Losing You (16 page)

‘Absolutely,’ Emma assured her. ‘Just tell me what’s on your reading list at the moment and I’ll do my best to catch up.’

‘Actually, you’re going to love it, because I know it’s one of your favourites:
The Book Thief
.’

‘I’m in heaven already,’ Emma told her, and after ringing off she went out into the hall, listening and trying to make out whether Lauren was on the phone, or singing. Realising it was the latter, she took herself upstairs to find Lauren up to her neck in a bubble bath, eyes closed, iPod plugged into her ears and towel wrapped around her hair, as she struggled with the vocals of a song she clearly didn’t know too well.

‘Mum!’ she cried delightedly, as Emma came to sit on the edge of the bath. ‘How was the essay? Oh God, don’t tell me, terrible.’

‘The reverse. I’ve sent it back minus about two thousand words, so I hope you’ll find it flows a little more smoothly than before.’

‘You are so brilliant. Thank you so much.’

‘We ought to go over why I’ve made the changes at some point, so you’ll know why ...’

‘Oh, Mum, not now, please. I’m feeling like I really need to chill out for a while, so ...’

‘It’s OK, we can do it tomorrow.’

‘Cool, thanks. So have you decided to go out?’

Before she could answer Lauren was grabbing her phone to read the latest text that had just bleeped in, so leaving
her to it, Emma went back downstairs to start sorting out what they could have to eat before they left.

Why, she was wondering, was she feeling such little enthusiasm for the quiz night? Probably because it was so bitterly cold outside, and it was so snug and warm in this house. She grimaced to think of what Lauren would say if she suggested they stay in for the evening, just the two of them, the way they had the last time she was here. Knowing what agonies of choice it would put Lauren through if she did, when she was so looking forward to seeing her friends tonight, and when she’d hate to feel she was letting her lonely mother down, Emma banished the thought from her mind and got on with making some tea.

‘Are you OK?’ Oliver asked, going into his mother’s bedroom to find her sitting on the edge of the bed staring down at her hands.

Without looking up she said, ‘Yes, I’m fine. How are you?’

He knelt in front of her, took her hands in his and tried to catch her eye. ‘I’m going out now,’ he reminded her. ‘I’m going to a party, remember?’

She smiled distantly and cupped a hand round his face. ‘You will have a marvellous time,’ she told him.

Uneasy without quite knowing why, he said, ‘What are you going to do?’

It was a while before she answered, and seeing the tears filling her eyes, he tried to swallow his annoyance as he wrapped her in his arms. Why did she have to start feeling sorry for herself and getting in a state now, when he was on his way out? She always did this and it was doing his head in. Still, at least there was no whiff of alcohol about her, though he guessed that would probably only last for as long as it took him to get down to the street.

‘I thought I’d go to see your father,’ she murmured tearfully.

Since he liked that better than the idea of her sitting here on her own, he said, ‘Yeah, why don’t you? He told you the other night that he thinks you should go home again and it’s what you want, isn’t it?’

Nodding bleakly, she replied, ‘Yes, it is, but I am not sure ...’

‘But Mum, you keep saying ...’

‘I know, I know.’

He rose to his feet. ‘If you’re going to drive, you won’t have a drink will you?’ he said, making it more of a command than a request.

Looking up, she smiled tenderly. ‘OK, I promise.’

‘Good.’ He hesitated, trying to work out if there was something else he should say before leaving. ‘I’ll be off then, all right?’ he said in the end.

‘Is Charlie going with you?’

‘No, Charlie’s gone back to London.’

She blinked forlornly at her hands. ‘Yes, of course,’ she whispered. ‘I think it would be very nice if we could all be a family together tomorrow, the way we used to be sometimes, on Sundays.’

‘Yeah, OK,’ he murmured, knowing it wasn’t going to happen, but deciding it was probably best to humour her or he’d never get away.

‘Are you coming back here tonight?’ she wanted to know.

‘No, I already told you, it’s an all-nighter, so I probably won’t see you until late tomorrow.’

Looking down at her hands again, she began twisting her wedding band, not to take it off, but as though remembering all that it meant to her and feeling the sadness of what was happening now.

‘If it goes well with Dad tonight you’ll probably stay there,’ he said, trying to sound upbeat. ‘Maybe you should take a few things with you, just in case.’

She nodded.

‘So you’ll go?’

‘I’m not sure. Maybe ...’

‘Do it, Mum.’

Standing up, she put her arms around him and held him close. He could feel her body, so slight and frail, and hated the way it was shaking. ‘Have a lovely party,’ she told him huskily. ‘Is a special girl going to be there?’

‘Who knows?’ he answered dismissively. ‘What’s special, anyway?’

Sylvie smiled as she looked into his eyes. ‘You are,’ she told him softly.

‘Yeah, you too,’ he replied, wishing with all his heart that there was something he could do to make her better.

Taking his arm, she walked into the sitting room with him and over to the door. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then,’ she said, as he reached for his coat.

‘OK. Don’t go hitting the bottle now, will you?’

Putting a finger on his lips, she said, ‘I am the parent here.’

Then behave like one
he wanted to reply, but didn’t. ‘Love you.’ He planted a kiss on her cheek.

‘Love you too,’ she whispered, and handing him his car keys she stood aside, clearing the way for him to leave.

Moments later he was down in the street, hunched into his coat as he walked to where his car was parked. He felt sure if he turned round he’d find her watching him from the window, ready to wave, but he kept on going, afraid that if he did look round and she wasn’t there it would mean she’d already gone to pour herself a drink.

He didn’t want to know about that – if he did he might feel he had to go back.

For a while he debated whether or not he should text his dad to let him know she was thinking of coming over. If his dad knew, he might call and tell her she should. However, in the end he decided they had to work it out for themselves, and angry with how bad he was feeling for not giving her a wave, and for leaving her on her own, he pressed on in defiance, rounded the corner and got into his car.

‘There you are,’ Lauren declared, drifting like a ballerina into her mother’s bedroom and starting to twirl. ‘So what do you think?’

Dutifully looking up from the clear polish she was painting on her nails, Emma felt a conflicting rush of warmth and alarm to see how beautiful – and yet brazen – her daughter was managing to look. The gold-sequinned satin dress decorated with swirling lace panels was coquettishly, perhaps even outrageously, revealing, Emma thought,
and the full length of her lovely long legs, (at least she was wearing tights) was on eye-popping display. Plus, the shoestring straps of the dress didn’t appear to be quite strong enough to continue holding up Lauren’s generous young breasts for long. Emma just knew that if her father could see her he’d hit the ceiling, and might even try to stop her going out unless she changed into something a little more modest, such as a habit, or a sack. However, Emma was more of a realist than Will. Not that she liked to see Lauren flaunting her sexuality like this, particularly when she was barely old enough to understand how powerful it could be, but she, Emma, was well aware that this was how most girls of Lauren’s age put themselves together these days. Lauren wouldn’t be alone in her almost burlesque-style fashion statement, or in the towering heels that were elevating her way above her mother, or the copious layers of make-up that she really didn’t need, but Emma wasn’t going to be the one to tell her that. What would set Lauren apart, as it always did, was the glorious mane of honey-blonde hair that bobbed and cascaded in flurries of long loose curls around her shoulders and halfway down her back. It made her seem almost ethereal, like a dream.

This was how her mother saw her, of course; any red-blooded male would have a rather different reaction.

However, Emma trusted Lauren, because fun-loving and flirtatious as she could be, and wilful at times, she was neither stupid nor reckless. So there was no need to worry about her getting drunk and forgetting herself this evening, because she always took her election as designated driver extremely seriously. Nor was Lauren likely to throw herself away on some yob who might fancy his chances, just because she was there and looking available. What concerned Emma the most – her friends too who had girls the same age who dressed the same way – was the thought of someone much older using his more sophisticated seduction skills on their overconfident but still very naive young daughters, and of the possible consequences.

‘You’re taking a long time over this,’ Lauren chided.

‘You look lovely,’ Emma assured her, ‘but I hope you’re wearing a coat.’

Lauren pulled a face. ‘I won’t need one. I’ve got the car,’ she protested.

‘That may be so, but I’m afraid you’re not leaving here without one. It’s freezing out there, and if you have to queue to get into a club, or walk a long way from where you park ... Where are you going, by the way? Has it been decided yet?’

Mussing her hair in the mirror, Lauren said, ‘The Bristol Ram, I think, and then the Lounge Lizard. There’s talk of going on to this twenty-first birthday after, but I don’t know yet.’

‘So what time should I expect you home?’

‘I guess, late.’

Emma cocked an eyebrow. ‘Helpful.’

‘Just don’t wait up, OK? Now, are you ready? I’m taking you to Polly’s, aren’t I?’

Looking down at some of her favourite books piled on the bed, Emma sighed heavily as she felt their pull. ‘I believe you are,’ she said. Then, looking up again, ‘Goodness, not another text,’ she cried, as Lauren’s phone bleeped once more. ‘That thing’s hardly stopped all day.’

‘I know,’ Lauren replied, her eyes sparkling with delight as she turned to leave, ‘it’s just we’re trying to work everything out.’

Failing to see what could be so complicated about ferrying a few girls to a wine bar and then a club, Emma began blowing on her nails as she picked up her bag and started downstairs. For all she knew it was Donna who kept texting about something that was going on in London, which actually seemed more likely, considering how much both she and Lauren were involved in there.

‘OK, I’m ready,’ Lauren declared, coming down after her.

‘Have you got your coat?’ Emma called from the kitchen.

‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll go and start the car.’

As Lauren opened the front door Emma came into the hall and gave a look of surprise when she saw what Lauren was holding. ‘What on earth do you need that for?’ she demanded, indicating the flute case.

‘Oh, no reason,’ Lauren replied airily. ‘I mean, I’m just
going to play a couple of things for Melissa, because she asked if I would. That’s all.’

‘Well, make sure you leave it at Polly’s when you go out. We don’t want anyone trying to break into the car to steal it.’

‘It’ll be fine, honestly,’ Lauren assured her. ‘Now, I hope you’re wearing a coat because it’s freezing out there.’

Laughing, Emma tweaked her nose, and wrapping up warmly in a thick, downy jacket and luxurious pink cashmere scarf – a Christmas gift from Berry – she collected her bag and keys and followed Lauren out to the car.

‘Do you know what?’ Lauren asked, as she drove them to the end of the street.

‘I expect you’re going to tell me.’

‘I really, really, really, really love you. That’s what.’

Startled and pleased, Emma said, ‘The same to you with twice as many reallys.’

‘The same to you with four times as many reallys and a cherry on top.’

Catching her euphoria, Emma entered into the little game they used to play when Lauren was small, adding four more cherries, a box of Smarties and a double KitKat.

And so it went on, all the way to Polly’s, by which time they were laughing so hard at the swimming trunks Lauren had just piled on top of all the other outlandish suggestions they’d come up with that tears were rolling down Emma’s cheeks.

‘I’m going to have to do my make-up again,’ Lauren wailed as Melissa came to let them in.

‘What’s happened?’ Melissa demanded, her delicate doll-like features creased with concern.

‘My mother, that’s what,’ Lauren informed her. ‘She’s been making me laugh.’

Relaxing, Melissa flicked her springy dark curls over one shoulder as she leaned in to give Emma a kiss.

‘She’s on cloud nine tonight,’ Emma warned, ‘so I’m relying on you to make sure she doesn’t go floating away.’

‘I’m not drinking, remember?’ Lauren said from halfway up the stairs, ‘so I’ll be fine.’

Emma eyed her meaningfully.

Tilting her head, Lauren treated her to such a dazzling smile that Emma started to laugh again.

‘What?’ Lauren said, innocently.

‘Nothing,’ Emma replied. It would seem mawkish to admit that an image of Lauren aged two, sitting in the bath, and grinning at her just like that, had suddenly appeared from nowhere. ‘Don’t be too late,’ she instructed, going on through to join Polly. ‘And Melissa, please make sure she leaves her flute here before you go out.’

Fiona’s immaculate eyebrows rose playfully as she watched Russ walking from his car across the floodlit forecourt of her substantial country house towards the door. She was a slender yet curvaceous woman in her mid forties, with luxuriant auburn hair, a sumptuous mouth, and sea-green eyes that could switch from shrewd to seductive in a heartbeat. As head of a rapidly diversifying construction company that she’d inherited from her self-made father, she had risen to become one of the West Country’s most prominent businesswomen, with projects spread over five counties and growing. She also had two homes: a harbourside penthouse in Marbella, and this rural idyll in Gloucestershire.