The Infidelity Chain (5 page)

‘They’d have been fine,’ Mum says. She sounds really tired. ‘Cate’s perfectly capable—’

‘Perfectly capable! She’s a delinquent! You should’ve taken a much firmer hand with her when she was young. I’m sorry to be
the one to say I told you so, but—’

‘Cate is
not
a delinquent,’ Mum yells unexpectedly. ‘She’s beautiful, and funny, and
bright, and I’m so proud of her it hurts to breathe! My daughter has determination and talent and ambition, and she’s already twice the woman you or I could ever hope to be! I will not have you coming to my house and pouring your poison on my
family! You’ve made my life a misery since the day I was born. I won’t have you turning your venom on my daughter!’

My cheeks redden, even though no one can see me. I don’t think I’ve
ever
heard Mum talk back to
Granny Clara, never mind stick up for me like that.

It’s strange. I know Mum really loves Dad, but it’s like she’s Superman and he’s some kind of romantic kryptonite. Usually,
he takes charge of things and she just fades into the background. But with him all weird and zoned out like he’s been this last few weeks, she’s been getting stronger and stronger. Without him telling her what to do all the time, she’s
even started to boss
him
about a bit. She stopped him getting that disgusting Hummer (does he want his grandchildren to be living on a charred rock?) and she put her foot down over going on holiday to Italy, though
I s’pose that’s off now because of Eithne.

Her new hair’s really cool. And she let me take her shopping somewhere other than M&S – she bought this gorgeous red wrap dress
online from Boden, and some bootcut jeans; like,
finally
. It’s really nice to see her standing up for herself for a change.

Everything blurs. I want Mum to be happy. Dad, too. I bet Ella’s got something to do with his miserable mood. They’ve probably split up
or something. I don’t want Mum and Dad to stay together just because of me. I’ll be gone soon, anyway. I don’t want that kind of responsibility.

I get up and go downstairs. Granny storms furiously into the kitchen. ‘Your mother has taken leave of her senses!’ she cries.
‘Like mother, like daughter!’ she adds, as I ignore her and go outside.

Mum is sitting on the garden steps, looking like she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘Mum? Are you OK?’

She throws me a watery smile. ‘I’m not quite sure.’

‘Is it true? Is Eithne really the mole?’

She nods miserably, and I perch on the steps next to her.

‘But why? I thought she was your friend?’

Mum bites her lip. ‘She’s never really forgiven me for marrying Daddy. She thinks it’s his fault I stopped painting.’

‘Well, it is, a bit.’ I smile. ‘Come on, Mum. You’ve got to admit he’s a bit of a control freak. You always let him
have his own way, same as you do with Granny Clara.’

‘He’s always been very encouraging about my painting—’

‘Yeah, as a
hobby
. Can you imagine what he’d have said if you’d wanted to, like, do it as
a career or something? He’d have gone ape.’ I reach past her and pick one of her roses. ‘Gorgeous. They’re amazing this year—’

She puts a detaining hand on my arm. ‘Cate, it’s not your father’s fault. I
let
him take
over. I blamed him, and I blamed the illness, but the truth is it’s
my
fault I stopped painting.’ She hesitates. ‘I was afraid to fail,’ she admits quietly. ‘It was easier not to
try.’

‘Are you still going to Italy on Saturday?’

‘No.’

She starts making excuses for the old lezzie, but I’m not really listening. I cut a few more roses and drop them in her basket, trying to
work up my courage to tell her how I feel. Of course I don’t want my parents to split up, but I need her to know she doesn’t have to worry about me any more. If it has to happen, I can deal with it.
I’d rather have them both happy and doing their own thing than have to live this fake happy-families routine any more. I’m fed up with the lies and pretending. I just want things to be
real
.

‘. . . but I don’t think we’ll ever be quite the same.’

‘You don’t need her, Mum.’

‘Not when I’ve got you.’

I duck as she ruffles my hair. ‘Mum! I meant, to go to Italy. You should go on your own.’

‘Darling, I couldn’t.’

‘Why not? It’s only for three weeks. Mrs Ghedini can come in and clean and stuff. Dad and me can manage.’

I know she’s tempted. She’s never been away on her own before; I bet she’d have a brilliant time. I’ve half a mind to go
with her.

‘What about your father? I couldn’t leave him, it wouldn’t be fair.’

‘Mum,’ I say carefully, ‘it’s time to think about
you
for a change.’

She looks at me sharply. ‘You don’t have to stay for me,’ I say, feeling my way. ‘I’ll be gone soon. If you
don’t leave now, you may never bring yourself to do it. I want you to be happy, Mum. I don’t want to worry about you any more.’ I drop my gaze, not wanting her to see me cry. ‘When we did the
Titanic
at school, Mrs Buchanan said some of the people who drowned might have survived if they’d stopped clinging to each other. Sometimes you – you just have to let go.’

For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything. Oh, fuck. I shouldn’t have interfered, should I, it’s none of my business—

Except the pair of them have
made
it my business, haven’t they?

She makes a little ‘oh’ sound, and covers her mouth with her hand. ‘Since when did you get to be so wise?’

‘Mum, it’s OK. Go. I’ll be fine. Dad’ll be fine. We’ll all be OK.’

‘I do love your father, Cate. Very much.’

I swallow. ‘Not always enough, though, is it, Mum?’

‘No.’ She hugs me so tight I can hardly breathe. ‘No, it isn’t.’

She releases me with a kiss, and I run upstairs to my bedroom. An unexpected idea has occurred to me, but I need to get myself together first. I
can’t go anywhere looking like this.

It takes a hot shower, half a can of hair gel and a ton of MAC, but an hour later I look recognizably human again. You’d never guess this was
a girl with seven vodka jelly shots in her extremely recent past.

I turn side-on to the mirror. I’m not sure about this empire-line top, though. I bought it when I went shopping with Mum on Saturday, and
it’s totally cool with all this embroidery and beads and stuff, but it makes me look pregnant—

I grab my bag. Who cares what I look like? This isn’t about
me
.

As soon as I see him, I wish I’d changed into the pink Fat Face T-shirt after all. I don’t want him to think I’ve totally let
myself go.

‘Cate!’

I push past him before I lose my bottle. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Would it make a difference if I said no?’

I smile sheepishly. Dan smiles warily back.

For a moment we both stand in the centre of the living-room, not quite sure what to do next. I try not to think about the last time I was here.

‘D’you want a coffee or something?’

I hate coffee. ‘Sure.’

I follow him into the tiny kitchen. It’s full of dirty plates and pizza boxes, and there’s a line of jars filled with murky turps and
paintbrushes on the windowsill like Mum’s.

Dan messes with the coffee machine. Grounds scatter all over the grimy Formica; when he opens the cupboard beneath the sink to throw away the old
filter, I notice the bin is overflowing with beer cans and mouldy teabags.

‘So,’ he says, his back towards me, ‘how did the exams go?’

‘Fine, thanks. French was a bit tough, but I think I did OK.’

‘Well, you should. You’ve had a bit of practice.’

‘You heard about that?’

He turns and grins. ‘Village jungle drums, you know how it is.’

‘I – I met someone,’ I say, my cheeks flaming, ‘in Paris. He’s going to be spending the summer in Bath on a student
exchange. We might meet up.’

‘Great. That’s great.’

I fiddle nervously with the fringe on my top. ‘Look, I’m sorry about—’

‘I’m sorry you had to—’

We both laugh nervously. I nod to indicate he should go first. ‘Cate, what happened that day, I should’ve come to find you and
explained. Nothing happened, I swear—’

‘I believe you.’

‘You do?’

The coffee machine hisses and burbles on the counter. A steady stream of water leaks from a crack in its side and drips on to the stained
floor.

‘Mum’s going to Italy on Saturday for three weeks. On her own,’ I add.

Dan nods, but says nothing.

‘She and Dad – well. I think they’re splitting up. He’ll probably go up to London when she gets back, and stay in the flat
he’s got there. Mum’s been doing a lot of painting recently. She seems to be really into it. I think she’ll be OK about Dad leaving. In the end, anyway.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll be fine. I’m not a kid any more,’ I say, realizing it’s true. ‘Look, Dan. I just came to say sorry and to
– to give you something.’

I hand him a scrap of paper.

‘It’s Mum’s address in Rome. She’s renting an apartment from a friend of Eithne’s. It can get a bit lonely on your
own. Sometimes it’s wonderful when friends drop by unexpectedly.’ I smile. ‘I just thought you might like to know.’