Every Vow You Break (6 page)

She lifted Jack out of the car seat and carried him up the rickety back porch steps. The kitchen door had a note pinned to it informing her – in handwriting so florid it had to be James’s – that the gas was now fixed.

The house was completely silent. ‘Hello?’ she called, taking Jack through to the living room and laying him down on the sofa.

There was no reply.

‘“Got everything under control”,’ Lara muttered as she went back out to bring in the shopping. ‘“Lovely meal waiting for you”. My arse.’

Marcus could be so irritating.

And she felt so tired she could barely move.

It took her five trips to get everything into the house. She put things that needed to stay cold in their bags in the fridge, which she decided she would clean in the morning. The cupboards were filthy too, so she left the other groceries unpacked on the counter. She was just opening a bottle of red and biting into an Everything Bagel when she heard footsteps on the front porch and the swing of the fly screen.

‘Hello? Weary travellers?’ Marcus bellowed. ‘We bring provender.’

Then he, Olly and Bella appeared in the kitchen, each of them bearing a pizza box almost as wide as Bella was tall.

‘And we have wine too!’ Marcus boomed, spotting the bottle at Lara’s side. ‘And our car is reinflated. Life is good!’

They ate so much pizza they could scarcely move, then they watched a DVD of
Schenectady, New York
on Lara’s laptop. No one quite understood it except Olly, who was pitiless in his scorn at his family’s lack of comprehension. Jack curled up against Lara and slept.

‘Time for bed now, everyone,’ Lara said, as Marcus lugged Jack upstairs. Olly sighed and pulled himself to his feet, but Bella hung back.

‘Mum,’ she said, once Olly’s heavy tread had journeyed its way to the top of the stairs. ‘Olly’s being a total pain in the arse.’

‘Not still?’ Lara said, as she folded up the empty pizza boxes, taking care not to spill too many greasy crumbs on the floor. ‘Pass me that glass, will you?’

‘He’s still going on about Jonny. It’s just …’ Bella stood on the threshold of the living room, twisting her knuckles, a bloom of red rising in her cheeks.

‘Well, it meant a lot to him, you going out with his best mate,’ Lara said, busy tidying up the room after the slobbish feast. ‘He’ll get over it soon enough, though. Come on; don’t just stand there like a lemon, Bella. Pick up those plates will you?’

Sighing, Bella clattered the plates into a pile, carried them through to the kitchen and dumped them on the draining board.

‘I know Olly can be a bit of a headache,’ Lara said, taking her by the hands. ‘But it’s only because he loves you.’

‘Oh what’s the use? You don’t understand,’ Bella said, breaking away. ‘I’m going to bed.’ She stomped into the living room, and, shoving the door as if she had a personal grudge against it, flew into the hall and noisily up the stairs.

Teenagers, Lara thought in the silence of Bella’s wake. Who’d have them?

Then she turned to get on with the washing-up.

When she got back downstairs from kissing the children goodnight – a ritual she adhered to, no matter how much the older ones insisted it was no longer necessary or desired by them – Lara found Marcus sitting on the porch swing seat having a cigarette. Beside him stood another bottle of wine and two glasses. She sat down next to him.

‘This is the life,’ Marcus said. ‘I think for once we have made completely the right decision.’

She searched his face for meaning. Was this a sort of apology for the baby? She thought perhaps it was. That was what she needed to believe, anyway. He put his arm around her and leaned forward to kiss her.

‘I l-l-l-love you L-L-L-Lara.’ It was how he always said it.

‘Me too you,’ she said. Her habitual response.

‘I suppose a shag’s out of the question?’

Lara broke away. ‘I’m not ready yet.’

‘Yes. Yes. Of course. Sorry.’

An army of biting insects had begun to gather around the light on the porch. Marcus slapped a mosquito on his neck. ‘We’d better go in or we’re going to be eaten alive,’ he said. ‘Always a serpent in paradise.’

‘I’m pooped,’ Lara said. She picked up the bottle and glasses and headed back indoors. Marcus switched out the light and followed her.

‘What did the tyres cost?’ he asked as they went upstairs.

‘A hundred dollars,’ she turned and told him.

‘Jesus Christ.’

LARA STOOD ON THE PORCH IN HER RUNNING GEAR, DRINKING A PINT
of water to replace the fluid she had perspired over a muggy, sleepless night. Dawn cast a spidery light across the sky and a green freshness tempered the rubbery stink of Trout Island.

She put down her glass, plugged in her earphones, set Morrissey playing on her iPod, and moved off on a brisk, warm-up walk along Main Street. When she turned down Sixth, she started to run.

Since she had used it to lose the weight gained while pregnant with Jack, Lara and running had been an item. Her favourite route was along the seafront back home – all flat concrete to keep her ankles safe, with the ever-changing sideshow of the English Channel to her side.

The early sweat prickled on her. She crossed a bridge over a fast-flowing river and headed out of town, welcoming the tall trees that lined the road, enjoying the extra oxygen that seemed to pool underneath them. She powered on up a slight slope and took a turn along an unmetalled track running parallel to the river. Mist spilled out of the wild flowers that formed a hedgerow before the forest proper began. Her footsteps echoed in the empty countryside, and she settled into her rhythmic running breathing. She rounded a bend and came upon a large white bungalow set on a massive lawn manicured to within an inch of its life. Two four-wheel-drive vehicles sat on the driveway and, like everywhere else, the place appeared to be deserted.

‘Ugh,’ Lara said. It looked like the kind of place you suffocated in. She carried on, but a fearsome barking from behind the bungalow made her stop in her tracks and pause her iPod. A large black dog rocketed across the grass, straight towards her. Standing still and keeping her eyes on it, Lara bent and picked up two stones. She had read somewhere this was the thing to do. If an animal came at you, you chucked the first like a ball and shouted ‘Fetch!’ hoping your attacker would be fooled into playing with you. If that failed, you kept the second to use as a weapon.

Lara threw the first stone. It had no effect on the dog, which she could see now was at least half Rottweiler, red-eyed and foam-jawed. She braced herself with the second, ready to kill the beast if necessary. It continued to bound towards her, its legs pelting so quickly they blurred into one. But, as she raised the stone above her head, the creature seemed to hit an invisible brick wall, jolting backwards with a yelp. Lara noticed a line of metal poles, each about the size of a fairy wand, stuck into the lawn at regularly spaced intervals. That was what was stopping it.

Regaining its composure instantly, the animal continued to bark, snarling and baring its teeth, but unable to get at her. Other distant dogs took up its noise, echoing around the surrounding hills.

‘Extraordinary,’ she said, sticking her tongue out at it. She dropped the stone and picked up her pace.

She had only run a couple of hundred yards when another large dog came loping along the road towards her. Like its predecessor, it clearly had her in its sights; but it had a different air to it. Lara looked around for stones, but there were none close to hand. She froze, hoping by doing so she would show the creature she was no threat.

A few paces away from Lara, the dog stopped and stared at her with round, yellow eyes. It was enormous, bigger even than the previous animal, like a black Great Dane. It hunkered down and she got herself ready, her fists clenched, to deliver a punch to the heart as it launched itself at her. But, to her astonishment, it settled on the ground and gazed up at her, whimpering.

‘Hello, boy,’ Lara offered, and held out a hand. Better to make a friend than an enemy.

Keeping himself low, the dog crawled along the dirt road towards her, until his muzzle was close to her fingers. As Lara held her breath, he touched his nose to her palm. She reached forward to stroke him and he leaned into her, rubbing himself around her like a cat. Then he sat and held a front leg out.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Lara said, shaking his paw. She felt round his neck for a collar so she could address him by name, but there wasn’t one. ‘What shall I call you? How about Dog? Better be getting on my way, Dog.’

She started to walk away from the animal, then stopped and looked back. He sat there, watching her leave, seeming as if he would wave at her if he could.

She ran on with no further incident – except nearly running into a bright blue bird with a reversed quiff jutting from the back of its head – until she reached a bridge that took her back over the river without having to return past the hellhound.

It was nearly too hot to run by the time she arrived at the house. But the hour of exercise had flushed her brain with endorphins and she felt almost reborn. She used the handrail on the back porch to bend forward and stretch out her thighs, breathing deeply to bring her heartbeat down.

The house was quiet inside – no one else was up. Again, she marvelled at the ability of her family to sleep through jet lag. As she crossed the kitchen to fetch herself a glass of water, she heard a scratching at the front of the house. She went through to the nasty hallway and pulled the door open to find Dog standing there, looking at her, his paw held up again.

‘Hello,’ she said, scratching him behind the ears. ‘I’d invite you in, but I’m afraid I can’t because of Mr and young Master Wayland’s allergies to fellows like you. Wait there, though, boy.’

Seeming to understand what she was saying, the dog made no attempt to cross the threshold. Lara went back into the kitchen, found a plastic bowl, filled it with water and carried it through to the front deck. Dog, clearly thirsty, lapped it up.

Lara spent the next two hours using her post-exercise energy to scrub out the mouldy fridge and the kitchen cupboards, with their greasy fifties plastic lining and litter of dead flies.

She was on her hands and knees reaching into the last cupboard when she felt a presence behind her.

‘Nice arse,’ Marcus said.

She ducked up and looked at him, brushing her hair back with her forearm.

‘Is Jack all right?’

‘Fine. Sleeping like a baby. What are you doing?’ he said, looking down at her. He was wearing his T-shirt and underwear from the day before.

‘What does it look like?’ she said. ‘It’s going to take quite a bit of work to make this place bearable.’

‘It’s fine,’ Marcus said. ‘Relax.’

‘That’s easy for you to say.’

‘Did you get any coffee?’ He rummaged in the grocery bags still waiting to be unpacked on the table. ‘Ooh, fancy,’ he said, finding the brown bag Lara and Jack had filled fresh from the supermarket grinder.

‘It’s not all that expensive,’ she said.

‘Did you get milk?’

Lara pointed to the carrier bag she had lifted out of the fridge in order to clean it.

‘Shouldn’t that be in the fridge?’ Marcus said.

He set about making coffee in the ancient percolator and Lara went back to scrubbing the cupboard.

‘You haven’t been out for a run, have you?’ he said.

‘I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d go out before it got too hot.’

‘You should be taking it easy.’

‘I can’t. You know that.’

‘What are these?’ Marcus said, peering in another shopping bag and pulling out the toys she had bought in the supermarket.

‘I’ve got to have something to keep him busy.’

‘Of course. Just remember we’re on a tight budget here.’

Lara turned and concentrated hard on cleaning her cupboard. She could feel the last endorphin leave her brain.

‘Coffee?’ Marcus said.

‘Yes please.’

‘It’s on the side,’ he said, placing a steaming mug just out of her reach. ‘I’m going back to bed to look at my lines.’ And he wandered off towards the hallway.

Unbelievable, Lara thought. Just unbelievable.

A little while later, Jack appeared. He held Cyril Bear close and was scratching his sweat-slicked hair, but his eyes seemed to have settled down from the day before.

‘Morning.’ Lara gave him a kiss.

‘I’m hungry,’ he said.

She poured him a bowl of Reese’s Puffs and sat him down with his new colouring book and paints while she finished putting away the shopping. Then, checking he was still busy, she took a glass of water out on to the front deck, to sit in the shade and cool down in the mild breeze filtering down the street.

But for the orange rubbish bags and wheelie bins put out since she set off for her run, she would barely have believed anyone lived here. She held her breath and listened. Beyond the hiss and click of cicadas and other, louder insects, she could hear the buzz of a TV – a distant canned laughter, carried on the warm breeze. Despite the emptiness of the place, sitting framed by the porch she had a peculiar sensation of being observed. She scanned the fly-screened windows of the houses around her, but they remained inscrutable. The gauze masked whatever was behind it. It was a peeping Tom’s paradise.

She became aware of the growl of a distant engine. It was so far away, and the road so empty, she didn’t know what direction it was coming from.

The vehicle finally rumbled into view and Lara saw it was a UPS van. It pulled up in front of her, and a tall, brown-uniformed man leaped out of the driver’s seat. He stretched his legs, looked up at the house and whistled to himself, shaking his head.

He disappeared inside the back of the van and a few moments later emerged with a package about the size of four bricks. Slamming the doors shut, he bounded up the steps to the front porch. Lara stood up and the man jumped.

‘Jeez, lady. I didn’t see you there in the shadows.’

‘Sorry,’ Lara said.

‘Trout Island Theatre Co?’

‘Um, yes.’

‘Sign here, please.’ He jabbed an electronic gizmo under her nose, his hand grazing hers as she took it from him.