The Girls (19 page)

‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘but I wouldn’t leave you here with the front door unlocked, so why would I leave you with the back door unlocked?’

Pip rolled her eyes again and followed Clare to the back door to lock it after her.

Clare breathed in deeply as she started across the lawn. Coming out to find Grace was something of a pretext. She was really hoping to run into Leo, to tell him about seeing Chris at Roxy’s place, to ask his advice about what to do next. There was no sign of the gang at the top of the hill so she took the path around the perimeter of the garden towards the Howeses’ apartment. There she found them all hanging out on their terrace: Tyler, Max, the sisters, Leo and – somewhat unexpectedly and in a way that made her stomach tense and contract – Grace, sitting on Dylan’s lap, his arms around her waist. She sat up and looked startled when she saw her mother standing there. Clare saw her quickly unthread Dylan’s fingers and slide off his lap.

‘Hi!’ said Clare, feeling exposed and strangely foolish.

‘Clare!’ said Leo. ‘Hi! Come in. Come in.’

‘Oh …’ She shook her head. ‘No. Thank you. I just came to let Grace know that dinner’s ready.’ She smiled broadly.

‘You could have just phoned,’ Grace countered.

‘Yes,’ she said lightly, ‘I know, but I fancied some fresh air.’ She looked at Dylan from the sides of her eyes, at this boy she’d noticed from the very beginning because of his green eyes and his perfect skin and his way about him that seemed far beyond that of an average thirteen-year-old boy. She’d noticed him and her daughters had noticed him and yet it had never occurred to Clare that one of her daughters would end up sitting on his lap.
Who are you?
she wanted to say.
Who are you and are you now a part of my life?

He saw her looking at him and quickly averted his gaze in a way that Clare could not quite judge; was it dodgy, guilty, shy, dismissive? Was it
knowing
?

‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘it’s ready. You can come and eat it now or have it later when it’s cold. It’s up to you.’

‘OK.’ Grace sighed heavily. ‘I’ll come soon.’

‘Good.’ Clare turned and headed home, her cheeks flaming. Were they kissing? Were they touching each other’s bodies? She thought of the things she’d read in the papers about how young boys expected blowjobs at the drop of a hat these days. Had she? Had her baby, not yet thirteen, had she done that? She pictured Dylan, his green eyes averted from hers, those broad shoulders and sculpted cheekbones. What kind of a boy was he? She had no idea.

‘Whoa, slow down!’

She turned to see Leo striding up behind her. ‘You OK?’ His hand resting on her arm again, bringing that same surge of relief followed by fear she felt whenever he touched her.

‘Yes. Sorry. Just, you know,
teenagers
.’

He smiled wryly. ‘I certainly do know teenagers.’

‘And I had no idea, you know, Grace and Dylan …’

‘Ah.’ He nodded, realisation dawning. ‘I assumed you …’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘No. Definitely not. She’s only twelve.’

‘God, is she? Really? I thought she was older.’

‘No, she looks older – they both do, my girls – but no, she is still only twelve. And I’m not sure she’s ready and I know for a fact that
I’m
not ready and … agh.’ She shuddered. ‘I am feeling very strange right now.’

He moved his hand back to her arm. ‘Listen,’ he said, his eyes firmly upon hers, ‘if it’s any comfort, I’ve known Dylan since he was a baby and he is a fine, fine boy. Very mature. Very caring. You should see him with his brother …’

‘He has a brother?’

‘Yes. Rob. He’s much older, has lots of special needs, lives in a residential home. He’s essentially a child but Dylan has always looked out for him, protected him. Rob comes back for holidays and the odd weekend and Dylan includes him in everything. He’s a kind boy. I mean,
obviously
’ – he moved his hand from her arm to his heart – ‘I am a very old fart and can only guess what’s really going on with
the young people
, but honestly, if I were you, I would let it run its course. These things never last. It’ll all be over this time next week.’

Clare nodded and sighed. ‘Have you been through this yet?’ she asked. ‘With your girls?’

‘Ah.’ He dropped his chin. ‘No. Well, at least, not as far as I’m aware. There was an American boy, a couple of summers back; he and Catkin hung out a fair amount but I don’t think it went further than that. And Fern is Fern, living in her own little world. Willow is still a baby. And, you know, they live a fairly sheltered life. So no, I haven’t had to deal with this yet. But I hope when I do that I can keep calm about it.’ He smiled. ‘So. How are things? Generally?’

She thought of the lasagne in the oven and wondered if Pip would think to take it out when the alarm went off. She decided to risk it. ‘I went to Walthamstow today,’ she whispered. ‘I saw him.’

Leo’s eyebrows jumped. He let out a puff of air. ‘Wow. So your hunch was right.’

‘Yes. Looks that way.’

‘And how was it? Did you talk to him?’

‘No, I just saw him, fleetingly – not even all of him, just bits of him.’

‘Bits of him?’

‘His knee, his hand, the side of his face.’

‘And?’

She shrugged. ‘He seemed fine. He seemed normal. She was going somewhere, an interview or something. He wished her luck and gave her a hug. That was it. And now …’ She looked for the words that would somehow make sense of the mixed feelings she’d been having all day long. ‘I don’t know now … His voice.’ She glanced up into Leo’s eyes. His attention was fixed on her, intensely. ‘His lovely voice. I’d forgotten. So soft and deep. And he was wearing socks.’

‘Socks?’

She smiled. ‘Isn’t that the silliest thing? Socks. His big feet in socks. And he seemed so normal. When the last time I saw him he was so mad. So mad.’ She shook her head. ‘And now I’m not sure. I’m not sure what to do. Am I being irresponsible knowing where he is, when he could be a threat to me and my children, and not doing anything about it? Or am I being compassionate? I mean, he could be building up to another episode right now, and he knows where we live, yet …’

‘Yet he’s a human being.’

‘Yes! Exactly. And for so long, in my head, he’s been a monster.’

Leo nodded. ‘You know,’ he said, softly, ‘maybe you should talk to her? To Roxy?’

‘You think?’

‘Well, she’ll have the clearest perspective on him right now. On his state of mind.’

‘Yes, but she’s
in love
with him. And she’s not a mother. She’ll do anything to protect him. Even lie.’

Leo sighed. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘You are absolutely right. Listen. I’ve got a friend. He works in mental health, over in Islington. I could talk to him? Ask him anonymously? Would that be helpful?’

‘God, yes. That really would.’

Leo smiled, touched her arm yet again. This time Clare found herself unthinkingly clasping her hand over his, holding it there tightly. ‘Good,’ he said, their hands still held together, ‘leave it with me.’

Slowly, she unpeeled her hand from his, and slowly he let his hand fall from her arm. There followed a tiny, exquisitely awkward silence before Clare pulled herself back into shape and said, ‘Well, I’d better go and rescue our lasagne from the oven before it’s nuked.’

Leo simply smiled and nodded and watched her go.

Eighteen

Through the garden door Clare could see the white peaks of the tents and gazebos that had been assembled by the eager beaver garden committee since early this morning. The sun was high in a cloudless sky. The garden was full of the sounds of industry and expectation. It was the day of the Virginia Gardens Annual Summer Party.

And also the day that her firstborn became a teenager.

She’d thrown Grace a small party in their back garden earlier: non-alcoholic cocktails, helium balloons, a giant red velvet cake with thirteen candles, all her friends from the garden, a round of ‘Happy Birthday to You’, nothing fancy.

Now she stacked sticky paper cups into a tower, gathered up handfuls of brightly coloured straws with concertinaed tissue fruits attached, balled up used paper napkins and shreds of ripped wrapping paper and envelopes and dropped them all into a black bag. She took birthday cards through to the living room and arranged them on the dining table, piled up Grace’s gifts neatly: a hoodie from Tyler, just like the hoodies that Tyler herself wore; a John Green novel and a framed arrangement of silk butterflies from the sisters; money and a malodorous celebrity perfume from Clare’s mother; clothes from her; a glittering diamanté bracelet from Pip in a suedette box; and from Dylan, well … Clare didn’t know what he’d bought her daughter; Grace had taken it still wrapped into her bedroom after the party, saying she was saving it for later.

They’d gone now, all the children. Grace had changed into the floral camisole top and silky boxer shorts that Clare had bought her for her birthday, applied more make-up to her fresh-skinned face and they’d all headed out into the communal garden.

Clare took the bin bag to the hallway and opened the front door. She stopped when she saw Leo passing by on the street, the familiar loping gait, his hands full of shopping bags.

‘Hi,’ he said, smiling warmly. ‘Birthday party over?’

‘Yes, just clearing up.’

‘How did it go?’

‘It was good. They’re fed and watered, ready for the garden party.’

Leo nodded and as he did so his sunglasses fell from the top of his head to the pavement. Clare dropped the bin bag on the front path and ran to pick them up for him. ‘All in one piece,’ she said, dusting them down and sliding them back on to the top of his head.

‘Thank you,’ said Leo.

The moment had been strangely intimate, her fingers against his hair, and it stretched itself out somehow, beyond real time. Clare found herself flushing and took a step back from him.

He looked towards his carrier bags. ‘Doing a barbecue later on. Plenty here for you and the girls. You’re welcome to come over and join us?’

‘Oh,’ said Clare, slightly thrown by the invitation. ‘What sort of time?’

‘Whenever you like. We’ll be on the terrace all day. Whenever you like.’

Clare nodded. ‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘Thank you. Can I bring anything?’

Leo smiled. ‘Just your lovely self,’ he said. ‘Just your lovely self.’

Adele was halfway through transforming an angelic toddler into a horrible ghoul when her daughters appeared with Grace and Dylan. Since Grace’s party had finished they’d all been wandering about aimlessly, territorially, pretending that they weren’t having fun.

‘Happy birthday, Grace!’ she said. ‘Did you have a nice party?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Grace, smiling her inscrutable smile. ‘Thank you for the presents.’

‘Oh, you are welcome. It wasn’t much, but I’m glad you liked them.’

‘Can we help? said Catkin, smiling in amusement at the sombre child in the chair.

Catkin unfolded another chair and picked up a handful of brushes. Adele looked up from her little skeleton girl and smiled at her daughter. Fern flipped open a third chair and called over a little girl who wanted to be painted as a rabbit. Willow acted as assistant, cleaning brushes, passing colours.

Adele picked up a damp sponge wedge and smudged out the dark sockets around the toddler’s eyes. Then she lifted her head from the child’s face to see if she could spot her parents anywhere. As she looked around, her eye was caught by the sight of Grace and Dylan, heads together over her little shoulder bag, looking at something inside it, smiling at one another, closing the little bag and then leaving the garden through the communal gates, Grace looking back just once, over her shoulder, as though checking that they hadn’t been seen.

Nineteen

Clare felt a flutter of anxiety as she approached the Howeses’ terrace later that afternoon. There seemed to be an awful lot of people clustered around the table.

‘Clare! Pip! You’re here! Excellent.’ Leo got to his feet and pulled chairs out for them. ‘Clare,’ he said, ‘this is my sister-in-law, Zoe.’ He gestured at an attractive dark-haired woman who was unmistakably Adele’s sister. ‘And this is John, Zoe’s husband.’ A nice-looking man with a blond beard and thick-framed glasses stood up to shake her hand. ‘And these little cuties are my niece and nephew, George and Darcy. Everyone, this is Clare, our neighbour from across the way. And this is Pip, her daughter.’

‘One of my daughters,’ she replied. ‘I’m not quite sure where the other one is.’

‘I saw her just a few minutes ago,’ said Leo. ‘With the gang.’

Clare exhaled. ‘Oh. Good. What are they up to?’

‘No idea,’ he replied breezily. ‘Hanging out. Talking crap.
Stuff
.’ He waved a bottle of wine and said, ‘Red? Or white? Or, in fact, Pimm’s? Is there any Pimm’s left?’ He swept his gaze across the table. ‘No, we must have drunk it all. Sorry about that.’

Leo poured her out a glass of white wine and passed Pip a beaker of cordial. ‘Where’s Adele?’ she asked, feeling slightly out of place without the mother figure here to bind them together.

‘Just putting away the face-painting stall. She left the girls to run it for an hour and apparently the stall got hijacked by a bunch of younger children who completely trashed it.’ He laughed, rubbing his hand across his stomach. ‘Apparently there is a small naked boy running about out there painted head to toe in sludge brown. Apart from around his private parts. He’s supposed to be a poo.’