Also by Kendra Smith
The Chance of a Lifetime
First published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by Aria, an imprint of Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © Kendra Smith, 2019
The moral right of Kendra Smith to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781789541878
Author photograph © Scott Pickering
Aria
c/o Head of Zeus
First Floor East
5–8 Hardwick Street
London EC1R 4RG
www.ariafiction.com
To the Royal Surrey County Hospital, Guildford, and its staff. Especially to the A&E team and the brilliant nurses on the Frensham Ward (see? I did write that book).
Thank you.
‘It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.’
—Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
Also by Kendra Smith
Welcome Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Acknowledgements
About Kendra Smith
Become an Aria Addict
My heart is hammering in my chest as if a small marsupial is trying to escape. A stranger’s hand grabs my shoulder as sweat builds in my armpits. I freeze.
‘Madam?’
Nobody calls me madam.
‘Could you tell me what you’ve just been doing, please?’
A greasy little man, dressed in a crumpled suit and burgundy red tie, is holding on to my elbow and staring expectantly at me.
‘Get off!’ I shrug his hand away. ‘Who are you?’
‘The in-store detective.’
‘You don’t look like a detective.’
‘That’s the whole point, madam. Please come with me.’
I follow him into a room. My cheeks are on fire as I trip over the waste paper bin. ‘Bugger!’
A woman in a blue coat looks up at me and smiles as I sit down. It’s a stuffy little room at the back of the shop. Piles of A4 paper are on the desk next to an open stapler. Two coffee cups – one marked with lipstick – sit next to each other with dark stains down the sides. The windows are blacked out so you can’t see into the shop. The woman next to me looks posh – she’s in a lovely peacock blue coat. Maybe she’s a shoplifting liaison officer.
I should have been more careful.
‘Ladies, please can you fill these in?’ Greasy Bloke is handing us each a form.
‘Please note down any previous offences.’
As I grab the pen from him, he smiles. There is saliva on his upper lip.
‘I haven’t got any previous offences!’ Blue Coat looks out of her depth and is rummaging in her handbag for a pen.
‘Just fill it in the best you can,’ he sniffs.
‘Have you been done for, um, shoplifting too?’ I whisper to her.
She stares at me, then frowns. ‘Well, yes, actually. Saying that out loud sounds terrible!’ She’s twisting her watchstrap around and looks up at me. Nice watch.
‘Only did it for a dare, if I’m honest.’ She smiles.
‘Who dared you?’
She shifts uncomfortably in her plastic seat. ‘Well, I saw a blog post. I know it sounds rather daft, but I challenged myself.’ She laughs and curls a strand of hair around her finger. ‘I’d been looking at this website – things to do before you’re fifty – and this woman had written a post about shoplifting, about the excitement you see, so I clicked on the link – and well, I thought I’d try it. Bloody hopeless – didn’t think I’d get caught!’
I can’t help but let out a snort of laughter. ‘That’s hilarious!’ I say. ‘Hope the thrill was worth it?’
‘Not really.’ She blows her nose on a tissue she fishes out from her sleeve.
‘Right,’ says the detective, ‘I will check these and be back. Please wait here.’
‘I’m Dawn, by the way – haven’t I seen you before?’ She squints, tilts her head to one side and holds out her hand for me to shake.
‘Charlie.’ I take her hand – how formal. I shrug. ‘Nope, don’t think so.’
But she does look slightly familiar. She’s wearing a green blouse with white butterflies on it – are those cat hairs? – her blonde curls are neatly clipped back with a beaded hair slide. She’s got a round and cheery face with a broad mouth – lips covered in lip gloss – and kind, light blue eyes the colour of a swimming pool. Her nose and cheeks are red, though, and there’s a crimson mark on her neck where she’s been scratching. Her hands sparkle with a tiny diamond ring and a small string of luminous pearls lace around her neck.
‘Yes, I’ve got it!’ Her eyes light up. ‘Do you work at the gym? Rosemount Gym?’
I have seen her before. ‘Yup – I do about three shifts a week; usually one in the café and two cleaning out the ladies’ changing rooms.’
‘Thought so!’ She seems delighted with herself for solving the mystery.
‘Actually,’ I say leaning in towards her, ‘I’ve been given a month’s worth of classes at the gym – my boss’s way of saying thank you – I’m a bit nervous – all those super-fit women!’
‘Well that’s not me!’ She rolls her eyes. ‘You’ll be fine – come along on Saturday – I’ll be there. I love the name Charlie, by the way.’
I grin at her. She’s so friendly. But I’m not going to tell her my real name: Chardonnay. I changed that a long time ago. About the same time as I started getting teased at school. I came home one day to Foster Mum Number Four. She hadn’t wanted to know, didn’t want to listen to how I’d been in the toilets and heard some girls outside chant Chardonnay, Chardonnay, Chardonnay! I stayed in the cubicle for quite a while, wiped the snot from my nose on my sleeve as the loo roll had run out.
‘Ms Moore?’
Supermarket Hitler is standing next to us. Why on earth did I do it? I suppose having less than a tenner to feed my teenage son all week, the gas bill being on red and a violent loan shark on my case might explain it.
‘I will allow you to go with a caution. I’m sure you both have good reasons for your misdemeanour but I have just watched the CCTV footage again, and both incidents do appear to be quite deliberate. We won’t press charges – this time.’
Annoying little man. Gloats over his power, bit like Paul. I can’t help an involuntary shudder. All beer belly and flecks of dandruff on his collar.
A few minutes later my feet are soaking as I attempt to avoid the puddles on the pavement, but it’s useless. The stitching’s gone in my blasted boots.
A car appears out of nowhere and the window rolls down slowly. My heart freezes. Not Paul.
‘Hop in – why don’t I give you a lift home?’ It’s Dawn, thank goodness. It’s so nice to clamber into her big silver Grand Voyager with the heating on.
‘South Elton Street – thank you, it’s next to the Healy Estate.’
She shifts in her seat and looks sideways at me.
‘It’s not in the estate,’ I reassure her, ‘next to it.’
She nods.
I sink into the passenger seat and sigh. ‘What a day!’
Dawn turns to smile at me. ‘Me too!’
The windscreen wipers swish across the window. I view the traffic and road through a mesh of tiny raindrops, which blur like a camera lens would if covered in Vaseline. It’s beautiful. Suddenly my phone goes and I see Tyler’s name flash up.
‘Mum, it’s those guys again. I don’t know what to do…’ My seventeen-year-old son’s voice is raised.
‘Fu…’ I look sideways at my new friend. ‘Um, I’ll be home in a minute. I’d probably not let them in.’ I try to say this in a light sing-song voice. What a mess.
‘Salesmen – at the house! Told my son not to open the door,’ I lie.
‘Good idea,’ replies Dawn, as the wipers swish this way and that. ‘They can be such pests!’
‘Who?’
‘Those wretched salesmen! I’m always having chaps sell me dusters and whatnot – costs me a fortune! Haven’t got the heart to send them away.’
As we pull into South Elton Street, two men are standing by my door in dark coats; one of them has his hood up. Is that Paul’s silhouette?
‘Just here is fine!’ I say quickly. I don’t want my new friend to witness anything else dodgy about me.
‘Are you sure? Those chaps don’t seem to have anything to sell with them, bags, you know…’
‘Oh, they’re not at my house,’ I fib. ‘Thanks – bye!’ I quickly slam the door, but she’s not driving away. She pops her head out the window.
‘Let’s keep this our little secret, shall we?’ Her pearl necklace glistens in the dark. ‘See you at the gym! It will be a laugh!’
I nod and pull my hood up. A laugh. Easy for Dawn to say. I put my phone back into my pocket and feel the piece of paper that’s nestled in there with a number scribbled down on it. But will it work? God knows, but I need something to get off Paul my back. My mouth is dry as I clench my jaw and head to the front door.
Suzie Havilland sat on a train to Waterloo and tried to stop a sob as she took a deep breath. She was remembering what happened on her way to the train station: such an idyllic moment. A mother with her beautiful toddler girl, the bright pink cheeks, a giggle as she kicked the carpet of copper leaves in the weak September sun. She was just adorable. Her blonde curls bounced out of her turquoise woolly hat and shone in the sunshine as she squealed in delight.
The mother bent over her, poked some curls back into her hat and then took her phone out of her pocket. She started swiping.
Suzie had sat at the red traffic lights and stared at them. She took a short, sharp breath and felt the familiar tightness in her throat. Why wasn’t that mother looking at her child?
I would never stop looking at her.
A car horn had honked behind her and she had jumped. She looked in her rear-view mirror. A bloke in a silver Audi was mouthing ‘stupid woman’. And then the tears. She pulled away from the lights as the salty liquid travelled down her cheeks and made its way across the fine wrinkles, her laughter lines – oh how funny – to the edges of her mouth.
She drew in to the kerb and yanked on the handbrake, turned the engine off. She placed both hands in her lap and took a deep breath. The silver Audi whizzed past her at speed and blasted its horn, making her shudder. She sat staring for a while at her cherry red manicured hands in her lap then, calmly, opened the door and got out.
She shivered as a watery sun shone on her. She had her eyes on something else and wasn’t bothered about the freezing air around her. As she walked toward the swings, she could hear a gleeful cry from the little girl pushing herself with her feet backwards and forwards, the sun streaking across the rubber flooring of the playground. The hat had been thrown off; the little girl’s golden hair was flying out behind her as she swung up and down. Laughing, squealing in delight.
Suzie walked over to a bench and sat down. The mother was nowhere to be seen. Suzie glanced around, worried for the little girl. She was just about to leap up and look for her when the mother appeared.
The mother took hold of the swing and started pushing the toddler, who giggled. ‘Higher, Mummy, higher!’ Little dimples formed in the toddler’s cheeks as well as the flush of pink from the chilly day. Suzie was mesmerised by her: she watched as she lifted up both her legs on each swing in perfect parallel unison, chubby legs encased in red polka dot woolly tights.
Suzie clutched the side of the bench and stared at her hands. Her knuckles were white.
Here was a child so very like the one she imagined she might have one day. She needed a coffee; she needed to get to work, she needed to get out of there. The mother looked over at her and smiled. A look flashed across her face, probably wondering why Suzie was there without any children. She felt utterly out of place in her work outfit, her urban high heels in a sunshine-soaked park.
The dreams had started again: remembering back to when she had, fantastically, once been pregnant. How she’d used to imagine the tiny hands and face inside her womb, even when it was only the size of a pea; she’d felt such hope – desperate for her minute miracle to survive, and then the crash. Always a crash. The blood – or, somehow worse, the face of the sonographer as Suzie lay on the bed with cold jelly on her tummy. I’m so sorry, I can’t seem to find a heartbeat… or, perhaps her favourite: well technically you’re pregnant she had been told down the phone by some twenty-something receptionist, as Suzie had felt blood trickle out of her.
She got up from the bench and walked unsteadily back to the car and sat there for what seemed like ages, wiping the mascara from underneath her eyes. So much for all that counselling.
Dear Dr Jones, you asked me to tell you how I felt. To write it down, in an email. To compose the symphony of – what did you call it? – ‘anger’ in my mind into black and white words. Well here is my response. I FEEL LIKE SHIT. I feel broken, I feel exhausted, I feel battered and bereft. It’s a grief that has no name. If you actually lose someone, people sympathise, but when you ‘lose’ something you never actually had…
What in the name of God was she doing? She leant back in her seat, listened to the rumbling of the train and tried to block all the painful memories. This had to stop. She hoped her plan would finally give her the peace she deserved.
The day after the ‘shoplifting’ incident (Dawn could barely say it in her own head) she clicked on the link from her Favourites on her laptop and stared at the familiar website.
What All Girls Should Have Done by Fifty! Our Six-Point Plan…
Fat lot of use that got me – that wretched blog piece about how shoplifting can enhance your sex life. Well, really. A caution from a supermarket and an extremely red face. No good to my sex life at all! That young girl Charlie yesterday, I bet she has a great sex life.
Dawn thought about Charlie – about her fragile beauty, an innocence about her features. She reminded Dawn of – if a tad chubbier she honestly thought – Keira Knightley. Her complexion was pure peaches and cream – how did the young do that? She was terribly pretty even though her hair was a mess. She didn’t look like she had hot flushes. Dawn wondered why she was shoplifting.
It was nice to sit down after all that vacuuming – even though she’d had to spend half an hour dismantling the Hoover as yet another Nerf Gun bullet had been lodged in the filter. Her mother-in-law Joyce always said, ‘Dawn, housework will never be noticed unless it’s not done!’ Dawn took a sip of her Earl Grey tea in its pretty bone china mug decorated with snowdrops and sighed. Joyce was right.
She’d also been right about her and Eric buying the house, for a start. It was a good-sized 1950s semi with half an acre of garden, just on the outskirts of Chesterbrook, not far from Winchester. It was a red-brick house, with a yellow-painted door. Dawn remembered when she first saw it – she’d hated the windows, but Joyce had told her how easy they were to clean, and she’d been right. Joyce was often, annoyingly, right.
She sat at the kitchen table and stared at the website. She looked over her shoulder as if she was being watched. Images of Joyce infuriatingly came to mind. She did like Joyce, yes, she did; it was just that she was quite interfering and bossy. Joyce had a habit of making Dawn feel inadequate. She reminded Dawn of June Whitfield from that old TV show Terry and June with her flowery blouses, her obsession with a tidy house, bone china and clean windows. Her perfect hair and layers of make-up were also accompanied by a sharp tongue. Sniffing, Dawn clicked the mouse on the page.
Good grief. I haven’t done any of these. I am so boring.
She got up, grabbed a duster, and started to swipe purposefully at the skirting boards, thinking about the ‘hints’.
…even if you don’t manage them all they might provide a bit of frisson in your life!
1.Go out for dinner with no pants on.
She suppressed a giggle as she rubbed at an unidentified pinkish splodge – probably jam – on the skirting board.
2. Get your cleavage in order! Buy some ‘chicken fillets’ to fill your bra.
(Must look those up.)
3. Try out a vibrator!
4. Have sex in the shower.
5. Learn a new skill: computer programming, horse riding, cookery, Pilates; any new class at the gym or an adult education centre.
6. Have sex in a swimming pool.
(Really, thought Dawn, that’ll be a bit messy. What would Eric think?)
And then, from out of nowhere, a whisper in her head said: who says it would be with your husband? She stood upright with the naughtiness of her own thought.
Dawn sat back down at the computer and clicked on one of those little windows at the side of the website. Another blog. I did it! This time, the case study had wanted to spice things up and had gone out – aged sixty-four – and arranged a tattoo of a dolphin on her shoulder. The quote said it had given her ‘renewed vigour’.
Dawn closed the laptop lid and pulled her shoulders back.
She remembered when Eric had plied her with too much wine and suggested they watch porn. She’d been nervous at first – but then had rather got into it. (Although it was very funny, especially when the bloke on the TV had used a feather duster and she’d said to Eric that she was sure it was from Lakeland).
Her birthday was approaching in eleven months – fifty. Where had the time gone? Dawn took off her purple striped apron – a free gift for hosting a Tupperware party – and started folding it carefully. She remembered when she’d first met Eric – he had been delivering holly to the florist’s shop where she worked; she couldn’t take her eyes off him: his rugged face – older, but so attractive – and so tall!
After that they’d had such a lovely romance. He had been such a gentleman. Had he, though, swept her off her feet? He had sort of looked after her, taken care of everything for years. Goodness, how on earth could she be approaching fifty? She sighed.
She wanted to be young again. Like that girl Charlie. Like Suzie. She knows how to live life. Dawn saw how men looked at her – she wasn’t blind. Suzie just had to shimmy her way to the front of the coffee queue at the gym, smile brightly and say she was running late. All the spinning blokes would immediately clear the way for her as if she was Meghan Markle in a see-through tracksuit. In fact, she did look a bit like Meghan, but Suzie always wore her trademark red lipstick. She was a vampy kind of Meghan; same long dark hair and perfect eyebrows.
I’d love someone to find me attractive. She took two evening primrose tablets out of the cupboard and shut the door with a bang. Suzie had everything she wanted. Well, almost. Dawn knew that the one thing her dear, dear friend really did want was entirely out of her reach, no matter how much she wiggled her cute backside.
She poured herself a glass of water and swallowed the pills. Surely it was time for something else beyond making shepherd’s pie and doing the school runs? Some changes? And maybe those changes should start with her marriage.
‘For fuck’s sake, get your hands off me!’
There are beads of sweat along the top of his lip and I can smell beer on his breath. I only opened the door a tiny bit and he barged right past me into the hallway.
‘You bloody told me you could pay me this week, you bitch!’
‘Look, Paul,’ I say, searching around the room for my phone. Where is it? I need to call Tyler, to make up a reason for him not to come straight back. I don’t want him to see this – again – he’s seen enough of Paul and his merry band of ‘associates’ over the last few years. The cat screeches past us in the hall and Paul sticks his foot out to kick it.
That’s it. I want him out of here. He is standing with his hands on his hips in front of me. I notice the mud on his shoes has left a mark in the hall. He is wearing an old leather jacket, soggy from the rain outside and torn at the sleeve. His paunch is visible under a mossy green T-shirt and his jeans are ripped at the knee like some teenager – what a joke, he must be nearly sixty.
‘Did you hear me?’
I look up at him. My skin crawls as I study his beady brown eyes, boring into me. The rain is pelting down outside, I can hear it on the windows. It’s as if it’s trying to get into the house, the steady downpour against the glass panes. Drum, drum, drum.
‘I will get you the money, I promise. I’ve got a plan.’
‘What bloody plan?’ he sneers. The look of contempt he gives me makes me shudder. He lifts his hand and I duck and put my hands protectively above my head.
He catches my wrist.
‘Ow!’
‘Look, Charlie, Gloria said you’d be good to pay me back – that was twenty-four months ago – I’ve been waiting a long time…’
‘Yes, and you keep racking on interest, you bastard! It’s hard enough for me to keep up with the payments with my part-time jobs.’ I twist my wrist around in his hand. He tightens his grip.
‘I don’t give a toss about your part-time jobs – you owe me.’
As he grabs my shoulder with his other hand, I yank my wrist out of his grip.
‘Don’t touch me again!’ I scream. ‘I’m—’
‘What?’ he hisses. ‘Gonna call the police – ha! Let’s see what they think about that! I might just tell them when they get here you’re in arrears with your rent – don’t forget me and your landlord are quite pally… In fact—’ he winks at me ‘—I’ve thought of another way you could pay me back.’
I stop dead. He reaches over and very slowly traces a line from my cheek, all the way down my throat and towards my breasts. I wince. Suddenly, Tyler opens the front door as Paul’s dirty fingers start to travel further down.
Tyler moves forward and grabs Paul’s arm. ‘Not you again, you bastard, don’t touch my mum!’
But Paul swivels quickly to face him and I can’t bear what might happen next. ‘Tyler!’ I shout. But just as I do, Paul lunges at Tyler and hits him across the jaw.
That’s it. ‘Stop!’ I yell. ‘Both of you – I’m pregnant.’
They both stare at me. I don’t know what makes me say it, but at least it stops Paul in his tracks.
‘You’re what, Mum?’ Tyler is staring straight at me, his hair dripping wet from the rain outside, his hand on his chin.
‘No, look, I’ll explain.’ I can’t go into it now. I can’t tell my son about the plans I’ve made – especially considering how he came into the world in the first place…
I look at Paul. ‘I want you to leave. Now. Or I will call the police and show them my wrist, Tyler’s jaw. I think it’s called assault,’ I say rubbing the red welt where he grabbed me earlier. I don’t really mean this, as the police are the last people I want round here… not with my plans, and especially as I just dodged a bullet with the shoplifting, but I hope it’s enough to throw Paul off the scent and get him out of here.
Paul takes one look at me, glances round at Tyler and brushes past him. He stays standing rigidly on the spot on the doormat, making Paul’s exit hard. Paul yanks open the front door and slams it shut behind him.
‘Tyler, are you OK? I need to talk to you,’ I say, touching his sleeve. ‘I only said I’m pregnant to shut him up.’
He scowls at me. ‘Odd thing to say, though.’
‘Yes, I know. But it worked. How’s your jaw?’
‘Yeah fine,’ he mumbles, barging past me and stomping up to his room.
I lean against the wall, remembering that email, hoping my decision is the right one.
The children had both done their homework; the shirts were ironed. She was just checking a few emails. Briefly. No harm done. Spot of Facebook. Suddenly there was an advert bubble for ‘her’ website. It was amazing how her computer knew that she liked that website. She clicked on it for a quick look.
Have sex in the shower.
She gulped back some air. She reread her list of challenges.
Go out to dinner with no pants.
‘Darling? There you are!’
Her eyes flew up over the top of the screen and she slammed it shut as if it was burning hot, just as Eric walked into the kitchen.
‘Hi, dear.’ She smiled up at her husband, watched him take off his waterproof jacket, wander back out to the hall to hang his coat up. She noticed he’d carefully taken his muddy boots off this time. Last time, they’d had an awful row about the dirt he’d brought in. Hormones? She shuddered. It’s a wonder he puts up with me. He planted a kiss on top of her head.
‘What were you looking at?’
‘Oh, nothing!’ she said too quickly. ‘Some Mumsnet thing. How was your day?’
‘The usual – massive laurel hedge to trim, took all day. The boys were great, especially when my back was playing up.’
Eric’s back was always playing up. She didn’t blame him: at fifty-five, the life of a landscape gardener wasn’t always a picnic – especially as Eric was good at his job. Having his own company meant there were lots of word-of-mouth recommendations. He didn’t have a business partner and as a result was always terribly busy. Autumn was a particularly intense time for gardening: dividing herbaceous perennials, picking the raspberries and potatoes, cleaning out the greenhouses, covering crops with bird netting, planning spring bulbs. She looked over at him lifting the lid at the stove, stirring the supper, and felt a pang. What was it? Pity? God, no.
‘What’s in here, love? Smells great.’ He turned around to smile at her. Eric was a kind soul, so complimentary – it made all the drudgery at home worthwhile. He had always loved her cooking – even her dreadful baking.
They were having Spanish chicken and chorizo with a warm baguette and green beans. She studied his chocolate brown faded corduroys, his checked shirt, the little curls of hair that touched his back collar and noticed how his profile had changed over the last few years. The outdoor work had taken its toll. He had a sort of lived-in face now. Nice, but crumpled, like a shirt you’ve worn to bed.
Once, it had been such a handsome face – it was just that all the sunshine, wind and outdoor work had left its mark. The once dark, mahogany curls were nearly all grey, his broad shoulders slumped a bit these days as the pain in his lower back got to him.
‘All right?’ She came up behind him and squeezed him tightly.
‘That’s nice.’ He turned around and she rested her head on his chest, inhaled that familiar smell of the outside air mixed with his musty aftershave. He was still her wonderful husband of twenty-five years, the one she’d married at twenty-four – all those years ago… the one who had stolen her heart then. The one she couldn’t take her eyes off – back then, a man six years older than her had been very attractive. Now though, he was acting more like sixty-five than fifty-five. Tsk, tsk, Dawn.
‘Dad!’ Alice bounced in; her school socks slipping down by her ankles, her beautiful blonde hair tumbling down her back, held vaguely off her face by a sparkly pink hair band. Her eyes were like two shimmering sapphires. She was clutching her Barbie doll in her little paw.
‘Hey, my angel.’ Eric beamed and let go of Dawn. He bent down and scooped his seven-year-old up in his arms.
‘Daddy, we got to do lacrosse at school today – I really liked it!’
‘Did you now?’ He grinned at her and kissed her hair.
‘And who’s this?’ Eric gently held the doll in his hands, twisted it round and admired its tight blue skirt and frowned when he noticed its enormous bust. Alice appeared to have stuffed something greasy down the front of Barbie’s dress.
‘This is Princess Cleav-age! I heard Mummy use that word when she was on-the-line shopping! She was looking at chicken fillet things! Mummy was squishing her boobs together, weren’t you, Mummy? Looking down at them to see how big they were. Mummy says you stuff the chicken things in your bra! Chicken in your bra! That’s funny – I put some from dinner into my Barbie’s dress!’ Alice wriggled out of Eric’s grasp, clutching the double-D plastic figurine, and skipped out the room.
OK, so maybe chicken fillets weren’t going to set the world on fire – but she was determined to shake up the status quo in some way.
We’re in Joe’s Diner, across the road from the dentist. It’s been a particularly hard shift. Derek, our boss, wanted a ‘proper clean’ as the inspectors are due in tomorrow. I’m not sure whether to tell my cleaning partner, Gloria, about my plan, about the email I sent this morning. I think she will be horrified.
‘Bloody cheek,’ says Gloria, taking a bite of her bacon sandwich. ‘Every time we clean it’s a “proper clean” – dunno what he was on about.’ She wipes some tomato sauce from her mouth.
‘I’m knackered.’ I yawn and try to cover my mouth. My feet ache, my legs ache, my arms ache and my wrist still hurts from Paul’s ‘visit’.
‘Oh well, there’s an extra tenner in it. We should be grateful, I suppose.’ She slips a pound coin onto the table to leave for a tip.
‘Tell me a bit more about what happened with that idiot, Paul. Wish I’d never introduced you two. I see him sometimes, round the estate, looking like he’s God’s gift – bloody shark. I heard that he’s been charging four-figure interest rates—’
‘Gloria, I had it coming.’
She is appalled when I tell her the full story and I don’t even mention the exact interest rates Paul’s charging me – or how long I’m taking to pay him back.
‘What did you do?’
‘Told a fib. I told them I was pregnant – it was all I could think of. That stopped him in his tracks.’
Gloria stares at me.
‘Poor Tyler. He had to witness it. He was pretty brave – he turned around ready to hit Paul, to defend me and got whacked himself. Afterwards though, he stormed off upstairs – I could hear music in his room way past midnight.’
‘He’s a good boy, Charlie. I know he can give you a hard time, but it’s all in there. He loves his mum.’ She smiles at me. ‘He just won’t always show it – he is seventeen.’ She reaches out to put a hand on my shoulder and I wince. ‘Sorry, darlin’, did I hurt you?’ Gloria leans forward. ‘Charlie?’
‘It’s fine,’ I mumble, as a shooting pain travels across my left shoulder. I shrug. ‘It’s my fault, I’ve been putting Paul off. He suggested I… I…’
Gloria looks up, brows knitted. ‘What?’
I choose not to answer her last question and shiver remembering how Paul’s gold tooth had glinted when his finger made its way across my chest.
With that my phone rings.
‘Got to take this!’ I stand up and put on my coat, excitement rising when I see who’s calling.
*
It’s Saturday. I have a short shift at the dentist’s and then I’m off to use my free pass at the gym.
‘You look ridiculous!’ Tyler frowns at me from the sofa. ‘Where you going in all that gear?’ The theme tune of EastEnders fills the lounge. I don’t see the cat, trip over him and clutch the side of the table.
‘Damn!’
‘Mum! What are you doing? You are so clumsy!’ He laughs and presses the remote to pause the TV. (I must ask him to record that. Can’t miss an episode.)
‘Why aren’t you in your cleaning stuff?’ He looks me up and down again. ‘When are you back?’
He pushes all my buttons sometimes… and yet… poor boy, I can’t just forget how it all happened, the heartache, and then…
‘Mum, I said when will you be back?’
‘I don’t know, hey, remember to record that episode for me…’ I ruffle his hair.
‘Gerrrof!’ He looks up at me. ‘We haven’t any food in the fridge, for God’s sake, Mum. You should be shopping, not swanning around in,’ he glances at me again, ‘tight leggings.’
‘Look, I was given this pass by Terry at the gym, as a thank you for all my hard work.’ Go on, Charlie, you deserve it, Employee of the Month! My boss Terry had beamed when he handed it over, so unlike Derek from the dentist’s, the bastard.
‘I’m doing my cleaning first, and then going to the gym. I won’t be long.’
‘All right. By the way, another bloke, one of Paul’s crew was round again – forgot to tell you earlier.’ His large brown eyes are fixed on me. ‘He shouted through the letter box that if we don’t have the money by next week he’s going to start taking the furniture ’n’ stuff.’
I’m rooted to the spot. Not bloody again. Not for the first time did I wish I’d never gone into that pub that night, but Gloria had assured me he was OK, had persuaded me to come along to that stupid Elvis tribute night. Normally I avoid that pub – I know it’s trouble. Right on the edge of the estate, its paint peeling and dodgy dealings inside. But I’d been so fed up, so fucked off with my life that ‘one drink’ had suddenly turned into more, especially when Paul had started buying them when my money had run out. He’d leered over and winked at me. I should have run a mile then, but I didn’t; in fact, I’d smiled at him…
God, no, I must have been so drunk, and then he’d put his hand round my waist and I’d let it stay there, let him tell me that money was no problem, that I’d come to the right man. And because I was so horribly broke – am always horribly broke – I listened to him. I thought I’d found a solution. If only I’d known what I’d be subjecting myself – and Tyler – to for all these years.
‘Mum!’
‘Sorry, Tyler, OK, let me think about what to do.’
What kind of creep keeps racking on interest to a single mum who’s a part-time cleaner? What kind of person does that? Someone who doesn’t give a fuck, that’s who – I shove my umbrella into my bag and sigh – someone who’s been a loan shark for years and saw me walk right into his arms. Desperate. Needy. Drunk.
*
By 9 a.m. Gloria and I are busy scrubbing floors and emptying bins.
‘Charlie, you goose, what are you doing!’ Gloria is leaning on her mop, smirking at me as we both watch the bucket of water topple over while I jig about trying to remove dental floss from my gloved hands. Thank God for Gloria. I really couldn’t do this if it wasn’t for her.
‘All done, Charlie, pet?’ Gloria trills as she wafts past in a cloud of Dettol. I don’t know how she does it – she must be pushing sixty-five, but won’t tell me her age. I look up to see where she’s gone – you can roughly tell if you listen to where the warbling is coming from. Gloria has her Walkman from the eighties firmly attached to her ears at all times and carries it in a money belt.
Trouble with these dental studios is that they’re full of mirrors. Glancing at my reflection, I notice that I look exhausted. Hardly surprising. I yank on my hair and try to flatten it down, and wipe away some mascara that’s under my eyes. I stare at myself in the mirror: I can’t seem to shake that feeling of dread. I hope my plan works.
‘C’mon, duck! You must be finished now?’ Gloria waltzes into the room with her headphones around her neck.
‘In a minute.’ I rinse out a cloth in the sink.
Suddenly she stops mid-song and looks over at me. ‘Hey, watcha looking all forlorn for, pet?’
‘Nothing, Gloria.’ I shrug. ‘You know, life.’
Gloria comes up to me and takes the cloth from my hand. ‘You’re so pretty, pet,’ she says, touching my cheek and winking. ‘And young… too young to be a cleaner in a dingy place like this. Let’s go to the shops on the way home. Cheer you up a bit.’
‘Only got a tenner to last till Friday, Gloria. Maybe another time.’
‘C’mon, thing will change,’ she chides.
‘Things would have to change quite a lot. Tyler’s talking about going to college, photography, which is great – but I have no idea how to pay that bill. I don’t want to stop him, but it also means no money from him if he gives up his job at the chippy. And he’s just so tricky to read at the moment…’
‘He’s a teenager, Charlie, remember?’ She tips her head sideways at me. ‘Go on, love, I just mean the charity shop. We can try on some evening dresses, have a laugh!’ She puts her arm round me and wiggles her hips. It’s hard not to smile. Gloria feels like the aunt and mum I never had rolled into one.
Two miles away, at home, Suzie woke up with a thumping head, dry mouth and, looking down at her chest, in one of Rex’s T-shirts. It must have been a bad night if her White Stuff embroidered nightie hadn’t gone on. Her inner critic was having a field day. Oh, this is a new low, darling. Whatever have you done now?
She remembered the park, the toddler. Then rushing to work on the train yesterday, clutching her cup of coffee in her hand, squeezing it tight and almost enjoying the burning sensation on her fingers. She’d watched the houses whizz by but not really seen them, saddened about how melancholy she felt again. And then, despite or maybe because of yesterday, it had led to after-work drinks at the bar. A section of her brain was registering self-disgust at just how provocative she’d been, yet another part – the part which had been mesmerised by the toddler – was enjoying it all, wishing she was – what? With someone else?
She sat bolt upright. Fragments of the evening appeared. Olives? A taxi to the station? She leant back further – what was his name? Steve?
Rex appeared in the doorway smiling at her. ‘How’s your head?’
‘Um, not great, actually.’ Suzie touched her head. He wandered over to her bed, placed a cup of steaming coffee on the bedside table along with two paracetamol.
The Doyouwantababy forum hadn’t warned her about this. About the feeling of shame, about how your husband might just know you were being unfaithful in your head… She pulled the duvet up to her chin as the golden sun slipped in between the cracks in the curtains and she smiled at Rex.
‘You were pretty wasted last night. It’s not like you,’ he said, turning around and pulling the curtains open.
She winced as the sun’s rays spread over the duvet and across her face. It was then she remembered another trigger for all these emotions, which had been buried for so long. Her ovulation kit, a miracle after all these months. A line. But it was no use, not with Rex—
‘Darling?’ He was standing by the bed, looking down at her, arms folded, the rest of him encased in tight Lycra, muscles bulging from his tanned legs, ready to face the Hampshire hills. His head was cocked to one side, enquiringly.
‘Oh, yes, client thing, we were just celebrating an account we thought we’d never win. Huge kudos for the agency,’ she quipped to make light of her dark thoughts.
She vaguely remembered the bar, getting drunk to erase the feelings of the morning, to take the edge away, the champagne, the flirting, texting Rex to say she was going to be late. The tapas, the green olives that, bizarrely, she had found hysterical. She remembered the others from the agency winking at her, this attractive man talking about kids, about his kids. I suppose that’s what did it. I practically threw myself at him. She grimaced inwardly.
‘Right, well I’m off out to meet the lads, thirty-k cycle today.’ He bent down and kissed her lightly on the forehead and she was assaulted by his citrusy aftershave. ‘Unless you—’ He grinned at her and started to pull the duvet off.
She shook her head. ‘Rex—’
‘Only kidding, sweetheart, you rest. See you later.’
She closed her eyes. Forsaking all others. What kind of loser are you, Susan Havilland? Rex means everything to you. She could almost hear her mother whispering it to her. Her mother was possibly the only person in the world who felt more grief than her about being without any grandchildren, so much so that they had both said things they regretted – things about how her daughter had let her down, things about how Suzie had hated, just hated her upbringing and why had she needed to go to boarding school and didn’t they both know how much damage she and Dad had done and how could they? Phones slammed down. It had been a heated row eleven months ago. They hadn’t spoken since.
That did it. She resolved right there and then to have another word with Rex – she’d have to tell him about her plan, anyway. She hugged the secret to herself. Suddenly she felt a bit sick.
She carefully pulled her side of the duvet up with two fingers as any sudden movements made her feel incredibly dizzy; she swung her legs out, and wandered to the bathroom. As she walked past her dressing table, there was a business card lying there: Steve Atkins Client Services Manager. She grabbed it and threw it in the bin. Thank God it was Saturday. She could sweat out her shame at the gym soon. She needed to leave her lustful night behind.
‘This one’s nice!’ Gloria is shimmying outside the changing rooms in the charity shop. She’s in a green velvet dress with see-through sleeves. I grin. Always up for a laugh.
‘And when would we need those, Gloria?’ I whisper, so the shop assistant can’t hear. ‘To some fancy-arse ball?’
‘Not so fast, my darling! You never know!’
‘Yes, I do! The highlight of my week is an Asda Thai “takeaway” with Tyler on a Friday night!’
She winks at me, puts her hands in the air like a ballerina, and twirls around.
As we leave the shop, the clouds have gathered and it has become quite gusty. Leaves are piled up like mini bonfires against some of the houses, and they swirl in the street, scurrying along as if choreographed into an autumn dance. It feels chilly but it’s one of my favourite seasons. It will be Halloween next month. The cat hates that night; all the local kids run riot, ring the doorbell till all hours, scream and wear face masks while he hides under the sofa.
‘Bye, darlin’.’ Gloria waves at me as she gets on her bus. I watch her silhouette getting smaller and smaller as she beams at me from the top window of the bus. Now she’s blowing kisses. I wave back at her.
My bus is going to be another five minutes. Just then, a car roars by, and narrowly misses the kerb where I’m standing. The driver veers into a massive puddle, but even though I jump out the way, I am hit with a huge splash of water. Bloody cheek! He should have seen that! There are huge ‘L’ plates on the side and back of the car. Honestly, the instructor should be more careful.
I raise my head up from brushing down my coat and catch sight of the instructor and my hands stop in mid brush. He’s mouthing sorry at me and shrugging while the driver fiddles with the gear stick. He looks utterly out of place in Chesterbrook, tanned and exotic somehow. He’s wearing some sort of red bandana around his neck. He grins at me. What a cheek!
I stand there with my mouth open. Just then, my bus swooshes into the bus stop and obscures my view. I shiver. Gorgeous or not, sorry doesn’t really cut it. I’m soaked now just before my class at the gym.
At 11.15 a.m. Suzie plonked herself on the wooden changing room bench next to Dawn.
‘You look terrible,’ said Dawn, looking up from tying her laces.
‘Thanks.’ Don’t give anything away. She glanced at herself in the floor-length mirrors: matching top, bag and bright neon and black Sweaty Betty leggings – and her look was finished off with huge, haunting mahogany circles under her eyes.
Suzie pulled her shoulders back and smiled tightly. ‘Client do. Big bash at Canary Wharf – you know?’ She didn’t expand on her obsession with a clearly fertile client, and anyway, how would Dawn know what it was like? She was happily cocooned in a world as cosy and warm as a pair of Ugg boots. Life for Dawn revolved around two kids, glitter reward stickers and walks in wellies to the woods. Dawn would never do something like this. Dawn would never dream of chatting up a good-looking stranger, of lacing her arms over someone else’s shoulders to make very sure her cleavage was on maximum display to her admirer, as she smiled at them, would she?
Imagine if I’d gone home with him! Suzie shuddered. No, Dawn’s moral compass was entirely intact. And I wouldn’t want her any other way – she’s just the complete opposite of me, that’s all – has been since uni. In fact, she doesn’t even know how many calories are in half a Pret egg sandwich – can you imagine?
‘You all right?’ Dawn looked at her.
No, she certainly wouldn’t have been so brazen. Ms Moral Conscience was at it again. Suzie sighed as she flung open the doors from the changing room.
As they entered the dance studio, Suzie spotted a new girl. She looked a bit shabby in tight grey tracksuit bottoms. And she seemed to be wet. Which fitness catalogue had she used? Not Running Mile, like her, the glossy catalogue that came through her letterbox each month, more like Run for Your Life in that outfit!
Stop it, Suzie.
Hadn’t she seen her in here somewhere? Yes, in the café, but on the other side of the counter, doing the dishes? So, she was a cleaner here?
‘Now, ladies, let’s move it, shall we?’ shouted the instructor.
Suzie felt exhausted, and still a little dizzy, but she took a deep breath. Shoulders back. Attagirl. As she shook her hips and mamboed right, then leapt to the left, her mind started wandering. What on earth had got into her last night? As the music changed to a Latin number, a moment of sheer self-loathing caught her unawares and then, oblivious to the lady to her left, she just stopped dancing as the enormity of her feelings overwhelmed her.
Suddenly, the lady to the left crashed right into her doing a grapevine and Suzie promptly fell over with a loud thud in front of the entire Zumba class.
*
Dawn approached her with two steaming cups of decaf skinny latte in the café – and an ice pack under her arm. ‘You silly moo.’ She smiled as she placed it on Suzie’s cheek. ‘What made you fall over?’ She squeezed her shoulder affectionately as she sat down.
Suzie smiled, rolled her eyes and looked out to purple hues of lavender in the gym gardens beyond the glass doors. The September sun was doing its best to sprinkle light on the late-flowering roses swaying in the breeze. She held the ice to her shoulder and winced.
‘Got lost in thought…’ She shrugged unconvincingly.
It wasn’t going to work on Dawn. ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’
She looked up at her and burst into tears. ‘I was just a bit stupid last night.’ Suzie let the tears fall. She wasn’t going to mention the park. That was what other people did. The sort of people you warn your children about. She wasn’t one of those, was she?
‘Is it the stupid kind of thing that I think it is?’ Dawn’s eyebrows were practically up by her hairline.
Suzie shook her head. ‘No. I just, I don’t know, was flirting madly with this guy – this clearly fertile guy, Dawn, and I, you know—’ She sniffed.
Dawn frowned. Her look said more than any reprimand would do. Then she reached over and put her hand over hers. ‘Look, it’s easy to get a bit carried away at these client bashes – not that I’d know! But, Suze… um…’
‘Nothing happened,’ Suzie said quickly. ‘I just wanted to – well, I remember thinking in the bar that he had kids, Dawn, so I…’
‘Wanted to sleep with him?’
Suzie hung her head. ‘Kind of,’ she mumbled. ‘I was drunk. Yesterday, I, I—’ She stopped herself. Mustn’t mention the toddler.
‘I keep thinking about it, about what might have happened… how, if I’d slept with him Dawn – I know, I know, but if I had, you know, maybe I’d be pregnant. He had kids, he—’ She looked over at Dawn for reassurance but saw her mouth open.
‘Oh, don’t be so judgemental – you’ve no idea and—’ She felt her throat tighten.
Dawn placed a hand on her arm and smiled. ‘I know, sweetheart, I don’t have any idea, it’s just—’
‘It’s all because we got an email from the IVF clinic,’ Suzie said sniffing, feeling Dawn squeeze her arm.
‘Go on.’
you