Just What Kind of Mother Are You? (7 page)

‘Of course, Tammy’s not admitting it, but everyone knows she’s secretly seeing another man. I saw her buying new underwear in the village … a sure sign she’s up to something. Especially when she’s the type of woman who doesn’t even wear mascara. I said to Pippa that I
bet
she—’

‘You don’t know that,’ Kate cut in unexpectedly, her face stony.

‘Everyone
knows, Katy—’

‘You don’t know for certain she’s having an affair,’ finished Kate, and Alexa rolled her eyes at her, meaning: Don’t be so naïve, which made Kate shout: ‘Think about the children! Don’t start spreading ugly rumours when you have no evidence. Think about Tammy’s children.’

The table fell into uncomfortable silence again. It was Kate’s tone. So unlike her. I’d never heard her speak that way before.

Alexa stared at her, affronted. ‘Think
what
about the children, Kate? If they are not happy, then the last thing Tammy and David should do is stay together for the sake of the children.’

Kate put her glass down. ‘How can you say that?’

‘Because it’s true.’

‘It’s not true! That’s what everyone says, that it’s okay to just up and leave whenever the mood takes you. They say, “The children will be all right!” “Better for them to be brought up with divorced parents than in an unhappy home.” Well,
you
should know, Alexa, that it’s
not
all right. You of all people should know that.’

Alexa sighed, as if she was thoroughly bored. ‘Not this again.’

Walking into the room, Guy cleared his throat. ‘Ladies, ladies—’

‘Shut up, Guy,’ Kate snapped.

I’d dropped my head, furtively glancing around the table. Joe was smiling openly – he loves it when people are drunk and they start arguing, especially family. Alexa’s husband, Adam, sat there pretending nothing was happening at all and was scraping up the last of his ice cream.

‘If two people want to have an affair, let them,’ Alexa continued. ‘Christ, Kate, life is bloody short, love is thin on the ground. People need to take love when and where they find it. If Tammy’s got a little romance in her life, let her have it, and don’t be so fucking sanctimonious.’ Then she said, ‘You lose your prettiness when you get all tense like this, Kate. Really, it’s not good for you.’

Kate was shaking now. Quietly, she said, ‘I can’t believe you’re pretending to forget what it was like.’

‘It’s life, Kate. Get over it.’

I went to stand, saying, ‘Does anyone want anything from the kitchen?’, but Alexa shot me a look.

‘Sit down, Lisa,’ she said. Then, addressing Kate again, ‘We’re not the only people to have divorced parents, you know. And you can’t go around hating everyone who puts their children through it.’

‘I don’t hate them,’ Kate replied. ‘I hate the way they act so blameless. I hate the way they bring strangers into the house, acting as if it’s fine when you know it’s not. Don’t you remember what it was like for us? To come out of the bathroom when you were thirteen and find a man in the hallway? It was excruciating, Alexa, you know it was. And if you want to pretend otherwise, that’s fine. But I can’t.’ She gave a small sob and got up, leaving the room.

For a while nobody spoke. Then, finally, after a minute, Adam looked at Alexa, saying, ‘Was that really necessary?’

And she threw her wine at him.

‘Oh, fuck off, you pathetic little man,’ she shouted, and stormed off as well.

The men all sighed and sat back in their chairs. I didn’t know what to do. ‘Should I go to them?’ I asked. ‘Should I see if they’re okay?’

‘Not if you want to keep your teeth,’ Guy answered. He refilled the glasses. ‘From experience, I’d say it’s best to let them sort it out. If you go in there now, you’ll only end up coming off worse. Believe me, Lisa, you don’t want to come between them.’

Joe chipped in, slurring, ‘It’s siblings, Lise. You don’t understand, being an only one.’ And he was right: I didn’t. But his comment was still a little wounding, probably because I was drunk and slightly irrational. Also because
it is
wounding when someone says you’re incapable of understanding just because you have no experience of something.

I replied by saying, ‘Oh, like you do understand, Joe.’

Joe got on just fine with his sister, mostly because he never saw her. He shrugged, his face blotchy from the booze, then, narrowing his eyes at me, he said, ‘Maybe if your dad hadn’t fucked off when he did—’

‘Joe!’
I said, and stared at him. We didn’t discuss this. We never discussed this in front of people. Especially not people like this. But Joe had passed over into that territory I referred to as Nasty Pissed. And though generally Joe was a sweet drunk, once the eight-pint mark had been crossed, he became argumentative and hostile.

I felt uncomfortable. Suddenly, the dynamics had changed. I was the only woman, alone at the table, with my smashed taxi-driver husband and a well-spoken, rich property developer and a consultant dermatologist. It all seemed wrong and awkward. If
Adam hadn’t given me a consolatory smile, a smile to say,
Don’t be upset
, I think I would have left.

And I should have. What I should have done was go and find Kate and Alexa and check that they were okay. Looking back, that would have been the right thing to do. But I didn’t. I stayed, and I continued to drink. And by the time Alexa came back forty-five minutes or so later, we’d all kind of forgotten about her and Kate. Joe had passed out (as I knew he would), on a lovely striped easy chair. And I’d got a bit over-friendly with the two men.

I’d kicked off my shoes and was dancing to MTV in my stockinged feet, holding my glass, and we were laughing and shouting. Alexa stood in the doorway and said, ‘You’re spilling out of that dress, Lisa. You should sit down,’ and, stupidly, I sniggered at her. Which was not the best thing to do, because she got mad. Understandable, but it had just felt so funny that she was telling me off.

Glaring at me, she shouted, ‘You look like a fucking trollop, Lisa! Sit down!’ Which made me stop in my tracks.

Then she turned to her husband. ‘We’re going. Get your coat from upstairs and ring for a taxi. Kate is fine now, thank you all very much for asking.’

Guy approached her, his arms outstretched. ‘Oh, don’t be like that, Alexa,’ he boomed. ‘We’re only having a laugh.’ He tried to hug her, but she pushed him away, marching over to the corner to get her handbag.

I backed out of the doorway, saying, ‘Excuse me, I need the loo,’ and I made for the stairs, thinking I could hide up there until she left. I felt like a teenager at a house party when the parents returned home and switched the lights on.

Seconds later, I crashed into the bathroom, fumbling with the lock, before sinking to the floor against the bathtub.

The room was beautiful. All enamel and chrome, marble and
mirrors. I looked around dreamily, wishing I could afford even the hand soap, never mind the thick, fluffy towels stacked neatly on the built-in shelves. God, I would die for this bathroom, I was thinking, when the door handle began turning slowly.

Adam leaned his head around the frame, and said, ‘Can I come in?’

My eyes were wide. ‘No,’ I hissed, automatically adjusting my dress. ‘Of course you can’t.’

‘Please,’ he persisted. ‘I just want a quick word. It’ll only take a minute.’

‘Oh, okay, but be quick. Your wife is waiting.’

‘Guy’s calmed her with a drink.’

He edged in and closed the door. I wasn’t sure if I should try to stand but, to be honest, I was disastrously drunk. My limbs were loose and not to be counted on.

‘What is it?’ I asked him.

‘I hate her,’ he said flatly, and I couldn’t help it – I burst out laughing. Had to put my hand up to my mouth to stop.

‘It’s not funny,’ he said. ‘I really fucking hate her.’

‘It kind of is,’ I said, still laughing, then: ‘Sorry, sorry, I’ll stop now.’

He knelt down, too close for me to focus. I was moving my head backwards and forwards, trying to get his image to sharpen. ‘Sorry,’ I said again, and without warning he pressed his lips to mine.

Horrified, I said, ‘Stop. You can’t do that.’

‘Let me … please.’

‘I’m married.’

‘So am I.’

‘Yes, but—’

He kissed me more deeply, and I was too shocked to stop him. I wasn’t kissing him back, but I wasn’t pushing him off either. I was just kind of numb. Numb and confused. It was as if I were
watching this scene play out from somewhere across the room. Not actually partaking in it.

Then he stopped and he looked at me.

‘I’m really, really drunk,’ I said helplessly, and he hushed me, putting his finger to my lips.

‘You’re beautiful.’

And I wanted to say, ‘No I’m not, I’m cheap.’ But I didn’t. I liked hearing his words, even if I knew he didn’t mean them.

Instead I said, ‘What about your wife?’, and he shook his head as if their relationship were a lost cause.

‘You’ve seen her, you’ve seen how she is,’ he said. ‘She attacked you because she couldn’t stand not to have all the attention.’

‘She attacked me because she thinks I’m stupid. And she’s right. I am stupid compared to the likes of her.’

He kissed me again, whispering, ‘You’re way off.’

And this is the part I’m most ashamed of. This is the part, when I think about it, I hate the most. I hate who I was in this moment.

Because I let him.

I let him kiss me. I let him push my dress up and pull my knickers down over my stockings, around my ankles. And I could lie and say it was because his wife made me feel worthless and crap, and I hated her for it. That would be true, but not the only reason. Really it was because I’d looked at Joe, pissed and daft in the corner, and I’d looked at Adam and Guy, eloquent and charming, and I couldn’t believe Adam could
want
me. Want me and be willing to risk being found out. He was clever and funny and handsome, and, Jesus, he had money. He was all the things I was never, ever down for. The things I could never, ever have.

Before I knew it he was inside me and moving and I was gasping. The whole thing was raunchy and thrilling and desperate.
And then, as I opened my eyes in sweet anguish, there was a face peering around the door, watching me. Us.

Then it was gone.

9

I
T
’
S ALMOST ELEVEN A.M
. I’ve called the animal shelter and told them I won’t be in until … I don’t actually give them anything firm. My office door will be kept shut, and there’ll be no animal adoptions today.

I have to sign off on all the adoptions. I do the home visits first to check we’re not sending our cats and dogs to a hellhole. And I have a personal rule that if you’ve brought more than one dog back to us, you can’t have another. I don’t care if your personal circumstances have changed, I don’t care if you’ve got more time now, that you really regret giving up the last pet. Two strikes, and you have to go elsewhere.

Joe puts a cup of tea on the bedside cabinet and gives the top of my head a quick kiss. I sit up and lift the rim of the cup to my lips, but my hands are shaking too much to take a sip.

He’s just had a phone call to say there’s a police officer coming to see us shortly, to talk about what we know. I’d protested. Said to Joe that we didn’t
know anything
, and wouldn’t we be more use out looking for Lucinda?

But Joe had stroked my face, saying, ‘They need to talk to us. Don’t worry, it won’t be that bad.’ As ever, he knew the true meaning behind my words. He knew what I was really saying:
Don’t interview me and blame me. Don’t blame me again
.

‘Come on,’ says Joe. ‘You best get downstairs. They’re not going to want to talk to you while you’re in bed.’

We go down to the kitchen, and the doorbell rings.

Joe answers it quickly, and I hear a woman’s voice.

‘Mr Kallisto? Hello, I’m Detective Constable Aspinall.’

Joe murmurs something and, seconds later, she’s in my kitchen. The three dogs are immediately around her legs, sniffing and fussing. I go to apologize but, before I get the chance to shoo them away, she says, ‘It’s fine. I don’t mind dogs.’

Joe tells her the kettle’s boiled and asks if she would like a brew. She accepts. Strong tea, one and a half sugars.

‘How are you bearing up?’ she asks, because she can see by my face I’m a mess. I’m crying even when I don’t know I am. ‘I’m told that Mr and Mrs Riverty assumed that their daughter was here for the night. Is that correct?’

I nod sadly, sitting down, gesturing for her to do the same. The scrubbed pine table is still littered with this morning’s debris. Grains of sugar, rings from the bottom of cups and glasses. I put my elbow into something sticky then move it again.

‘It’s my fault,’ I tell her and she doesn’t say anything in return. Not:
It could happen to anyone
. Or:
Try not to be too hard on yourself
. None of the things I would surely say to someone in my situation.

She’s a chunky, squat-looking woman in her parka and flat shoes. It’s only when she takes off her coat that I see it’s her bust making her appear much bigger than she actually is. Her dark hair is held back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. A few strands have escaped around her face. I’d put her at about my age, thirty-sevenish. There’s no wedding ring.

Joe hands her the tea. ‘Do I stay?’ he asks. ‘Or do you want to speak to us separately?’

Neither of us has had any dealings with the police before, and he’s flapping. ‘Stay,’ she says kindly. She takes out a notepad, flips through the pages.

‘Kate’s not doing too well,’ I tell her.

‘To be expected.’

‘They had to get the doctor. That’s why we left. That’s why we decided it was best if—’ I stop myself.
I’m
flapping now. Telling her stuff she doesn’t need to know. Trying to explain why we’re not round there doing something to help.

I change tack and ask her if it was she who interviewed the family earlier. ‘Did you see Kate?’ I say.

DC Aspinall starts writing in her notepad while she speaks. ‘I saw Mr and Mrs Riverty this morning.’ She says this without looking up. ‘Then I went on to Windermere Academy to talk to the teachers and find out what time Lucinda was in school until. We’re piecing together her movements just before she disappeared.’