completely ridiculous – she had the creepy feeling that if she tore into the paper, that might cause Mme Franchard's death. Nonsense, of course, but she wasn't willing to take any risks. I'm going to forget all about it, she told herself. But I'll have to ring Dad and tell him what she said.

Tomorrow, Mum would be going home. She looked dreadful and it occurred to Lou that perhaps looking after Poppy was getting to be too much for her. When asked, she'd said it was just being a little tired but it seemed worse than that to Lou. Mum actually looked unhappy, and what's more she obviously didn't want to talk about it.

I can't worry about her, Lou thought. I've got Poppy back tomorrow and I want to just lie here and close my eyes and stay here till I feel better, maybe for a month or two. And I can't. I have to shop and chat and work and smile and do all the things that people do when they're alive.