Out of My Depth (39 page)

It was instantly quieter. Rain fell on the roof above us, its noise muffled. I reached for the light switch, and was surprised that the electricity was working. The emergency candles that Roman had made me store here were on the window sill, where I could easily reach them if they were needed. The room was bare without the chaise longue, and I sat down on one of the cushions we had taken off it. Tamsin stood in front of me. I looked around the room. I often worked here at night, but this evening it seemed frightening. My easel was to one side, and there was a jumble of painting paraphernalia on the surfaces. A large jar of paintbrushes was on the opposite window sill. The rain was pounding down on the roof. I would still need to shout for Tamsin to hear me.

I thought Tamsin might sit down on another cushion, but she stayed in the centre of the room, where my easel usually stood, and she looked around. Everything seemed to be casting exaggerated shadows.

‘Jesus, Susie,’ she said, after a while. She had dripped a puddle onto the rug. She pushed her hair back and shook the water from her hand. All this crap. All these material goods. Your “lifestyle”. It means nothing. It’s all pretend, isn’t it?’

‘Mmm.’ I looked at my lap and nodded. I knew she was right.

Tamsin looked at the ceiling, and then back at me, and suddenly we were seventeen and eighteen again. I worked hard to keep a grip on myself. My adult life had been an avoidance of this moment, until recently. She was shaking with what I supposed was rage. She had always been the strongest of us all.

‘How could you invite me here?’ she shouted suddenly. ‘The three of you. Letting me chatter away last night, getting it all off my bloody chest. How could you? How dare you? The little conspiracy between you all. Don’t tell Tamsin. But we should tell Tamsin. No we shouldn’t. I don’t know how you can live with yourselves.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I’m still trying to take it all in,’ she continued, slowly and deliberately. ‘And, actually, I cannot believe you did it. I can’t believe that everything that’s happened was because of you. You and Amanda and Isabelle.’ She smiled a horrible smile. ‘My three best friends. My best friends in all the world. You know, I wish I could say I worked it out. Everyone said Mum’s drink had been spiked. I knew it had, because she would never have drunk alcohol in that situation. It just wasn’t her, was it? And nobody was ever going to admit to anything, and there was no proof, so it was always going to be speculation.’ She was staring at me, accusing and bewildered. And now that I look back — now that I know — yes, I can see it. You and Amanda and Izzy, but you and Amanda in particular, you couldn’t say a word to me afterwards. I was on a different planet, but that particular betrayal, that disappointment, made it through the haze. The people I’d thought would be there for me no matter what, the people I wanted to lean on, were treating me like an embarrassing stranger. Fumbling for things to say. Practically crossing the street to avoid me. I was angry with Izzy, most of all, because she was supposed to be my best friend. But she knew what you and Amanda had done. She couldn’t tell me. That explains it.’ She looked at the wall. ‘You three. You were the reason why I headed off. That was why I’ve been in Australia all this time and it’s why I’m going back.’

I was looking at her face. She was biting her bottom lip. She closed her eyes briefly, and then opened them again.

I moved closer, and she didn’t flinch.

‘I’m so sorry’ I told her. She didn’t respond. ‘Sorry doesn’t really cover it, does it? It was a stupid, drunken moment of idiocy. It is that one impulsive moment that changes everybody’s lives for ever. I’ve longed to go back, every day. I’ve been back in my dreams. I’ve pictured it so often. That moment. Amanda and I, blind drunk. We don’t put the vodka in Mrs Grey’s drink. We knock it back ourselves, pass out, snog some boys, whatever, and it all just carries on being like a school ball is supposed to be. You and your mum get home safely, and the next day we have hangovers and on Monday we go to school and compare notes. That’s it. That’s the way it should have been. Or Izzy stops us. Or she drinks the vodka herself, or she tells your mum. Or you see us doing it, not Izzy, so you stop it.’

Tamsin inhaled deeply. ‘I know, Susie,’ she said, carefully. She was unreachable, unknowable. ‘I do the same. Actually, I haven’t, for a while. I stopped myself because no good can come of those thoughts. But I used to do it compulsively. I would create scenarios where I would say to Mum, before we leave home, “Mum, let’s get a cab tonight. You won’t want to drive. You’ll be tired,” and she says, “OK, good idea,” and that’s it. No crash, different life.’ She shrugged. ‘Where does that get you, though? And who’s to say what would have happened then? Perhaps the cab would have crashed. Maybe that was her day to go. You can’t know anything.’

I leaned my head back against the wall. ‘I shouldn’t have told you. I’ve needed to for ages. It’s been overwhelming. Izzy thought I shouldn’t have done it. She said it would only stir things up for you. Amanda was dead against it which is probably why she’s off on a bender.’

‘Roman?’

‘Doesn’t know. I don’t think any of us has ever told anyone. My life fell apart when you went to Australia. I couldn’t handle anything, and I had a baby, who died, and it was just . . .’ I swallowed. ‘But I knew that I’d tell you one day. I knew that I had to. You can’t kill somebody’s mother and then carry on with your life as if nothing ever happened.’ I looked at her and then found I couldn’t meet her eyes, so finally I looked away. I looked at her black clothes, at her wet hair slicked down by the rain. She inhaled deeply.

‘Susie,’ she said. ‘I came over here because I knew I had to deal with it all, once and for all. Like I said last night. For years I’d known I ought to come back to Britain and lay Mum’s ghost to rest. I thought I’d never understand exactly why it happened. I never imagined it would turn out to be your fault. But it’s strange — it’s as if on some level I did have some idea, because I was convinced there was a reason to come back. I just didn’t know what it was. Nothing would have stopped me.’ She shook her head, staring at the light. ‘I do know that you’re not the same person now as you were back then. I’m really, really sorry to hear about your baby. None of us are the same. It explains why Amanda is the way she is. I’m sorry that she’s lost the side of her that Dai brought out. And part of me is thinking I should tell you not to worry about it, that it’s fine and we’re all grown up, it’s water under the bridge, and my stupid mother should have noticed that what she was drinking tasted of bloody vodka.’ She stopped, and drew a deep breath. ‘Most people could drive home after two shots of spirits. Without driving off the road. She wasn’t much over the limit. So perhaps the accident would have happened anyway.’

Suddenly Tamsin turned on me, her eyes flashing. ‘But I can’t do that. I can never forgive any of you. You ruined my life. I have a-’ she made quote marks with her fingers in the air — ‘“good life” in Australia. I have a partner and a job. I see the sun. But I don’t have a mother. I’m adrift. I’m always going to be adrift, without her. And . . She stopped, suddenly. Her face closed. ‘There’s no point. There’s no reason to say any more. I need to get out of here.’

I opened my mouth, and closed it again, and the lights went out. I felt along the wall until I reached the window sill, and grabbed candles and matches, glad to have something to do. I was desolate.

I had never let myself imagine Tamsin’s response. I supposed that I had secretly, selfishly hoped for some kind of forgiveness. I lit a candle, and looked for somewhere to put it. Blackout preparations had not extended to candlesticks, so I handed it to Tamsin and lit another for myself. The candlelight flickered over her face, and she looked ghostly and strange and beautiful. She looked like a choir-girl.

‘I have to leave right now,’ she said firmly. ‘I can’t stay here. Not with you three. The rain’s easing off. Take me to a hotel.’ She was right. The rain was stopping. The electricity had probably been cut off somewhere up the line, which meant that it would be back on before long. ‘Come on, back to the house,’ she added. ‘You need to check everyone’s OK. Izzy’ll be in the dark. The children are probably awake, and if the others are back, they’ll be running around like headless chickens. Drunk ones. I’ll pack and you can drive me somewhere.’

‘You really want to leave? Now?’

‘Yes.’ She turned. ‘Come on. It’s over.’

Patrick and Amanda ran through the rain to the house, keeping as far apart as they could. It was pitch dark and the house seemed not to be lit at all.

Amanda was trying to stay angry. She was trying to be furious with Patrick, because she wanted to believe that she was slighted, and he was wrong. If she was angry, everything could stay the way it had always been. She could not admit that he was right, that there was any truth at all in what he was saying, because if she did, then everything would have to end. She was crying, and letting the rain cover her face to disguise her tears. Amanda never cried.

She let Patrick reach the door first. He felt along the wall for it, opened it for her, and stood out in the rain to usher her in. She swept past without looking at him. She wanted to shake the water off herself, onto him, as if she were a dog.

Instead, she looked around nervously. There was a dim light coming from the direction of the dining room, so she walked towards it, unsure of herself and uncertain about everything. She edged into the dining room, and saw Isabelle, on her own, sitting at the dining table with an empty champagne glass, and two full ones, in front of her. A torch was standing upright on the table, like a candle, lighting Izzy’s face from below. She looked eery and ugly.

Izzy looked round and did a double take.

Amanda?’ she asked, as if genuinely unsure.

‘What’s wrong?’ Amanda tried to snap, but it didn’t work. She grabbed the torch from the table, and turned it on herself, in front of the mirror on the wall. Her face was dripping, and the rainwater had washed away everything. It had washed away her make-up, so she had huge slippery panda eyes. It had washed away her dignity She was caught out, shown, she suddenly felt, in her true colours.

‘Fuck,’ she said, staring at the woman in the mirror. The lighting, she knew, did not help, but she was forced to acknowledge that it went deeper than that.

‘That’s not all,’ said Izzy, and when Amanda turned the torch on Isabelle, she knew.

‘She told her?’

Izzy nodded. Amanda froze. She wanted to ask what had happened, but there were no words. She looked at Izzy, pleading for it to be all right.

Tamsin went outside,’ Izzy told her. ‘Susie followed. About twenty minutes ago.’

In this?’ She gestured at the storm.

‘No, there’s a little sunny spot in the garden.’ Izzy looked at her. ‘Of course in this.’

‘Oh.’ Amanda kept looking at Izzy, shining the light on her, trying to oblige her to answer unasked questions.

‘She didn’t really say anything,’ Izzy said, relenting after a minute. ‘Just that she was going outside. Put that torch back, Amanda.’

‘Nothing?’ Amanda felt dizzy and drunk, and very, very sick.

‘What’s nothing?’ Patrick was standing behind her. Amanda wondered how long he had been there. Long enough, no doubt. ‘Where’s everyone? What’s going on? Where’s Tamsin?’

‘Oh,’ said Amanda. ‘Nothing.’

She heard Patrick asking Izzy, but the blood was rushing in her ears so loudly that she could only see their lips moving. She took a step back and leaned against the wall. She tried to take deep breaths. She didn’t know what was happening.

When she forced her eyes open, she was lying on a sofa. Her feet were up on a cushion. She had definitely not been near a sofa a minute ago. She didn’t remember moving. She shut them again, screwed them up, shook her head, and winced at the pain as her brain sloshed around. She opened her eyes; and she was still on the sofa. There was a lamp on in the corner. She was in one of the sitting rooms. The lamp was on, and that meant the electricity had come back. That was good.

She felt sickness rising in her stomach, and made an effort to keep it down. Then she noticed that they — somebody-had put a bucket next to the sofa, for her. She almost laughed. Not very glamorous. They could at least have provided a delicate bowl. A bucket was vulgar. Next to the bucket was a glass of water, and she gulped this down as quickly as she could. Then she threw up the contents of her stomach into the bucket. She had never been able to hold her water.

She found them in the dining room. Susie was back. Tamsin was still missing, and the lights were on.

Susie and Roman were sitting at the table, champagne glasses in front of them, talking in low voices. They didn’t look up as she stood on the threshold, feeling unusually sheepish. She did not want to think about how she had reached the sofa; she was fairly sure she had not used her legs. Izzy and Patrick stood by the open window, leaning on the window sill, looking out at the terrace and the back garden, even though it was pitch black out there. Amanda stayed where she was, and eventually Patrick turned and saw her.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘How are you feeling?’

He didn’t rush to her and hold her hand. He walked over slowly, but there was concern on his face. She almost crumbled; almost leant on him and cried. Almost, but not quite. She retained control. She wished she had checked the mirror. She did it now. Someone had cleaned the make-up off her face before they put her on the sofa.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, trying to be grumpy. ‘Really.’ She looked at him, hoping to be told what had happened, how long she had been out. She didn’t want to admit her disadvantage by asking.