Forget Me Not (16 page)

‘Lexi was being really, really difficult. He couldn’t get her up to bed until eight thirty, and then she was up again within half an hour, wanting to come downstairs. Ben was at the end of his tether.’

‘Was he drinking?’

She nods.

I remember what Ben said, about being afraid he would lose control. I feel a deep sense of unease. I am more convinced than ever that I need to be in that house, watching over my granddaughter.

‘When the buzzer went,’ Cleo says, ‘he asked me to go to the front door.’

‘Did he know it was me?’

She nods. ‘I’m sorry. We could see you on the cameras.’

I’m not sure I believe her. The last time Lexi was in distress, Ben had begged me to come over to help him. I think last night was payback, and that Cleo has been holding a grudge ever since I’d asked her to leave the house. We seem to be in some sort of ridiculous power struggle. A struggle for territory.

‘Ben finds the nights in that house unbearable,’ she says.

‘Lucky you were there to comfort him.’

‘It’s better if you phone first, when you want to go over there.’

‘Is that what you do, Cleo?’

Wendy was spot on, as usual. There is an anger inside me, a bitterness fermenting in my core. And the more I’m kept apart from my granddaughter, the more it grows. I don’t want to think about what I did to poor Yusuf’s mother.

‘I was just making myself a cup of tea,’ Cleo says. She walks away from me and busies herself in the kitchen, which is tucked into an alcove at the back of the room. ‘Would you like a cup?’

She doesn’t respond to my sarcasm, she ignores it. Once again, I realize I am powerless. Ben has decided he trusts her and he values her company. This visit was a waste of time because Cleo is never going to agree to stop going to the house on Blackthorn Road.

I have to find another way to handle the situation.

‘So Ben bought this place when he first started working in London?’ I say. I force myself to adopt a less hostile tone.

‘Yes. And you wouldn’t believe what these flats sell for now.’

She has her back to me. The kettle screeches as it boils.

‘When we first moved in here,’ she says, ‘this flat was full of sunshine. I swear to you, when we lived together, the sun shone every single day. Or that’s the way I remember it, anyway.’

Cleo returns to my side in the living area, carrying a large red mug. She brings the tea to her lips and blows into it. ‘Are you sure you won’t have a cup?’ she says. ‘I’ve got Earl Grey.’

‘I’m fine.’ I try again. ‘So Ben lets you live here rent free?’

‘He doesn’t need the money. And things have always been perfectly amicable between us.’

‘I thought you’d said the two of you weren’t in contact?’

‘Have you seen my little terrace?’ she says.

She has an infuriating way of ignoring questions she doesn’t like.

She unlocks the door on the opposite end of the room, and throws it open. There is a balcony, a tiny space that clings to the edge of the building, with just enough room for a small wrought-iron bench.

Cleo steps outside and beckons to me to join her. I walk over, and take a look down over the railings. Below me is the roof of the fire station.

‘It’s lovely,’ I say. My words come out sounding rather acidic.

‘Ben and I used to sit out here and drink coffee and read the papers on weekends. It was our perfect little nest.’ Her smile is sad. ‘For the first time in my life, I wasn’t lonely. My life was just unfolding, in a way that was beyond anything I had hoped for. Ben was kind and smart and destined for big things. I should have known it was too good to be true, shouldn’t I?’

The day is an iron grey and it’s cold out here.

‘Ben and I have not been having an affair,’ Cleo says. ‘If that’s what you want to know.’

We stand only inches apart out on the small balcony. Cleo looks me straight in the eyes and I can see no sign that she’s lying or hiding anything from me.

‘Then why?’ I say. ‘Why would Ben hold on to this property? Why does he let you live here? What’s the connection between you?’

‘Ben feels guilty.’

‘About what? I understand he broke off your relationship, but that was so long ago. You weren’t married. Relationships end all the time.’

‘I’ve always wanted a chance to tell you my side of the story,’ Cleo says. ‘I don’t know what Vivien may have told you.’

‘Vivien didn’t say anything. She never talked about what happened between the three of you.’

I’ve always known my daughter had done something she wasn’t proud of. In a way, I was relieved she spared me the details.

‘The night Vivien broke up with Sebastian, she called me,’ Cleo says. ‘I was the first person she told, even though we’d barely seen each other in ages.’

We are side by side, looking out at the rooftops below. The sound of traffic is a distant hum. Cleo stands very close to me, closer than she needs to be, and I feel her breath on my face as she talks softly and urgently.

‘She asked me to meet her, at Browns, the one on the Thames next to the Design Museum. It’s only a few blocks away from here. It sounds ridiculous now, but I remember I felt so happy that I was the first person she turned to. It was like some kind of honour. I was glad to have my friend back. And I remember the bar was full of people and the windows were all misted up so you couldn’t see out, you couldn’t see the river at all. And I remember exactly what she was wearing. A really low-cut vest, with sequins along the neckline, and tight white jeans. She didn’t usually dress that provocatively. Every man in the place was salivating over her. Every single one of them.’

Salivating
. I don’t like the way Cleo speaks about my daughter. I shiver as I feel the cold cut through my coat.

‘I did wonder if Vivien was using me, to fill the gap left by Sebastian and his disposable income and their over-the-top wedding plans. But I actually didn’t care. I thought, even if she was using me, a bit, we were such old friends. Vivien reached out to me when she needed help, and I knew I could do the same, I knew she’d step up if I was in trouble. Or that’s what I thought, anyway.’

Cleo grimaces as she sips her tea, as though she’s tasted something bitter.

‘Vivien could have had any man she wanted,’ she says. ‘I had no doubt new candidates would soon be lining up. I just didn’t expect her to be interested in Ben. He wasn’t good-looking enough and he wasn’t nearly rich enough. So when she asked me if she could stay with us for a couple of weeks while she got herself sorted out, I said yes.’

I have to force myself to look at her, because I don’t want to see the pain that’s still fresh. I don’t want to hear that my daughter was a thief, that she stole from a friend.

‘There were moments when Vivien first moved in with us,’ she says, ‘when I was so happy. Being together with Vivien again was like coming home. I was with my two favourite people in the world, the two people I loved most, and I so wanted them to like each other. As usual, I was desperate for Vivien’s approval. I wanted her to tell me I’d done well, with Ben and with our new home. And I suppose I got it, though not in the way I expected.’ Her laugh is dry and cynical. ‘Vivien saw something in Ben. She knew where he was headed.’

‘It’s cold out here, Cleo, let’s go back inside.’

I turn away from her and go back in to the living room, and she follows. I watch as she shuts the door to the balcony and locks it. I sit down on the red and gold brocade sofa that’s really much too big for this small room. The fabric is rough under my fingertips as I run my hand up and down the cushion.

Cleo sits down next to me.

‘I remember thinking that Ben was so patient,’ Cleo says. ‘He never complained about Vivien camping out on this sofa, even though you can see how tiny this place is and there was barely space for the two of us let alone a house guest. He was always friendly to her. He acted as though he’d forgotten all about the time she refused to go out with him.’

Cleo leans forwards, her elbows on her knees. She’s facing the windows, talking more to herself than to me, I think.

‘Vivien was a practical woman,’ Cleo says. ‘She wasn’t getting any younger, and she needed a new source of adoration and of financial security. And by that stage, Ben was on his way up in the world. Vivien quickly put two and two together. She might not have been an academic, but in some areas – like self-preservation – she was an expert.’

The acrimony in her voice is ugly now.

‘You may wish that was true,’ I say. ‘You may wish it was about money, but it wasn’t. Ben and Vivien loved each other.’

There is a loud crash that startles us both and I nearly jump out of my skin.

Cleo has left her red mug on the balcony, and the wind has blown it to the floor. The shards are scattered across the bench. Cleo doesn’t move from my side.

‘The weekend after Vivien first arrived, I began to feel afraid,’ she says. ‘It started with such a small thing. It was a Saturday morning and Ben got up to make us coffee. Usually he’d bring me my cup in bed, but that day he didn’t come back to me. I heard their voices in the kitchen. Eventually, I got up to see what was going on.’

Cleo stands up.

‘I remember I was so angry when I walked in here. Vivien was always so messy – her bedding and her clothes were spread out everywhere over the sofa, and there were dirty plates and cups all over the coffee table and on the floor.’

She points at the kitchen tucked into the alcove.

‘That’s where they were standing,’ she says. ‘I’ll never forget the scene. It plays like a film, on a loop inside my head. Vivien is leaning back against the kitchen counter, one foot curled up behind the other shin. She’s wearing a short lacy nightgown, and one of the straps falls down her shoulder. She keeps pushing it back up again, but it falls right back down. Her hair is so black, so shiny. She’s laughing, tilting her head to one side. She’s asking him about his job.’

‘I get the picture,’ I say.

‘I felt like an intruder,’ she says. ‘Like some kind of voyeur as I stood in the doorway and watched them.’

Cleo is looking at the kitchen now, as though Ben and Vivien are right there in front of her. ‘They didn’t notice me. I was so pathetic, such a fool, standing there in an old T-shirt of Ben’s and tracksuit bottoms. I had no idea how high the stakes were. And even if I did, I couldn’t compete with her, anyway.’

It’s creepy, and also desperately sad, the way Cleo is still living this fifteen-year-old story as if it had happened yesterday.

‘She was a snake,’ Cleo says. ‘Hypnotizing him with her big brown eyes and that husky voice of hers.’

She falls silent. We both do. The expression on her face is odd, as though she’s confused, or disoriented.

‘Cleo?’ I say.

She snaps back. She looks at me, then she sits down again.

‘I knew it was only a matter of time,’ she says. ‘I knew they both wanted me out of the way, even if Ben hadn’t admitted it to himself yet. He would never make a move on Vivien until he’d broken it off with me, because he’s not that kind of person. So I made it easy for them.’

‘What do you mean, you made it easy for them?’

‘I mean, there was no point delaying the inevitable. So I packed my stuff into a couple of boxes and left one day while Ben was at work and Vivien was out.’

‘So you were the one that walked out on him?’

‘I could always read Ben like a book. I knew he was so desperate to have her and I also knew he wouldn’t admit it. He’d wanted her first; it was always Vivien he wanted. I was a poor second choice. So really, Vivien only came back to claim what was hers in the first place. Neither of them were to blame.’

‘But are you saying you didn’t even talk to Ben about your decision to leave?’

I don’t say so out loud, but I wonder what kind of relationship Ben and Cleo really ever had, if she couldn’t talk to him about her jealousy of my daughter, about her insecurities. But then, perhaps I’m trying to excuse Vivien, by putting the blame on Cleo.

‘At first, when I moved out and I left them alone together,’ she says, ‘I hadn’t really given up. I still had hope. I thought there was a chance they would tire of each other and realize they weren’t truly a good match. Once lust had run its course.’

I can’t help but feel for her. I sense the emptiness of her life, the regret, the loneliness. Because I’ve known all of these things too. I reach out and squeeze her hand. But only briefly. Because something about her touch sets me on edge.

I find it difficult to understand how Ben can find Cleo’s company a comfort. Perhaps she is different with him. Less bitter, less fixated on the past. But that, too, I find difficult to imagine.

‘I got a letter from Ben’s solicitor when they moved out,’ she says, ‘confirming that half the flat was in my name, and saying that Ben would continue to pay the entire mortgage.’

Cleo manages a wretched smile, but tears are so close to the surface. ‘Neither of them ever tried to contact me. When Vivien wanted Ben, it suited her for me to disappear. It suited both of them. I lost all of you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘We should all have been kinder.’

‘I never understood,’ she says, ‘how it could be so easy for all of you to erase me from your lives.’

The horrible truth is that we have meant much more to Cleo than she has to us.

‘I turned a blind eye,’ I say. ‘I was so happy that Vivien was going to have a different life to the one I’d had. A life with financial security and a loving husband. I suppose I didn’t want to know that she’d hurt you. Even though I suspected. I didn’t ask and she didn’t tell me.’

My daughter caused harm. And there have been times when I have stood aside and watched her as she has damaged other people. I never did take a stand for right and wrong when it came to Vivien. I think Cleo knows this. She sees through me. I am neglectful. I am a silent witness. I am guilty by association, by omission. I accept my own culpability.

‘But after all this time,’ I say, ‘after all these years, surely you must have moved on?’

‘In some ways,’ she says, ‘yes, I have. I carry on. But in other ways, my life stopped the day I walked out on Ben and Vivien.’