The Fallout (14 page)

Hannah emerged from the cubicle resolved to tell Sasha that she was going home. After that she'd begin the process of disentangling herself from their relationship. Her resolve lasted as long as it took to catch sight of Sasha sitting in a crumpled heap on the filthy bathroom floor, her dress hitched up her thighs, black mascara streaking down her cheeks, her face a mess of tears and snot.

“Oi, you need to get your friend home, you do,” said a disapproving girl in a leopard-print jumpsuit, frozen in the act of reapplying her lipstick by the cracked sink. “You should never have let her get into this state. It's a fucking disgrace. What kind of friend are you?”

“She's my best friend,” sobbed Sasha from the floor. “Leave her alone.”

Hannah felt something tugging at her insides. What was happening to her lately? She'd always prided herself on her loyalty. At school she'd always been the one the other girls would confide in when they had a problem they didn't want anyone else to know about, yet she'd been about to turn her back on Sasha just because she was having a tough time.

“Come on,” she said softly, bending to put an arm around the still-weeping Sasha. “Let's get you home.”

“I should think so,” remarked the girl with the lipstick.

Hannah, who had hauled Sasha to her feet and was supporting her on one side, turned to glare at her.

“How dare you judge her? You don't know anything about her life and what she's going through. You should be fucking ashamed.”

The expletive came out sounding prissy, as if she was a child trying out swearing for the first time. The girl shook her head, unmoved.

“We've all got our problems, sweetheart. But some of us have got a bit of pride, as well.”

Outside the club, Sasha vomited into a garbage bin, her bony shoulder blades jutting pale and sharp in the semidarkness. Hannah held back her hair and stroked her, trying not to meet the bouncers' eyes. Two cabs pulled up, saw the state of Sasha and sped off again, and the third only agreed to take them when Hannah offered to pay for the car to be cleaned if Sasha threw up in it.

On the way back to Crouch End, through streets lined with scantily clad women, many in similar states to Sasha, and groups of stationary men, reluctant to head home, Hannah kept her hand on Sasha's and willed the night to be over.

“Sash,” she ventured, sneaking a glance at her friend, who was compressed into the juncture of the seat and the window like a cornered cat, “you know that guy...Ed?”

Hannah shot a nervous look at the driver, a squat, bearded man, who was fiddling impatiently with his radio trying to find a station that didn't offend him.

Sasha made a noncommittal noise in reply.

“You were...you know...
careful,
weren't you?”

Sasha groaned, shrinking still farther into the grubby upholstery of the car. Hannah decided not to pursue the subject, but she couldn't stop thoughts of Sasha and Ed and what had happened in the ladies' from surging around her head. It was disgusting. So distasteful and seedy. Like animals mating in public. No self-control, no pride—that awful girl had been right about that. Where was Sasha's self-respect? To let that man reach out his knotted muscly arms with that stupid tattoo and put his hand up her tiny dress and slide those loose jeans down over his hips. Did they do it standing up, pressed together in that minuscule cubicle, stifling breaths and moans in each other's skin and hair? Or maybe he was sitting down on the toilet seat—no lid, mind—and she astride him. Hannah could picture Sasha lowering herself onto his thighs, his tanned arms reaching round to guide her down, as her dress rode up her thighs. Obscene. That's what it was.

And yet...oh, God.

“You don't have to come in. Just drop me off.”

It was the first time Sasha had properly spoken since they'd left the club, and her words sounded slurred and heavy, as if they were being dragged from her against her will.

“Don't be stupid. I'm seeing you home.”

“No. I...”

“Forget it, Sasha. I'm not letting you go in on your own. Anyway, I'm desperate for the loo. I'll come in and walk home from here. It's only a few minutes.”

She didn't really need the bathroom, but it was the only way she could stop Sasha from arguing with her. Not that she particularly wanted to go to Sasha's house, but she knew she'd feel bad if she left her to deal with a babysitter in this state. It would be so humiliating.

“Who've you got babysitting?”

Sasha looked blank.

“Your babysitter? Who is it?”

Sasha shrugged.

“Katia.”

The word was so indistinctly spoken as to almost not be a word at all, just a sludge of sound.

“Katia?” Hannah frowned. “That's weird, isn't it? She doesn't normally babysit.”

Sasha shrugged again and retreated back into silence as the cabdriver drew bad-temperedly up to her house, and Hannah rifled through her purse for cash, balking at the amount he demanded.

“Can't find the key.” Sasha sat down on her doorstep, practically inhaling the contents of her handbag.

“Oh, give it here.”

Hannah snatched it from her, eventually locating the house key in an inside pocket and letting them in.

“Katia!” she called as she helped Sasha into the hallway.

No answer. She walked into the living room. Nothing, although the television was on—a rerun of a news quiz show. Strange choice for a woman with a very limited grasp of English.

“No sign of her,” Hannah remarked as Sasha lurched into the room, flopping down heavily on the chaise longue.

“She's staying the night. I told her to go to bed.”

Hannah was taken aback. Sasha never had people staying the night. She was so particular about everything, so controlling. Although she had her own en suite, she'd confessed to Hannah once that even the sight of other people's toothbrushes in the guest bathroom made her physically gag. “It defiles it,” she explained. “Do you know what I mean?”

“I'll be off, then,” Hannah said now. “I'll just go to the loo.”

She went to the bathroom down on the ground floor and was surprised to find the door to the guest room wide open and the room quite empty. Hannah gazed around at its grey Farrow & Ball painted walls, as if she might find Katia hiding there, somehow camouflaged against it.

“Where did you say Katia was sleeping?” she asked, reentering the living room.

Sasha, who had kicked off her inhospitable shoes and was lying back on the chaise longue, put one hand up over her face. She had her eyes shut, but Hannah had the distinct impression she was far from asleep.

“Sasha!” she prompted, loudly. “Where's Katia?”

“Hmm...?” Sasha murmured, as if just waking up.

“Katia!” Hannah snapped.

Sasha opened her eyes just a fraction.

“She's upstairs in Dan's office. Or rather Dan's
former
office,” she said languorously. “I told her to sleep on the sofa there, so she could be nearer September.”

“Oh.”

But something still didn't feel right.

“I'll just pop up and check, shall I? Make sure September is okay.”

That woke up Sasha all right. She sat up with such alacrity her head seemed to jerk backward.

“Leave her alone. She's fine.”

Hannah, who was already halfway across the room, stopped, stunned at the sudden ferocity in the other woman's voice.

“Didn't mean to jump at you,” said Sasha, not getting up. “September's been so tired. She needs her sleep. That's all.”

As Hannah made her way down the driveway, she couldn't shake off a sense of misgiving. It was so unlikely that Sasha should have asked Katia to babysit in the first place, let alone stay in the once-hallowed space that had been Dan's office. Of course, no one could blame Sasha now that Dan had left her, for letting anyone she wanted sleep there. And yet, it seemed so strange, so out of character. But then again, why would she lie about it? Unless...

But no. Hannah wouldn't allow herself to go any further. People like her and Sasha, they put their kids first. Always. She was allowing the weirdness of the evening to play tricks with her imagination. Sasha might have been a complete liability tonight but she was a good mother. She'd never do anything to put September at risk.

It was a moonless night, and the street was deserted, the huge houses looming monstrous out of the darkness on both sides. Hannah's stupid going-out boots made a clicking noise on the pavement as she walked, the echo shockingly loud in the silent landscape. A shape appeared from between two parked cars up ahead and Hannah's heart lurched painfully in her chest. A large urban fox, its white breast luminous under a dim streetlight, blocked the path. It stared out at her, impassive, unmoving. Hannah stopped, holding her breath. For what seemed like minutes, but could only really have been a few seconds, Hannah and the fox stared at each other in the still, early morning air. Then it turned and disappeared from view, as noiselessly as it had arrived.

Hannah continued on her way, her hand curled tightly around her mobile phone, the sound of her own blood deafening in her ears.

Chapter 15

“No way. Absolutely not.”

“I didn't say we were doing it, I just said maybe we should think about it.”

“Okay. I've thought about it, and the answer is no way.”

Josh frowned, hands gripping the steering wheel in the way Hannah had once berated him for during an argument. (“The ten-and-two position is for learners, Josh, not for proper grown-ups.”) Had Hannah always been so dogmatic? He tried to remember. But like so often these days he found it next to impossible to think back to a time when things were uncomplicated and his relationship with Hannah wasn't refracted through the prism of Dan and Sasha's separation.

“Look. I don't like the way Dan has behaved any more than you. But what's done is done. He's obviously not going to change his mind about this woman, so either we accept that, or we tell him to piss off altogether.”

“We can accept it without having to become best friends with them.”

“He just asked if he could bring her over for a coffee or if we'd pop in at their place. Why must you always overreact?”

They continued in silence, both gazing fixedly out their windows, the weight of their respective resentments causing the little car to feel like a pressure cooker. One wrong word and the whole thing could explode.

“Look,” Josh began again, “we're in a difficult position here. We're not only friends of Sasha's and Dan's, we're also very fond of September and we've got to think of what's best for her. Sasha has still only let Dan see her a couple of times, in return for unfreezing the bank card, and even then it was only under the condition they stayed at their house. I mean, how easy can it be to build bridges with your daughter when your ex-wife is standing right there rolling her eyes at everything you say? September needs to spend time on her own with her father, especially as you've said yourself you're concerned about how Sasha is behaving toward her.”

“That isn't what I said.”

“Yes, you did, you said you were worried Sasha might have gone out and left her without a babysitter.”

“I was tired. I wasn't thinking properly. Of course she wouldn't do that.”

“Yeah, but the fact that it even crossed your mind means something's not right. Sasha is not prioritizing September at the moment.”

Hannah swung her head toward him, mouth open.

“
Prioritizing?
This is not some business strategy meeting, Josh. These are our friends' lives we're talking about. God, you sound like someone off
The Apprentice.”

“Failure is not an option.” Josh meant to lighten the atmosphere by quoting a famous line from the TV show, but it fell flat, like practically everything he said to his wife at the moment. Of course, it didn't help that they were on their way to visit his parents, which always made Hannah tense. Not that they were ever anything less than lovely to her. And of course they adored Lily, who was currently fast asleep in the back with Toby the dachshund's head cradled on her lap. But he knew Hannah found the neat, quiet suburban house near Leicester oppressive, and was secretly convinced she found his parents, with their set habits, depressingly provincial.

Hannah sighed loudly, setting Josh's teeth on edge.

“Okay,” she said, her tone more conciliatory. “I know Sasha has been distracted recently. Who wouldn't be? But I take your point about September needing a bit of continuity and stability. She needs to see her father. Which isn't to say she needs to meet his new girlfriend. But I suppose we will have to meet her at some stage, if he's really serious about her.”

Josh felt a curious mixture of vindication and fear. He was glad that she'd seen things his way (for once!). But at the same time the thought of meeting the woman he'd seen in the photo, with her carelessly tousled hair and her endless brown legs, made him feel strangely anxious.

At his parents' house, everything was much the same as it had been the last time they'd visited, and the time before that. The hedge in the front was kept trimmed to the same height at all times, its corners as sharp as if they'd been drawn with a ruler, the beige furnishings never altered. There was nothing to mark the passage of time—no new ornaments, because his mother couldn't stand clutter, no birthday cards stacked up on the mantelpiece, no mail sitting on the perfectly clear kitchen worktop, no postcards tucked under the mirror. Instead there were three framed photographs in the living room—his parents on their wedding day, Josh's own graduation photograph and a picture of Lily as a baby—each displayed on the deep windowsill at exactly the same angle so as to be perfectly parallel to its companions.

“You'll be hungry,” said his mother.

And though that was just her way when she was tense, to phrase a question as if it was a statement of fact, Josh knew it would wind up Hannah. “I wish she'd ask me how I feel, instead of telling me,” she'd complained to him in the past.

And once they were installed back in the semidetached house where he'd grown up, with its neatly shelved storage room and its pink-tiled bathroom and all its unspoken rules—dinner at six thirty, a glass of wine with dinner but rarely more and never taken with you to the living room or, God forbid, upstairs; no television before seven o'clock in the evening—it was as if he'd never left it. The smell of home: lemon-scented cleaner underlaid with stale, unstirred air. The memory of interminable Sunday afternoons, gazing at the road through the pristine net curtains and wondering when life would begin. Sandwich suppers, card games on the dining room table, long hours spent lying on his bed listening to the radio and dreaming of a different kind of future.

“Is Lily okay?” asked his mother that evening, as they sat down in the immaculate living room with its cream-colored sofa stuffed so tightly it was like sitting on a bus seat.

“Of course.” Hannah gave a tight-lipped smile. “She's absolutely fine, Judy, why do you ask?”

Josh was always surprised when he heard his mother's name used. Growing up, she'd always been “love” (his dad) or “Mum” (him), or “Mrs. Hetherington” (callers on the phone) and they'd so rarely had friends over, he must have been at least ten before it occurred to him that she even
had
a first name.

“Oh, nothing. It's just she seems a little quieter than usual.”

“She's just a bit shy until she gets used to people, that's all.”

“Shy! She's never been shy around us, has she, love?”

Josh's mum turned to his father for backup.

“No, never” was the dutiful reply.

“See, dear? She's normally a little chatterbox the minute she gets here. We can't shut her up, can we, love? It's Grandma this and Grandpa that. That's why I thought something must be up.”

Hannah's little patch of eczema was flaring up again. Josh watched the angry red rash as if it was something alive that might move at any second.

“Lily was just tired, Mum. It's a long journey when you're only four.”

“'Course it is, love. Wish it wasn't so far sometimes.”

Her words hung in the overheated air in the stuffy living room, their subtext obvious. Josh felt Hannah stiffen on the sofa beside him.

“And how are those friends of yours, the ones with the child with that strange name. November, was it?”

“September actually,” Hannah said. “And really it's no stranger than calling a child June or May, which I'm sure you'd consider perfectly normal.”

Josh felt a twinge of impatience. Why did Hannah have to be so contrary? She'd often expressed doubts about September's name in private, worrying that it was a lot to saddle a small child with. Yet here she was defending it, just because his mother had dared to criticize.

“Sasha and Dan? They're not doing too well actually, Mum. They're splitting up.”

“Oh, dear.”

Josh's mum had on her pained expression. Josh knew that if she started on the “people don't work hard enough at marriage” speech, Hannah was liable to explode. Luckily she kept quiet.

“Mind you, I did think she was a little bit...what's the expression—high-maintenance? He was very charming, though, and the little girl was very...lively.”

His parents had met Dan and Sasha the last time they made the trip down to visit them in London, which was mercifully, as far as Hannah was concerned, a rare occurrence. Josh's dad hated leaving the house unattended, convinced it became a mecca for thieves as soon as they'd driven off. And his mum claimed the pollution made her allergies worse. “I don't know how you breathe here,” she'd said. Sasha had been hungover and irritable, unwilling to be drawn out by his mother's nervous chatter. Dan, to make up for it, had gone straight into charm offensive, questioning his dad about the journey and the route they'd taken, and listening to his mother hold forth about the parlous state of education and how they were all paying the price for decades of unchecked immigration.

“It's always sad, though, isn't it, when marriages don't work out?” his mother said now. “It's so hard on the children.”

Was he imagining things, or did Hannah just glance sideways at him? He felt a cold hand suddenly grip his insides and squeeze tightly. That was the problem when your friends split up, you started seeing divorce and separation everywhere you looked.

As they settled in to watch television, Hannah's ringtone sounded, a quirky birdsong alert she had uploaded. Instantly his father shot out of his seat.

“What the...!”

“Relax, Dad, it's just a mobile phone.”

Josh was constantly amazed at his parents' willful ignorance where technology was concerned. They seemed so determined to resist change, so content to confine their world to this small terraced house. He found himself glancing again at Hannah, as she left the room to answer her cell, wondering whether she ever looked at his parents and secretly despaired that this was what was in store for her—waking up one day to find herself married to a man who had views on garden trellising.

“Hannah seems a bit stressed,” his mother remarked, once Hannah was out of earshot, as she tucked her feet underneath her. “Is she okay, love?”

“She's taking it quite hard, I think, this split,” he replied, feeling disloyal as he always did when he discussed his wife with his parents. “Sasha's one of her best friends and she's been very needy recently. It's not easy to be around someone who's falling apart.”

His mother, who regarded psychological illness as something of a lifestyle choice, frowned.

“I'm sure we'd all like to fall apart sometimes,” she said briskly. “But you can't afford to be indulgent like that, not when you've a young child to look after.”

Josh made a face. “You're all heart, Mum.” He smiled. Inside, though, he couldn't help feeling his mother had a point. It would be easy for him to lose it, with that awful business going on at school, but he just had to get through it. Instantly he wished he hadn't thought about school. He closed his eyes as a wave of nausea swept over him.

Toby the dachshund toddled in from the kitchen on his unfeasibly short legs and Josh's mum sighed. These days, after numerous heated discussions, she forbore from saying anything about the dog, but her antipathy toward having a four-legged creature shedding hair in her house was so tangible, it was like an extra person in the room. The first time they'd brought Toby with them, his mother had followed the dog around the house with a handheld vacuum cleaner. “I'm afraid I just don't see the point of pets,” she'd said, leading Hannah to hiss, when they were alone, that never mind women being from Venus and men from Mars, it was dog people and nondog people that really divided up the population.

There was a silence then in the square, low-ceilinged living room—not awkward, but familiar, the calm hush of his childhood. For a wild moment, Josh thought he might open up to his parents about what had been happening at school—the unthinkable allegation, and the way he felt guilty even though he knew he hadn't done anything. The words sat on the end of his tongue, but he just couldn't find a way to let them out.

“I'll just go see what Hannah's up to,” he said finally, heading off to the kitchen. Through the window, next to the small white table on which were laid place mats his father had cut out of the remnants of beige linoleum from when they had the floor done, he could just about make out the dark outline of Hannah striding about in the back garden. He wondered if she wasn't cold. The late autumn nights carried a definite chill. There would soon be frost on the ground. Then he reflected that this was precisely the sort of thing his father would worry about, and this made him feel anxious again. Whoever she was talking to, Hannah seemed to be having an animated conversation. Josh couldn't remember the last time the two of them had one of those, apart from when they were snapping at each other. He felt a twinge of jealousy of the unidentified caller.

When she finally came in, he was still waiting for her in the kitchen.

“Sasha,” she said, holding up the phone and shaking her head.

“What now?”

“She's in quite a state. She says things have gone missing from the house. That weird little limestone statue they had on the windowsill, a painting from the bedroom, a couple of rings that Dan's mother gave her.”

“So they've been robbed?”

“Well, no. Or rather, yes, but...well, she thinks Dan is responsible.”

Josh stared at her.

“Dan? But he wouldn't...”

Or would he? It was still technically Dan's house. He was still paying for it. His stuff was still all over the place. Presumably he still had keys. Why shouldn't he let himself in while the place was empty and help himself to a few things?

“Anyway. Could you really blame him?” he asked out loud.

Now it was Hannah's turn to stare.