The Long Weekend (35 page)

Laura could barely keep up with Dan as he strode up one of the steep, narrow streets that typified Pennfleet. Stone cottages advertising holiday lets sat cheek by jowl with antique shops and tiny cafés. A cat stared out balefully from a window, while a small boy rolled down the centre of the street on a scooter, his nerves apparently made of steel.

Her calves were burning. She rarely encountered a hill in her part of London.

‘Hey,’ she panted. ‘Wait for me.’

Dan turned and grinned. ‘Lightweight.’

‘Where are we going, anyway? Is it much further?’

‘Nope,’ he said. ‘In fact, here we are.’

He stopped outside a whitewashed cottage. Stone steps led up to the front door. The railings were peeling and the paintwork was a faded blue.

Dan produced a key from his pocket.

‘You have no idea what I had to do to get this. The estate agent said it was more than her job was worth to let me have it, but I persuaded her.’

‘Estate agent?’ Laura ran her eye over the front of the building, then noticed the For Sale sign in one of the upstairs windows. ‘Dan? What’s going on?’

He ran up the steps. ‘Come on. I want to show you.’

At the top, he unlocked the door and pushed it open. There was a strong smell of damp, and piles of unopened mail lay on the threadbare carpet.

‘Is this what you were up to yesterday? Looking at houses?’ Laura surveyed the interior doubtfully. There seemed to be just one large room downstairs, with a kitchen at the back and a staircase leading up to the first floor.

Dan stood in the middle of the room looking pleased with himself.

‘I walked past it and it . . . spoke to me,’ he told her.

‘Spoke to you?’

He looked a bit sheepish. ‘You know . . . how things do. There was just something about it. I went to the agent and got them to show it to me. It’s been on the market a while.’ He paused, as Laura looked around her. ‘What do you think?’

‘It’s tiny. And poky. And it smells.’

‘Just imagine it with all those rank units ripped out. And the wallpaper stripped off. And everything painted white.’ He gesticulated around him. ‘I bet there’s wooden floorboards underneath that carpet.’

Laura still looked doubtful. ‘You’ve really thought about this.’

Dan grinned.

‘Come on. You haven’t seen the best bit.’

He led her up the stairs. There was a tiny landing with two doors, one of which led to an outdated bathroom. He pushed open the other one. Inside, the room was flooded with a glorious light from a large picture window.

Laura walked over to it. The view was astonishing. She could see right over the pointy grey roofs of Pennfleet below her and straight out to an endless sea. She caught her breath in delight.

‘Isn’t it beautiful?’ He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her.

‘Wow.’ She looked up at him. ‘But why are we even looking at it?’

‘Do you want to hear my idea?’

‘Go on.’

‘We’re both paying extortionate rents on flats in London. We see each other nearly every day. It would make total sense for one of us to move in with the other.’

‘Yes . . . I can see your logic.’ Laura didn’t admit, at this point, that she had thought as much before. She probably spent at least fifty pounds a week on taxis, travelling backwards and forwards between Dan’s flat and her own.

‘And with the money we save on rent, we could take out a mortgage on this. I’ve got quite a bit put aside for a deposit – I was going to get somewhere in town. But if we bought this, we’d have somewhere to escape to at the weekends, plus we could rent it out when we weren’t using it, which would help with the repayments.’

He put his hands on her shoulders and twizzled her round. ‘What do you think?’

Laura didn’t speak for a full ten seconds.

‘I think . . . tongue-and-groove cabinets in the kitchen, painted pale blue, would go a long way to making it . . . liveable.’ She looked up at him.

A big smile split his face. Her heart hammered. What on earth was she agreeing to? She gazed back out of the window in disbelief, trying to take in what this all meant. A fat seagull landed on the roof in front of her.

‘I didn’t know you felt like this,’ she said. ‘Enough to make such a big commitment.’

‘Neither did I,’ said Dan. ‘Not till yesterday. But after you came back from your . . . your not-dad’s, I realised how much I wanted to make things right for you. And how much you meant to me, I guess . . .’

He stopped, a bit embarrassed by his outpouring, and looked out of the window at the seagull. After a moment, he spoke again.

‘I’ll put in an offer then, shall I?’

Tony was supposedly on the croissant and newspaper run. Which he estimated should give him at least half an hour, because he could pretend to have stopped for a chat with someone, or even been sucked into having a coffee. Of course, he would also have to factor in time to actually buy croissants and the
Sunday Times
, otherwise Wendy would think it strange if he came home empty-handed.

He wasn’t wearing the most attractive outfit for his mission either, he observed, but Wendy would also have thought it strange if he had gone out looking groomed and suave instead of in his usual scruffy T-shirt and shorts.

As he walked in through the front door of the Townhouse, the delicious smell of fresh coffee hit him. Their Sunday brunches had become something of a fixture in Pennfleet. With chagrin, he thought how much Wendy would enjoy coming here. He’d bring her here next week, perhaps.

Guilt, he thought. Was he now set fair for endless atonement?

He hurried over to the reception. He knew the receptionist slightly. Angelina? Angelica – that was it. Some movie star name, anyway. Her mum had cleaned for them once, in the days when they’d had more cash going spare. Wendy had been convinced she was stealing, so they had tactfully let her go, claiming poverty, which wasn’t so far from the truth.

He’d have to be careful. He didn’t want Angelica overhearing anything and spreading it around town. It didn’t take long for rumours to spread like wildfire in Pennfleet, though gossip tended to flourish more in the winter, when the locals had time on their hands.

He’d brought his cover story. The painting that Laura had done the day before, carefully rolled up.

‘Hi. I wondered if I could speak to Laura Starling? I’ve got a painting she did with me yesterday. It’s dry now – I thought she might like to take it home with her.’

Angelica turned to look at the keys behind her.

‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid they’ve gone out. I don’t know when they’ll be back.’

‘Oh.’ Tony’s face clouded. What was he supposed to do now? ‘Well, thanks anyway.’

Angelica held out her hand. ‘Do you want me to take it for you? I can have it put in the room.’

No. That would get rid of his alibi.

‘No. It’s fine, thanks.’

He turned to go. He had Laura’s mobile number. He could ring her, he supposed. But it would be a very difficult conversation to have on the phone.

But if he didn’t contact her and put his mind at rest . . . His stomach roiled with the uncertainty. How had he got himself into this predicament?

And then he saw her. She was coming in through the front door, arm in arm with a tall guy who must be her boyfriend. They looked totally loved up, and he remembered with a pang just how that felt. Not that he didn’t love Wendy, but there was nothing like young love.

Passion.

‘Laura.’ He stepped into her path, and she looked up in surprise. ‘I brought your painting for you. In case you wanted to keep it.’

‘Oh.’ She looked nonplussed. ‘Thank you. I didn’t think it was worth saving, really.’

There was an awkward silence. Tony couldn’t be sure how much she had told her boyfriend, so he had to be careful.

‘And . . . there’s something I need to talk to you about. What we were discussing yesterday?’

Her eyes were wide as she looked at him. ‘You’ve remembered something?’

He nodded. She turned to Dan.

‘Do you mind? We won’t be long.’

Dan spread his hands. ‘No problem. I’ll drop the key back in to the estate agent’s. They’re open until midday.’

She turned back to Tony.

‘Let’s go on to the terrace.’

As they made their way outside, Tony glanced over his shoulder to see if Angelica had noticed anything, but of course she hadn’t. Why would she? It was the last thing anyone in their right mind would imagine, that Tony Weston was about to claim paternity of one of the hotel’s guests.

Chelsey had looked suspiciously at the kedgeree and the kidneys when she and Colin came down for breakfast, so they decided to go for the full English.

‘If we have a big breakfast,’ he told her, ‘we won’t need much for lunch.’

Then he remembered, from experience, that that rule never worked on holiday. Michelle and Ryan had always been ravenous by midday even if they went for the full works. But what the hell?

‘Can we go to the beach again?’ asked Chelsey.

‘Of course.’

She frowned. ‘Is Mum actually coming back? Or are you taking me home?’

‘Well,’ said Colin. ‘I’m not quite sure yet. There’s a few things we need to sort out.’

A breeze came in through the open French windows and ruffled Chelsey’s hair.

‘I tell you what,’ he went on, ‘how would you like to stay here for a bit?’

‘Oh yeah!’ Chelsey beamed. ‘I’d love it.’

Colin smiled. Why not? Where else would he go? The factory and the bakeries would run themselves – he was on the end of a phone if they needed him. And it wouldn’t matter if Chelsey missed a few days of school.

He looked up at the waiter, about to ask for his coffee to be topped up.

But it wasn’t a waiter. It was Alison.

She seemed very calm. She looked at Chelsey, gave her the briefest of smiles.

‘I need a little word with your daddy,’ she said.

Colin put down his coffee, pulled a five-pound note out of his pocket and handed it to Chelsey.

‘Sweetheart, go along to the shop where we got the DVDs, would you?’ he asked. ‘And buy me a newspaper. Get yourself a magazine as well, if you like.’

‘Can I have some sweets?’

‘No.’ He was going to start as he meant to go on. ‘You’ve just finished breakfast, and we don’t want to spoil your lunch.’

‘Okay.’

She didn’t protest, and he was proud of her for it. She was far more sweet-natured and biddable than her mother.

As soon as Chelsey had left the dining room, Alison slid into the chair next to hers.

‘Coffee?’ he asked.

‘Please.’

He signalled to the waiter to bring another cup.

‘I’m glad you came back,’ he told Alison. ‘I was worried.’

‘I ended up in a real dump. I’d had too much to drink to drive home.’

‘That’s what I thought.’ He reached out his hand to touch hers. She looked strained, with mauve shadows under her eyes, and he felt the guilt tighten his chest yet again. ‘I’m sorry. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I’m sure you are.’

‘I never meant to hurt you.’

‘No. No, of course not. But you never meant to get caught out either, I don’t suppose.’

‘I was stupid.’

She didn’t contradict him. Colin picked up a sugar lump and lobbed it into his coffee.

‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘it’s not as if we can make Chelsey disappear, can we? She’s here on this earth whether we like it or not. So we’ve got to find a way out of this that causes the least damage to everyone.’

‘Right.’ Colin was surprised. He’d expected an emotional diatribe.

‘I’ve thought about it,’ she told him, ‘and I don’t see why my whole life should fall apart because of this. Yes, I’ve got every right to throw you out and take you to the cleaners. That’s what all my friends would tell me to do. But it would mean sacrificing the home I love, and my social life, and our family life. I don’t want to argue over who gets the silver. I don’t want to be the divorcee who no one invites for dinner. I don’t want the kids to be in a dilemma about who they spend Christmas with. I’ve seen too many people living that life and I know it’s not for me.’

‘So . . . what are you saying?’

The waiter arrived with her cup. Alison smiled her thanks. Colin filled it from the cafetière, then passed her the milk.

‘Chelsey should come and live with us. And we should be totally upfront about her background. I can’t live with gossip and speculation either. It’s always worse than the truth, so we’ll tell the truth.’

‘You mean – tell everyone that I had an affair?’

Alison met his eyes with a steady gaze.

‘Yes. People will make that assumption anyway.’ She shrugged. ‘So we don’t give them the pleasure of spreading rumours.’

Colin sat back in his chair, rather shell-shocked by Alison’s businesslike demeanour.

‘Wow.’ He couldn’t hide his relief. ‘Are you sure? I mean . . . it’s a pretty big thing, to expect you to take her on.’

‘What’s the alternative? She’s your responsibility, Colin. Either I take her on or I lose you.’

Colin stirred his coffee again. Shit, he thought. He was going to cry.

‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’

‘You needn’t think you’ve got away with it totally.’ Alison’s tone was dry. ‘I don’t suppose I’m going to be sweetness and light. I’m going to find it tough. I expect there’ll be days when I want to kill you for what you’ve done.’ Her fingers tightened around her coffee cup, her knuckles white. Maybe she wasn’t as calm and in control as she looked. ‘And there’s one condition.’

‘Yes?’

‘I never want to meet the mother. I never want to come face to face with her. That would be a humiliation too far.’

Colin shuddered at the thought.

‘Of course not,’ he promised. ‘You are a far, far better person than I am. Or ever will be.’

‘I wasn’t once,’ she replied. ‘I know that. I know I’m partly to blame for this.’

‘No. What I did was unforgivable. And inexcusable.’

Alison shrugged. ‘We’re all human.’

Yes, thought Colin. He’d been human all right.

On the terrace, Tony waited for the waiter to bring him and Laura a Bloody Mary each before he began his confession. He took a gulp, relishing the bite of the horseradish and the kick of the vodka.