That’s not what I meant, and she knows it. ‘Yes, but why? What was he doing here?’
‘He often comes over when he’s down this way. He and Brian like to go down to the White Horse for a few beers on a Sunday afternoon. He offered to sort out the flowerbed a few weeks ago, when Brian had that bout of sciatica.’
I feel a rising tide of indignation. ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit … odd?’
‘Why? He’s quite handy around the house. Did the whole thing himself in two days.’
She’s being deliberately obtuse. I love my mother-in-law, but sometimes she can be extremely infuriating. ‘I honestly don’t understand you, Celia!’ I exclaim. ‘How can you even bear to speak to that man after what he did to Lou? Anyone would think you’re on his side!’
‘Min, darling, it’s very sweet of you to care so much about Louise,’ she says firmly, ‘but I’m not sure that sort of attitude is entirely helpful. Andrew is still part of this family. We didn’t stop loving him just because he stopped loving Louise. He’s been very kind to Brian and me. We’re extremely fond of him. And he’s Tolly and Bella’s father.’
I can’t bear it. I just can’t. Andrew is so charming and handsome and everyone’s taken in by him, even Celia, even now, after everything he’s done. If she knew what he was really like, she wouldn’t want him and Lou to get back together. She’d stab him with her gardening fork and bury him in a bloody flowerbed.
‘It’s not fair!’ I say angrily. ‘Andrew can’t just dump Lou and still keep you! There should be some … some shame! Some consequences! You can’t destroy someone’s life and be allowed to carry on like nothing’s happened!’
Celia puts down her glass and takes my hot hands in her cool ones, and my vision suddenly blurs. She is truly like a mother to me: I’ve known her more than half my life, ever since I was a teenager, and have spent far more time with her than I have with my own mother, whose chilly, detached temperament is so different from – and incompatible with – my own. Outwardly, Celia may be the epitome of the composed, stiff-upper-lip Englishwoman, but I’ve known her long enough to understand how fiercely passionate she is about people and causes she cares about. I know she’d do anything for Luke or Lou or me; that’s the trouble. She doesn’t realise she’s just making everything worse.
‘Min,’ Celia says, ‘I appreciate your loyalty to Louise. I do. But Andrew isn’t the devil incarnate. I’m not saying what he did was right—’
‘Well, at least we can agree on that!’
She looks hard at me. ‘Do you think, darling, perhaps you care about this a little too much?’
That brings me up short. I don’t want Celia getting any peculiar ideas; I am married to her son, after all. ‘It’s this party,’ I say. ‘It’s bad enough having to see that woman at things like Bella’s play, but inviting her to such a special, family time like your anniversary – it’s as if you’re giving them your seal of approval. You do see that,’ I add earnestly, ‘you do see, don’t you, Celia?’
She releases my hands, and picks up her lemonade again. ‘You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, darling.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, you don’t need to worry,’ she says serenely. ‘It’s all in hand.’
I recognise that expression on Celia’s face; I see it on those of my four sons whenever they’re plotting trouble. ‘Celia,’ I say suspiciously, just as her phone rings. ‘What, exactly, are you up to?’
Chapter 7
Louise
I lean on the horn and check my watch again, even though I already know how late we’re running. In the back, Tolly bounces delightedly in his car seat, clapping his hands. ‘Do it again, Mummy! Do it again!’
Unbuckling my seatbelt, I open the car door and lean on the window frame to shout up at the house. ‘Bella! We need to go!’
‘I’m coming!’ Bella yells.
It’s another five minutes before she finally appears. She’s wearing a pair of jeans that are more holes than denim, and a long-sleeved black T-shirt I haven’t seen before, emblazoned with the slogan ‘Friday is my second-favourite F-word.’ Her father would have a fit if he saw her, but we don’t have time for her to go back and change.
‘It’s twenty-eight degrees,’ I restrict myself to saying mildly, as she flings herself into the front seat. ‘Aren’t you hot?’
‘No,’ she snaps.
She pulls a woollen cap from her backpack, and tucks her hair under it, until the only thing showing are a few dark wisps at the front. A thick line of kohl is smudged beneath eyes smeared with heavy grey shadow. It looks as if she’s slept in her make-up beneath a bridge somewhere. Wisely, I say nothing, even though it breaks my heart to see my beautiful girl doing her best to disguise her loveliness. Her best friend, Taylor, is exactly the same, the two of them dressing as androgynously and monochromatically as possible, like extras from a dystopian movie. I suppose it’s better than crop-tops and micro-minis. And it’s just a phase, I remind myself with an inward sigh. She’ll grow out of it.
I start the car, and the engine makes its usual clunking, grating sound before reluctantly coughing into life. And then suddenly it cuts out. I try again, but the engine grinds ominously and then dies. The third time, it doesn’t even turn over.
‘Mum!’ Bella cries. ‘I can’t be late!’
‘We already are,’ I say crossly. ‘I wasn’t the one who kept us all waiting for twenty minutes.’
‘I’m supposed to be there at ten! It’s the dress rehearsal, they can’t start without me!’
I let it go, knowing how nervous she is. She was up half the night practising her lines, and this morning she vomited up her toast five minutes after eating it. She was the same when she took her GCSEs last summer. ‘I know that, darling,’ I say. ‘It’s not like I’m doing this on purpose.’
‘The car’s been making weird noises for ages! You should have got it fixed!’
‘I don’t have the money to fix it, Bella.’
‘Dad gives you money, doesn’t he?’
‘None of your business, darling,’ I say nicely.
‘It is if our car breaks down!’
My patience frays. ‘Bella, please don’t talk to me like that.’ I get out of the car again. ‘It’s not the end of the world. We’ll just call the school and let them know you’ll be a bit late. These things never start on time anyway. I’ll call Gree and ask her to take you,’ I add, reaching into the back and unbuckling Tolly from his car seat. ‘She’ll be here in ten minutes.’
‘I’m too old to call her Gree,’ Bella mutters, storming towards the house.
I have a sudden flashback to Bella’s babyhood, and a smiling apple-cheeked cherub lisping Grelia – soon shortened to Gree – because Grandma Celia was too much of a mouthful. The contrast with the spiky, resentful teenager stalking ahead of me is painful. I would have treasured those sunlit childhood years more had I known how brief they were. ‘Fine,’ I sigh, shooing Tolly into the hall and speed-dialling my mother. ‘You can take it up with your grandmother. Hi, Mum,’ I add, as my mother picks up. ‘I’ve got a bit of an emergency. Can you do me a huge favour? The car won’t start and Bella needs to get to school for her dress rehearsal and we’re already late. She’s in a total state. I was wondering—’