No Escape (35 page)

‘We haven’t heard from him, darling, but if he calls, I’ll tell him what’s happening and get him to phone you right away.’ Angela took a deep breath, bent on
staying calm for her daughter’s sake. ‘When are you leaving Windsor?’

‘In the next couple of hours.’ Lizzie struggled to unscramble her brain. ‘I may not be allowed to keep my mobile on once we leave – can you tell Christopher that too,
please, Mum?’

‘I’ll make sure he’s at Hammersmith, waiting for you.’

‘Bless you, Mum,’ Lizzie said. ‘And kiss the others for me, please.’

‘Big hugs from us,’ Angela said.

Travelling in the ambulance with Jack, Lizzie felt her spurious calm shredding by the minute in the face of her son’s unusually palpable nervousness and worsening wheeze.
Yet after their arrival at Hammersmith, with the admissions palaver dealt with and Jack tucked up in bed, he rallied – despite the absence of or any word from his father – and told her
he didn’t need her to stay.

‘Of course I’m going to stay,’ Lizzie said.

‘There’s no need. You can stay at the flat.’

‘I know I can,’ she said, ‘but I’d much rather stay here.’

‘I’m not bloody dying, Mum,’ Jack said.

‘I never said you were,’ she said, feeling her insides shrivelling.

‘Then why do you want everyone to think I’m a baby?’

‘No one would ever think that,’ Lizzie told him.

‘If Dad was here,
he’d
understand how I feel,’ Jack said.

She had no answer to that.

‘You win,’ she said. ‘I’ll go to the flat.’

There were no lights on as her taxi deposited her outside the flat, no signs of life at all, though at least there was no newspaper sticking out through the letter box nor any
milk bottles on the step.

Lizzie sighed as she fished for her front door key and put it into the lock, too exhausted now, and too preoccupied by Jack to worry about where Christopher might have got to.

She came into the dark entrance hall, turned on the lights, shut and locked the front door behind her, and walked slowly towards the kitchen, in need, she decided as she went, of tea and
chocolate biscuits, over and above anything stronger.

The sound, coming, she thought, from the living room, was faint, but enough to stop her in mid-step. She froze, listening.

It came again.

Like a soft groan.

Wide awake suddenly, feeling more bewildered than afraid, Lizzie walked to the living room door and pushed it open.

There were no lights on, but the curtains weren’t drawn, and as her eyes quite quickly accustomed themselves to the dimness, a shape, on the sofa, moved.

Lizzie put up her hand and turned on the light.

‘God,’ she said. ‘What happened to you?’

Christopher was sitting, or rather leaning, against one end of their sofa, an almost empty bottle of Johnnie Walker and another – not empty – of aspirin beside him.

‘Lizzie,’ he said, with difficulty.

His face was badly bruised, one eye almost panda black and three-quarters shut, a smear of crusted blood at the right corner of his mouth.

‘Christopher, what
happened
?’

‘Oh, Christ,’ he said, very weakly.

She knew, even before he spoke, as she was halfway to the sofa,
en route
to offering him help, that he was going to tell her something bad, that this was not the result of some ordinary
accident.

She stopped, stood still. ‘Tell me, please.’

‘Oh, Christ, Lizzie.’ He sat up a little way, wincing, sending the whisky bottle rolling off the cushions and onto the rug. ‘Oh, God, that hurts.’

Still, Lizzie remained where she was.

‘I could lie to you—’ his voice was slurred ‘—tell you it was a car accident or a hit-and-run, but then you’d ask what the police were doing about it, so I
might as well come clean right away.’ His mouth quirked wryly. ‘Clean,’ he echoed.

Lizzie sat down, away from him, in one of the armchairs.

‘I’ve been beaten up,’ Christopher said, his eyes veering from hers, ‘by a pimp who objected to what I was doing to one of his girls.’

Lizzie felt her head start to spin a little, felt sick.

‘No more Lizzie for me.’ Christopher held up both hands for a moment in a confessional kind of shrug. ‘So it’s back to where I was, doing it with prossies.’ He got
to his feet with difficulty and looked down at her. ‘And what are you going to do about it now that you know? Your worst?’

She stared up at him for several seconds, then shook her head, looked away from him, into the bleak, empty fireplace.

‘What I would like to do,’ she said, shakily, ‘is finish it all right now. Tell you to clear out and never come near me or our children again—’ She halted, feeling
dizzy.

‘Lizzie?’ He took a step towards her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Don’t you
dare
come near me,’ she snarled suddenly. ‘Of course I’m not all right, you bloody,
bloody
fool.’ She looked at him again. ‘Not
because someone’s beaten you to a pulp – I wish to God they’d done a better job.’

‘You don’t mean that.’ Christopher sank down again, back onto the sofa.

‘Jack’s in hospital.’

‘I know he is.’

‘Not in Windsor,’ Lizzie told him. ‘In Hammersmith.’ She stood up, went to the fireplace, put out a hand to the mantel to steady herself. ‘Which you’d know,
if you hadn’t been . . .’ She shook her head.

‘Why?’ Christopher’s voice, behind her, was sharper. ‘Why’s Jack been moved? What’s happened, Lizzie?’

She turned around, slowly, saw the terror on his face, chalky now around the bruising, knew that the fear, at least, was real. ‘Don’t panic,’ she said. ‘His breathing got
a bit worse, but it’s not too bad. They were concerned they might not be quite up to it, if he were to deteriorate, and I chose Hammersmith because you were here.’

‘So why aren’t you with him now?’ he asked.

Anger returned in full force. ‘Because Jack didn’t want me to stay,’ she said coldly. ‘He doesn’t want people thinking he’s a baby.’ Strength was coming
back with the fury. ‘He said you’d understand, if you were there.’

‘Oh, Christ.’ Christopher began to rise again, then stopped. ‘I can’t let him see me like this. Oh, my God, what have I done?’ His eyes filled. ‘Lizzie, what
are we going to do? You can’t tell him, you
can’t
.’

‘I have no intention of telling Jack, or Edward or Sophie – remember them?’

‘Lizzie, please.’

‘And clearly this isn’t the moment to discuss separation or divorce.’

Christopher covered his face with his hands and began to weep.

‘For God’s sake,’ Lizzie said in disgust. ‘Your ten-year-old son’s got a thousand times more courage than you have.’

Christopher’s face emerged from above his hands, tear-streaked. ‘I
knew
that was what you were planning,’ he said, still weeping. ‘I knew it as soon as Alicia told
me someone had been snooping in our computer system, in my files.’

‘I don’t know what you’re rambling about,’ Lizzie said, ‘and I don’t care.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I was going to make some tea, but I think I
deserve something stronger.’ She looked down at the bottle on the carpet. ‘If you’ve left anything.’

He didn’t answer, and she went to the cabinet, found a bottle of Glenfiddich, poured herself a single, knowing anything more might tip her over the edge, and she needed to be capable in
case the hospital phoned.

‘Do you need a doctor?’ she asked him abruptly, then took her first swallow, felt it brace her just a little.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing broken.’

‘Then you may as well go to bed, don’t you think?’

‘What about Jack?’ he asked, pitiful again.

‘I’ll telephone in a while, check on him. With a bit of luck, he’ll be sleeping, so I won’t have to make excuses for you not speaking to him.’

‘I can speak to him, surely?’ He raised his face, aggrieved.

‘Not till you’re sober and sounding like yourself,’ Lizzie said. ‘And you’d better do something about your face, patch yourself up a bit, or God knows when
you’ll next be fit to see him.’

‘Oh, Lizzie,’ Christopher said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

She took another swallow of her drink and looked down at him.

‘Go to hell, Christopher,’ she said.

When Clare had told Novak, that morning, that she intended to take the day off, he had been surprised and concerned, had asked her before leaving if she was sure she was okay,
if she needed a doctor or wanted him to stay with her.

‘Yes, no and
no
,’ she’d told him, exasperated but lighthearted. ‘I just feel like taking a day off, which is what you’ve been on at me to do, isn’t
it?’

Which was true, of course, so he’d done as she asked, gone to the agency and spent most of the day paying the bills that still flowed in at a frighteningly faster and higher rate than
their invoices went out, aware that now there was a baby on the way it was more vital than ever that he kept their heads above water.

He had phoned to check on her twice during the morning, but the second time she’d bitten his head off, told him he was stopping her from relaxing, and he’d backed off after that, not
ringing her again till around four pm, when she’d been out.

He’d tried her mobile, but she’d switched it off, and after that he stewed for a while, picturing all kinds of emergencies, then went home, found the flat empty and went on stewing,
until just after nine o’clock, when she finally came home.

‘Where the hell have you
been
?’ he said the instant he saw she was okay.

‘At Nick’s,’ Clare said.

‘You’ve been with Nick Parry?’ He was incredulous.

‘That’s what I said.’ She began to take off her coat.

‘You were meant to be having a day off, not
nursing
.’

‘Have you finished shouting at me?’ she asked, quite mildly.

Novak leaned back against the wall, weak with relief and anger. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for yelling, but I’ve been worried sick.’

‘Why?’ Her surprise was genuine.

‘Because I didn’t know where you were, and your mobile was turned off.’

‘I didn’t take it.’ Clare walked into the kitchen. ‘Nick phoned me at lunchtime, very pissed off, and I was bored, and I knew you’d be cross if I changed my mind
and came to the agency, so I went to spend some time with him instead.’

Novak’s anger had already dissipated, and he felt, if anything, ashamed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I know I drive you nuts sometimes.’

‘Pretty much all the time just now,’ she said.

‘It’s not my intention,’ he said.

‘I know.’ Clare picked up the kettle, swished around the water already in it, put it down and switched it on. ‘Being with Nick takes my mind off things.’

‘Unlike me,’ Novak said, trying not to sound hurt.

‘Unlike you,’ Clare agreed.

Christopher had been asleep in his room for a while, and Lizzie had spoken to the sister on Jack’s floor, who’d assured her that he, too, was sleeping peacefully,
before she remembered to check the voice mail on her mobile phone and found a message from Robin asking how the tour was going, and saying that he hoped she’d have enough strength left when
she got back to London at least for a drink.

‘And dinner, too,’ he’d added, ‘if you’re up to it.’

Lizzie listened through to the end of her messages, called home again, spoke to her mother first, then Gilly, then Sophie – who was refusing to go to bed until she heard the latest about
Jack – and then, finally, to Edward.

‘Is Dad okay?’ he asked after he’d learned about his brother.

‘Dad’s fine,’ Lizzie told him. ‘But really worn out, so he’s gone to bed early.’

‘Send my love,’ Edward said.

‘You bet,’ Lizzie said.

She called Susan next, thanked her again for being such a true friend, asked her to send more apologies to Howard and all at Vicuna, said she promised faithfully to make up for this
unprofessional streak, and Susan said that frankly, good as
Pure Bliss
might be, it was still only a book, and hardly to be compared with Jack’s health.

Lizzie said goodnight to Susan, made herself a cup of hot chocolate, took it into the living room, found Allbeury’s number and dialled it.

‘What a lovely surprise,’ he said, hearing her voice. ‘What’s wrong?’

She wondered, briefly, at his intuition, and told him what had happened, felt warmed by the intensity of his concern for Jack, and his sympathy regarding the abrupt ending of her tour.

‘Shall I have a quick word with Christopher?’ Allbeury asked, easily, as if they were old friends who regularly chatted.

‘He’s gone to bed actually,’ Lizzie said.

‘Nothing like kids being ill to drain you,’ Allbeury said.

He made it sound almost as if he’d had first-hand experience of that, and Lizzie wondered why that might be, if, maybe, he had nephews and nieces, and realized, not for the first time, how
very little she knew about him.

‘I’ll let you go,’ he said, gently. ‘If you need anything, Lizzie, please don’t hesitate to call me.’ He paused. ‘Any time.’

She thanked him, said goodnight, put down the phone.

‘Who was that?’

She looked up, saw Christopher, looking cleaner but still dreadful, standing in the doorway in a white towelling robe with CW embroidered on the breast.

‘I was returning some calls,’ she said. ‘That was Robin Allbeury.’

‘Why’s Allbeury calling you?’

‘He thought I was still touring, wanted to know how it was going.’ Lizzie paused. ‘You know we had dinner together last week.’

‘Cosy,’ Christopher said.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Anger returned.

‘Dinner with a divorce lawyer.’

‘He would have dined us both if we’d been together.’ Lizzie shook her head. ‘Why the hell am I explaining myself to you?’

‘I’m sorry.’ Christopher remained in the doorway. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘Just now? That Jack’s unwell, obviously.’

‘Nothing else?’

‘Of course not,’ Lizzie answered coolly.

‘Thank you,’ Christopher said.