Before We Met: A Novel (42 page)

She smiled. ‘I like your back bedroom. But, yes, it’s the right thing.’

Two weeks ago she’d woken late. Tom and Lydia had left for work and the house was quiet. She’d gone downstairs, feet bare, and filled the kettle for coffee. Standing at the window, watching a robin fly back and forth from the bird table that Lydia had given Tom for Christmas, the deadening fog that had filled her head had cleared for a moment and she’d known that it was time to get moving again, to break the spell of the horror and get on with her life. She’d made the coffee and sat down with her computer to look at flats to rent.

She’d seen seven or eight before she’d found the one she’d taken, a one-bedroomed place on the third floor of a Victorian red-brick mansion block a few minutes’ walk from Russell Square. As soon as she’d walked in, she’d been able to see herself living there. It was a little bit shabby, she’d have to hide the carpet in the hallway with rugs, but the landlord had given her permission to paint, the kitchen was newly renovated and there was a nook under the window in the sitting room that would be perfect for a desk.

More than ever, what she craved now was work. She hadn’t got the job at Penrose Price; Roger Penrose, despite his cutting-edge advertising campaigns, had proved to be old-fashioned about the idea of hiring someone embroiled in a case that had been splashed across the national papers for a week. He’d written her a letter full of compliments in which he also communicated that they’d hired a candidate with substantial experience of working with clients similar to their own. When she’d looked up the announcement in
Campaign
, she saw that the job had gone to someone who’d interned for her before she went to New York.

There was hope, however. Ten days ago, Leon, her old boss, had emailed to say that he was in London on a flying visit. Over drinks at his hotel in Charlotte Street, he’d asked her for ideas for two major new pitches. If he won the business, he said, he’d like her to work on them with him, in what capacity they could discuss later. ‘As head of the London office?’ she’d said, raising an eyebrow, and though he’d rolled his eyes, he hadn’t said no.

In the meantime, her mother had lent her money to keep her going. Eventually – at least in theory – she would be rich: everything Mark had owned, he’d willed to her. She didn’t want any of it. She’d decided that, when the time came, she would give it all to his parents, though she suspected that Mark’s father’s pride would stop him from touching it, too.

Up ahead, Sandy slipped on the path, nearly pulling Lydia down with her. Hannah laughed, and when she stopped, she saw that Tom had been watching her.

‘I’m glad you and Mum are getting on better,’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘It was Mark’s mother, how much she loved him despite everything. It just made me realise how harsh I was to mine. We had a chat.’

Tom nodded. ‘She told me.’ He took the chocolate from his pocket and snapped off two more squares. They’d walked twenty yards or so before he spoke again. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I want to tell you something.’

‘What?’

‘Mum made me promise I never would, but now I think you should know.’

‘What, Tom?’

‘Their break-up, the divorce – you’ve always blamed it on her, her paranoia, but she was right. Dad
was
having an affair.’

Hannah stopped walking. ‘No, that can’t be . . .’

‘He met Maggie before he and Mum split up.’

‘Then why the hell didn’t she say something? Jesus – all those years. And I was so furious with her . . .’

‘She knew how much you loved him and she didn’t want to damage that. She let you go on believing she was the bad guy so that you wouldn’t be angry with him and let it damage your relationship.’

Hannah looked at her mother and felt a lump come into her throat. She’d got everything wrong – everything. Suddenly, though, on top of the beacon under the cold blue bowl of the sky, the realisation felt liberating. From now on, surely, she could only do better.

Acknowledgements

This book wouldn’t have happened without the unstinting support of my husband. Thank you, Joe.

I’d also like to thank the following people: Helen Garnons-Williams, Ellen Williams and Elizabeth Woabank at Bloomsbury; Rebecca Folland and Kirsty Gordon at Janklow & Nesbit; Claire Paterson and Kathleen Anderson.

A Note on the Author

Lucie Whitehouse was born in Warwickshire in 1975, read Classics at Oxford University and now lives in Brooklyn, New York. She is the author of two previous books,
The House at Midnight
and the TV Book Club pick
The Bed I Made
.

#BeforeWeMet

@
L
Whitehouse5

Copyright © 2014 by Lucie Whitehouse

All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. For information, write to Bloomsbury USA, 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018.

Published by Bloomsbury USA, New York

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA HAS BEEN APPLIED FOR

eISBN: 978-1-62040-276-4

First published in Great Britain in 2014

First U.S. Edition 2014

This electronic edition published January 2014

Visit 
www.bloomsbury.com
 to find out more about our authors and their books.

You will find extracts, author interviews, author events, and you 
can sign up for newsletters
 to be the first to hear about our latest releases and special offers.