‘Bastard is right.’
‘Have you been to a solicitor?’
‘Solicitor, accountant … I’ve had to. I think that’s why I’m so angry. It’s only because I’m furious that I can get through a single conversation, let alone a meeting, without doing’ – she gestured with her hands at the pile of napkins now in front of her – ‘this.’
‘I wish you’d told me.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad.’
‘Don’t be. You’ve nothing to be sorry for. I just wish I could have helped you.’
‘I don’t think you can, Dad. It’s not your job.’
‘It will always be my job.’
She smiled.
‘Won’t it always be yours, to help Ethan?’
Tears welled again.
‘How is Ethan?’
‘I don’t know. Quiet. Shell-shocked. Or not bothered. It’s hard to tell. Uncommunicative. There’s a girl. It all seems to be very intense, you know. He spends most of his time with her at the moment.’
‘Is he still seeing his dad?’
Laura nodded. ‘He has keys to the bachelor pad. Welcome anytime, Alex says.’ Her voice was sarcastic.
‘And he goes?’
‘Why wouldn’t he? No rules there, I’m pretty sure. And I’m probably the worst company in the world.’
‘I’m sure he doesn’t think that.’
Laura laughed bitterly. ‘I’m pretty sure he does, Dad. I can’t even stand to be around myself.’
‘That’s nonsense. You’re still you.’
‘I don’t even know who that is any more.’
They sat quietly for a moment. Charlie picked up a cake fork and slipped it into Laura’s hand. She stared at it and gave a very small laugh. ‘Cake’s the answer, is it?’
‘If the question is, what shall I eat right now, then, yes, cake is the answer.’
The laugh got a little bit louder, but was still, he knew, perilously close to a sob.
Laura broke off a piece of the carrot cake, and ate it.
‘I don’t know the answers, my love. But I do know that you’re not alone. You mustn’t try to do this on your own. I’m here for you. I want to help.’
‘Thank you, Dad. I appreciate that.’
‘Don’t just appreciate it. Believe it.’
She smiled gratefully.
‘You’ll come on holiday, will you?’
She nodded. ‘That’d be lovely. Of course. And thank you for fixing it all, for organizing, for making me come. It’ll just be me and Ethan. No Alex, obviously.’
Charlie wondered if he dared risk it. Decided he would. ‘Thank fuck for that.’
Which was exactly what Daphne would have said.
And Nick, last as ever, sent an email. Brief, not unfriendly: Thanks, Dad. That sounds great. Count us in. He had done a lot by email since Carrie. He was busy, Charlie knew. Time poor. But it wasn’t just that. He liked the remoteness and the one-sidedness of it. No need for conversation. No questions. No break in his voice to try to disguise.
But he had said yes. Charlie felt relieved. Everyone had said yes. Daphne would be bloody delighted. They were all coming. Dysfunctional, disjointed, distant. All with the baggage of their own messy lives. And all coming except her. God help him.
6
Heather’s was the first face Scott saw once he’d cleared Customs. She was leaning over the rail at Heathrow Terminal 5, jewel-like among the drab, dour drivers with their A4 name signs and their bored expressions. And she was smiling her broad, dazzlingly white smile. And it was for him. It was before eight a.m., and she must have been up and out of the house well before seven to get here, park, and order the two Costa coffees she was now holding, but she had full makeup on. No last-minute Lycra for her – she wore gym gear only to the gym, and was more than slightly judgemental about women who called their gym gear athleisure wear and wore it everywhere, particularly if they looked like they never went anywhere near a gym. She was wearing dark skinny jeans and a vivid fuchsia silk blouse. And heeled sandals. At home he knew the emperor bed would be neatly made, and there’d be no toast crumbs on the marble kitchen island. Not that she ate toast, of course. This woman, his wife, had her act together, which was, he acknowledged, wonderful to come home to.
He felt the frisson of pride he’d eventually grown used to feeling when he saw her. With a delightful after-shudder of lust. The surprise that accompanied both sensations was gradually wearing off, and he was grateful for that. He’d stopped pinching himself.
She couldn’t put her arm around him, because of the coffee cups. He took her face in both hands, and kissed her deeply, drinking in the clean, sweet smell and the familiar taste of her. A man on her right stared. Scott didn’t care.
‘Hello, darling.’
‘Hey, babe. How was the flight?’
‘It was fine. Uneventful. Fast.’
‘D’you eat?’
‘In the terminal, before I boarded. Slept through breakfast.’
‘I grabbed you a croissant.’
‘Mmm. Sounds good.’ They were walking towards the lift. He took a coffee with one hand, and put the other on her waist, feeling the delightful wiggle of her bum just beneath. ‘I missed you.’
She winked at him. ‘Damn straight you did, Scottie.’
Inside the car, unencumbered by coffee cups and briefcases, he took her in his arms and kissed her again, more hungrily now that they were alone.
‘How’s traffic?’
‘It was fine on the way up. It’s rush-hour now, though. It’s probably crappy.’
‘Damn.’
‘Have you got to work?’ It wasn’t unusual for him to get back from a red eye, shower, dress, and spend five or six hours at the desk at home. Such was the nature of the beast that paid for the Audi Q7 they were sitting in, and the five-en-suite-bedroom house with a tennis court they were heading back to. And the shimmering trio of long diamond and platinum necklaces that were glinting at her neck and into the amazing cleavage just below the fuchsia silk.
‘Nope. Schedule says “at leisure in Haslemere”.’ This he whispered lasciviously in her ear, and she giggled. ‘Girls at school?’
She nodded. ‘And they have sport after. It’s Wednesday.’ Raised an eyebrow coquettishly.
‘What are you waiting for? Let’s do battle with the A3.’
All the sex. All the lovely, married, daylight, any-room-in-the-house-you-like sex. Thank you, God and Goldman Sachs.
Heather drove onto the M25, where, predictably enough, they slowed almost immediately to a frustrating 20 m.p.h. Scott drank his coffee and ate the pastry she’d bought him.
‘How has it been here?’
‘Busy.’
‘Good busy?’
‘Great busy. I’ve gotten lots done.’ He didn’t doubt it for a second. She sounded buzzy and he was pleased. He wasn’t entirely convinced that Heather wouldn’t get bored buried in the country. Which was really only an extension of the worry that she would get bored with him at some point and bolt.
He’d been gone almost a week, which was a little longer than normal. He tried not to be away now for more than two or three nights, but this trip had been extended to five nights, and he’d missed her. Really missed her.