‘Shit. Bloody Mel. I told her not to say anything.’
Tears sting the back of my eyes and I can’t hold back the question burning in my throat. ‘Are you two seeing each other?’
‘Seeing each other?’ Dom’s eyes widen. ‘No! Did you think…? Have you been thinking that she and I were…? Oh, Kirstie, no. Come here.’ He puts his bottle on the counter and tries to hug me, but I push him away.
‘Well, what am I supposed to think?’ I cry. ‘Mel was all tight-lipped and telling me to talk to you about it. What would you think if you were me?’
He nods. ‘I know. I’m an idiot. But she really shouldn’t have said… Oh, never mind.’
‘So? Why were you over there? What’s the big secret?’ I suddenly have the awful thought that it might not be Mel who’s having an affair with Dom – what if it’s Tamsin? What if she’s been seeing Dom again, and Mel knows about it? That she’s keeping it a secret and that’s why Mel said it wasn’t her place to tell me. Please, please, don’t let it be that.
‘You’re not going to be happy,’ Dom says.
I’m already not happy. ‘Just tell me, Dom.’ All I want is for him to spit out the truth.
He sighs and takes another sip of beer. ‘Mel sent me a text last week, asking me to go round there. She said she had a favour to ask. She wouldn’t tell me on the phone, so I nipped over to her place last week after training.’ He looks at me, waiting for a response.
I don’t speak. I’m waiting for him to go on.
‘It was the usual thing, Kirst – she’s skint. She’s maxed her credit cards and her overdraft is up to the limit. So she asked if I could lend her three hundred quid to tide her over until Chris sends through her next maintenance payment.’
I wasn’t expecting that. But I immediately wonder if this is simply a convenient story they’ve concocted to keep me in the dark. ‘How do I know you’re telling the truth?’
‘Jesus, Kirstie. Why would I lie? I’m your husband.’
‘If you’re having a thing with Mel, or anyone else—’
‘I am not having a thing! Mel’s not even my type.’
‘She’s everyone’s type,’ I snap.
‘She’s too high-maintenance, too in-your-face. I love her to bits, but not like that. She’s our friend, and that’s all she is. I’m married to you! If you don’t believe me, then I can show you my bank statement – I took out three hundred in cash last week to give to her.’
‘So she really was asking you to lend her money?’ I sit down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs, letting his explanation sink in.
Dom nods, his face flushed.
‘And you lent it to her.’
‘What was I supposed to do? She’s our friend, she’s in a jam. She said she’d pay me back next month.’
I exhale.
‘I knew you’d go mad,’ he continues, ‘so I told her not to tell you about it. I’m so sorry. I’m such an idiot.’
‘It’s not the money, Dom. It’s the lying. It’s the fact that I’ve been at home stressing for two days, thinking you and Mel were sleeping together. You’ve made me look like a fool in front of my friend. And you’ve made me doubt our marriage. I mean, forgive me for suspecting you of an affair, but it’s not like you haven’t done it before!’
‘Kirst!’ He gives me a wounded look.
Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up his one-night stand with Tamsin – it’s ancient history that he spent months apologising for early on in our relationship, and I chose to forgive him. But his lies have made me doubt him again. And right now, I’m too keyed up to feel anything but pissed off.
‘No, Dom. It’s like you’re deliberately trying to ruin our relationship at the moment.’
‘I am so sorry, Kirstie. I know I’m screwing everything up. What can I do? How can I make it up to you?’
‘Maybe you could start by not having secrets from me and not lending money we don’t have to my best friend.’
Dom nods, his body hunched, his expression one of remorse. But then he drops his shoulders and tilts his head. ‘Um,’ he says.
‘Um, what?’
‘Well,’ he says, ‘it’s just, you’re telling me not to go behind your back and lend Mel money, but isn’t that exactly what you were doing before?’
‘Yes,’ I reply, ‘but I came to you and told you what was going on, and we agreed together that we wouldn’t lend her any more. Now you’ve gone behind my back and made me look bad. You’ve basically driven a wedge between me and Mel.’
‘You and Mel will be fine.’
‘You don’t know that. At the moment I’m pissed off with the pair of you. You lent her money after I called her out on not paying me back. You’ve made me look like the bad guy.’
Dom chews his lip.
A wave of exhaustion hits me. I should be happy that Dom isn’t having an affair, but my body is itching with irritability and disappointment. Of course I’m relieved my husband and Mel – or even worse, Tamsin – aren’t seeing one another behind my back, but there are still so many other issues we need to work out. I thought Dom and I were a team, a tight unit. But we seem to be drifting further and further apart, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Twenty-Eight
I stand before the bathroom mirror, carefully applying my makeup. I desperately need it to cover up the suitcases beneath my eyes. After our bust up earlier in the week, Dom and I have reached an uneasy truce. It’s Saturday, the day of Jimmy and Rosa’s barbecue. To be honest, I’d much rather go for a family picnic on the beach, or a walk in the countryside, or maybe stick some rusty pins in my eyes, but Dom thinks this will be good for us. And if I don’t go, it will be another reason for us to argue. So now here I am trying to make myself look presentable for the neighbours, who all know about the humiliating episode where I thought Daisy had been snatched.
The music from number two has already been cranked up, and I recognise a muffled version of some chart tune I can’t remember the name of. The thump of the bassline has the added effect of quadrupling the number of butterflies in my stomach. But as long as I show my face over there, I won’t have to stay long. An hour tops, then I can say I have to get back to feed Daisy, or make some other excuse. It’ll be fine.
‘You nearly ready, Kirst?’ Dom calls from the landing, giving a short rap on the bathroom door.
‘Two minutes!’ I reply.
‘I’ll wait downstairs!’ The excitement in his voice irritates me. Why does going to some twenty-something’s barbecue make him so happy? Are we growing apart, is that it? Am I becoming boring and staid, while he still has an abundance of partying years left in him? As I apply bronzer to my cheeks, I try to think about this objectively. Before we had Daisy, I probably would have been excited to go to a party too. Now, it feels like nothing makes me excited. And everything makes me either anxious, angry or miserable. I hold my breath for a moment to stop the flow of threatening tears. Why the hell am I always crying?
That doctor was probably right – I’m overtired and I should probably book myself onto one of those meditation courses like she suggested. But to admit that I haven’t been coping feels like a weakness, like I’m a failure as a mother. I wanted a baby for years, and now I finally have Daisy, but I can’t enjoy her because I’m too busy crying or whining or locking myself away from the world. I need to stop my mind from going down this rabbit hole. I’m supposed to be going to a party, not analysing how crap my life is. I’m going to go to this barbecue and I’m going to try and squeeze some enjoyment out of it – if only to prove to myself that I’m still the same person I used to be. That I haven’t lost myself.
‘Kirstie! You coming?’ Dom’s voice flies up the stairs, more urgent now.
I smear on some lipstick, blot my lips together and take another steadying breath. I can fake it for an hour, surely. ‘Yep, coming!’ I yell back, smoothing my red dress down over my hips and teasing out my dark curls.
* * *
Jimmy and Rosa’s garden is
like something out of a magazine, with slate paving, a hot tub, dark wicker furniture, emerald-green grass (Martin would freak at such blatant disregard for the hosepipe ban), a white brick-built outdoor oven, and a cedar-clad summer house complete with a bar. Dotted amongst this glamour, like tropical birds, beautiful people sip their drinks, vape and generally appear at one with the universe.
Daisy sits on my hip, her eyes wide, taking everything in. Dom is trying to spot anyone we might recognise. I’m trying to remain anonymous. I breathe in the aroma of barbecue smoke and perfume, cocktails and sun cream. Even the sunlight feels different at the Cliffords’ – brighter and somehow more exotic, like we’re a couple of pasty-faced tourists who have just arrived at a tropical holiday destination.
‘You made it!’ Rosa appears through a crowd of guests and sashays over to us, wearing an insanely short broderie anglaise playsuit and cork wedge heels. I smile up at her and hand over a chilled bottle of prosecco. ‘Lovely,’ she says. ‘Thank you, Kirstie. Hi, Dom. Jimmy’s around here somewhere – probably inside messing about with the music.’
We air kiss and she offers us drinks.
‘I’m not drinking,’ I say, pointing to Daisy with a smile, ‘but we’ve brought some non-alcoholic beer, so I’ll have one of those.’
Rosa opens the bottle for me and hands Dom a beer. ‘Oh, here’s Jimmy,’ she says with a smile.
‘Hey, hey, Kirstie. Dom, my man.’ Jimmy and Dom clink bottles and immediately start talking about racing-bike specifications.
Rosa and I make small talk, but my mouth goes dry as I catch sight of a familiar figure further down the garden peering into the brick oven. I grab hold of Dom’s arm and squeeze.
‘Ow!’ He turns to me. ‘Kirstie, what are you doing?’
I can sense Jimmy and Rosa staring at me, but I can’t take my eyes off the person by the oven. ‘Martin’s here,’ I hiss.
Dom, Rosa and Jimmy turn to stare at our neighbour.
‘What’s the matter?’ Rosa asks. ‘Is he a bit of a weirdo? He’s all right, isn’t he?’
‘Kirstie thinks he’s got sex slaves in his basement,’ Dom says with a dead-pan face.
Jimmy and Rosa stare at Dom, wide eyed, before bursting into hysterical laughter. I don’t find it funny. Dom puts his arm around me by way of an apology, but I don’t appreciate him getting cheap laughs at my expense. He knows that man makes me nervous.
‘Oh my God. Has he really got a basement?’ Rosa asks. ‘Or are you winding us up?’
‘Kirst found his planning application online,’ Dom says. ‘He built the thing ten years ago.’
Rosa pulls a face. ‘That’s so creepy.’
‘Hey!’ Jimmy shouts down the garden. ‘Martin!’
I cringe with embarrassment. What is Jimmy going to say to him? Surely they’re not going to ask him about it.
Martin looks over, shading his eyes, a bemused expression on his face. His gaze rests on me and Daisy and he gives a brief wave. I look away quickly, my heart in my throat, my head starting to swim. I tell myself it’s fine. We’re in a public place. My husband is here. Nothing is going to happen. But the sight of that man now turns my insides to water. I set my bottle down on the table behind me, and grip Daisy a little tighter, turning back to the others.
‘Hello, Kirstie, Daisy.’
I look up to find Martin has come over and is now standing uncomfortably close. I take a step back so that I’m pressed up against the table. My throat seems to have closed up, so I simply nod at him and take a sip of my drink.
‘Dominic, how are you?’ he asks.
‘Fine thanks, Martin. You?’
‘Not too bad at all.’ He turns to the Cliffords. ‘It was nice of you to invite me to your gathering.’
‘Glad you could make it,’ Jimmy says, while Rosa looks as though she’s trying not to laugh.
‘I wanted to ask,’ Martin says to our hosts, ‘did you pre-cook the meat in a regular oven, or will you be cooking it from scratch in that outdoor oven. Because, in case you were unaware, there are very high instances of food poisoning arising from improperly cooked food at barbecues. Now, I’m not casting any aspersions, I’m just hoping to avoid any food-related sickness.’
‘Don’t worry about it, mate,’ Jimmy says, clapping Martin on the shoulder and almost knocking him over. ‘Rosa’s brother Gino is a chef and he’s in charge of the barbie, okay?’
‘That is reassuring,’ Martin replies, sipping his orange juice.
Rosa giggles, and ordinarily I’d find Martin’s mannerisms amusing, too. But I can’t stop viewing him as a possible predator. I don’t want to be anywhere near the man. I’m hot and my throat is dry. I reach behind me for my drink and down the rest of it. Rosa hands me another of my beers and I take a sip.
‘Now, Martin,’ Jimmy says. ‘Is it true you have a basement in your house?’
The noise from the party recedes as all my attention turns to Martin. To study his reactions and listen to his response.
Martin’s face turns a deep shade of crimson. He thrusts his jaw out and balls his fist. He looks as though he might punch Jimmy, or maybe even cry. ‘It really is no one’s business,’ Martin says. ‘What I do in my own house is private, and I’ll thank you to remember that.’
Jimmy raises his hands in apologetic surrender. ‘Sorry, mate. Didn’t mean to offend.’
‘Yes, well,’ Martin continues, ‘do I ask you what you get up to, with people coming and going from your house at all times of the day and night? No, I do not. And I expect the same courtesy from you.’
‘Wow, sorry,’ Jimmy says. ‘Forget I asked.’
Despite the music and the laughter from the party, an awkward silence descends on our little group.
‘I think I need to go and change Daisy,’ I say. ‘I’ll just pop back home for a minute.’
‘No need to go home,’ Rosa says. ‘Take her upstairs. The spare room is just to the left of the bathroom.’
‘You sure?’
‘Course.’ She raises her eyebrows at me over Martin’s head.
I smile back, relieved to be getting away from our next-door neighbour. He didn’t deny having the basement, but he also didn’t explain why he built it. He was defensive, angry. His response has made me more certain that something is going on next door.
I can’t put it off any longer. I’m going to have to find out what’s down there.
Twenty-Nine
As I make my way inside the Cliffords’ house with Daisy in my arms and my heart still pounding from the encounter with Martin, I bump into Mel. I’m really not in the mood to speak to her, but it would be more awkward not to, so I force out a limp smile.
‘Hi Kirst,’ she says guardedly.
‘Hi.’ We stand there for a moment, unsure how to proceed.
‘I don’t suppose… Did you speak to Dom?’ Mel asks.
I nod. ‘He explained about lending you the money.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I really wanted to tell you about it the other day, but Dom thought it would be easier to keep it secret. So when you found his glasses, I wasn’t sure if it would be better to tell you about it myself or let Dom tell you. I was completely out of order to go to Dom behind your back. I’ve got no excuse other than I was desperate. Don’t blame him for my mistakes. If there’s any way I can make it up to you…’
‘Forget about it,’ I say, meaning it. Suddenly, I’m exhausted with all the arguing and mistrust. I know I can’t erase the events of the past fortnight, but I just want everything to go back to normal. I want Dom and me to be close once more, and I want my best friend back. We’ll talk about the money she owes some other time. I just don’t have the strength to think about it at the moment. ‘Let’s just put it behind us, Mel. Be friends again.’
‘Really?’ she says. ‘Are you sure you’re not mad at me?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Pinky swear?’
I roll my eyes. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’
S
he leans in and kisses Daisy’s cheek before giving me a hug. ‘I’m so glad. I’ve been miserable all week. And I promise to manage my money better.’
‘Let’s not talk about it any more, okay?’
‘Fine by me,’ she says.
‘Where are your two?’ I ask.
‘They’re with Chris’s mum today. She’s taking them to the theatre. Good luck with that, I told her. Those two can’t sit still for two minutes, let alone two hours.’ She takes a sip of her drink. ‘Uh oh, look who it is.’
I tense up, thinking she’s talking about Martin. But when I turn to look, I see it’s actually Lorna and Stephen Parkfield deep in conversation, heading our way. To be honest, I didn’t think they’d even be here. I wouldn’t have thought a barbecue at the Cliffords’ was their thing – but then again, it’s not my thing either. They haven’t spotted us yet, so maybe I can make a break for it. I could do without another awkward conversation.
Too late.
Lorna looks up with a scowl which stays on her face when she catches sight of us. ‘Kirstie,’ she says. ‘Melinda.’
‘Hi, Lorna,’ Mel says breezily. ‘Hi, Steve.’
I laugh inwardly, knowing how much Parkfield hates to be called Steve. But Mel has no qualms about pissing him off.
‘Afternoon,’ Parkfield says in that pompous tone of his.
I take a swig of beer to settle my nerves, and then I remember that it’s alcohol free.
‘When’s the big move?’ Mel asks.
‘Hopefully sometime next month,’ Lorna says.
‘Moving far?’ Mel probes.
‘Yes,’ Parkfield says without elaborating.
‘Okaay,’ Mel says.
‘I’ve just got to change Daisy,’ I say, making my excuses, my head beginning to pound. This barbecue is turning into some kind of twisted obstacle course, where the object of the game is not to get snarled up in uncomfortable conversations with your neighbours.
‘Want a hand?’ Mel asks, begging me with her eyes.