Never Close Your Eyes (8 page)

He'd let himself in as usual and had his back to them when they entered the kitchen. There was a strong smell of toast. He'd obviously been making himself at home. She felt a prickle of irritation. That was her coffee and her bread he was using, but she couldn't say anything. She mustn't upset the kids.

He turned to face them and grinned. Evie registered the full, soft mouth surrounded by day-old stubble and the dimple in his chin. Her insides fluttered. Why did he still have this effect on her?

‘Hey, Michael, where have you been?' He ruffled his son's hair, which was dark brown like his own. Freya hung back with her mother.

‘C'mon. Give your old dad a kiss,' Neil said. Freya allowed him to peck her on the cheek.

‘I've got to do my homework,' she said, moving quickly towards the door.

‘Supper will be about half an hour,' Evie called after her.

Neil fetched himself a plate from the cupboard and sat down at the kitchen table with two slices of buttered toast.

‘Want some?' he asked Michael, who shook his head.

‘I had tea at Dominic's.'

Evie got out the salmon pieces she'd defrosted in the fridge and stuck them in the oven. Then she made a salad and fetched knives, forks, glasses and put them on the table. She made it take longer than necessary. She needed something to do.

She listened to the pair of them discussing Michael's day, and then the big football match coming up and which side they wanted to win. She wanted to cry. It sounded so artificial, like small talk. Before, when Neil was at home, he didn't need to ask questions like that, he just knew whom Michael would be supporting.

‘Haven't you got any homework?' she asked Michael eventually. Neil had had long enough. Michael sloped upstairs. She waited for Neil to leave but he didn't.

‘I've got something to tell you, Evie,' he said.

Her heart started beating faster.

‘Sit down,' Neil said. ‘Please.'

‘I'd rather stand.' She needed to retain some sense of control.

‘Helen's pregnant,' he told her. ‘The baby's due in April. We're very pleased.'

She felt herself sway slightly and put her hands on the worktop to steady herself.

‘I wanted to tell you first, of course,' he went on. ‘Then Helen and I would like to tell the children together. We might take them to a restaurant, have a bit of a celebration.'

Evie bit her lip. She wanted to cry but she was determined not to give him the satisfaction. Instead, she fetched herself a glass of water.

‘Congratulations,' she said, deadpan.

‘Don't be like that,' he replied, coming up behind her. ‘It'll be nice for the children to have a baby brother or sister.'

He started to put his hands on Evie's shoulders but she squirmed away, raising her flattened palms. ‘Don't touch me . . .'

He backed off.

‘I'm very happy for you, Neil,' she went on, as steadily as she could. ‘But I'd like you to be careful with the children. They're still very upset about us and this'll be a big shock.'

Neil made to sit down again but Evie knew that she couldn't hold it together for much longer. ‘Please go now,' she said quietly. ‘I need to get supper.'

He sighed. ‘OK. I should be able to pop round again tomorrow, bar emergencies.'

‘Please don't,' she said under her breath. ‘Please do.'

‘What?'

‘Nothing.'

Freya knew something was wrong the minute she walked in. ‘Are you OK?'

Mum was standing at the sink running her finger under the cold tap. She looked pale. ‘I cut my finger,' she said, putting it in her mouth.

Freya moved to be by her side.

‘It's all right,' Mum said reassuringly. ‘I'll be fine. It was stupid, I was cutting the bread and somehow missed. I'll be OK in a minute.'

Freya took her mother's hand and examined the cut. It was bleeding quite a lot but it was only a nick.

‘Oh Mum.' She put her arms around her mother, who clamped the finger back in her mouth. ‘Do you need a plaster?'

Mum shook her head. She wouldn't look Freya in the eye.

Freya peered at her. ‘Has something else happened?'

‘No.'

Freya scanned the room; she didn't know what she was looking for. ‘Has Dad gone?'

‘About ten minutes ago.'

‘That's a relief.'

Mum laughed and Freya felt reassured. Sort of.

Evie jumped when the doorbell rang. She was supposed to be watching the ten o'clock news except that she wasn't able to concentrate. Nothing was sinking in. It couldn't be Neil again, surely? She'd seen enough of him for one day. Before opening the door she whipped off her round, tortoiseshell NHS glasses and smoothed her fair hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. She hated those glasses, they were so ugly.

‘Bill!' She realised that she must look startled.

‘Am I disturbing you?'

‘No. I thought you were someone else.'

Bill was her next-door neighbour. She'd known him for years, ever since she and Neil had moved in. She saw that Bill was holding a brown paper bag, which he thrust into her hands. She peered inside. The porch light was on and she could see three smooth, round onions still dusted with earth.

‘I dug them up today,' he explained. ‘I've got masses, a bumper crop. I'll bring you a pot of my onion relish when it's ready. It's going to be the best.'

She was touched. He often brought her little presents from his allotment – some potatoes here, a bag of apples there – especially since Neil's departure.

‘I'm not that keen on relishes, to be honest, but thanks for these.' She smiled. ‘They're huge.'

‘Ah yes,' he said, ‘I am rather pleased with them. Mushroom Mack's dead jealous.'

Bill, a widower in his early fifties, was a former university professor, fearsomely intelligent. He'd taken early retirement and seemed to spend most of his days either with his nose buried in a book or at the allotment. Mushroom Mack, a fellow allotmenteer, appeared to be the bane of Bill's life. Bill claimed that he was outrageously competitive while Bill himself couldn't give two hoots about whose leeks were bigger, but Evie wasn't fooled.

‘Come in,' she said.

Bill was about to say no, she could tell.

‘Please.' There was a giveaway crack in her voice. She dug her nails in the palms of her hands.

He frowned. ‘Are you all right?'

She didn't reply but led him quickly into the kitchen and put on the kettle. ‘Neil's girlfriend's pregnant,' she blurted while her back was turned. It just slipped out.

‘Oh,' he said.

She put a mug of tea in front of him. It was an Emma Bridgewater mug, covered in different coloured spots. She chose the Cath Kidston one for herself, with the tiny pink and yellow flowers and the chip on the handle.

She sat at the kitchen table, nursing the warm cup in her hands, and glanced at him. He had that intense look on his face that made her slightly nervous. He had deep-set, piercing blue eyes with creases round them and short, silver-grey hair. He was always tanned, throughout the year, because he spent so much time out of doors.

Often he had a wide, amused smile that made the creases round his eyes deepen. But when he was serious, as now, he tended to go very still and quiet and concentrated. Evie felt like one of his students at a university tutorial. She fiddled with the silver chain around her neck.

‘That must be difficult for you,' he said at last. She was staring at her tea but she was aware that he was still scrutinising her. She felt tears pricking and starting to trickle down her cheeks. She couldn't help herself. She reached for a piece of kitchen roll.

‘I know it's silly,' she spluttered. She wished that she didn't sound so girlish. ‘I mean, of course we're separated and everything but I feel, well, gutted. I suppose it just makes everything so final.'

To her surprise, Bill moved his chair closer to hers and put an arm, slightly awkwardly, around her shoulder. She felt her body relax a little.

‘You've had a shock,' he said. His voice was low and sympathetic, which made her want to cry even more. ‘Of course you're upset.'

‘I'm so sorry.' She blew her nose. ‘I bet you wish you'd never called.'

Eventually she calmed down. He took his arm away gently and moved his chair back to its original position. ‘Please don't apologise. A trouble shared and all that.' He shot her an understanding smile. ‘I've got broad shoulders.'

He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms and rested a foot on his knee. ‘Have you spoken to anyone else about this? Your parents, perhaps?'

She made a face. ‘I couldn't talk to
them.
'

He scratched his head. ‘Why not?'

‘I must have told you about them?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘But you know I'm adopted?'

He nodded.

‘They're small business people,' she went on, ‘they own several furniture shops. All they care about is money and making sure I screw as much as I can out of Neil. They're furious with him. They think I should take the dosh and cut him out of my life completely. They don't seem to understand that he was my husband for all those years and I still have feelings for him. I can't just switch them off like a tap. Plus, I still want him to be a father to the kids. They'll hate him even more when they find out about the baby,' she added grimly.

Bill knitted his brows. He seemed to be pondering something. ‘Would you like to come to the Orange Tree Theatre with me?' he said at last. ‘There's a play on called
Chains of Dew
, by an American writer I hadn't heard of. It's had great reviews. It might take your mind off things.'

Evie smiled gratefully. ‘It's kind of you but I don't think I'm up to doing anything right now. I'd be terrible company.'

Bill shook his head. ‘Don't worry about that. You don't even need to say anything if you don't want. Go on, it might do you good.'

She laughed. ‘Is that your idea of the perfect date: a totally silent woman?'

He looked wounded. ‘Not at all. I just thought—'

She put a hand on his arm. ‘I was joking. Of course I'll come. Thank you for asking. I can do virtually any evening. Just let me know when you can get tickets.'

‘You're on.' He rose. ‘You know you can call on me anytime, don't you?'

‘You're so kind,' Evie replied.

‘Sure you'll be all right?'

She nodded. ‘Thanks again, Bill.'

‘Don't mention it,' he said, taking his Barbour jacket off the back of the chair and heading towards the door. ‘Pleased to be of service.'

Chapter Eight

Tears poured down Freya's cheeks as she reread Lucy's words.

S
orry
, Lucy wrote.
thought id better warn u. there saying u gave liam a blow job in the boys toilets.

Freya felt sick. Liam was Abigail's boyfriend. Abigail used to be her friend. She'd hate her now, too. How was she going to face school tomorrow?

This had been going on for weeks. Almost every day Gemma and Chantelle and the others were spreading more rumours on MSN. If only Richie, Chantelle's ex, had never asked Freya out. They'd only snogged once and Chantelle had chucked him already anyway. But still, she and Gemma had decided Freya was a man-stealer and that was that.

She glanced at her new shoes in the box and kicked the lid shut. She didn't feel excited about them any more. She felt guilty. Poor Mum. She'd spent a fortune on them. Gemma and Abigail had the exact same ones but it probably wouldn't make any difference. They complimented other girls who wore them, but they'd just say Freya was copying or something. In the past few weeks they'd called her a slag, liar and a thief, and they'd said she'd fuck anyone in sight. It was getting too much.

Even Freya's best friends were starting to distance themselves from her, probably because they were scared of what would happen to them otherwise. Lucy was all right, though she had to pretend that she was still friends with Gemma and Chantelle and Abigail at school. Freya understood why. But Lucy messaged Freya every night to tell her what was going on. Sometimes she rang and recited exactly what they were saying. It made Freya ill.

u should tell your mum
, Lucy wrote.

But Freya would never do that. Mum had enough to deal with. Freya was worried about her. She seemed especially sad tonight, as if she was going to have a nervous breakdown or something. That was scary.