My Husband's Wives (25 page)

‘What about Jake Marshall?' Kasia teased Grace.

‘Jake?' A little colour shot towards Grace's face. ‘What can he do?'

‘Maybe he can help?'

‘Who's Jake Marshall?' Annalise asked.

‘He's a guy who helped me. I told him I'd ring him, but I think he'd prefer it if Grace rang him instead.'

‘So, this Jake, he helps people?' Annalise loved Kasia's assurance, ‘He's Saint Jake? Is he the patron saint of washed-up models and Romanian waitresses, so?'

‘No, not like that. He's a film-maker, documentaries, all that sort of stuff.'

‘Kasia, he's a camera man between jobs. He's making a documentary he's hoping to sell on to some of the big stations,' Grace said. Everything was so straightforward to Kasia.

‘And you think…' The optimism was contagious.

‘Well, he might need someone to
do
the documentary he's making? You could be the one to do the talking – the presentable? I think you would make a good presentable; it is what you want, isn't it?' Kasia began to root in her small bag unaware of the smiles between Annalise and Grace. ‘Also, you have no work? Yes?'

‘Ouch. Don't mind my ego, will you?' Annalise sat up. ‘Okay, I'm listening.' It was a long shot, but she couldn't just hang around for the next ten years waiting for something to happen.

‘I'm going to ring him.' Kasia began to dial the number. ‘We have nothing to lose, no?'

‘Would you?' Annalise wanted to throw her arms around Kasia's neck and kiss her as if she was a springer spaniel.

‘It is not a big deal. He is a nice man; we might be doing him a favour too.' Kasia smiled inscrutably across at Grace. ‘And wouldn't it be nice to jump ahead of Gail, just this once?'

‘When you say it like that, there really is no choice.' Annalise tossed her head and smiled.

‘Would it be all right if I went to Kate's this evening?' Delilah kept her voice neutral, but Grace understood. Neither of them could do another minute cooped up here.

‘Of course it would, I'll drop you off. Your dad wouldn't want you left to wallow here.' So they set off, with no particular rush or hurry. Camaraderie had been born through the changed circumstances that had managed to unhinge the world as they knew it.

‘Why didn't we ever talk about Evie, or Annalise or her boys?' The words were thin, disguised as flippant.

‘I didn't know you wanted to.' They stopped at traffic lights. Grace was aware of her daughter's eyes upon her. ‘I think…' she took a deep breath. ‘I think your father wanted to keep things separate.'

‘Why did he leave and then keep coming back?'

‘As though he'd never really left? It felt that way to me too. Maybe,' she picked her words carefully. ‘Maybe he felt it was kinder for us.'

‘Maybe.' Delilah twirled her hair nervously. ‘But it meant that we never moved on.'

‘How do you mean, moved on?'

‘Well, my friends, when their parents separated, they met other people. You never have. It's as if he kept you all these years for himself, in our nice house. He made sure you never looked anywhere else, while all the while he had this whole other life going on.'

‘That's very dark.' Sometimes Grace thought Delilah could hit the nail on the head, whether she realised it or not.

‘Well then, why did I never get to see my half-brothers?' Grace could hear Delilah's voice begin to break. ‘Other kids my age have half-brothers and sisters. They come to stay; they become friends, family.'

‘It's just the way we were.' Grace had a feeling this could go either way. She wanted Delilah to remember the good man Paul was, not use his death as a scapegoat so she could blame him for some trumped-up charge.

‘I don't blame you, Mum. Not anymore.'

‘Blame me for what?'

‘For you know…' Delilah's tears were flowing freely now. Grace indicated to pull in. She just had to put her arms around her daughter to make the pain less, to let her know that everything would be all right. ‘For making him go away.'

‘You blamed me for him leaving.' Grace tried to keep her voice calm. She tried not to cry as she gently eased the car into a space. Her parking skills had deserted her.

‘I'm sorry. I shouldn't have… I just…' It broke Grace's heart to see her daughter shake with tears, but part of her was relieved. At least if she could cry, then maybe they could move forward.

‘It's okay.' Grace didn't say that she'd blamed herself too all these years. Then something very strange happened. Delilah stopped crying, as suddenly as though the waves had deserted the ocean. They settled into stillness. Grace wasn't sure if Delilah noticed it too, but in that second, a fragile peace bound them. They sat for what seemed like an eternity, packed into the most precious seconds of a lifetime. ‘It's okay,' they both said in unison. Delilah turned suddenly and hugged her mother.

‘What if we invite them all for dinner this Sunday?' she asked when she finally let Grace go. ‘What if we all sit together and share a proper Sunday lunch?' It was almost a smile, maybe the closest a proper one had made it near her eyes for a long time. ‘I'll do the washing up if you say yes?'

‘Of course we can invite them for lunch.' Grace smiled to cover her apprehension. She wondered if she could order in the food. No need for Evie and Annalise to know she was a rotten cook.

Grace worried about leaving Delilah, but the truth was, she worried more about holding onto her. ‘I'll collect you anytime you want to leave, just ring me if you feel you're not up to it.'

‘No, I'll be fine, Mum. I want to see my friends. It feels as if the whole world has gone screwballs. I just want to check in with something real.' Grace could understand that, but all the same, she'd be keeping her phone close.

Grace checked her phone while she watched Delilah go through the door to screams of welcome – teenagers, the same the world over. She had heard a beep earlier. It was a message from Jake forwarded on from Kasia. They were meeting him for a drink later. Would she come along? She had a feeling that Kasia was trying to matchmake. She was wasting her time. Jake had it all going for him; there was no way he'd be interested in her. For starters, he was younger than she was. Sure, if she'd been looking for a long-term partner, he ticked all the boxes. He had two children from a previous relationship; presumably he wasn't looking to extend his brood. He seemed to be funny, caring and decent – and yes, she smiled to herself, he was hot. He was perfect, apart from one small thing – he wasn't Paul.

*

Grace tried throwing herself into her work. If only she could find it in her to bring that magic back into the canvas. It might even help her get over some of the pain and loss she was feeling. But it was no good. The studio, at first too cold, became too warm. There was no coffee, the colours didn't sit, her hand wandered across the work, meandering with her thoughts. Frustrated and somewhat desperate, she decided to visit Evie in Carlinville. She sat in the car, a sketchpad and charcoal tucked beneath the seat, hesitating. She realized, as she took the coast road from the city, that she wanted to draw her – Evie, in the rawness of her grief. She needed to capture that emotion. But it was stupid of course, and cruel too. She couldn't ask.

Carlinville had taken on that look places get when you return to them. It was both familiar, but strangely different. Perhaps it was Kasia's presence. She gave a fresh perspective on the place, as if a light breeze had managed to shift some of its gloom. She wondered if Evie noticed it too. She was getting better, slowly finding things to cling on to. Some days were better than others, though nobody was brave enough to mention it. The front door was closed, but not locked, and when she rang the bell, she pushed it slightly, not liking to cross the threshold without invitation. But then again, when you've broken in already perhaps the normal rules don't apply so much.

‘Hi, it's me.' It was like déjà vu, but this time she couldn't sense any danger. Instead, she lingered in the hall, pulling down a wax jacket she'd seen Paul wear many times. It smelled of dilatory neglect, its pockets empty of his daily belongings and, for a moment, Grace wondered what had happened to his key ring, to the ink pen he carried with him everywhere. It didn't really matter. A bundle of post, unopened, caught her eye, weighted behind a hefty vase that might once have carried flowers, but these days was home only to the fat spiders she assumed lurked in its cobwebbed depths. She pulled out the envelopes. There were bills, fliers and a couple of cards in the bundle. She separated them, dumping the fliers before making her way out to the long veranda where Evie sat, reading quietly. ‘I picked up these on the way through.' She plopped the letters down before Evie, who moved them to the far side of the table roughly as though they might be vermin.

‘Cards, probably from people to say sorry about Paul.' Grace couldn't help but notice a huge stain on Evie's cardigan. She was smaller, older and more brittle than before. Near-death stole the mask of reserve from her and she was gentler for it. ‘Come on, you need to open them.'

‘I'll do it later.' Evie turned her gaze towards the overgrown garden beyond.

‘Did I wake you?' Grace folded herself into a chair opposite.

‘No, I… maybe.' Evie smiled, but her face lacked any joy. ‘I was just thinking…'

‘It's not good keeping yourself cut off here…' Grace leaned forward, touched the pot in the centre of the table. It was cold, and she wondered how long Evie had been sitting here. ‘Where's Kasia?'

‘She went to work a little while ago.' Evie examined her watch. ‘Oh, dear God, is that the time?' She pulled her cardigan about her. ‘She left this morning, I…' she flustered.

‘Have you eaten?' Grace placed her hand upon Evie's arm. At least she wasn't cold. ‘Come on, we'll go down to the village for a little lunch. I'm starved.'

‘Ah no. You go. I'm not hungry.'

‘You have to eat,' Grace said softly. ‘You have to look after yourself, Evie.'

‘Why?' Evie turned on her. ‘Why do I have to? For who or what? What exactly am I going to do with myself for the rest of my days? Sit here and look at the garden come in on top of me? Maybe sit inside the window for the winter months. Don't you understand? I've spent a lifetime doing that. I'm tired of it.'

‘You didn't have to.' Grace regretted the venom in her voice immediately, but not the words.

‘Easy for you, with your talent and your beauty.'

‘You were beautiful too. You still are, only you can't see it. You had more than any of us.'

‘Oh, Grace. Don't you see it wasn't about that?'

‘So what was it about? Tell me, because I really want to know.' Tears were making their way to Grace's eyes.

‘I wanted Delilah. I wanted what came so easily to you, to Annalise and now to Kasia.'

‘You could have had kids too. You could have adopted.'

‘I couldn't.' Evie spat the words out. ‘Nothing else would do. Anyway, by the time I realized, it was too late. Too late for anything else.' The anger ebbed from her voice. Her body began to tremble. Her sobs, when they came, were huge and uncontrollable. It felt as if Evie might drown in her wretchedness.

‘I never meant to hurt you,' Grace said weakly, but her apology floated in the air between them, sounding less than it should.

‘How can you say that?' Evie wiped some of the tears from her face, her hand moving roughly across her skin as though the hurt didn't matter anymore. ‘You took him from me.'

‘I didn't mean to.'

‘Don't tell me you didn't know about me.'

‘No, he told me about you straight off, but it was the way he spoke, as though your lives together had been another lifetime. It always felt to me as if you never really lived in the same world as me.'

‘Well, I didn't, did I…?'

‘No, maybe not.' Grace let her eyes skim the middle distance. It was too hard to watch Evie tear herself up. ‘I never would have given him up. Not that I wanted to hurt you, but I loved him so…' Perhaps it was better to tell the truth. ‘I didn't want a family. Delilah wasn't meant to happen. If she hadn't, I don't think I'd have wanted to marry him. I think – well – maybe I'd have been his…'

‘Mistress?'

‘Yes, his mistress.' Grace lowered her voice. ‘I'm sorry. You don't deserve this. You didn't deserve it.'

Grief hurdled across Evie's eyes. ‘It's almost worse, after everything, how things ended between you. I never understood it, that you didn't want…'

‘It's a long story.' Grace studied the weeds, dancing in the light breeze; they provided a point of focus for her to collect her thoughts. Perhaps Evie deserved that. Maybe she deserved to hear why her husband had left her. ‘You've heard my father committed suicide? It's common enough knowledge.'

‘Yes. I'm sorry…' Evie paused. ‘And I was sorry that it was you that found me, because… well, just once is too many times to come upon something like that.'

‘Well, after my father – after that first time – it was never going to be good. When my father died, my mother never really recovered. It seemed that life never got back to normal. I became the mother. It fell to me, because she could not…' Grace kept her voice even. ‘I'd decided, before I broke away, that I had done with bringing up kids, done with keeping a house.' Grace turned towards Evie. ‘I was just too young for all that responsibility. Everything might have been so different if my father hadn't died. When I met Paul, the last thing I wanted was to fall in love, but he was… different. I couldn't help it. And then, Delilah; I'm glad we had her, but she wasn't planned. I didn't want any more. I just… went the wrong way about it.' Grace smiled sadly, thinking back to that awful time when Paul left her and then, before she knew it, Annalise Connolly had taken her place.