Hush Hush (29 page)

Sadie obeyed, meekened by
Angela’s brusqueness. She felt light-headed with joy and
relief. Angela loved her! Verbal affirmation of soppy emotions
normally had to be extracted from a Feeney with the aid of tweezers,
so she must mean it.

‘I phoned
Goss!
and
they said you were ill.’

‘Spring flu.’ Angela
snuffled theatrically into a hanky.

‘So, nothing to do with
pining for Conor?’

‘Now, Ma! Don’t ruin
a beautiful moment between us by alluding
‒
unsubtly
‒
to
where I went wrong with Conor and how I can still make it right.
Because I can’t.’

She slurped her tea. ‘He’s
sold the house and is staying in America.’

Sadie gasped. ‘You’ve
spoken to him?’

‘The grapevine’s
bellowing the news. Suffice to say his house is on the market. I rang
the estate agent’s, posing as a prospective buyer. It’s
going for a packet.’

Sadie rattled her plate, thinking
rapidly.

‘Don’t even think
it!’ interrupted Angela coolly. ‘No more phoning New York
behind my back.’

‘But hasn’t
he called you? Sent you a text?’

‘No,’
said Angela, and added with a sadness that belied her words, ‘I
don’t want him to. I suppose he’ll turn up at some point
and say he couldn’t send a text because what he needed to put
into words could only be done face to face. But anyway, I don’t
care. He’s caused enough damage for one lifetime. Maybe his
wife understands him. She can have him.’

Sadie opened her mouth, shut it
again.

‘The truth is, it’s
not even solely his fault. I had no business getting involved so soon
after Robert. Especially in light of the row we did have the night
before his death.’ Angela began to fiddle frantically with a
worn sofa seam.

‘So there was still a row?’
frowned Sadie, and something in Angela’s averted face made her
fear the worst.

‘I accused him of having an
affair. With that Magdalena one at Hartley’s. It was all very
ugly.’

Sadie clutched her tea-cup. ‘An
affair
‒
your
Robert?’

‘Yes, my Robert. I know, it
doesn’t square with his image, does it? Mild-mannered man with
thinning hair who hated parting with his comfiest slippers, even when
the heels were worn clean away. Then we have Magdalena, Mediterranean
siren with come-to-bed eyes and potential for unbridled passion. You
wouldn’t think Robert would be able to cope with her, would
you?’

‘Ange, I can’t
believe
‒
are you
sure?’

‘No, that was the problem!
Sorting out the washing, I found a restaurant receipt in his pocket
for the night he was supposed to be at a travel seminar with Ian.
Even then, I wouldn’t have been suspicious if he hadn’t
been so shifty. First of all, he said he’d had dinner with Ian.
But in that swank place down by the bridge? Ian would never cough up
money for a place like that if it was just him and Robert. So I
pointed that out, waiting to hear the fuller
‒
and still innocent
‒
explanation. He blushed, he gaped. And I knew! I tell you, Ma, he
wasn’t able to lie convincingly because he’d had no
practice at it over the years. That’s what made it so awful.
His total inability to cover his tracks, let alone fob me off with a
story I could comfortably believe in.’ She pulled at her hair,
a gesture of frustration from childhood. ‘It made me so mad,
that I wasn’t worth a well-rehearsed cover story to put my mind
at rest! And Magdalena hadn’t been at the agency long. I’d
have expected Ian to try it on with her
‒
maybe he did. But Robert?’ She pulled viciously at a
green sofa thread. ‘In a totally bizarre way, I was almost
proud of him, that he’d found the nous from somewhere to get it
on with a stunning woman.’ She looked up at Sadie, pain
battling mischievousness in her eyes. ‘I bet it makes you see
him in a new light.’

‘Not a flattering one.’
The toad! All these years, Sadie had seen the benefits of Robert’s
dull niceness
‒
his
steady, faithful, comfortable qualities. Now this!

‘So you see, Mum, Conor did
me a favour. He showed me a good time, then withdrew from the scene
while my heart was still intact. It could’ve been a lot worse.’

Sadie’s gaze strayed to her
daughter’s lank hair and puffy eyes. All Conor had done was
hasten Angela’s fleeing faith in human nature
‒
male human nature.

‘So you accused Robert of
seeing Magdalena. Did he admit anything?’

‘He couldn’t. I see
that now. He was scared of losing me. I almost felt sorry for him
when he stood there, humouring me with,
“
Honestly,
Angela, this clinging wife routine doesn’t suit you,
”
while his eyes went googly with terror. He stomped off to bed and
that was that. I yelled up the stairs that I wasn’t going to
let matters rest and I planned to ring Ian first thing in the
morning. Frankly, I dunno what I was planning to do. Next day, he
dropped dead, and it all became academic.’

‘Angela
‒
darling. Don’t let that be your lasting memory of him. You had
all those good years together.’

‘I know, I know.’ She
nodded miserably. ‘It’s so maddening! Whenever an
incident has called Robert to mind since his death, it’s always
been in a negative light. If I think of the theatre, I remember that
he was a philistine, or if I think of our honeymoon, I remember that
photo he took of me throwing up in Kinsale. But the worst of it is
the guilt. We could’ve made it up, spent his last night on
earth pointing out that we still loved each other. Instead, I
‒
’
Her voice cracked.

‘Life wouldn’t be
life if the grim reaper served notice to tie up our loose ends.’

‘Now, Ma, if you’re
going to start one of your homilies
…
’

‘All right.’ Sadie
stood up, her legs shaking under her. She tried to make her voice
sound extra firm. ‘I’ll do some shopping for you, lay in
Lemsip supplies.’

‘No need. I’ve got
plenty of everything. I just
…
thanks for coming round.’

Sadie hesitated. She wanted to
touch Angela, hug her, massage her hair with her fingers, ease away
the pain of one love tarnished and the other lost. But the angular
set of her shoulders reminded her of previous rejections. She wasn’t
brave enough to try. ‘I’ll take the tea things into the
kitchen,’ she decided briskly. ‘Stay there by the fire.’

She marched out quickly with the
tray, and made straight for the bin. She swung the lid gently to
reveal the rubbish clinging to the black bin-liner. The flowers had
been shoved in head-first. The rich scent of fresh camellias, the
glow of their creamy golden heads amid tea leaves and meal-for-one
foil trays, gripped Sadie with terrible sadness. For the flowers and
for their sender. If she could just edge her hand in and extract the
note. She could make out its flower-embossed corner, smothered in
tea-leaves like a colony of vicious ants.

‘When do you think you’ll
be back at work?’ she called to Angela, to smother any
tell-tale noises and keep a trace on her daughter’s
whereabouts.

‘A couple of days, I
reckon. No need to rinse out those cups.’ Angela’s voice
reeked of suspicion. Sadie knew that she was behaving oddly, rushing
off to the kitchen not long after Angela’s momentous
confession.

‘It’s no trouble,
lovey. I’ll be out of your hair in a flash.’

Almost got it, just a bit
further. The swing lid caught one of her more tender knuckle joints.
Sadie extracted her hand with a silent yelp and the lid crashed down
on the bin. She flew to the tap, running water over a cup, just as
Angela appeared in the doorway.

‘Are you up to something,
Ma? You’re taking the news very well. I thought you’d be
bursting with
“
I
told you so,
”
and
“
I
always thought his eyes were too close together
”
.’

‘Come off it, lovey.’
Sadie turned from the sink, genuinely hurt. ‘It took me a
while, but I learnt to back off and let you and Owen live your own
lives. And I did like Robert, even though you seem to have thought I
didn’t. I liked him for his goodness and his decency. He had
old-fashioned virtues that are missing in men today. I still like
him. My only beef with him now is that he might have hurt you.’

Angela nodded tiredly. ‘Fair
dos, Ma. I’m not letting you win either way, going on like
this. Don’t feel you have to rush off. Would you like to stay
for dinner?’

‘Not tonight, thanks all
the same.’ The square of sodden cardboard was burning a hole in
her skirt pocket. She longed to decipher it on the bus. ‘You
get yourself off to bed for an early night. I’ll call tomorrow
for an update.’

Folding a tea towel to avoid
Angela’s eye, her gaze strayed out of the window again, towards
the dress on the line. The stiff pleats rustled in the wind, and in
Sadie’s memory. Deep pink and darkest velvet rose with
sharp-edged clarity out of the murky depths. Above the bodice swam a
creamy neck. A stiletto heel arched daintily, its owner climbing into
a car. The car door swung shut. Smoothly, the car moved out of sight,
carrying Sadie’s memory with it.

‘Mum, did you hear me? If
you don’t go now, you’ll wait another forty minutes for a
bus. Look, stay to dinner and I’ll call you a taxi. I’ll
call you a taxi anyway. You shouldn’t have to bother with buses
in the first place.’

‘No, no, I’ve got to
get away. Thanks for reminding me about the time. Now look after
yourself, Ange!’

Angela was half-strangled in one
of her mother’s more emotional embraces before she had time to
react. But she allowed it, trying not to stiffen or squirm. Her
mother was permitted this indulgence. After all, Angela had said the
‘l’ word (which the poor woman had waited a lifetime to
hear) and then crowned it with a juicy story of Robert’s did
he/didn’t he adultery. No wonder Sadie was emotional.

Waving her mother off, she closed
the front door, weariness washing over her. She’d have to snap
out of this! To hell with Conor McGinlay. People in the developing
world were starving, as long as you had your health
…
Mentally repeating every truism she could think of, Angela shuffled
back into the sitting room and turned up the fire, drawing an
armchair closer to it. She’d have to go back to work before the
end of the week. Pauline still had her sleeping bag. That night
already seemed a lifetime ago.

The heat made her drowsy. Around
her, the house came alive with sound. She was at the centre of it,
seeing and hearing, but trapped in her chair, dozing.

Robert came in, slamming the door
behind him. He looked shame-faced and sulky, but still defiant. ‘This
whole thing is too stupid for words!’

Angela leapt off her chair to
face him. ‘So why didn’t you tell me straight off that
you had dinner with Magdalena?’

‘It slipped my mind. It was
only a welcome-to-the-team meal out. It was after the travel seminar,
which didn’t last as long we expected. So Ian suggested we take
Magdalena out to dinner.’

‘Before, you said it was
just you and Ian at the seminar.’

‘Er
‒
Magdalena turned up off her own bat. She heard about it somewhere.’

‘So how come Ian booked a
table for you two at the most expensive restaurant in town and then
cleared off? Anyway, you need to give at least a month’s notice
to get a table at Tosca’s.’

‘They had a cancellation.
It was the last place Ian tried on his mobile.’ Robert warmed
belatedly to his story. But he’d had a good half hour to come
up with this, thinking in the bathroom, since she’d first
flourished the restaurant receipt. ‘I remember Ian’s
groan of anguish that the only restaurant with a vacancy that night
was the priciest one, and he couldn’t even go. He
‒
he had to pick his mum up from bingo. He forgot about that until the
last minute.’

‘You didn’t get home
till nearly one!’

‘You know how these swank
restaurants like to make a meal of it, ha ha.’

‘Liar, liar! Your Y-fronts
are on fire! There was no bloody seminar. Just a candlelit dinner
with Miss Big Tits butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-gob! And God
knows what else for afters.’ Angela looked around for something
to throw at him. Something chunkier than a cushion but less lethal
than an ornament.

‘Look, Ange, it’s all
true, I swear.’

‘Fine. I’ll just ask
Magdalena myself next time I meet her. Or maybe Ian and his mum would
be better bets.’

Angela peered at the sweaty till
receipt still clutched in her hand. ‘Choc and orange sundae.
You hate that combination. You see, Rob, the more people you drag
into a lie, the more people you have to keep tabs on, in case they
let the truth slip out.’

Robert’s soft jawline
suddenly hardened. He picked up the remote control and flicked on the
TV.

‘Robert!’

‘I’m not listening!’
He turned up the volume.

On screen, Phil
Mitchell
was
knocking seven bells out of someone on
EastEnders
.
But Angela could roar louder.

‘You’re so fucking
childish sometimes! Why can’t you be a man and own up to things
when you’re caught out?’

He turned the telly down a
smidgen and narrowed his beautiful brown eyes at her, wary and
frightened as a trapped animal’s. ‘Now who could’ve
given you cause to question my manhood? Wouldn’t happen to be
your old bag of a mother?’

‘We are discussing you!’
She flourished the receipt as exhibit A. ‘And your fancy
woman.’ She couldn’t believe she was using words like
that!

‘Did Sadie put you up to
this?
“
Go on, love,
thumbscrew it out of him. You found a restaurant receipt? My God, I
bet he’s bonking the Dagenham Girl Pipers!
”
’
He made a rattling noise with the loose change in his pocket, in
cruel and spot-on imitation of Sadie’s dancing bottom plate
when she got agitated.