Читать книгу Home Truths - Susan Lewis - Страница 11

An hour later, with Zac down at the beach flying kites with his friends, and Grace watching the Fairweather Players rehearsing at the community centre – there was no part for her this year, on account of being unable to pay her membership fees – Angie spent a moment imagining how wonderful it would be to waltz into the centre and slip Grace enough cash to rejoin the company. The thought of it felt so good that she was almost annoyed when her mobile jolted her back to reality with a text. It was Emma letting her know that there was an offer at the Seafront Café today, provided they got there before twelve. Two coffees for the price of one. Boys with their father this morning (he didn’t forget today) so how about it? I’ll drive.

Angie didn’t hesitate. She might have a ton of chores on her plate, but they’d still be waiting when she got back, so why not indulge in this little treat? Pick me up in fifteen, she messaged back.

Though Emma and her husband Ben had moved into one of Hari’s semis, just over the footbridge, around the same time as Angie and Steve had moved into 14 Willow Close, Ben had taken off just over five years ago. He’d found someone else, an older uglier version of Emma was how Steve had described the new woman, and he hadn’t been far wrong. Ben now had two other children with his second wife, and had been promoted to manager at a Tesco Express over in the old town, so he was reasonably reliable with the maintenance for his and Emma’s boys. Certainly the rent was always paid, and so far Roland Shalik hadn’t attempted to increase it.

Trying not to think about bacon, sausages and eggs – her usual breakfast at the Seafront when she was feeling flush – Angie fixated on a lovely creamy latte instead. Later she’d have a proper meal, as they always did on Sundays, when she and Emma took it in turns to cook a delicious roast for them all with a surprise pudding to follow. It was at her place this week, so she’d bought everything in Lidl yesterday, and had even added a tub of ice cream for a pound to go with the apple pie. The kids would like that, and so would she, although she and Emma would probably have preferred a bottle of Pinot Grigio to help it all down.

Wine was a luxury they really couldn’t afford these days.

Glancing at her mobile as it jingled with another text, she saw it was from Hamish at Hill Lodge with a photo attached showing a close-up of what looked like … She wasn’t sure what it was. Then she realized he must have tracked down some more original tiles to continue his restoration of the cracked Victorian flooring in the hallway of the Lodge.

She texted back right away: Genius. Going to end up on Grand Designs.

He sent her a happy smiley back with the words, Craig didn’t come home last night.

Since none of them knew where Craig spent the nights he didn’t return to the residence she replied, Let me know when he shows up.

He would show up, she felt sure of that because he always did, eventually, and if she rang him right now he’d probably answer his phone. She didn’t put it to the test because Emma had just tooted her car horn, and with the prospect of a latte at the Seafront Café pulling her like a magnet towards town, she pocketed her phone and all but ran out of the house.

‘You’re looking lovely,’ she told Emma as she got into the passenger seat. ‘Must be all that wonderful sex you’re not getting.’

‘I see it’s working wonders for you too,’ Emma quipped, checking the rear-view mirror as she pulled away from the kerb. She was wearing a purple wool coat they’d found at a new boutique in town before Christmas, very stylish, by a designer they’d never heard of, and a dusky pink scarf that Grace had knitted to go with it. In her black padded parka and equally black scarf Angie couldn’t help feeling drab next to those lovely colours, but that was OK, the brightness of her red hair kind of made up for it.

‘Who was that bloke rubbernecking the van?’ Emma asked, as they headed out of the cul-de-sac. ‘Please don’t tell me you’re selling it? You can’t. You’d never manage without it.’

The mere thought of letting Steve’s van go was enough to make Angie’s heart lurch with dread. Selling the piano had been bad enough, beyond terrible in fact, but there had been no practical justification for keeping it. The van was her only means of transport, and God knew how painful it had been having his business insignia removed from the sides and back doors.

‘No I’m not selling it, and I didn’t see anyone,’ Angie said, trying to hide her anxiety. It could have been a bailiff nosing around, carrying out a quick assessment for someone she owed money to. Emma didn’t know how bad things really were so she wouldn’t have guessed at that. ‘Are you sure it was my van he was looking at?’ she asked.

Emma shrugged. ‘Hard to say for certain. Sorry, didn’t mean to worry you.’ She glanced at Angie and said, ‘It’s his birthday today.’

Angie’s heart twisted as she nodded.

‘I know you haven’t heard anything, because you’d have told me. That wasn’t him, by the way, who I saw scoping the van.’

‘No, I guessed not.’

After a while Emma said, ‘Does it make you feel afraid, when you think he might be around?’

Angie swallowed the concern that tightened her throat. Emma had never asked that before, so was it her way of saying that she was afraid? It hurt Angie deeply to think of her sister being fearful of her son, but she couldn’t deny that on some levels she was too. Or she was scared of the people he could still be hanging out with. She pushed a hand through her hair and caught a whiff of the soap she’d used under her arms. It wasn’t good enough because it didn’t manage to cover the faint trace of body odour she’d been trying to wash away. Why was that? She was clean, for heaven’s sake, so it didn’t seem right that she couldn’t make herself smell good, or at least have no smell at all.

She’d never smelled bad in her entire life.

‘Angie?’ Emma said gently, her tone questioning and concerned.

‘There’s something about me that smells,’ Angie stated loudly. ‘I’m obviously using the wrong deodorant.’

Emma looked at her sideways. ‘What sort of an answer is that?’ she demanded.

Angie started to smile. ‘It’s my way of saying I’d rather think about that than Liam, or birthdays or …’ She could have said how fast I seem to be going under, but instead she said, ‘or anything else that might come between us and our lattes.’

Half an hour later they were seated at a corner table in their favourite café, close to the window and next to a rowdy group of teens apparently just back from a ski trip. As the youngsters relived seemingly every minute of their amazing time away they kept exploding with hilarity, and their laughter was so infectious it was making Angie and Emma laugh too. Others were becoming tetchy and disapproving, but the skiers seemed not to notice; they were in a world full of nothing but black runs, snowboards and vin chaud, and why not when it was clearly a great place to be?

‘I don’t suppose they live on the Temple Fields estate,’ Emma remarked drily as the group finally piled out of the door, leaving a very generous twenty-quid tip on the table.

‘They probably don’t even know where it is,’ Angie smiled, hardly able to tear her eyes from the cash or her thoughts from what she could do with it. ‘I’ve seen one of the girls before. She used to be in Grace’s class in primary, but she went on to private school somewhere in Somerset.’

‘You must let me help to send Grace to private school,’ Hari had said a year before he died. ‘After your experiences with Liam, I think it would be wise to find her somewhere safer, even out of the area.’

Angie and Steve had discussed it, and decided they were in favour of it even if it meant she’d have to board during the week. Steve had foreseen a great future for their daughter among the kind of people he and Angie only worked for and occasionally mixed with. He’d made Angie laugh so much putting on a posh accent – the same accent he affected, without quite realizing it, when he took her to openings of hotels or restaurants he’d decorated – that she’d ended up hitting him to make him stop.

He wouldn’t. ‘Oh dahling, can’t you imagine how proud one will be to see our girl doing so well?’

‘Let’s talk some more with Hari first, find out exactly how much help he’s comfortable giving. We can’t expect him to pay for it all.’

Before they’d had a chance to do that Hari’s illness had taken hold, and the subject was quietly forgotten.

‘What’s that look about?’ Emma asked curiously.

Realizing she’d drifted, Angie said, ‘Sorry, where were we?’

Emma grimaced. ‘Actually, I’m just getting to the point where I have a favour to ask. Is there any chance you could lend me twenty quid until the end of the week?’

Angie groaned in dismay. ‘I’m really sorry. You know I would if I could.’

Emma sighed sadly, because of course she knew that. She didn’t wonder aloud how she and Angie had got to this place in their lives where they were almost always broke, because they knew only too well how it had happened. They’d never been high earners, even before they’d turned into single mothers through no fault of their own, nor would they ever be. At least in her case she got something from her ex; for Angie there was no Child Maintenance Service to help squeeze blood out of a slippery stone.

‘Actually,’ Emma said, suddenly brightening, ‘I’ve had a brilliant idea that should get us both sorted out.’

Angie was all ears.

Emma said, ‘We’re two intelligent, attractive women …’

‘In our forties, with more bags under our eyes …’

‘Listen to what I’m saying. We’re good people. We do the right thing, we’ve never been in trouble with the law – don’t let’s include Liam in this – we’re terrific mothers …’

‘Do you want to come to the point?’

‘What I’m saying is …’ She broke off as Fliss, the café’s owner, came to collect their mugs.

‘Two more, ladies?’ she offered.

As Angie’s longing flared up, Emma said, ‘We’ve already used our voucher, Fliss, but thanks anyway.’

Fliss looked surprised. ‘Oh, I think we forgot to put it through,’ she declared, ‘so we’ll treat the next ones as though they’re your first.’

Angie could have kissed her, although realizing that Fliss had guessed at their straitened circumstances made her feel she was paying with a small piece of her pride.

With a wink Fliss scooped up the twenty-pound note the youngsters had left, and instructed a baffled-looking server to clean the table ready for a couple of newcomers to sit down.

‘Bugger, I was going to pocket that,’ Emma muttered.

‘Not if I’d beaten you to it,’ Angie retorted, knowing that neither of them were serious. Or not very, anyway. Stealing from Fliss, a good friend for many years, would never be an option, no matter how desperate they were. ‘So,’ she said wryly, ‘I’m guessing your brilliant idea is to do away with good reputations, such as they are, and rob a bank?’

Emma’s jaw dropped in amazement. ‘Oh my God, you read my mind. So, do you think we could do it?’

‘No. So what’s next?’

Emma broke into one of her more mischievous grins. ‘You are so going to love it,’ she announced. ‘I’ve thought it all through and I reckon we can pull it off, no problem at all.’

Angie said, ‘Are we still talking about the bank?’

‘No, no. I’m talking about finding ourselves a couple of rich blokes whose lives would be complete with someone like us. Don’t get me wrong, I think we should carry on working, it’s important what we do, but you’ve got to admit we’re never going to meet anyone with more than a couple of halfpennies to scratch their bits with the way we’re going now. So, we’ve got to get with the dating programme. As you know, it all happens on the Internet these days. People twice our age are going on dates. They’re even having sex – OK, don’t go there – but they’re finding new lives, even getting married again, so if they can do it, why can’t we?’

Knowing she was nowhere near to wanting a relationship with anyone who wasn’t Steve, Angie said, ‘Don’t you have to pay to be a member of those websites?’

Emma grimaced. ‘Probably, if you find someone you want to meet, but initially you can just go on and have a look, see if there’s anyone suitable. Of course they’re all going to say they’re rich, and half of them are probably psychos, but what do we have to lose?’

Angie’s expression was one of pure irony.

Emma laughed. ‘OK, I get that it could all go horribly wrong, but there’s a chance it won’t …’

‘What if you end up with some creep who pretends to like kids, but doesn’t?’ Angie interrupted. ‘Or does, but in the wrong way? No, I’m sorry, you’re on your own with this one. I’ll come along as back-up if you go on a date … What is it?’ she asked, following Emma’s gaze to the window.

‘Not what, who?’ Emma responded curiously. ‘Isn’t that Craig over there? Your Craig, from Hill Lodge?’

Spotting him on the opposite corner, holding tightly to his guitar as a couple of youths in hoodies and combat gear crowded him up against a wall, Angie’s heart sank. ‘Yes, that’s him. Oh God, please don’t let them be trying to recruit him. I’m going over there,’ she declared, getting to her feet.

Emma’s hand shot out to stop her. ‘Don’t mess with them, Angie. You of all people know what they’re capable of, and you have two kids to think about.’

Angie desperately wanted to argue, but knowing her sister was right, she watched with growing dismay as Craig took something from the hoodies, put it into an inside pocket and walked away – with his guitar.

The best she could hope for was that he was delivering, not selling or using. Whatever, he needed to be much more careful than this, because the last thing he’d want was to find himself back in prison after the hellish experience he’d had there before. The other inmates had bullied and abused him so badly that the poor lad lived in mortal terror of the police and his probation officer now, certain their only purpose in life was to send him back inside.

Her phone rang, and concern for Craig vanished as a stranger’s voice said, ‘Am I speaking to Mrs Watts?’

She was immediately tense. It was someone after money. Or maybe someone had found Liam and with a wave of sadness she realised that hope was no longer first to her mind. ‘Yes,’ she replied cautiously, looking at Emma who was raising her eyebrows. ‘Who’s this please?’

‘It’s DC Leo Johnson, from Kesterly CID. We’d like to talk to you, Mrs Watts. Could you come to the station today?’

Today? Sunday? Her head was suddenly spinning, her heart thudding thickly. ‘What’s it about?’ she asked, trying to stay calm.

‘We can discuss it when you get here,’ came the reply. ‘Shall we say in an hour?’

‘Yes. No! Wait. Is it about my son, Liam? Have you found him?’

‘It would help if you could bring something of his when you come,’ the detective told her, and before she could say any more he’d rung off.