Never Close Your Eyes (26 page)

‘Well done.'

‘What's it about?' Michael asked.

Irritating boy. ‘Mum's told you so many times,' said Freya.

Mum ignored her. ‘It's set in Roman times and it's about a rich woman who's married to a brute of a husband called Marcellus. She falls in love with a handsome gladiator-turned-bodyguard, Spiculus, but she can't marry him because he's too low class and she thinks he only wants her for her fortune. But it's all going to work out all right in the end.' She grinned, revealing the funny gap between her front teeth.

‘Will you get lots of money for it?' said Michael, pushing bits of fish round the plate.

‘God, you're so mercenary,' Freya said.

He scowled. ‘Shut up.'

‘I doubt it,' Mum replied.

‘What's the point of doing it then?'

Mum pretended she hadn't heard. ‘Eat that fish, please.'

He made a face. ‘I hate fish.'

‘I beg your pardon?' She glared at him.

‘Nothing.'

Freya put her knife and fork together. ‘I forgot to ask. How was your party on Saturday?'

‘Lovely.'

Freya was surprised. Mum didn't normally like parties these days. ‘Wicked,' she said. ‘Why was it lovely?'

Mum pushed back her seat and stared at her lap, fiddling with her fingernails. ‘Ooh, you know. Lots of nice people.'

Freya looked at Mum carefully. ‘Anyone in particular?'

‘No.' Mum tucked her fair hair behind her ears. She was blatantly hiding something.

‘Mum?'

She got up. ‘Who'd like pineapple for pudding?'

Freya and Michael shook their heads.

‘Who are you going out with tonight?' Freya persisted.

‘Just a friend,' said Mum, stacking up the plates.

Freya didn't press any further. To be honest, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. It was bad enough that Dad had a girlfriend. The idea of Mum having a boyfriend really was bad. It made her tummy feel funny, sort of knotted.

She carried her glass to the sink. ‘Mind if I go up and finish my history?'

It was mean of her not to help; Mum was never going to stop her doing her homework.

‘Of course not,' Mum said brightly. ‘I'll bring you some hot chocolate later.'

Wow. She really was in a good mood today.

That was disturbing.

Freya's heart missed a beat.
hi.

Freya swallowed.
yes.

why did u lie 2 me?
she typed.

That sounded OK. He'd certainly helped.

She paused.
wot u did was wrong.

Al? She rolled it round her tongue a few times, to test it out. She liked it.
how many kids u got?

She was giggling now. She wondered if he guessed.

wot people?
She didn't like that. It made her jealous.
u seeing other girls?

She sniffed back a tear. She needed to hear that.

She described everything that had happened: the blow-job taunts, the Richie incident in the canteen.
im really depressed. i dont know wot 2 do.

She checked her mobile for the numbers and typed them out. Was she doing the right thing? She didn't know. She hoped so. It couldn't make things any worse, anyway.

Mum knocked on the door and came in with a mug of hot chocolate. ‘How's the history?' she asked.

Freya grinned. ‘All done!'

‘You look happy,' Mum said, putting the mug down. ‘You must have done a fab piece of work.' She winked.

‘You look happy too,' Freya replied.

Mum had changed. She was wearing her best skinny dark-blue jeans and her favourite pink V-neck cashmere sweater. It was a bit tight and busty, but she looked pretty and surprisingly young.

‘I have to leave in half an hour,' Mum said. ‘I'll make sure Michael's finished his homework. He should be in bed by nine. You sure you're OK?'

‘Course. Have a nice time.'

Suddenly, Freya didn't mind so much if there was a boyfriend. It'd do Mum good. She deserved to have some fun.

‘Don't be late,' Mum said. ‘You've been looking tired recently. You don't get enough sleep.'

‘Stop fussing,' said Freya. She was desperate to get back to Cal, or Al.

‘I'm only thinking of you,' Mum added, kissing the top of Freya's head. ‘You're very precious, you know.'

Chapter Twenty-Three

Her mobile rang just as Evie was leaving the house. She put her bag down and scrabbled around in it. The front door was half open. Everyone could see in. She shoved it closed with her foot. Damn. It was a ridiculous bag – far too big. She could never find anything in it.

At last she spotted the phone winking at her beneath her cheque book, keys and make-up bag. She pulled it out and it stopped ringing. Damn again. She checked missed calls. It was Becca. Probably going to wish her good luck tonight. Evie couldn't resist a quick chat. She pushed the call button.

‘Hey!' she said, crooking the phone in her ear and standing up.

‘Can I talk to you for a moment?' Becca sounded worried.

Evie was confused. She'd expected a joke about Steve. Something crude, probably. Becca always made out that she was rather superior but she could be downright disgusting at times, just like her and Nic. She shouldn't have answered. She was late already.

‘Of course,' she said, returning to the kitchen. She hoped Michael wouldn't hear or he'd be in with some question or other, some task for her to do before she left.

She pulled out a kitchen chair. ‘Listen, I haven't got long. I'm meeting Steve.'

‘I forgot,' Becca said. ‘We can leave it till tomorrow.'

She sounded disappointed. This wasn't an option.

‘No, go on,' Evie said, sitting down. ‘I've got a few minutes.'

‘I was coming home from work last week – a week ago last Monday,' said Becca.

Evie listened carefully.

‘It was quite late and I spotted Alan – Nic's Alan – walking out of Waterloo Station.' She paused. ‘He had a girl with him. Evie, she was a prostitute,' Becca blurted.

‘What?' said Evie. This was nonsense. ‘How do you know?'

‘You should have seen her,' Becca went on. ‘She had to be. She was wearing a tarty mini-skirt, high heels, peroxide hair and she was plastered in make-up. She looked very young.'

‘Maybe it was his friend's daughter or something,' Evie said. ‘There could be a perfectly innocent explanation.'

‘I've thought about that, of course,' Becca agreed. ‘But then at the party, Nic told me Alan was abroad on business on that Monday, when I saw him. So what was he doing coming out of Waterloo Station anyway?'

Evie took a deep breath, processing the information.

‘I can't stop thinking about it,' said Becca. ‘I was going to keep it to myself. But then I thought, maybe Nic should know. Maybe as her friend I owe it to her to tell her. What do you think? Ought I to or not?'

Evie got up and walked around the kitchen. She was conscious of the time but this was important. ‘I don't think you should tell her,' she said finally.

‘Why not?'

‘It might ruin your friendship.'

‘But—'

‘Maybe Nic knows already,' Evie interrupted. ‘I mean, no one can tell what really goes on inside a marriage, can they? Maybe Nic doesn't mind, turns a blind eye or whatever.'

‘You don't believe that, do you?'

Evie put the phone in the other hand, swapped ears. ‘And if she doesn't know,' she went on, ‘maybe it's better that way. Ignorance is bliss and all that.'

‘But—'

‘What a bastard,' Evie said.

‘I know.'

‘I always thought he was a bit of a dark horse,' she continued. ‘I never imagined this, though.'

‘Honestly, the girl was so young,' Becca said. ‘You should have seen her.'

‘How revolting,' Evie said. She shivered. ‘Listen, I can't talk to you any more now. I'm late. I'll call you tomorrow, OK?'

‘Yes.'

‘You know what?' Evie added. ‘I love Nic, I'd do anything for her. But as far as I'm concerned, what her husband does in his spare time is none of our business.'

Becca pushed open the wooden door of the salon and walked inside.

‘Hello, Mrs Goodall.' The receptionist, a pretty girl of about nineteen, smiled blandly. Becca came most weeks for some treatment or other; she must be one of their best clients.

‘Ralph's with someone at the moment,' the girl explained. ‘He won't be long. Can I get you a drink?'

‘Lemon and ginger tea please.'

Becca handed her coat to the girl and strolled into the waiting area. It was dark and womblike, lit only by white candles in glasses, one in each corner. There was a heady smell of aromatherapy oils – rosemary mixed with various other essences that Becca couldn't identify. Soft music was playing in the background. She breathed in deeply, feeling her forehead and throat relax, her shoulders droop. God, she needed this. She couldn't loosen up on her own; she was programmed not to unwind.

The walls were painted a soft beige colour and there was a black leather sofa on the right. She plonked herself down. There was a pile of glossy magazines on the floor beside her but she didn't even bother to pick one up. She closed her eyes, enjoying having clear, black space in her head for the first time all day.

The receptionist came in with the tea. Irritated, Becca's eyes flickered open.

‘Shall I put it here?' said the girl, placing a sleek white mug on the low wooden coffee table in front of Becca.

She nodded and closed her eyes again, allowing the hot, spicy aroma of lemon and ginger to seep into her nostrils and permeate her pores. She could easily fall asleep.

‘Mrs Goodall?'

She glanced up. Ralph was at the door in his usual white coat, dark trousers and soft shoes. She followed him into the treatment room, half wishing that she could go just for the massage and skip the acupuncture bit. She'd been having it for months. She wasn't convinced that it had much effect, but maybe she did feel a little less anxious.

They sat on either side of the slatted wooden table in the corner while Ralph asked her about her week and how she felt.

‘My neck's incredibly stiff,' she said, rolling her head from side to side, which made her wince. ‘I'm pretty stressed at work.'

He went outside while she removed everything but her bra and pants. She climbed on to the couch in the middle of the room and pulled the white towel over her. It was soft and fluffy and smelled of fabric conditioner. When he re-entered she could hear him opening several tiny packets, each with one sterilised needle in. She didn't watch.

‘I'm going to start with the neck,' he said, taking her right arm and pushing a needle into the side of her hand, below the little finger.

She flinched. It always hurt more than she remembered. She lay completely still while he did the same on the other side. The pain shot up to her shoulder blade and then deadened.

‘Now I'm going to give you something that will boost your energy and make you feel less tired and stressed.'

This time he put needles on the fronts of her legs, just below each knee.

She cried out. She couldn't help it. ‘That really hurts.'

‘Good,' he said, which was annoying. ‘It means they're in the right place.'