Authors: Isabelle Grey
Declan moved his hand away to reach instead for the bottle to refill their glasses. ‘And I suppose you’re used to
sizing people up,’ he went on. ‘You do it every night, lying upstairs in your beds with a constant stream of perfect strangers asleep below.’
‘The guests?’ She laughed. ‘This house has always been full of people. And I’m very careful,’ she continued, almost glad of a neutral topic: she did not want to make a fool of herself with him, after all. ‘I always confirm the contact details I’m given.’
‘But it must come down to instinct in the end?’ he pressed.
‘Yes, though if someone’s here, and they’ve paid their deposit, and their phone number or email checks out, I can’t very well throw them out on the street just because I think they look a bit shifty.’
‘You’d rather let a stranger loose in your house?’
‘There’s a sturdy lock on the door to our flat.’
‘So would you lock the attic door if your daddy was in the house?’ he asked.
Tessa felt ambushed. ‘He’s not going to hurt me! I don’t fear him. Quite the opposite.’
‘Tell me why not.’ He sat back, making himself more comfortable against the cushions. ‘Honestly, I’d like you to tell me what it’s like there in the prison with those guys.’
Tessa composed her thoughts. ‘We’re all human,’ she said finally. ‘They’re not monsters or animals, the men in there. The line dividing us isn’t so solid. But they’ve acted out their emotions, their rage, their hurt, their greed. So in a way, they’re more honest than us.’
‘That’s holy smoke, if ever I heard it!’
‘It’s not! Besides,’ she couldn’t help laughing, ‘you can’t hear smoke.’
‘True. Which is what makes it so deadly.’
‘You think I’m kidding myself.’ Tessa was hurt by his scepticism. ‘But isn’t this kidding ourselves?’ She jumped up to switch on one of the table lamps: it was not long after the June solstice, yet although the evening was still light she preferred the cosy glow. ‘Making ourselves feel safe? If there’s no fear, there’s no true emotion, don’t you think?’
‘It’s human nature to huddle around the campfire,’ agreed Declan. ‘Keep our backs to the dark.’
‘But that doesn’t make it go away,’ she insisted. ‘We’re just pretending.’
He shrugged. ‘Fine by me.’
‘I can’t pretend,’ said Tessa. ‘Roy’s my father. I am biologically his child. Who knows what that means – how much is inherited, whether your DNA gives you a sense of humour or makes you jealous; but I know I’m his child. And he killed someone. It’s not tidy, it’s not convenient, it’s not nice, but it’s true. I can’t pick and choose which bits of him to accept. I have to embrace it all.’
Declan considered this and then gave way. ‘Well, your attitude is admirable, I’ll say that.’ He caught her doubtful glance. ‘No, seriously, it is. Hell, I work for a supermarket. There has to be more to life than what baked beans you eat or what car you drive.’ He leant forward and rested his hand on her thigh. ‘There has to be a bit of raw sensation somewhere, right?’
Tessa took a deep breath then covered his hand with her own. ‘Yes,’ she said, daring to look straight at him. He must have received the signal he wanted, for he smiled and came to sit beside her.
Taking her hand in his, he turned it over and touched her, palm to palm.
‘I took a quick peek as I drove past Sam’s new place.’ He spoke with careful deliberation. ‘It looked busy.’
‘Yes.’ Tessa was aware of Declan watching her, and even more uncomfortably aware of tears pricking the backs of her eyelids. She blinked to dispel them before meeting his gaze. ‘I think it’s doing very well.’
‘Tessa.’ Declan squeezed her hand in warning. ‘Don’t pretend.’
The relief was agonising. ‘I don’t even have a stake in it any more,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve lost everything to do with him.’
‘You still love him?’
She thought of what Roy had said to her, the intriguing possibility that she didn’t. ‘That’s the terrible thing. I don’t know.’
Declan stayed quiet, waiting for her to explain.
‘I got pregnant with Mitch when we were still at college,’ she admitted. ‘Then it all happened so fast. I don’t remember ever deciding that I was in love, that I couldn’t live without Sam, that he was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. It just happened.’
‘You never considered not having the baby?’ he asked gently.
Tessa shook her head. ‘No. And of course I can see now that everyone who was in on the secret of my birth was determined that I should get it right this time.’
‘You were railroaded.’
‘Maybe. I don’t know.’ Had the older generations made it all so easy for her and Sam, she wondered, because of their determination not to repeat past mistakes? And had that effortlessness become so ingrained in her marriage that neither she nor Sam had ever needed to ask what they really wanted?
‘Wherever I look, things turn out to be not what I thought. I don’t know what to think. I even …’ she stopped short.
‘Go on.’
‘I even got paranoid recently that Sam had been lying to me. That maybe he’d already started something with Nula before he ever went to London.’ Tessa hung her head. ‘I called the friend who got Sam the job there. I must’ve sounded completely crazy. He said of course Sam hadn’t been having an affair.’
‘Guys have been known to cover up for one another,’ Declan observed.
Tessa shrugged. ‘Like I say, I don’t know what to think any more, who to believe.’
‘Yourself?’ he suggested.
‘Me least of all,’ she admitted in a small voice.
‘Come here, woman,’ he said, pulling her closer. ‘I’ll show you how to recognise your own feelings.’ Holding
her chin, he turned her face up to his for a kiss. ‘If you want me to?’
Tessa closed her eyes and offered her lips. After a while he started to reach under her clothes, and she stopped him. ‘Not here,’ she said. ‘Let’s go to your room.’
THIRTY-THREE
The night was hot and Mitch flung off his duvet. When he got home he’d been relieved that his mother was occupied with the supermarket guy, so he hadn’t had to lie about his day. But now he was afraid that Tamsin might be in trouble at school because of him. They’d texted one another, but he hadn’t wanted to risk further problems by calling her after lights out. He worried, too, whether that vindictive teacher would tell Charlie Crawford stuff that might make him forbid Tamsin to see Mitch again. That would be a disaster when she’d need him most if things really were serious between Quinn and Charlie. He felt nothing but contempt for a father who failed to care as much as he did about so precious a creature.
Mitch knew he wouldn’t get back to sleep, and, unable to get comfortable, swung his legs over the side of his bed and sat staring into the half-light of the midsummer night. He realised he hadn’t eaten, and remembered Tessa mentioning there was some cold chicken downstairs. He pulled
on some jeans and a T-shirt in case he bumped into anyone and eased open his bedroom door.
The hallway lights were off and there was no light showing under Tessa’s door. He was sure Lauren must be asleep by now too. The door to the flat was still on the latch, so Tessa must have forgotten to lock it. He slipped down the dark stairs, crossed the landing on the guests’ floor and was about to start down the next flight when a bedroom door opened at the far end of the corridor. Out of habit, he melted back into the shadows, against the wall, and waited. All the guest rooms had en suite bathrooms, so Mitch had no idea where the wandering guest would go, and in any case had long ago ceased to take any interest in what they got up to.
The figure flitted in his direction and turned at the end of the hallway to go
up
the stairs. It was Tessa, carrying her shoes and a little bundle of what looked like underwear. He felt sick, and, struggling not to make any noise, flattened himself still further against the wall. At the top of the stairs she too took pains to open the door noiselessly and close it softly behind her. He heard the latch slip, but knew he could let himself back in with the spare key they hid in a jug on the windowsill.
He stumbled down to the kitchen with as much caution as he could manage. Wanting to avoid the glare of the overhead light, he sat at the big table in the dark, rested his head on his arms and, utterly exhausted, let himself cry. The sound seemed to echo back at him from the hard, neat surfaces, making him feel smaller and more alone.
He thought of the blank faces opposite him in the train home, commuters practised in avoiding all human contact; they’d left him even more alone with his anxiety. He knew he should get a grip on himself, recognised that he was hungry and should eat, or at least get back to bed and go to sleep, but the sobs kept coming.
He was tempted to go and wake Lauren, to try talking to her, but he knew he couldn’t tell her what he’d just witnessed: she was only fourteen and didn’t understand anything about love or sex. She would just make everything worse, and then he’d be responsible for her too. He could call Tamsin at school, but his phone was upstairs and besides, there was no way he was going to stress her out with his problems at this time of night, not when she had enough worries of her own.
At least Tessa hadn’t seen him. He thanked his lucky stars for all his years of creeping around the place. But what was she up to? Was she Ok? What if some guest – that Declan guy she’d been having a drink with – had hurt her, assaulted her? But he knew that couldn’t be true. Even in the half-darkness from the landing window he had glimpsed the look on her face, had recognised from his own reflection in the mirror in Tamsin’s bedroom that absence of tension, that satiated relaxation of all the tiny facial muscles. He had seen her face, and she was happy.
But what did it mean? She’d appealed to him not to leave her alone at Sam’s opening. She’d been so upset since she found out about Sam and Nula. But if she was still in
love with Sam, what was she doing with Declan tonight? She
might
be in love with one man and enjoy casual sex with another, though he didn’t believe his mum was like that. But what did he know? Maybe she had sex with guests all the time, but he’d never caught her out before. He’d had no idea she’d been off visiting this Roy Weaver character in prison while he was at school either. Maybe she had all kinds of affairs and assignations no one knew about. Maybe that was why Sam had left.
He thought miserably that it would’ve been easier if Tessa had seen him because then at least she would have had to tell him what was going on and it wouldn’t be yet another secret he had to keep. He was sick of secrets. It seemed like every single adult in his life had some dangerous piece of knowledge that they kept tight hold of, like keeping the pin on a hand grenade so it wouldn’t explode in someone’s face. The thought of facing Tessa in the morning – and every morning after that – knowing all this stuff about her made him want to throw up. But his stomach was empty, and he had no more tears. He hated this helpless state he found himself in. He hated Declan, hated Charlie, hated Roy Weaver, hated Sam, hated his mother.
THIRTY-FOUR
Carol, often first in the kitchen of a morning, stood guard over some eggs poaching on the Aga. ‘Morning,’ she greeted Mitch. ‘Your mum’s upstairs. I’ve room for one more in here, if you’d like,’ she offered, indicating the pan.
‘No, thanks. I’m fine with toast.’ Mitch had just made a rather furtive check to confirm that it was Declan’s room his mother had come out of last night, and as he sat down he tried not to think of her up in the breakfast room bending over Declan, asking if he’d like cream in his coffee or preferred honey to marmalade.
Lauren was spooning cereal into her mouth, half hidden behind her defensive wall of packaging, which had grown higher since some new row she’d had with Tessa. ‘Where were you yesterday?’ she asked.
Mitch shot a warning glance at Carol. ‘Nowhere. Checking out some uni stuff.’ He’d tried calling Tamsin twice this morning, but her phone was off.
‘So where did you go?’ Lauren appeared not to notice Mitch glaring at her with a meaningful nod towards Carol
who, though she had her back to them, would nevertheless be listening
‘Tell you later,’ he told her sternly, and was relieved when Lauren shrugged and gave up, accustomed to her brother’s stonewalling.
Tessa swept into the kitchen carrying a tray of dirty crockery. She put it down on the worktop beside the dishwasher then came to stand behind Mitch’s chair. ‘How are you this morning?’
He jerked his head away as she ruffled his hair, but she just laughed. ‘You never ate the chicken last night. Why don’t you have some nice crispy bacon to go with your toast?’
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ he told her. She sounded happy, and he tried to think well of her. Maybe she really liked this guy and whatever they were doing was a bit more than casual. Maybe being with him would take away all her hurt over Nula, or distract her from this guy in prison. Maybe it was a good thing and he should be pleased for her.
Tessa opened the bottom oven and took out the dish left there to keep warm. ‘I can easily make more if they want it upstairs.’ She reached over to take his plate. He snatched at it, but too late, she was already piling on the rashers of bacon.
‘Mum, really, I don’t want any.’
She put his plate back in front of him. ‘Go on, good for you.’
Mitch pushed it away without bothering to argue.
‘I’ll have it,’ Lauren declared, helping herself.
‘You can’t eat all that!’ protested Tessa, making as if to take it away.
‘Why not, if Mitch can?’ Lauren’s tone skirted on the edge of a whine and she curved a protective arm around the food.
‘We talked about this, sweetheart.’
‘I can have
one
!’
‘You’re supposed to be watching what you eat.’
Lauren picked up a rasher with her fingers, and Mitch could see that his mum wasn’t going to push it. Lauren bit into it, then dropped it again. ‘Ugh, it’s cold. It’s horrible when it’s cold.’ She held the plate out to her mother, who hesitated but then took it from her. Mitch watched Tessa avoid Carol’s raised eyebrows as she slid the food back onto the metal dish and popped it into the top oven.