School Run (29 page)

‘Not really. Besides, we need it to live on in case Robin doesn’t come back.’

Benjamin’s blue eyes glistened. ‘You think he’s done a bunk, don’t you? Poor Evie.’

It wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She wanted him to wave that magic wand, that bloody Tiger Tail, and make it all right.

It felt as though everything she had built up over the years was tumbling down around her. She wasn’t the tough Evie of
Just For You
any more. She might not even be Robin’s wife for all she knew – although surely he wouldn’t have done anything stupid, would he? She was short, fat Evie in the wrong school uniform in a class where everyone hated her.

Suddenly she felt a rough old cardigan against her face and the smell of rum mixed with tobacco. Benjamin’s leathery face was pressed against hers and his arms were round her elegant Karen Millen jacket. ‘It’s all right, Evie. Leave it to your old dad. He’ll think of something.’

She had a good cry then. She couldn’t help it. And when she’d finished blowing her nose on the disgustingly cheap paper in Benjamin’s bathroom (which needed a good clean too), she felt a bit better.

‘How about that coffee, then, girl?’

‘All right. I’ll make it.’

He followed her out to the kitchen, watching her, bemused, as she gave the cups a good scrub (as good as she could in the absence of washing-up liquid) then put in the powder.

‘Evie?’

She paused in the search for a clean teaspoon in the cutlery drawer, which contained breadcrumbs. She’d come back when she was feeling better and give this place a good going-over. At least she had time now. ‘Yes?’

‘Be a bit softer on those girls. You can be a bit tough sometimes. Like your old dad. Remember that.’

‘I will.’ She blew her nose again. ‘There is one other thing. It sounds crazy and at best it’s a long shot. But Jack keeps talking about someone or something called Bad Ron. We thought it was a kid at his nursery but it’s just occurred to me that maybe Robin had mentioned his name on the phone or something and Jack picked it up. You know what kids are like.’

Benjamin shrugged. ‘I don’t know, Evie. You could be right, I suppose. I’ll look into it. Now, have your coffee and try to calm down a bit. Put a slug of whisky in it. That’s right. You’ll soon feel better. You’ll see.’

30

HARRIET

‘Now for the four o’clock news with the World Service.’

Harriet woke with a start. Four o’clock! She must have set the radio alarm wrong. She didn’t need to get up for another three hours, although the birds were singing so loudly that she doubted she’d fall asleep again. Irritated, she reached out for the radio and turned it off.

Lately she had often woken early; Monica had said it was typical of someone under stress but that didn’t help her get back to sleep.

Harriet turned her pillow over but couldn’t get rid of the thoughts that were whirling around in her head. Last night she had felt too awkward to undress in front of Charlie. Instead she had changed into her nightdress in the bathroom, then slipped, almost shyly, into bed next to him.

His back was to her. Slowly, she reached out for him. He turned over and moved her hand to his waist. ‘Sorry, Harriet, I don’t feel ready yet.’

She had felt both relieved and rejected. But at least his arm was round her and it felt comforting to have him next to her after so long.

Now as she tossed and turned, she became aware that Charlie was restless too. He seemed to be saying something in his sleep but she couldn’t catch it.

‘Charlie?’ she said softly.

He rolled towards her and pressed himself into her body.

She was shocked, yet excited at how hard he felt. She arched her back – the effect was electric. He was urgent, desperate, demanding in a way she had never known. ‘Turn over,’ he instructed her.

She did as she was told. Part of her felt thrilled, excited. The other part was frightened. This wasn’t Charlie. A stranger was pumping into her as though she was a prostitute. Oh, God, was that what he had been doing in Dubai? He groaned as her mind and body closed down with the horrible numbness of knowledge. She rolled away from him and took his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her.

His surprised expression, which asked ‘Harriet, is that
you
?’ said it all.

He fell asleep again almost immediately, but she lay there, tears streaming down her face. She had no proof apart from the way his body had behaved – but did she need any more?

Quietly, she slipped out of bed and went to the wardrobe. She put her hand into his suit pocket and withdrew his mobile phone. Then, without turning on any lights, she went down the corridor to the bathroom and locked the door.

Charlie’s mobile was different from hers. She wanted to find the call register that would tell her who had phoned him and whom he had phoned. She scrolled through the options. Where was it? Well, at least she knew how to find the last call: you just pressed the green button twice and it came up with the number.

Ring, ring
.

Harriet froze. She had pressed their own land line. My God! The phone was on his side of the bed. She switched off the mobile and ran back down the dark corridor, bumping into a wall and bruising her arm.

‘Yes?’ Charlie had the light on and receiver in his hand.

‘Can you believe it? Who on earth would ring at this time of the morning?’

Harriet stood in her nightdress, the mobile behind her back. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, we’ll soon find out.’

He dialled 1471. ‘That’s my mobile number.’ He stared at her, his eyes travelling down to the hand behind her back. ‘Have you got my mobile there, Harriet?’

‘It rang’ – she was shaking – ‘and woke me so I answered it.’

‘You’re lying.’ He sat up in bed. ‘You’ve been trying to find out who I’ve been ringing, haven’t you? You don’t trust me.’

‘Ssh, you’ll wake the children.’

He switched off the bedside light. ‘Fine, if you want to play it that way. I’m going to sleep now and we’ll talk about it in the morning.’

Harriet lay stiff on the bed, unable to move, as hot tears ran down her face. He was furious with her. Did that mean he had been seeing someone else or that he hadn’t? She shouldn’t have done anything. Now she might really have destroyed her marriage and it would be her fault.

When she woke again, it was to find he had got up before her. It was still early so, hastily, she showered and did her face. She wanted to look good for him; she wanted him to desire her as he had last night. Maybe she’d got it all wrong. Maybe there wasn’t anyone, in which case she needed to make up.

He’d already made tea and was in the sitting room, staring into space. He looked at her, unsmiling.

‘Morning.’

‘Morning.’

His eyes went to the television. ‘This is new.’

‘The old one broke.’

‘Couldn’t you have got it mended?’

‘It wasn’t worth it.’

His lips tightened. ‘I see.’

Wasn’t he going to ask about the mobile, Harriet wondered, as she poured herself a cup of tea and went to wake the children for school. He had been unfair about the television. Of course things had changed over the last two months. There was a new toaster too. The people next door had put up a taller fence without consulting her.

She’d changed.

And so had Charlie.

‘I’ll take the children to school today,’ he said, coming down the stairs in a shirt she hadn’t seen before.

‘They’ll like that,’ she said, and kissed his cheek. ‘Can you pick up Lucy and Beth on the way? It’s my turn to do the run.’

He moved away. ‘As long as they’re ready. I need to get into the office.’

Harriet began to make the packed lunches. ‘You’re not having the morning off, then?’

‘How can I? I’ve been away for two months. I need to get back. If you worked in the real world, Harriet, you’d understand that.’

She waved them off in the car, hoping Bruce wouldn’t do anything daft. After they’d gone, she looked at the toast crumbs on the table and the jam that had been dropped on the flagstone floor. It seemed strange to be at home on a sunny Friday morning, the last day of term, when she was normally doing the run.

The phone rang. Maybe it was Pippa. She should have rung to wish her luck for the op. She hoped with all her heart it would be all right: Pippa seemed too calm. Did she know something that the rest of them didn’t? ‘Hello?’

‘It’s me.’ Charlie sounded cold even on the phone. ‘I’ve left some files behind and I haven’t got my keys on me. Are you going to be in?’

‘Yes.’

‘See you in ten minutes, then.’

She’d make him a proper breakfast, thought Harriet, with a flash. He’d only had a slice of toast. That was it! He liked a proper English breakfast – bacon and egg with mushrooms – and it might get them off to a better start. Maybe she could even explain her fears about that stupid mobile.

Breakfast had been ready for nearly half an hour when she heard the doorbell ring.

‘Hi.’ He touched her cheek and cast an eye over the plate she was putting on the table. ‘Bacon? Sorry, Harriet, I can’t manage it. I grabbed a croissant on the way back from the run. Besides, I can’t stomach that sort of food in the morning any more. Too used to light hotel breakfasts, I suppose.’

Harriet bit back the hurt. ‘Children get off all right?’

‘Yes. Of course.’

‘They would have liked you taking them.’

‘What’s that meant to mean?’

‘Nothing. Just that it’s a treat for them.’

‘Don’t start that again, Harriet. It’s not my fault I had to be away.’

‘I didn’t say it was. I just said that it was nice for them that you took them to school. Don’t be like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Distant and cold.’

‘That’s what you are to me.’

‘I’m not – but you’ve got to realise that it’s strange for me too, not having you here and now having you here.’

‘Well, you don’t have to worry about that any more. I’m off to the office now I’ve got my files.’

Harriet felt cold. ‘When will you be back?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll call.’ He gave her a hard look. ‘From my mobile.’

Harriet’s legs shook. Now was the time to explain but she couldn’t do it. She didn’t want any more arguments. She just wanted life back to normal. But, she asked herself, after he’d driven off and she started to tidy the children’s bedrooms, was that possible after everything that had happened?

31

KITTY

‘And here’s a request from all the kids at Putney High who are leaving school today for ever!’

Kitty turned down the volume – next term she’d have headphones that worked – and got on to the bus. ‘You’re right,’ she said lightly to the driver.

‘That’s what I like to hear,’ said Clive. He really did have a nice smile, she thought. ‘What am I right about this time?’

‘
Can You Forgive Her?
,’ said Kitty, feeling almost coquettish at the prospect of eight wonderful weeks ahead. ‘It’s really good.’

He nodded, pleased. ‘Glad to be of service.’

Kitty looked around her furtively. ‘Actually, there is just one other thing . . .’ After she’d explained what she needed – Clive didn’t seem as surprised as she’d imagined – she moved on down the bus to where there was actually a free seat. She fumbled in her bag and took out the paperback Clive had lent her. It was well thumbed, with the odd stain on some pages – just the kind of book she enjoyed because it showed its owner had read it over a sandwich, unable to put it down. Kitty had added a few marks of her own, from her meal-for-one last night. Shocking, that she’d never delved into Trollope before, considering how long she’d been reading, but he was quite a find.

‘Chatting up the bus driver, Miss?’ Kieran’s face loomed in front of her. He was leaning over the seat as he chewed his gum.

‘No, Kieran. Actually, I like someone called Anthony.’

‘Is he one of the teachers at school, Miss?’

‘No, but he would have been a good one.’

‘How old is he, Miss?’ said a small girl opposite.

‘Absolutely ancient,’ said Kitty, settling into her book. ‘So old that he’s dead.’

Kieran’s jaw dropped. ‘You having me on?’

Kitty smiled. She could put up with the banter on the last day of term when everyone – including teachers – was allowed to slip into holiday mood. She had some educational quizzes in her bag and some games; if she could get the children to finish on a feel-good note, they’d be keen to start again next term.

‘No, Kieran, I’m not having you on. Now, how about doing your homework or reading your magazine while I have a bit of time to myself with my book?’