Читать книгу Fern Britton Summer Collection: New Beginnings, Hidden Treasures, The Holiday Home, The Stolen Weekend - Fern Britton, Fern Britton - Страница 21

Running from the train to the car park and battling through the local traffic, Christie finally pulled up outside the school at five o’clock. She had tried to phone to say she was running late, but no one was answering the main switchboard. The tall wrought-iron gates were padlocked. Lights shone through the windows of the gym and along the corridor that led to the classrooms. She rang the bell, hoping that Mrs Snell might have waited.

‘Hello?’ She recognised the voice of the school caretaker quavering through the loudspeaker.

‘It’s Mrs Lynch. I’m afraid I’m late for an appointment with Mrs Snell. Is she there?’

‘Gone home fifteen minutes ago. Sorry.’ There was a click as the phone was hung up.

Oh, shit, shit, shit. What would Mrs Snell think of her? She would never understand how impossible it had been to make a getaway from lunch. In the head teacher’s eyes, the welfare of the school’s pupils took precedence over everything. She was right, of course. Why hadn’t Christie made her excuses and left on time? Despite her initial determination not to, she had allowed Julia to take full control of their relationship. Feeling the guilt of being the least responsible mother in the world, Christie rammed the key into the ignition and drove home very slowly indeed.

*

Maureen was waiting for her. As soon as she could, she took Christie into the sitting room where she could talk to her without Libby overhearing. ‘Well? What did Mrs Snell have to say?’ She’d never had much time for the head teacher who, she felt, had risen too far above her station. Something to do with her broad northern accent and her generous waistline, and nothing to do with the praise Christie often gave her for being so good at her job.

‘Nothing. I got there too late and she’d gone.’ Christie sank into a chair as if all the strength had gone from her legs.

‘Gone? She should have waited. Why didn’t she wait?’

‘Because I was nearly an hour late. Don’t say a thing,’ Christie warned, aware that she might say something she’d regret in response.

But Maureen couldn’t stop herself. An hour!’ she gasped, disbelieving that anyone could be so tardy. ‘Oh, Christine, really.’

‘Yes, an hour. And before you say any more, I know I should have made my excuses and left lunch earlier but it was impossible. Julia wouldn’t understand and I don’t want to get on the wrong side of her. Not when things are going so well. I left as quickly as I could. There were no taxis and then the trains were delayed.’ Despairing, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands.

Maureen put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘But it was for Libby,’ she said quietly.

‘I know it was for Libby!’ Christie exploded. ‘Why do you think I rushed there as quickly as I could? There must be a problem and I’ve no idea what it is so I can’t even begin to try to put it right. How do you think that makes me feel?’

Affronted by her daughter’s outburst, Maureen took a step back. ‘Feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to make things better.’

‘I should never have taken the bloody job,’ Christie muttered, ignoring her mother. She glanced at the photo of Nick. Seeing him strengthened her resolve. ‘But I did, so I’m just going to have to make the best of it. I’ll go into school in the morning and see if I can catch her then.’

‘I think you should,’ Maureen agreed. ‘Actually, have you noticed something’s not quite right with Libby?’

‘If there was something wrong, I’d know.’ Of that Christie was absolutely certain.

‘Would you? You’ve been so preoccupied for the last few months. I know this “new career”,’ Maureen rolled her tongue around the words, ‘means a lot to you, but you mustn’t forget your family.’

‘Forget? What do you mean? How dare you insinuate that I’ve forgotten the kids? I’m not just doing this for me. I’m doing it for us. Remember that, Mum. For all of us.’ Christie banged her fist on the arm of the chair, simultaneously freeing a little cloud of dust that rose up between them.

‘If you say so, dear.’ Maureen pursed her lips. ‘Just don’t say I didn’t mention anything.’ She walked to the door and turned as she opened it. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow when you get home. I’ve left supper in the fridge for you.’

Christie didn’t try to stop her leaving although she was ashamed of her loss of control. Maureen was doing her best to help her and all she’d done was shout. This was not how it was meant to be. She unclenched her fists, noticing that the pressure of her nails had left little half-moon prints in her palm. Why is life so bloody difficult? she wondered. I’m just trying to have a life and a family. Is that too much to ask?

She felt guilty for not being at home by the end of Libby and Fred’s school day when they emerged full of stories about what they’d been up to and what their friends and teachers had said or done; guilty that by the time she got home, they’d moved on to other things and barely responded to her questions about their day; guilty that, if she was honest, when she was in the studio, she didn’t have a second to think about them. Being there took up all her energy and concentration. A live daily news show was exhilarating, like riding a tiger, and it made her feel alive again. The print journalism she’d done since Nick had died now seemed like coasting. At last she was doing something that stimulated and fulfilled her.

She loved her growing friendship with Frank, as well as the working relationship she was developing with Sam. They didn’t criticise her views or what she looked like but accepted her for who she was and respected how she approached her work. There must be a way to marry her two lives without sacrificing either. All she had to do was find the key. She sighed.

‘What’s the matter, Mum?’

The small voice from the doorway almost made her jump out of her skin. She turned to see Libby standing there. Her hair had grown over the summer and she wore it with a side parting so the way it fell hid much of her face. Standing there in her loose tracksuit bottoms and a baggy long-sleeved top, shoulders hunched and hands hidden by her cuffs, she looked like a waif who’d strayed in from the cold. Christie held out her arms.

‘Come here, Libs.’

Libby crossed the room and sat on her mother’s knee, resting her head in the dip under her collarbone. For a moment, they were silent, taking comfort from their closeness. Times like this had become increasingly rare and correspondingly valuable.

‘Nothing, darling. I was later than I meant to be and then Granny and I disagreed over something. The usual stupid grownup bickering. That’s all.’

‘I heard her say something about me.’ Libby shifted her position slightly so that Christie became aware of her bony bum digging into her thigh. ‘You weren’t arguing about me, were you?’

‘Of course not.’ Mrs Snell had asked for her silence and Christie would respect that until she had heard what she had to say. As for Maureen, her child-rearing techniques had gone out with the Ark, so she wasn’t going to be fazed by her views.

‘I don’t want you to argue. I don’t like it.’

How small she felt, how vulnerable. Christie stroked her daughter’s hair back from her face, as she had done since she was a toddler. ‘I’m just tired, darling. Nothing more than that.’

‘Will you phone her and make up? Please. I don’t want her to be cross when she comes tomorrow.’

‘I’m sure she won’t be but, yes, if you want me to, I will. Pass me the phone.’ Libby straightened to reach for it, then snuggled up while Christie punched in Maureen’s number. After a couple of rings, the answerphone kicked in. Maureen must have called in on Ted on the way home, wanting to let off steam, no doubt.

‘Mum? Hi. Just to say I’m sorry for shouting. No excuses, just tired. And I will think about what you said. Thanks for everything. You know how much I appreciate it, really. See you tomorrow.’ She hung up and gave Libby a squeeze. ‘There. Happy?’

‘What did she say?’ Libby wasn’t going to let it rest.

‘Supper’s in the fridge. That was all. Come and help me put it on the table.’ Christie changed the subject. Although she wanted to be able to talk to Libby openly about anything, she didn’t want the moment spoiled. Libby had become so mercurial and her reactions so unpredictable that she didn’t want to say something that would trigger a change in her mood. So what if they didn’t talk tonight? Doing something together was definitely a step in the right direction. When Fred was next at Olly’s, they would have more time to discuss whatever the problem was. Tomorrow she would learn what Mrs Snell had to say and then she would decide how to play it. She followed Libby into the kitchen and slipped Queen’s Greatest Hits into the CD player. Ever since the children were babies, Nick and she had played this on car journeys, singing along at full volume, and most of the songs had become family anthems. She opened a drawer, passed a handful of knives and forks to Libby, and they began laying the table, screaming out the words to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’. And as they sang in and out of tune, Christie gave herself up completely to the pleasure she took from their togetherness. Her own anxieties about her work, the house and their future almost receded into the distance – even those concerning the loan with which Nick had saddled her.

Nick was a good man but no saint. The small things that drive husbands and wives to rows flourished in their house too. The loo seat being left up and his clothes draped around the house were high on Christie’s list of annoyances. Nick’s greatest grievances were continually being asked to take the rubbish out, and the smell of fake tan when she came to bed. The row about the fake tan was the worst they had ever had until the Big One.

One morning, Christie opened a letter from the bank addressed to them both. It was confirming a bank loan of £500,000 that had been requested earlier that week. The interest rate and final amount to be paid off after twenty-five years was very high. The letter went on to add that the equity in their house and its current market value were sufficient collateral.

She phoned Nick at work. ‘Darling, I’ve got a letter from the bank here about a half-million pound loan. Do you want me to ring and say they’ve got the wrong people or will you drop in there this afternoon?’

No, no. Don’t do anything.’ Nick sounded unusually flustered. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. I’ll explain when I get home.’

That night, supper was washed up and put away and the children in bed before the two of them had a chance to sit down and talk. Christie’s mind had been in overdrive all afternoon.

Handing him a glass of wine she said, ‘What’s going on? You can tell me anything, you know. Why do you need all that money? Are you in trouble? In debt? Ill? What is it?’

He explained, and the subsequent row was nuclear. They didn’t speak, touch or share a bed for days. Gradually she understood his reasons but neither of them could have foreseen how far the ripples of one small pebble tossed into the pool of their lives would spread.