The Art of Friendship (26 page)

Clare got out of the police car with her head bent and walked quickly over to her car, fumbling in her bag for the keys.

‘Bloody disgrace,’ said someone.

‘She should be locked up,’ shouted another voice.

‘Move along now. Move along,’ said the policeman. ‘The show’s over.’

Fighting back tears and shaking like a leaf, Clare reversed the car off the pavement. After cutting out the engine twice she managed to park it alongside the kerb. She got out, locked the vehicle and put the keys in her bag. Izzy was sitting on the kerb with her long legs bent up like a newborn colt’s, her arms wrapped around herself. A woman in red jeans was talking to her. Clare wanted to go over and comfort the girl but she was immobilised by shame. So she stayed where she was and looked at the ground.

Moments later, Liam’s car pulled up. The door opened, and he got out and scanned the people by the roadside. His gaze hovered momentarily on the front of her bashed car. And then he saw Izzy and ran straight over to her, leaving his car door wide open. She jumped up, flung herself into his arms and they exchanged a few words. Clare was suddenly, irrationally jealous.

Then the policemen said, ‘Liam?’

Liam nodded and said to his daughter, ‘You go and get in the car, Izzy.’ She did as she was told and the policeman walked over to Liam and spoke briefly with him in low tones.

Clare felt invisible. They were talking about her, of course. As though she wasn’t there. When they were done, Liam made a beeline for her and, without preamble, said, ‘I’m going to take Izzy home to Zoe.’

‘But she was supposed to be spending the weekend with us. I got tickets for that new Hannah Montana film.’

Liam glared at her. ‘What planet are you on, Clare? She’s just been in a car crash. She wants to be with her mother. And personally, I think she’d be a lot safer there, don’t you?’

Clare blushed. ‘It wasn’t a car crash. It was an accident. A very minor accident.’

‘I’ve phoned the nursery,’ he went on, ignoring her. ‘They
know what’s happened. The staff are going to stay on and give the kids tea. I’ll collect them later.’

‘Oh,’ said Clare, feeling suddenly redundant. Stripped of her maternal responsibilities she was left exposed, useless.

‘The police will take you home,’ he said coldly.

‘Liam, why are you acting like this?’

‘Like what?’

‘All…all frosty. And self-righteous.’

He lowered his voice. ‘Jim Petticrew, the policeman…’

‘You know him?’

‘We went to school together. He just told me that they breathalysed you, Clare. And that you narrowly missed a kid out on his bike.’

‘I wasn’t over the limit,’ protested Clare, annoyed that the officer had shared these details with Liam. She would’ve done, of course, but in her own time.

Liam’s face coloured. He looked down at his feet, then brought his gaze up to meet hers. ‘I don’t want to talk about this now, Clare. Let’s just do what has to be done to sort out this…this mess.’

‘Okay.’ Clare bit her lip and looked away. Everybody hated her. Even her own husband. He turned away without another word, got into his car and drove off. And she was left standing there on the grassy verge, feeling lonelier than she had ever done in her entire life.

It wasn’t until the police car had dropped her at home, and she was sitting in her own eerily silent kitchen, that the seriousness of what she had done slowly began to dawn on Clare. She’d driven the car into a lamp post on Olderfleet Road with Izzy in the back seat. She’d nearly knocked down Adam.

And it was Izzy’s fault. The little cow had done nothing but whine and moan, like she always did, and Clare had
finally snapped. She’d lost control of her temper – and the car. She took a deep breath. But was it really fair to blame a twelve year old? She had been drinking. Only two glasses but, combined with sleep deprivation, had it been enough to slow down her reflexes? Enough to distort her judgment? If she hadn’t had the wine, would she have reacted to Izzy like that? Would she have lost control of the car? She began to think perhaps not. She’d been under the limit, but only just. She never should’ve got behind the wheel. It was the stupidest thing she’d ever done in her entire life.

She remembered the way Kirsty’s neighbours had looked at her – like she was some kind of vermin. They hated her. And so did Kirsty.

Kirsty. She thought of all the awful things Kirsty had said to her and put her hands over her face. In the heat of the moment she hadn’t made the connection but now it was glaringly obvious. Scott had been knocked off his bike and killed by a motorist. And for a few minutes Kirsty must’ve thought the same thing had happened to Adam. How could she do that to one of her dearest friends? Would Kirsty ever forgive her?

Added to Liam’s revelations about Gillian it was too much too bear. Clare folded her arms on the table, rested her head upon them, and wept. And wondered, in all sincerity, if the world would be better off without her.

When Liam came in the back door almost an hour later, Clare was still sitting at the table, staring into space, wondering how a life could fall apart so quickly. Only a week ago she’d been on cloud nine, a happy wife, mother and successful artist. Now her life was in tatters.

Liam carried Rachel inside on his shoulder, fast asleep. Josh held his hand but, as soon as he saw Clare, he broke free and ran to her.

‘Now, Josh,’ said Liam. ‘It’s very late. Kiss Mum goodnight. I’m putting you to bed tonight.’

Clare pulled Josh to her breast and squeezed him tight. She kissed him on the cheeks, the nose, the chin. Were Josh and Rachel the only people who wouldn’t vilify her? Who would love her no matter what? The thought of anyone harming so much as a hair on their heads brought tears to her eyes. She understood, in that moment, just how much Kirsty must hate her.

‘That’s a good boy, Josh,’ said Liam, in a synthetically cheerful tone, refusing to make eye contact with Clare. ‘Now come on, let’s get you ready for bed.’

Josh, with a last glance at his mother, his little brow furrowed with confusion, followed his father out of the room. But there was no protest. He must’ve sensed from the atmosphere – indeed, it would’ve been hard to miss – that something was up. Liam rarely put the kids to bed.

Clare remained where she was, listening to the sounds from above, afraid to go upstairs. Liam’s non-verbal signals had warned her off – she daren’t upset him any more than she’d already done. Once, she heard Rachel cry out, ‘Mummy!’ and then the shooshing sounds of Liam’s voice, soothing her to sleep. And still she stayed rooted where she was. The message from Liam was loud and clear: by her behaviour, she had forfeited the right to be Mum. Tonight at least.

When Liam came downstairs some twenty minutes later, Clare said, ‘I’m perfectly capable of putting the children to bed, you know.’

Liam loosened his tie, got a tumbler out of the cupboard and poured himself a glass of water. He drank it standing at the sink, his hand trembling.

He finished the water, let out a little gasp and said, ‘You’ve had a shock, Clare. I don’t think you should be taking
responsibility for anybody just now.’ He rinsed the glass and set it upside-down on the draining board.

Her heart leapt, latching onto the shred of kindness in this statement. In spite of everything, it showed that he still cared for her.

‘I wasn’t drunk, you know, Liam. I was under the limit.’

‘By a hair’s breath, Clare,’ he said, holding up the forefinger and thumb of his right hand, like a vice. He brought them together until the pads of the finger and thumb were just a centimetre apart and held them up in front of his contorted face. ‘You were this close to getting done for careless driving.’

‘Don’t be silly, Liam. You’re exaggerating. All I did was momentarily lose control of the car and run into a lamp post.’

‘I’m not exaggerating, Clare. I’ve just spoken to Keith Kirkpatrick on the phone. He said that because the only car involved was yours, and no-one was seriously hurt, the police probably won’t press dangerous driving charges. Kirsty might see it differently though. You’re lucky you didn’t kill her son.’

At the mention of her friend’s name, Clare hung her head in shame. If only she’d taken that corner thirty seconds earlier, or thirty seconds later, the coast would’ve been clear. She would still have hit the lamp post, but not a child. Not that she had actually hit the boy, of course, but no-one seemed to care about that distinction. Of all the kids in that street, why did it have to be Adam?

‘I just can’t believe that you drank two glasses of wine and then got in the car with Izzy.’

‘Because I had no choice. You were late, Liam. You were supposed to collect them.’

‘Of course you had a choice. Why didn’t you call someone? Kirsty? Janice? Patsy? One of the mothers in the street? Any one of them would’ve picked the kids up – you only had to ask.’

It was a perfectly reasonable question that she was too ashamed to answer. How would it have sounded, having to ask someone to collect her kids because she’d been drinking during the day? ‘I know. I know,’ said Clare, rubbing her temples with the heels of her hands. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight.’

‘Damn right you weren’t. You were drunk.’

‘Will you stop saying that,’ said Clare. ‘It’s simply not true.’

‘Well, what other explanation can you give for driving into a lamp post in broad daylight?’

‘Sleep deprivation.’

He shot a brief glance in her direction. ‘I’m tired too, Clare. But I don’t go around wrapping my car round lamp posts.’

Clare took a deep breath. ‘And Izzy was doing her usual. Sulking and – ’

Liam put up a hand. ‘Stop right there,’ he said, his voice tight with rage. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to try and pin this one on Izzy?’

‘I’m not saying it was all her fault. But she was – ’

‘That’s good, because,’ he said, interrupting again and glaring at her until tears pricked her eyes, ‘for a second there I thought you were going to blame a twelve-year-old child.’

It wasn’t fair. Liam should be the one consoling her, holding her in his arms and telling her that, no matter what, he would stand by her and love her. She wanted him to admit his part in this disaster – by causing her so much upset over the past week that she had been unable to sleep. She wanted him to take her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her. That Gillian meant nothing to him.

Instead he said, ‘Where’s the keys to your car?’

‘What?’

‘The keys to your car.’

‘In my handbag. Why?’

He picked the bag up off the table, tipped out the contents
and picked up the car keys. He made no attempt to restore the scattered items to her bag. ‘I have to walk round to Olderfleet Road now and pick up your car.’

‘I can get it tomorrow.’

‘I want it off that street as soon as possible. It’ll have to go into the garage for repairs straight away. You can’t drive it like that.’

‘The policeman said that the damage was only cosmetic.’

Liam tossed the keys from one hand to the other and snorted. ‘Do you have any idea how much it costs to get a car repaired these days? And this isn’t just a scratch. You’ve dented the bumper, the bonnet and buckled the driver’s side panel. You can kiss goodbye to that cheque you brought home last Friday night, Clare. After we’ve paid for a new bike for Adam, and paid for the car repairs, there’ll be nothing left.’

‘Is Adam’s bike ruined?’

‘Looked like it to me. The front wheel was badly mangled. After what the wee lad’s been through, I think buying a new bike is the least we can do.’

Clare nodded in agreement. Adam loved that bike – Dorothy and Harry had bought him it for his last birthday. She would buy him the best bike she could possibly find. And a big box of Lego – his favourite. But no amount of material gifts could compensate for the harm she had done. She knew that. She just hoped Kirsty could find it in her heart to forgive her.

‘But what about my car insurance? Won’t it cover the cost of the repairs?’

‘The excess is two fifty. Don’t you remember? We opted for a higher excess to try and keep the cost down. And you’d lose your no claims bonus. It’s probably not worth claiming.’

So much for all her hard work – it had been for nothing. There would be no chandelier for the bedroom, no money towards a special summer holiday. She tried not to be
self-indulgent. Wasn’t it self-pity that had gotten her into this mess in the first place? Perhaps, if she thought of others more, instead of herself, she could make things better.

‘Is Izzy okay?’ she said.

‘She’s fine. Just a little shaken.’ Liam shook his head and looked out of the window. It was nearly eight o’clock and still daylight outside. ‘But you should’ve seen Zoe. You’d have thought she was the one in the car, not Izzy. She was almost hysterical. She says Izzy is never to come here again.’

‘But she can’t do that!’

‘Legally no, but you know Zoe. She’s making as much capital out of the situation as she can. You should’ve seen her when Izzy told her you were breathalysed.’

Clare squirmed in her seat, and humiliation reddened her cheeks. This would confirm Zoe’s opinion that Clare was an unfit mother. She could just see her telling all her friends about Clare’s daytime drinking – one of the few remaining taboos, among mothers in charge of young children anyway. She would exaggerate, make out that Clare had nearly killed her daughter. And no doubt she would convince Izzy that this was true, thereby undoing all the progress they had made in their relationship.

‘Things with Zoe were prickly enough,’ went on Liam. ‘Though I thought lately that we’d reached a workable compromise. This is just the excuse she needed to pull up the drawbridge.’

‘Oh,’ said Clare, taken aback by a repercussion she hadn’t seen coming. ‘I’m so sorry, Liam.’

‘She says I can see Izzy but she’s not to come here.’

‘Liam, she really can’t do that. You have a legal right to see your daughter and have her here to stay. I haven’t been convicted of a crime. I…’ She was about to say she had done nothing wrong and then thought better of it.

‘I know that, Clare. But it’s not worth it, fighting her. It just makes things worse for Izzy. In the end, it’s her who suffers. I’ll just have to placate Zoe for a while and hopefully, once she’s calmed down a bit, she’ll relent.’