Matt said no more, simply turned and walked out of the house.
Several hours later, and extremely drunk, he turned up at Gina’s flat.
He sat drinking black coffee, telling her everything, all the ugly brutal truth as he saw it.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said, and two tears rolled down his face. He brushed them off, embarrassed. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK.’
She just seems to want to destroy me. She hates me. And I – I – sorry …’
‘Matt, it’s OK. Really.’ She went over to him, put her arms round him, stroked his hair.
‘Perhaps you should think about divorce,’ she said.
He had apologised, of course. The following day, his face white and set, unable to meet her eyes, while studying her face for the damage he had done, genuinely ashamed and remorseful, had said he was sorry, that he should not have done it. He asked her if she was all right; she said she was. And that was the end of the conversation; it had not been referred to between them again. And he was still quite clearly ferociously angry with her, in spite of the remorse.
She felt very odd about it, confused, shocked. To have behaved so badly that it induced violence and from someone who had once loved her so much; it had clearly been very bad, that behaviour, and the blows something she had deserved, had almost earned.
She could not tell anyone, anyone at all; could not admit to any of it, simply said she had fallen down the cellar steps, to explain her swollen face and mouth, her black eye, and struggled to bury the memory and the fear – and the shame.
It haunted her, the memory, she lived it over and over again; it rose up not only in the night but harshly and unexpectedly during the day, as she drove her car, stood in the shower, walked down the street, threatening her, an excursion into another place, dark and ugly, where she could never have imagined herself to be.
It had not made her afraid of him, she felt instinctively he wouldn’t do it again: and she knew he would never ever hit Emmie. He was simply not a violent man. Which made her own shame worse.
She had no idea what to do next; reconciliation seemed impossible, continuing as they were worse. She felt helpless, suspended in time, moving through the days in a senseless, confused lethargy. It was very frightening. Life as she knew it was lost to her.
Matt, struggling with conflicting emotions of his own, shame, shock, almost unbearable anger, was also hugely fearful of the effect of the article on his business and his professional reputation. But the property community saw the story for what it was, as they viewed it at least, a gross distortion by the media, heaped upon their already unpopular shoulders, presented as they were as pariahs of society, impenetrable obstacles placed between decent people and the housing they deserved. And the public simply read, digested and then moved on into their own mantra that they were all the same, these developers, but there was nothing you could do about it, and went on their way.
But his sense of betrayal at Eliza’s hands remained deep and bitter.
For the first time, Eliza was grateful for their lack of social life; there were no embarrassing comments to be endured at dinner parties at least. Sarah of course had seen it, and called her to say carefully that she was sure it was all lies and that Matt would never do such awful things; and Charles’s reaction was very similar.
‘Jolly hard on old Matt,’ was all he said to Eliza and slightly duplicitously, she agreed.
The person who suffered most from the article was Heather; frightened and angry at Eliza’s betrayal as she saw it, she refused to allow her into the house when Eliza arrived on her doorstep the next day.
‘You promised, Eliza, you promised me. You said there would be no names, we wouldn’t be identified. I thought we were friends—’
‘Heather, we are friends, please don’t say that.’
‘That man lied and lied to me and you told me—’
‘Heather, I know he did and I’m so, so sorry. I told him to leave you alone, I told him I didn’t want him to do the story—’
‘Well, why didn’t he leave us alone then?’
‘Because – because the press doesn’t work like that. They’re all sharks, they can’t be trusted and—’
‘But you’ve worked with these people. So why tell him about us in the first place? And how did he know where we were? Did you give him this address?’
‘No, of course not. Well – well – I told him you lived near Clapham Common. And that it was a terrace of big Victorian houses. I suppose after that he just did a lot of legwork. Watched you coming out, recognised you from my description—’
‘So you described me to him? Funny way of keeping him away—’
‘Heather, please! All I said was you were a young mum, and you were pregnant.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, Eliza, I don’t want even to discuss it any more. Alan is so angry, he won’t even speak to me, Coral’s having a horrible time at school, they’re calling her slummy, and we’re definitely going to have to go and live with Alan’s mum now.’
‘No, Heather, you’re not, look, try these, a couple of much better places that actually Matt found for you, phone them, please.’
‘I don’t think so. I don’t think anything to do with Matt would be a good idea at the moment. We had actually found somewhere quite promising, but the landlord told Alan this morning it was off the market. I wonder why. And now I’m terrified of the landlord turning up here and just putting us out on the pavement—’
‘Heather, he can’t do that. Believe me.’
‘I’m a bit sick of believing you, Eliza. Anyway, we’re moving up there next week. I can’t even have my baby at the hospital I know and trust. And it’s all your fault. Oh, just go away, Eliza, please, and leave me alone. There’s one law for people like you in this country and another for people like me, and I should have known better than to trust you.’
‘Well – will you at least give me your new address, so I can keep in touch?’
‘No. Now excuse me please I’m very busy.’
And she shut the door in Eliza’s face.
Eliza went home and wept; and then wrote to Heather and told her if she ever changed her mind, she would always be pleased to hear from her. Heather didn’t reply.
The atmosphere in the house was horrible. They hardly spoke, Matt went to work, came home very late, refused food, refused anything, just went to his study and then to bed. She lay awake half the night, every night; several times she had knocked on the door of his room. ‘Please go away,’ he said, his voice polite but very final. Or sometimes, ‘Please leave me alone.’
Only with Emmie was he himself, greeting her with hugs and kisses, talking to her, playing with her, taking her out to the park. At first Eliza though this was his way of returning to normality, an overture via Emmie, but he continued to ignore his wife, to behave as if she wasn’t there.
If Eliza spoke, he ignored her, if she tried to follow them upstairs he said, ‘would you prefer to take her?’ and the same thing on proposed outings, to the swings, the river, even, most dreadfully, to Summercourt for the weekend.
‘I’d like to take Emmie down to Summercourt,’ he said, the first time. ‘I presume that’s all right.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, and it was still at the stage when she was hoping he would relent, that things would be normal again. ‘When shall we go?’
‘I don’t want you there,’ he said, ‘I’ll take her on my own.’
That was terrible, that he should put this awful impenetrable barrier round Summercourt too. Even for one weekend.
‘But I want to go,’ she said, ‘please.’
‘Of course,’ he said and she looked up, sharply hopeful, but, ‘you can go next time,’ he added, and he walked out of the room.
She had to explain then to her mother; Sarah, while upset, didn’t understand, thought it was just a row.
‘Don’t worry, darling,’ she said, ‘he’ll get over it. Just humour him, that’s what I always did with your father. And don’t worry about Emmie, I’ll see she has a nice weekend. And – who knows, I might be able to talk him round. What was the row about? Not that silly article surely, that was nothing to do with you …’
Eliza said she didn’t want to talk about it.
The weekend while they were there was endless. She stayed in the house alone, didn’t want to see anyone. It meant explaining too much.
Her mother phoned after the weekend, interestingly cheerful: ‘Honestly, darling, you must be exaggerating. He was very much himself, I thought, very sweet and polite to me, and so wonderful with Emmie. He does adore that child, Eliza, I’ve never seen quite such a besotted father. I’m not sure it’s good for her. I didn’t mention anything about a row, of course; but when I asked him how you were he said you were fine. He seemed very relaxed altogether. Oh, and he insists on my having the room next to mine turned into an en-suite bathroom; doesn’t that sound wonderful?’
‘Very – wonderful.’
‘Of course he dressed it up, as he always does, said it was only to improve the overall value of the house, but I know it was still largely for my benefit. I mean, he’s not going to sell it, is he?’
‘He can’t,’ said Eliza. ‘It’s in our joint names.’ But anxiety suddenly flickered through her. There were only two ways Matt could really hurt her: through Emmie – and through Summercourt. That would be – but no. No, he couldn’t. However angry he was. He wouldn’t.
And then it happened; after two more weeks of the absolute hostility and disdain, as she struggled to remain calm and outwardly cheerful in the face of it all, she received a formal offer of a job with KPD.
‘Sorry to have been so long getting back to you,’ Rob Brigstocke said when he called, a wonderful bright warmth breaking into yet another bleak morning. ‘Had to get a few things rubber-stamped. Hope that’s OK.’
‘Oh – yes. Yes, of course. Marvellous.’
‘Good. So when do you think you might start? Is the nanny you found still available? I know that was an important part of the mix.’
‘I’m – yes, yes, I think so.’
She felt her mind racing; why not? Why bloody not? If Matt was never going to speak to her again, she had to do something to help herself. And this was just about the perfect something. But – what would he say? What might he do?
‘You do what you want,’ he said that night. ‘You always do. What are you going to do about Emmie, have her adopted?’
‘Matt! Don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Don’t say such awful things. Please.’
He shrugged.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, ‘except for the school holidays, she’ll be at school most of the time. After school, I could do exactly what I do now, if I have to, and ask your mum to look after her. I’d pay her, I wouldn’t expect her to do it as a favour – and Emmie loves her so much. What would you feel about that?’
‘I don’t want anyone else looking after her,’ he said. ‘You’re her mother, that’s your job.’
She felt a flare of anger.
‘Matt – don’t be so bloody unreasonable. You don’t mind your mother looking after her if I’m at the dentist or have to sort out something to do with the house. What’s the difference?’
He was silent.
‘And then in the holidays, maybe she could go down to Mummy at Summercourt. For two days a week. Surely that would be all right. She’s stayed there with Mummy lots.’
‘Your mother’s not up to it,’ he said, ‘I was watching her when I went down there, she can’t even pick her up.’
This was undeniable.
‘OK. Well, maybe your mum could have her in the holidays as well. Just for two days a week. Why don’t I ask her? See if she likes the idea.’
‘I’ve told you,’ he said, ‘I don’t want Emmie left with anyone. She’s your responsibility, not my mum’s.’
‘Matt, you’re being so unreasonable. So absolutely unreasonable.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Yes, yes, YES.’ She was screaming at him. ‘No one, no one in their right minds would refuse to agree to this.’
He stood there, staring at her across the room, with the same, awful blank anger; she felt quite frightened, as if he was going to hit her again. Then quite suddenly he said, ‘You do what you like, Eliza. Like I said, you always do. Just don’t expect me to agree to it.’
‘And – what does that mean?’
He shrugged.
‘Work it out for yourself. But I don’t want Mum involved.’
‘Oh,’ she said, taken totally aback. ‘Why?’
‘I just don’t,’ he said.
Maybe he was afraid she would confide in Sandra, Eliza thought, maybe he had talked to her himself; unlikely though, he was terrified of confronting his parents with any kind of emotion.
Eliza switched her mind to her current problem: something had to be done about caring for Emmie. She started calling agencies. And that led her to Margaret.
Margaret was actually working for one of the other mothers at school, who was looking to share her with someone. She was a sturdy girl from Birmingham who had taught in a nursery school for five years and seemed the absolute opposite of the sort of nanny who Matt would have objected to. Emmie liked her, and she clearly liked Emmie, although Eliza could see she would be firm, would be able to deal with her tantrums and her manipulative ways. Eliza offered her the job.