Bet Your Life (20 page)

“
My
family,” Mum checked. “Tilly and Jack and everyone.”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

Because they hate you?
No one said it. Everyone thought it.

“Doesn’t seem to me as if they want you to stay.” Dan was thoroughly enjoying the moment, awkward as it was.

“I haven’t had an answer yet.” Dad turned back to Mum and his voice softened. “Molly? Are you really going to turn me away?”

He so knew what he was doing. Put on the spot, she gave in immediately. “N-no. I mean, I’ll have to check with Tilly. But how long were you planning to stay?”

“Just a couple of days.”

“So you’re leaving on Thursday,” I said. “To be specific.”

“Probably.”

“Why don’t you just leave now?” Dan asked.

“Why don’t you just back off?” Dad snapped.

“I’m saying what Molly won’t. You need to hit the road.” Dan folded his arms, looking both muscular and murderous. “There’s nothing for you here.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Dad was looking at Mum as he said it, but then he turned back to Dan and his expression hardened. “Anyway, I’ll go when I’m ready. You can’t make me leave.”

“Watch me.”

“I’m not breaking any laws.” Dad took a step toward Dan, who moved forward too. They reminded me of old lions, all roar and no bite.

“That’s not why you have to leave.”

“What the hell’s going on?” Nick had arrived in the front gallery and sounded more annoyed than either of the other two. “Who are you?”

“I’m Christopher Tennant.”

“My dad,” I said, for the second time that day, and with even less enthusiasm.

Nick swung round to Mum. “Your husband?”

“My ex-husband.”

“And why is he in my gallery? Why is Dan here?”

“He and Dan—” Mum broke off and held up her hands, giving up the attempt to explain the situation.

“They have a lot in common,” I said. “So obviously that means they hate each other.”

I saw Nick work out what I meant, looking from Dad to Mum to Dan. He frowned, his expression forbidding. “Molly, do you mind if I ask your ex-husband and Dan to leave?”

“Be my guest.”

“Nick, come on,” Dan said. “You don’t mean me.”

“Yes, I do. This is my gallery, not somewhere for you to air your grievances.”

“But—” Dan began, and Nick held up a hand to cut him off.

“I’m not interested.”

“And I’m not impressed.” Mum’s expression was stern. “It’s time for you to go.”

“Go where? I need to know if I can stay at Sandhayes.” Dad was looking at her with puppy-dog eyes.

“I have to speak to the others. Go and find somewhere to wait until I can call you.”

“Any suggestions for where I could go in the meantime?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Dan said under his breath.

“Mario’s is nice,” Mum said. “Down by the beach.”

“Don’t go there,” I said quickly. “Lots of people I know go there.”

I got my very own glare from Dad for that. Dan grinned at me appreciatively, which was almost more unsettling.

“Time to leave.” Nick held the door open. Dad paused for a moment to kiss Mum on the cheek, then walked out, head up, as if he owned the place.

Dan blew out a lungful of air. “He hasn’t changed.”

“I meant what I said, Dan. You have to leave too.” Nick’s face was stern.

“Yes, please go,” Mum said, her voice wavering a little.

Dan moved over to stand beside her and said, in a low voice, “Can I come and see you, Molly? Later?”

I looked from Dan to Mum with a thud of dismay.
Is meeting up a regular thing?

“I’m busy,” Mum said.

“Tomorrow.”

“Busy. I’ll let you know.”

Nonplussed, Dan gathered himself together and walked out, heading in the opposite direction to Dad.

Nick shut the door and stood with his back to us for a moment, as if he had to gather his strength. I’d been hoping he might see the funny side, but when he turned he looked grim. “Molly, I can’t pretend to be pleased about that.”

“I didn’t know Christopher was coming. I certainly didn’t expect him and Dan to be here together, at the same time.”

“This is where you work, not a place for you to deal with your family dramas. You should have told them to go.”

“It’s not that easy,” I said, nettled. “They don’t listen to her.”

“That’s not true. I could have made them leave. I can stand up for myself,” Mum said, and there was a little silence as Nick and I thought the exact opposite.

When Nick spoke again, he was more gentle. “I’m not blaming you, Molly, but I am tired of your private life taking over what should be a calm, peaceful, professional environment.” He rubbed his eyes. “I think you should just go.”

Mum stood up. “Am I fired?”

“Take some time off. Get things sorted. Come back when you’re ready to work.” He strode off toward his office. The door closed behind him.

Mum looked at me. Before I could say anything at all, she burst into tears.

14

I headed back to Sandhayes to see if Ella had surfaced yet. She was still out cold, snoring lightly. I loitered in the doorway of her room, hoping she would hear me and wake up, but there was no chance. Downstairs, Hugo was locked in the bathroom. He liked to read while he was in the bath, adding hot water every so often, and it was utterly impossible to get him out once he was installed. I carried on down to the kitchen, where Tilly was doing laundry in a towering rage.

“You’ve heard the news. Your father is in town.”

“I saw him. And the fight.”

“What fight?” Tilly stopped halfway through folding a fitted sheet. “With your mum?”

“With Dan.” I told her what had happened and her anger turned to amusement, which was far more like her.

“Your poor mother. She does attract drama. And bastards.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “They were squabbling like kids with a toy. No one even asked Mum what
she
wanted.”

“They think they know best.” Tilly went on folding. “This is the problem. Molly attracts men who want to look after her. They think she’s helpless. She’d be one of the most capable people I’ve ever met, if she’d only believe in herself.”

“Did she come back here?”

“I haven’t seen her.” Tilly sighed. “I haven’t seen Christopher, either. But he’s coming over later. He’s having dinner here.”

“Oh, great.”

“Don’t sound too enthusiastic.”

“It’s just that—well, you know him.” I could see trouble brewing. “Is he staying here?”

“On the sofa bed in the study. There’s nowhere else to put him. Also, it’s tremendously uncomfortable.” Tilly smiled at me sweetly. The oven timer beeped and she jumped, then clutched her head. “Oh no. I’d forgotten about that.”

“What is it? Can I help?”

“I made something for the Hendersons. Macaroni and cheese.” Tilly was lifting it out of the oven, so she didn’t see my face. “Can you take it round? Do you mind?”

“Um…”

“You just have to leave it in the kitchen. I’ve got a key so you don’t even have to ring the bell. Just let yourself in. Dan will be at work anyway. I haven’t seen Will today.”

“Me neither.”
And I don’t want to start now
. “What about Will’s mum?”

“Karen? She’ll be upstairs. She lives up there now.” Tilly checked the time. “Will or Dan will be in by one o’clock to help her with lunch, so if you take this over now she can have some.”

“Oh. Right. But I don’t have to see her.”

Tilly stared at me. “Why would you not— Oh. Are you worried about what she’d say to you?”

I wriggled. “No. I mean, I haven’t done anything to her. It’s just that I haven’t met her.”
And her husband is still in love with my mother, which she probably knows. So.

“You won’t see her,” Tilly said confidently. “Or Dan. If you see Will, tell him he’s welcome to come over for dinner, Christopher or no Christopher.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I was desperately trying to think of a reason why Will wouldn’t want to come to Sandhayes without having to explain our painful little scene the previous night.

“Your dad will be perfectly nice. And Karen will be just as nice to you if you do meet her. We are all grown-ups, and we can all behave ourselves,” Tilly said firmly. Then, “Well, you’re not a grown-up. But you know what I mean.”

While we’d been talking, she had been wrapping up the dish of macaroni. She lowered it carefully into a cardboard box. “You should be able to carry that. Don’t go over the wall, will you? I don’t think you could manage it with this.”

“I wasn’t going to try.” I took the box, and the key she handed me. I couldn’t think of a single thing I could do to get out of going to Will’s house, and every step I took felt like one closer to the scaffold. “So I just leave it in the kitchen and go.”

“That’s it. Thank you, Jess.” Tilly winked at me. “It’ll be all right, you know.”

“If you say so.”

It took five minutes to walk round to Will’s house by road, but I spun it out to nearer ten. I could feel my heart thumping as I got closer, my palms damp against the cardboard of the box.

Will’s house was much smaller than Sandhayes, a white cottage with a big overgrown garden and ramshackle outbuildings covered in peeling paint. It looked unloved, neglected, and I shivered as I walked up the path. The houses on either side had been knocked down and rebuilt in the best Port Sentinel tradition, and the Hendersons’ house looked even smaller and dirtier in comparison.

I didn’t want to let myself in without giving them any warning. I knocked on the front door with my knuckles, a compromise that I hoped wouldn’t be loud enough to wake Karen if she was sleeping. There was no answer. I knocked again, then turned the key in the lock. I still felt tense but this was overlaid with curiosity, and as I walked in I had a good look around. I’d been in the house before, but in Dan’s company, and only once. It wasn’t the most exciting hallway in the world, with old-fashioned wallpaper and a bottle-green carpet that I would have hauled out and burned. Of most interest to me was the row of hooks, where I saw Will’s coat. But it was a nice day, bright and clear, warmer now that it was midday. He might have gone out without it.
Clutching at straws
 … I carried the box through to the kitchen and set it down on the table. The view from the window held my attention for a moment—the top floor of Sandhayes, including my bedroom, in plain view above the treetops. Maybe Will thought about me every time he looked out.

Or maybe he didn’t. I wasn’t going to waste any more time on snooping around; the thought of getting caught was too appalling. I tiptoed back to the hall, closing the kitchen door very quietly behind me.

But not, as it turned out, quietly enough.

“Will? Is that you?”

The voice was distant and not terribly strong. I went to the bottom of the stairs.

“It’s not Will, Mrs. Henderson. It’s Jess Tennant. My aunt made some food for you and she asked me to come round with it.”

Silence. I waited, chewing my lip, not knowing if I should go or if I should wait. Then:

“Come up.”

It was just not my day. I started up the stairs, full of foreboding.

“It’s the second door on the left.”

I walked along the landing to the second door and pushed it open to find a large, light-filled room overlooking the garden. I stopped just inside the door, looking around. Looking everywhere except at the bed, where Will’s mum lay. There was a chest of drawers in an alcove by a small fireplace, and the top of it was covered in framed photographs. I glanced at them, then looked more closely, seeing an adorable baby with round cheeks, sweeping eyelashes, and a pout. He became a sturdy, muddy toddler, then a boy with knobbly knees, a gap-toothed grin and a deep fringe, and then, incredibly, he turned into Will—a younger, thinner version of him, but recognizable all the same. I couldn’t stop staring at the photographs, trying to recognize his features in the baby pictures. It was painful to see the wariness develop in his eyes over time. My heart ached again, but this time on his behalf rather than my own.

“Come over here.” Reluctantly, I did as I was told, keeping my eyes trained on the floor. Karen was propped up against lots of pillows. There was a wheelchair by the window and the bedside tables were loaded with books, a jug of water, medicine bottles—all the paraphernalia of the chronically unwell. I’d never seen Will’s mother—not even a picture of her—and he was so like his father in appearance that I had no idea what to expect. When I couldn’t avoid it any more, I looked at her.

Karen was thin and pale, but she didn’t look as if she was at death’s door. She had dark hair and a narrow face with a pointed chin and finely arched brows. I couldn’t help comparing her to Mum, who was the same age. Karen looked much older than her, which had to do with the set of her mouth and the lines around her eyes. Her skin was very fine, almost translucent, and time had creased it like tissue paper. Her long, narrow hands lay on top of the sheet, folded over one another, and they reminded me of Will’s. She would have been attractive if she had been more animated, but currently she had all the vitality of a marble statue.

If I’d been staring at Karen, she’d been doing exactly the same to me. “I was expecting you to look different.”

“Different?”

“More like
her
.”

Instantly, I was on my guard. There was something in her tone that was deeply unsettling. “Do you mean my mother?”

Karen nodded slowly. “But you must be more like your father.”

That was so not the way to make me like her. I grimaced, taking refuge in the fact that adults never really expect teenagers to be able to speak English or interact in a socially adequate way. “I look a lot like Freya, so there’s a bit from Mum’s side of the family.”

“Yes. So you do.” She lost interest in the subject. “And why are you here?”

“Because Tilly sent me.”

“Not because you wanted to come.”

“I didn’t not want to come. I mean, I didn’t mind.” My face burned.

“Will’s not here.”

I didn’t know what to say.
Good
sounded rude, even if it was what I was thinking. “I didn’t come to see him. I was just delivering the food.”