His eyes were fixed on hers and she’d never seen them so malicious.
‘You can skip over the details if you like,’ he continued remorselessly, ‘but men can tell. They can tell a cut-and-shut a mile off. And that’s what you are. I didn’t mind, because I loved you. I was prepared to overlook your madness and your dirty little secrets. But will anyone else?’
He raised his hands and gave her a cold, ‘sad’ smile. ‘I don’t think so. Especially not at your age.’
The waiter passed by, and from the approving look he gave them, Michelle guessed he thought they were out on a date. Two good-looking people. Having a romantic meal.
She felt as if she’d never want to eat again. She’d certainly never eat here again. Sorry, Silvio.
‘I would rather be alone for the rest of my life than live with you,’ said Michelle. She didn’t know where the strength came from, but all she could see was her dad, hugging her outside the pub, wanting his little girl to be happy, confused as to why she wasn’t. And this bastard, spinning him some tale about how lovelorn he was. It made her more angry than any of Harvey’s bruiseless taunts had done over the years.
She pushed her chair back and dropped her napkin on the table. ‘Thanks for supper. I’m going home now.’
‘Sit down,’ he snapped.
‘No,’ said Michelle. She stared at him. Inside she was terrified but she couldn’t let it show. ‘Leave me alone. I have a very good solicitor these days. You’ll be hearing from him.’
She left her coat and walked straight outside where, for once, there was a taxi idling in the rank. Michelle didn’t breathe properly till she was at home, then she raced round, locking all the doors, bolting the windows and drawing all the curtains, until finally, she curled up on the sofa in a tight ball.
I wish Tavish was here, she thought. Sometimes the silent unquestioning company of a dog was all you needed.
Anna lay awake in bed, listening to Phil snore two feet away from her as the fan whirred hot stale air from one side of the room to the other.
She couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since before Sarah had announced her pregnancy. If there were a spare room in the house she’d have subtly crept there when everyone was asleep but even then, the girls would notice. They noticed everything. Part of Anna didn’t care, but the soft, motherly side didn’t want to add another silent worry to Lily’s already overloaded shoulders.
Anna didn’t know how Phil could lie there, snoring like a rhino with chest congestion, when Becca and Owen still weren’t back, and it was now two o’clock. He was the one who’d made all the fuss about them coming home at one, but then he’d wandered off for a bath and nodded off on the bed, listening to the radio.
She rolled over and looked at the clock, on the other side of Phil’s wide-open mouth.
Two thirteen.
Should I call Michelle, she wondered? Or the police? Or just do a dawn raid on Owen’s flat?
Or there was always the computer. Anna had registered on Mumsnet in the three days she thought she was pregnant, and had been unable to tear herself away since. Most nights, when everyone was asleep or otherwise occupied, she crept up to her old laptop in the bedroom and gorged herself on other people’s pregnancies, symptoms, stepchildren, sometimes arguing in a voice that wasn’t hers, behind the safe screen of her username.
She knew it wasn’t healthy. But it was the only place where she could confess just how much she thought about the baby waiting for her out there, and how angry she got with every period that came and went, another egg wasted.
As Anna was rolling the possibilities round in her mind she heard a noise outside, and slipped out of bed to see what it was.
A minicab – probably unlicenced, oh, Becca – was pulling away from the front of the house, and Owen and Becca were standing by the postbox, kissing.
She caught her breath. They were beautiful in the moonlight, like something from a film, unconscious of their youthful smoothness, the softness of their faces. Becca was wearing Owen’s velvet jacket over her long dress, and her hair had come loose, streaming down her back and shining like water. He’d undone his bow tie and some shirt buttons and had confetti in his curls from some end-of-night celebration. They were kissing in a slow, quite reverential way – more romantic than sordid end-of-night snogging – and then Owen pulled back to look into Becca’s eyes, smiling as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
Anna leaned back from the bedroom window, in case they could see her, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
With a courtly gesture, Owen lifted Becca’s right hand high, slipped his arm around her waist, and silently, to some tune maybe they were humming to each other, they started to swing down the deserted pavement in a slow, looping sort of waltz. Becca tipped her head backwards, letting her hair fall in a glossy curtain, and smiled up at the stars, her eyes closed, tipsy and blissed-out with love.
Then Owen leaned forward and kissed her long white throat, and Anna let the curtain fall back.
She felt weird inside – bad for spying but happy and jealous and wistful all at the same time.
In bed, Phil gave a massive snore and turned over.
Anna looked at him for a long, long moment, then went downstairs, turning on all the lights so Becca would know someone had waited up for her.
24
‘Little Women is quite accurate about what it’s like to have sisters – they can wind you up, nick your best gloves, and make you wish you could swap them for a brother. But in the end, you love them more than anything. Even if they are totally annoying.’
Chloe McQueen
Neither Becca nor Chloe wrote Results Day on the kitchen calendar, but the whole house knew exactly when they were due.
Becca’s would arrive first, in the third week of August, and Chloe’s the following week. To Chloe’s bitter disappointment, the three of them were going to be in Las Vegas at Sarah’s wedding the day the GCSE results were announced, which ‘totally ruined’ Chloe and Tyra’s plan to get all four Apricotz in the Longhampton Gazette, leaping photogenically in the air and waving their envelopes.
‘If the cheerleading squad gets in instead of us, I am never speaking to Paige again,’ she pouted, when the Apricotz reject Paige revealed her counter scheme via Facebook.
Anna dragged herself into the bookshop as normal the morning of Becca’s results, even though it took every ounce of self-control not to stay at home waiting for news. She and Phil had agreed to keep everything as low-key as possible, despite their own fizzing nerves; even Sarah had agreed to wait for Becca to Skype her.
Becca herself was playing it very cool, eating a calm breakfast while Anna and Phil picked nervously at toast and coffee, before heading up to the sixth form centre on her own.
She was still trying to look cool when she pushed open the bookshop door just before lunch, but her bright eyes gave her away.
‘Well?’ squeaked Anna, unable to stop herself.
Becca smiled and handed her the piece of paper. She’d got As in everything. Her Head of Year had even stuck a jokey gold star on it. She’d done it. Becca was going to Cambridge.
‘I’m so proud of you!’ Anna gasped, flinging her arms around her step-daughter. ‘I’m so proud!’
‘You’re the first person I’ve told.’ Becca’s voice was muffled against her neck. ‘I thought, you know, after everything you’ve done this year.’
Her voice trailed off, but Anna did know. It was a tiny little thing, and it meant the world to her.
‘Thank you.’ She hugged Becca tighter, trying not to cry too obviously. ‘I’ll always remember today.’
The door bell jangled and Michelle popped her head round, her eyebrows raised in tactful query. She had something behind her back, and when she saw Anna’s happy tears, she grinned and brandished a bottle of champagne. ‘So it’s OK to open this then?’
Anna nodded mistily, and Michelle signalled to someone out of sight. Owen, Kelsey and Gillian stream
ed into the bookshop with glasses and party poppers, plus Tavish, who had tinsel around his collar.
As the afternoon wore on and the regulars joined in with the celebrations – everyone liked Becca – Anna felt a warmth spread through her that had nothing to do with Michelle’s magic refilling champagne bottle. Chloe had turned up from her pre-wedding shopping trip for gradual tanning lotion and was flicking through a vintage Jackie annual, snorting at the fashion, Lily was under the counter with Tavish, and Becca, perched on Owen’s knee, was lit up from the inside with a giddiness that made Anna nostalgic and protective in equal measure.
She caught Michelle’s eye, and they shared a cautious smile, the first real smile they’d shared in days. Weeks, even.
Anna’s smile broadened. Maybe things were going to be OK.
Chloe’s GCSE results arrived the following week, while she was acting as a bridesmaid for her mother in a bright pink prom dress with mint green netting underneath and some wildly unsuitable fake anchor tattoos on her left bicep.
It wasn’t the nicest dress Anna had ever seen. Even Phil had struggled to find something positive to say about it, and he could normally be relied on for a cheesy compliment. Chloe had nearly refused to wear it, claiming that the dresses made the three of them ‘look like a Sheila’s Wheels advert’, but since Sarah’s whole wedding was themed around Elvis Presley, Anna tried to convince her it could be a lot worse. No quiffs were involved. The tattoo would wash off.
Chloe was still wearing the Sheila’s Wheels dress when she logged onto Skype for the big results reveal, which she was treating like an X Factor final. Lily and Becca were in the background – or at least, swathes of more pink satin kept moving around behind Chloe – and Sarah and Jeff were flitting in and out of shot.
Anna could see Sarah’s bump, encased in a baby-doll lace wedding dress. It made her heart pinch with an unpleasant envy, especially since Sarah didn’t seem to have put an ounce of weight on her gym-toned legs. The heels, Anna noted, had the all-important red soles and looked nearly impossible to walk in.
‘She looks like a toffee apple stuck to a tissue,’ Phil whispered, passing Anna the envelope with the results inside. He’d been up to the school to get it, and, as promised to Chloe, hadn’t looked.
Anna smiled, grateful for the solidarity, but less grateful that he hadn’t said, ‘Your turn soon, darling.’ Phil wasn’t even talking about babies now, and it felt as if there’d been a spiteful baby boom in Longhampton, just as her broodiness had reached new peaks. Anna had started to make excuses to check in the stockroom when the Malory Towers Mummies came in to talk about Enid Blyton because she couldn’t hide the sudden tide of despair and sorrow that overwhelmed her. Even Michelle had noticed, and Michelle was so weirdly preoccupied these days she barely even noticed when Anna came in late.
‘What?’ Chloe yelled into the laptop. ‘What did Dad say?’
‘Nothing. Right, are you ready?’
Chloe had insisted that Anna read her results, not as a gentle compliment for the revision aids and emergency chocolate she’d provided, but because she was ‘less likely to go spare than Dad’.
‘Oh my God, I’m really nervous now.’ Chloe put a hand to her mouth; she had fuschia false nails. ‘I don’t wanna know. I don’t wanna know. Have you got a nice holiday booked without us?’ she asked, prolonging the tension like a pro. ‘Are you looking forward to it?’
‘Yes,’ lied Anna. As instructed by Phil, she had blown the budget and had booked a week in the Maldives, flying out the following morning to a luxury hotel that would probably be filled with honeymooning couples. He hadn’t bothered to look up from his phone when she’d told him about it, just grunted. What Anna was really looking forward to was the seven books she’d packed, none of which were romances.
‘Don’t keep us in suspense,’ said Sarah’s disembodied voice. ‘I can’t cross my fingers much longer. My nails are coming off.’
‘Shut up, Mum,’ wailed Chloe. ‘This is only my whole life! I feel like there should be music playing . . . that, like, atmosphere music?’
‘Der dum,’ said Phil, doing the Jaws theme. ‘Der dum. Der dum . . .’
‘Daaad. OK, tell me,’ she said, closing her eyes and holding out her hands so her sisters could grab one each side.
‘OK, here we go,’ said Anna. ‘The results for Chloe McQueen are in, and . . .’ She unfolded the paper and her heart sank.
Oh, shit, she thought. What to start with, the good news or the bad news?
Phil looked over her shoulder and his intake of breath gave the game away. Chloe’s eyes snapped open.
‘Well,’ said Anna quickly, ‘you got a B in Drama!’
‘Re-mark,’ said Phil. ‘She can’t just have got a B. That’s impossible.’
‘. . . and a B in English Literature. And a C in French. And a D in Music, an E in English Language, E in History . . .’
Chloe’s face was falling with every word Anna spoke and now she looked outright distressed.
Why am I the one who has to pass on the bad news? Anna thought helplessly. Isn’t this Phil’s job? But it was too late. She had to plough on.
‘And an E in Maths, an E in German. And Science was . . . U.’ She folded up the paper.
‘It must be a mistake, we’ll get them re-marked, Chloe,’ said Sarah’s voice, and Anna saw Chloe turn away from the laptop and run out of the room. Sarah’s legs followed her.
Becca appeared in the space Chloe had vacated. Her hair had been backcombed into a huge beehive and the winged black eyeliner only made her eyes look more cynical. ‘Just to say, I’m coming home the day after tomorrow. Don’t worry about collecting me from the airport, Owen’s coming to meet me.’
‘Hi, Anna!’ Lily’s face made a sideways entry into shot. ‘Hi, Daddy! I’m getting my hair half white, half black like Cruella de Vil! Mum’s taking me to her hairdresser! And I’ve got my eeeeeears pierced!’
Anna looked at Phil, and she knew before he spoke that he had nothing useful to say.
Since her dinner with Harvey, Michelle was finding it even more difficult to sleep, despite refurnishing her bedroom with some of her new bedlinen, transforming it into a marshmallow-white oasis of calm and soft serenity.
It wasn’t just the hot weather that was unsettling her. For several days in a row, Anna had come into the shop with bags under her eyes, and wouldn’t say what the problem was. Michelle knew it had to be a family issue, and felt hurt that Anna clearly didn’t expect her to understand. Their chats seemed shorter and more work-orientated every day, and Michelle was irrationally jealous of whoever it was that Anna was talking to now.
And then there was the bookshop. Anna had displayed a surprising new lease of confidence about her ‘Deckchair Classics’ campaign, but with most locals on holiday or cutting back it was a losing battle, and Michelle was finding it hard to come up with reasons to carry on. She knew she should listen to her Jilly Cooper audiobook so they could do their ‘summer reading’ interview in the paper, but all Michelle’s instincts were telling her to stop rearranging the deckchairs on the Titanic and ring for the Carpathia asap.
Tavish was off his food. She’d tried all kinds of tempting nibbles, but he was eating less and looking as morose as a dog that looked like a black car-wash brush could. Rory hadn’t mentioned it, so either he hadn’t noticed or Tavish preferred living with Rory – which would be the final bloody straw.
And Harvey. God. He’d gone quiet, which didn’t mean a thing. It just meant he was thinking. He wouldn’t have given up, she knew that. He was waiting for her to follow through on her threat and send the papers. What would be unleashed if she did that? What would he say to her dad? How far would Harvey go?
There were other darker thoughts he’d churned up too, about herself and who she was. Harvey was right when he said no one really knew her. Even Anna didn’t, not really. Michelle had done such a meticulous job of building her new life, refurbishing herself just like she’d done up her house and sh
op, that she sometimes forgot too. Harvey coming back like that had disturbed the layers of dust and something was moving inside her that scared her.
Her mind skirted around the worst thought, then touched it, tentatively. How could she still have felt that shiver of attraction to him, when he looked at her like that? She loathed Harvey, but he did know her. And still wanted her.
The only small consolation was that her dad wasn’t ill. As far as she could tell, anyway. She’d got in her car one morning and made a surprise visit home, catching him and her mother on their own before Harvey could sniff out her presence. When her mother had gone out to answer a call from one of her brothers, Michelle had asked her dad in a roundabout way what he’d been up to, how he was feeling – he’d seemed surprised, and told her about the track day he was planning for his birthday. That didn’t sound like a man who was ‘fragile’.
More to the point, when she’d brought the conversation round to the business, he hadn’t mentioned anything about her and Harvey taking over the dealership network. The thought of Harvey playing her father, who trusted him, as well as her, made Michelle angry and sick.
She looked at the perfectly plastered ceiling rose above her bed. It was gone five. She wasn’t going to sleep now.
What can I achieve in the next few hours? she thought.
When in doubt, run.
Michelle turned on her iPod and headed out of the house, along the canal path, feeling her way into her running rhythm as her heart began to pump in her chest. Running made her feel better, more connected to things. It occurred to her that this might be a good time to listen to the audiobook for her and Anna’s interview, and she clicked her way into it without breaking stride.
To begin with, Michelle wasn’t really listening to the words, hoping they’d sink into her subconscious on their own, but as she left the yellow arrows of the riverside footpath and headed up the poet streets towards the centre of town, the story started to catch her attention and her brain engaged.