Never Close Your Eyes (32 page)

She remembered the little snuffling mouth, though, seeking out her breast. But she wasn't allowed to feed her. They said it would be a mistake; they might bond. Well, that was stupid. As if Carol hadn't bonded with her already.

She ran her forefinger round Freya's chubby cheeks and her podgy wrists that seemed to have elastic bands wound tightly round them. ‘Little Freya,' she cooed. ‘Little pumpkin.'

Reluctantly, she turned a few more pages but there were none as clear as that of Michael when he was a baby. She swallowed. That emptiness again. Evie didn't take him to the local park so much, they seemed to go everywhere in the car. It wasn't the same, looking at fuzzy snaps of him in his babyseat through the car window. You couldn't see all his lovely dimples. But it was a good one of him and Freya on the climbing frame in that pub garden. What were they? About four and eight?

Carol's stomach lurched. She'd nearly had it. That man at the table next to her had given her such a dirty look. He was about to say something, she could tell. Thank God the barman appeared at just the right moment to collect the dirty glasses and she'd managed to slip away, camera intact.

She was pleased with the shot of Freya coming out of secondary school. Shame she dyed her hair that awful black colour and wore so much make-up. So like her mother at that age. She was such a pretty girl, too. Evie shouldn't allow it. But she looked in high spirits, for once, smiling with her friend as if they hadn't a care in the world.

Carol frowned. Freya. She was worried about her because of little things she'd told her at the bus stop in the mornings. Carol usually went down there. It was a good way of keeping in touch.

Freya wasn't happy at school, that was clear. Although she did mention that those girls who'd been bothering her weren't as bad lately. She looked awfully tired, too, with big circles round her eyes. Why hadn't Evie noticed? Freya said she talked a lot to people on the computer. Carol didn't know much about computers.

Freya had one special friend – Cal, that was his name. Well, that was nice, but Evie shouldn't let her stay up so late. Carol didn't like to criticise Evie ever, but she did seem to have lost the plot lately. Truth was, she was being a bit selfish, Carol thought. It was too bad, Neil leaving her, but she'd got wrapped up in her own problems. Maybe Freya was worried about this new boyfriend of Evie's? Carol wouldn't be surprised. She didn't believe for a minute that Freya didn't know. Children pick up on things. She was a clever girl.

Carol took a swig of tea. ‘What are we going to do about this boyfriend?' Albert, who had curled up on her feet, twitched slightly in his sleep. ‘He seems shifty to me. And that nasty long hair. I don't like long hair on a man.'

Carol moved her feet and Albert rolled off. She felt cold without her furry slippers. She nudged Victoria off her lap, too, and the cat sloped away.

‘The trouble is,' Carol sighed, closing the album and rising slowly from her chair, ‘there's nothing I really can do.'

She shuffled over to the sink, rinsed her mug and put it on the draining board. The cats were right behind, at her ankles.

‘You've no idea,' Carol said, bending down to give them another stroke, ‘how awful it is to be so powerless.'

Victoria miaowed. Carol stooped down to pick her up and cradled her in her arms, tickling her furry tummy. She stood there, looking out of the window at the black street for some time, rocking the cat back and forth in her arms like a baby. Thinking.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was good of Gary to come all the way over to Kew for dinner, but right now Becca wished that she were anywhere but here. She'd suggested this particular pub because it served excellent food and it was just around the corner from the station. She'd been there countless times at weekends with Tom and the children.

It was an imposing nineteenth-century inn, which had recently been refurbished to look like a Victorian front room. Normally, Becca loved the muted pink and beige wallpaper, the heavy curtains, the oversized mirrors and dark-wood sideboards, tables and chairs. There was a beer garden at the back, too, where the children could let off steam on sunny days.

James and Alice. She missed them so much. She missed Tom, too. She wanted to be at home, sitting beside him on the sofa. She wouldn't even care if he was glued to the TV.

‘You should bring your kids here and spend the afternoon in Kew Gardens,' she said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. ‘There are some great things for children to do, as well as looking at the plants. James loves Climbers and Creepers.'

She was making ridiculous small talk, she knew. She felt flat, monochrome. She'd been wildly excited before meeting Gary. Now, even the pale-pink rose in a little white vase on the table looked sad.

She was also uncomfortably full. They'd each had three courses, which was unusual for her, and the waistband of her skirt was cutting into her stomach. She glanced at Gary across the table. He seemed so much less attractive than before: blander and more ordinary. The first time they met she'd loved his sideburns. Now she decided they were silly, as if he were trying to be younger than he really was.

She was angry, that was the main problem. This time she'd abandoned caution and pumped him for information. It was clear from what he said now that he hardly ever went back to Newcastle. There was little that he could tell her about old classmates from primary school. He couldn't even remember half their names. And worst of all, he'd misled her about her mother, Maureen.

The phone conversations she'd had with his mother, June, had all been years ago, around the time of the trial. And when Becca had quizzed him he'd admitted that June had, in fact, received only one letter from Maureen, and that was soon after Dawn went away.

Dawn. Who came back as Becca. She could picture Mr Carr even now. He was the one who'd come to collect her from the remand centre with his wife, Sheila, to take her to the secure unit that they ran together and that was to be her home for the next five years.

Sheila was a little, round, cuddly thing while he was tall and thin. He wore a tweed jacket and brogues and had a military air, but his face was kind and gentle.

Dawn had been frightened of him at first, but she grew to love him. He convinced her that she could
be
somebody and make a new life for herself. When she was finally let out, it was his grown-up daughter's name – Rebecca, or Becca for short – that she decided to adopt. She liked that name. There was no one called Becca on the estate and she liked that, too.

When she thought of her childhood now, it was Mr Carr and his wife whom she pictured; it was their middle-class accents, manners, views on life that she tried to emulate. Often, she imagined that she
was
Mr Carr's daughter, that everything that had happened before had been a bad dream.

But Dawn was worming her way into Becca's subconscious, rattling the box, trying to get out, to be heard.

Becca stared at Gary. She felt let down. How could she ever have thought him attractive? She rubbed the corners of her eyes, hoping that she wouldn't smudge her make-up. Actually, she didn't care if she smeared it all over her face. She was so tired. She just wanted to leave.

Gary leaned across the table and touched her hand. She flinched and he took it away.

‘I'd like to come here with you again,' he said in a low voice. ‘Not with the children.'

‘Oh.' She couldn't disguise her unease.

He smiled. ‘You're so defensive, like a wild horse. I can see the fear in your eyes, as if you're ready to bolt at any moment.'

She tucked her dark hair behind her ears and started to pick at the candle wax round the base of the candlestick. ‘It's lovely in summer especially,' she said, trying to redirect the conversation. ‘Kew Gardens, I mean.'

He rested his hand on hers again. This time she forced herself to let it stay there – for a moment.

He looked straight at her. ‘I wish you'd relax. You can trust me.'

She shivered. She wished she'd never agreed to dinner. She was a fool. She'd known it was a mistake. She'd let herself down. Put herself in a dangerous position.

‘It's not surprising that I'm defensive.' She coughed, using it as an excuse to pull her hand away again. ‘It's a pretty big secret I've been keeping all these years. I'm on my guard all the time. I've had to be.'

‘Well, you don't have to be on your guard with me.'

She could sense his eyes boring into her. Her heart fluttered. She felt suddenly panicky. Her instincts told her that she needed to get away now.

‘I must go,' she said, checking the gold watch on her wrist. ‘I've got an early start and Tom'll be wondering where I am. What about Michelle? What time did you say you'd be home?'

‘I didn't say.'

She glanced at him now. She couldn't help it.

He cleared his throat. He looked embarrassed. ‘To be honest, Michelle and I haven't been getting on that well. I didn't want to tell you too much before. But I can't lie.'

‘I'm sorry.' Becca felt trapped. She didn't want to be drawn into this. She didn't want to know about his marriage. But it would be rude to leave now. She cursed herself for mentioning Michelle.

He sighed. ‘It's terribly sad, especially for the children. I've tried my best but I can't see us still being together in a year's time.' He looked at his hands on the table. ‘I'd be lying, of course, if I pretended that you weren't a significant factor.'

Had she heard him correctly? ‘But, Gary . . .' she blurted. She checked herself. ‘We've only met twice.' It was difficult to keep the anxiety out of her voice. This was madness. ‘We hardly know each other.'

He shook his head. ‘I feel as if I know you through and through,' he replied softly. ‘The important bit of you, the part that really matters. Your essence. What else do I need to know? Your hobbies, where you go on holiday?' He sounded contemptuous. ‘We've got all the time in the world to talk about the trivial stuff.' He looked up. ‘Now I've found you, Becca, I don't intend to let you go.'

Becca's heart started thumping. There was something weird about him and his intensity. How could she not have spotted it before? She needed to think. Fast.

‘Gary?' She touched his arm. She'd have to be careful. Tactful. She was on the alert now, with all her wits about her. ‘I'm so glad we've re-established contact. I've really enjoyed talking to you and catching up. You're part of my past, my history, and as you know I've felt desperately cut off from that all these years. But you need to know something.'

His eyes widened. He looked uncomfortable, which gave her courage.

‘Tom and I, well, we've our bad times,' she went on, ‘and our marriage isn't perfect. But I do love him. He's been an amazing support to me. And he's a brilliant father to the kids. I'd never, ever do anything to hurt him.'

She blushed, thinking of the impure thoughts that she'd had about Gary earlier in the evening, on her way to meet him. Thank God he wasn't a mind-reader. If only she hadn't implied on their first date that her marriage was tricky. She'd been reckless and stupid. She'd opened the door to him. She crossed her fingers under the table, hoping that her words would get through, that he'd understand her drift. It was a silly habit that she'd kept from childhood. Soon, all being well, she'd be back home where she was meant to be: moaning about Tom, feeling stressed about work, complaining of her lot, but safe. That lovely word: safe.

‘What are you saying?' he asked. ‘That you don't want to see me again?'

She bit her lip. ‘No, I'm not saying that. I want us to be friends but . . .'

‘Dawn?'

Her stomach reeled. She hadn't been called that for so many years. She reached up and felt beads of sweat on her forehead. She glanced left and right. Luckily there was no one nearby. She glared at him: ‘Don't ever make that mistake again . . .'

Something made her stop. He was leaning back in his seat, relaxed. His arms were behind his head, one foot resting on the other leg. A little smile was playing on his lips.

It wasn't a mistake.

Her eyes locked on to his. An invisible thread between them meant that she couldn't look away.

‘Does Tom know what you did?' he asked. His voice was firm and commanding.

She felt a chill running down her spine. She shook her head, and immediately wished that she hadn't.

‘It would be a shame if he found out.'

Becca swallowed. ‘Are you threatening me?' Her voice was a croak.

Gary laughed, making her jump. The thread between them snapped.