Читать книгу How To Keep A Secret - Sarah Morgan - Страница 16

CHAPTER FIVE

Lauren

Party: a social gathering, for pleasure, often held as a celebration

LAUREN CHECKED HER list and made a final sweep of the house.

She knew the place looked good.

She’d poured her interest in interior design into her own home, and while Mack was in school she learned trade skills such as paint effects and upholstery. She filled notebooks with photographs and sketches and shopped for fabric and objects. Gradually she’d transformed their London home into an elegant space perfect for family living but also for entertaining.

Occasionally friends asked for her advice on decorating and Lauren was always happy to help. She had an eye for space and color and could see potential in the most run-down, tired property. It wasn’t luck or hard work that gave her the ability to see what others didn’t, it was an artistic talent no doubt inherited from her mother. Possibly the only trait she’d inherited from her mother.

And finally she had a qualification and could start taking on paying clients.

Her home was the best advertisement for her skills and abilities, and tonight at Ed’s party there would be people who might potentially give her business.

She’d already decided to set up her own company but had yet to decide on a name.

City Chic?

Urban Chic?

She took a final glance round the living room, satisfied that everything was exactly as it should be.

She heard the front door slam, signifying Mack’s return from school, and unconsciously braced herself.

Her daughter strolled into the room. Mack was tall and did everything in her power to disguise that fact. She was at that age where anything that drew attention was considered embarrassing and to be avoided at all costs, so she slouched to make herself appear smaller.

Lauren had green eyes, but Mack’s were blue. Her hair, even with hints of pink blending in with honey and caramel, was her best feature.

Lauren had a sudden vision of Mack lying in her crib asleep, then holding up chubby arms as an adorable toddler.

“Did you shorten your skirt?”

Noticing her mother, Mack tugged her headphones away from her ears. “What?”

“Did you shorten your skirt?” Immediately she regretted making that the first thing she said.

“No. I grew. It happens. I could stop eating, but then you’d nag me about that, too.” Mack opened the fridge and stared into it as if something in there had personally offended her. “There’s nothing in here.”

How could a fridge full of food be “nothing”?

“The caterers are setting up. There are bagels.” Lauren opened her mouth to tell her not to keep the fridge door open, and then closed it again. Did she nag? “How was your day?”

“I spent it at school. Enough said.” Mack split a bagel and toasted it.

“I had coffee with Ruth and Helen today. They mentioned an ancestry project you’re working on. Sounds interesting.”

“Interesting?” Mack spread cream cheese on the bagel. “I guess that’s one word for it.”

What had happened to her eager, enthusiastic daughter?

“Do you need help? You know our ancestors on my side of the family were whaling captains? Martha’s Vineyard played an important role in the whaling industry. Nantucket mostly provided the ships, but the Vineyard provided the captains and crews and other support.” Seeing that Mack was barely engaged in the conversation, Lauren stopped. She knew she was trying too hard. Maybe she should make it more personal. “Edgartown, where Grams lives, was one of the most important ports on the coast. The Captain’s House was built in the nineteenth century. Your grandparents spent a lot of time restoring it—” She broke off, aware that she’d lost her audience. She might as well have been having a conversation with the freezer.

Mack carried on eating, unresponsive.

Lauren slid onto the stool next to her. “Did something happen today?”

“No.”

Lauren felt a rush of frustration, and mingled in with the stress of it was sadness because she remembered days when Mack would come running in from school, all smiles, desperate to share something that had happened during the day. Look, Mommy, look at this.

Those days had gone.

“Mrs. Hallam called yesterday.”

“Yeah? I bet the conversation was thrilling.” Mack was careless, but Lauren saw her daughter’s cheeks flush.

“She’s concerned about you. About your grades. She wants us to set up a meeting.”

“Grades. That’s what this is about?”

“This?”

“When you hijack me in the kitchen, I know there’s something. I don’t know why you don’t come right out with it.” Mack put the knife down on the counter, smearing grease.

Lauren sat on her hands to stop herself from snatching the knife up and wiping up the mess. “I didn’t ‘hijack’ you. I want you to know you can talk to me, that’s all.”

“No, what you want is for me to talk to you whether I want to or not about a topic of your choice. Not the same thing.”

Parenting a teenager was like navigating a treacherous swamp. You took a step and hoped you’d plant your foot on solid ground, but it was equally likely you might find yourself sucked under.

“I’m worried about you, Mack. Not speaking up in class? You talk more than anyone I know. And you’re smart, and yet your grades are dropping.”

“I’m bored, okay? I’m sick of English. And history. What use are those? Why doesn’t my school teach computer coding or something interesting and useful that might actually lead to a job?”

Lauren kept calm. “Maybe we can find you a weekend class on computing if that’s what you’d like. But school is important, too. And studying. Our choices have consequences.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Mack gave her a hard look. “They do.”

Something about the way her daughter was staring at her didn’t feel right.

“Mack—”

Mack slid off the stool and slung her schoolbag over her shoulder. “Are we done here? Because I have a ton of homework.”

“We’ll talk about this another time.”

“Great. Something to look forward to.”

Lauren thought, I don’t have the patience for this. “Guests are arriving at eight. Dad will be home around seven, so I thought we could have a private celebration before the party.”

“I have to study. And we both know he won’t be home by seven. He never is.”

“He’s not going to work late on the day of his party.” She said it with more conviction than she felt and Mack shrugged.

“Whatever.” She sauntered off with an indifference and nonchalance that Lauren could never have managed to achieve at any age, certainly not sixteen.

One teenage girl. How hard could it be to handle one teenage girl?

Lauren went upstairs to change and put on her makeup and tried not to think about the time Mack would have sat in the middle of the bed, watching her mother with hungry, admiring eyes.

It seemed that idolizing your mother had an expiration date.

Before leaving the bedroom she checked her reflection in the full-length mirror.

The dress was new and flattered her slender frame. She was the same size she’d been at twenty. Four times a week without fail she went running. She also did yoga and Pilates and was careful what she ate.

It was important to always have a plan and stick to it. She wished Mack could see that.

She tried to ignore the voice in her head that reminded her what she’d been like at sixteen.

She needed to focus on the party.

Of course the one thing you did need at a party to celebrate a fortieth birthday was the person whose birthday it was, and by seven thirty there was still no sign of Edward.

“Told you.” Mack wandered past wearing a pair of skinny jeans that clung and a pair of heavy boots that Ed said made her look like a construction worker.

Don’t say a word, Lauren. Not a word.

“Dad probably got caught up at the office.” But as soon as Mack vanished into the den to watch a movie, Lauren pulled out her phone and sent Ed a quick text.

Are you on your way?

The doorbell rang and she felt a rush of relief. Maybe he’d forgotten his key.

But no, it was the string quartet arriving early.

She let them in, showed them where to set up and walked back to the kitchen, where the caterers seemed to have everything under control.

The champagne was chilling. The glasses were ready. The canapés were in the oven. Everything was perfect.

The door sounded again and this time when Lauren opened it she saw her mother-in-law standing there.

Maybe not completely perfect.

If there was one accessory she would never choose to have at a party, it was her mother-in-law, but how could she not invite her to her only son’s fortieth birthday party?

“Gwen! Wonderful to see you.” Lauren always overdid the greeting to compensate for her true feelings. On one occasion she’d leaned forward to kiss Gwen, but the other woman had turned her head sharply and Lauren had ended up pecking her on the neck like a drunken chicken.

Still, Gwen loved her son and that was a quality Lauren could respect.

Gwen was clutching a parcel. “Where’s my precious boy?”

He’s forty, Lauren thought. Not a boy.

“He’s on his way home.”

Gwen handed over her coat. “He’s still at work? On his birthday?”

Her tone stung like a jellyfish and Lauren felt her face burn.

Gwen seemed to hold Lauren personally responsible for the fact her son worked long hours. Not that she expressed her disapproval directly, but the pursed lips, sighs and eye rolls conveyed her message with perfect clarity.

Ed was fond of saying that his mother spoke fluent body language.

Privately Lauren had often wondered whether she would have married Ed had she met Gwen first.

“Come and talk to Mack, I know she’ll be thrilled to see you. She’s in the TV room.” Lauren took the stairs down to the TV room and Gwen followed.

“She’s watching American TV?” She said it in the same tone she might have said taking drugs and having sex?

Why couldn’t she find a single nice thing to say?

Nice dress, Lauren.

House is looking beautiful.

Did you arrange all this yourself?

My son is so lucky to be married to you.

“I don’t know what she’s watching.”

“She could be watching porn. I read that all teenagers watch porn.”

“She’s not watching porn, Gwen.” Ed, if you’re not home in the next five minutes, I’m going to kill you.

Mack appeared in the doorway. “Mom, that American porn film you suggested I watch is—” She broke off and gave a dazzling smile. “Hi, Nana, didn’t see you there.”

Gwen swayed and clutched at the wall to steady herself.

Lauren had an inconvenient urge to laugh. There had been a time when she definitely would have laughed, but she’d worked hard to suppress that side of herself. Unfortunately it seemed determined to make a reappearance.

She didn’t dare catch Mack’s eye, although since Gwen already thought she was the world’s worst parent, she probably couldn’t sink any lower in the approval ratings.

“Mack, can you come upstairs and help greet people?”

The way Mack sighed you would have thought Lauren had asked her to donate a kidney.

“Can’t you and Dad do it?”

“Dad isn’t home yet.” How could he be late tonight of all nights? As she kept listening for the sound of his key in the door, her irritation became tinged with anxiety. It wasn’t like him to be late when there was a reason to be home, and it wasn’t like him not to answer his phone, but so far he hadn’t responded to a single one of her texts. Maybe his battery had died. “I’d appreciate help.”

“Sure. That would be awesome, Mom.”

Lauren winced. Gwen hated mom, and her daughter knew it.

There was a gleam in Mack’s eyes and for a moment it felt like old times when they’d shared a joke.

And then the doorbell rang, announcing the first of their guests, and the moment was gone. Lauren opened the door to their neighbors who were armed with bottles of champagne and balloons with the number forty emblazoned in swirling writing.

The rest of the guests arrived in a steady stream. The string quartet fought valiantly to be heard above the sound of laughter and conversation. Champagne flutes clinked together and sparkled under the lights. The house hummed with celebration. Only one thing was missing.

Ed.

By nine o’clock irritation had given way to anxiety.

She’d left eight messages on Ed’s phone, each one more desperate. Their conversation of that morning kept going round in her head.

She’s not the problem.

Did the “problem” have something to do with the reason he was late?

An image inserted itself into her head. Ed, with his pants down, pumping into an unknown girl on his desk. Why did she have to think of that now? She pressed her fingers to her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut to block it out.

She was wondering about the etiquette of cutting a birthday cake when the birthday boy wasn’t present, when the doorbell rang again.

All the guests had arrived, so it had to be Ed.

Weak with relief, she tugged open the door and saw two police officers standing there.

Now what?

There had been a spate of car vandalism in the street, and the Wright family, who lived four doors down, had been burgled the summer before, but generally this was a quiet, safe area of London loved by residents and tourists alike. She’d certainly never had anyone in uniform standing on her doorstep. “Mrs. Hudson?”

“Yes.” Lauren smiled her best hostess smile. “How can I help?”

The younger of the two officers looked sick, as if he was suddenly wishing he’d picked any job except this one, and she knew then that this wasn’t about a neighborhood crime.

Her legs turned to liquid. “What has happened?”

The older policewoman took charge, her eyes kind. “Do you have somewhere quiet we can talk?”

Quiet? Lauren gave a hysterical laugh. “I have thirty guests in the house, all celebrating my husband’s birthday, so no, not really. I’m waiting for him to come home.”

One look at their faces told her everything she needed to know.

Ed wouldn’t be coming home tonight, or any other night. He wasn’t going to eat his cake, nor toast his birthday with champagne.

Ed wasn’t late.

He was gone.