Never Close Your Eyes (36 page)

The actor rarely gave interviews but agreed because, he said, Nic would be doing it. Normally he hated journalists, but she was different. He was a bit leery, in fact. He kept telling her that he thought her turquoise braces were cute. But Nic was delighted with her coup. She could handle a bit of leching in exchange for a scoop.

She was on a real high when they left the party around 4 p.m. But Alan, who was at the wheel, was tight-lipped as they drove away.

‘You're drunk again,' he accused. ‘And you were flirting outrageously with that actor. It was embarrassing.'

‘I'm not drunk,' she lied. ‘Why didn't you come and join us?'

‘I didn't want to break up your intimate little tête-à-tête.'

‘It wasn't an intimate little tête-à-tête. Don't be ridiculous. I was trying to persuade him to give an interview, which he did by the way.'

‘Well done.' Alan stared at the road ahead. ‘Just make sure you're sober when you meet up or your article won't make sense and you'll get even fewer commissions.'

Nic, wounded, felt obliged to defend herself. ‘How dare you criticise my work? I'm not getting commissions for the simple reason that advertising is down and magazines are having to write far more in-house.' She bit her lip, remembering Teresa. Thank God he'd never know about that.

‘Well, I'll tell you now, I'm not coming to the Bergs later,' Alan said. ‘I've had enough of going to parties with you. You shouldn't go either. You'll only get even more drunk.'

Nic felt tears welling in her eyes. She poked the corners with her forefinger. She wanted to tell him that she was going to go to AA in January, that she'd sort herself out then. But she didn't dare. They spent the rest of the journey in silence and as soon as they got home, Alan went straight upstairs.

‘Cup of tea?' she called after him.

‘No.' He slammed his study door.

Nic went to find Dominic. She'd asked her neighbour's au pair, Anna, to babysit and they were both in Dominic's bedroom, sitting on cushions on the floor listening to music. There were a couple of Coke cans lying around, empty packets of crisps and dirty clothes. The usual stuff.

‘Hi,' she said, putting out a hand to steady herself on the chest of drawers. She beamed. She was the perfect mamma, home from a party to see her beautiful boy. Who was she kidding?

‘Hi,' Dominic replied, without looking at her. She was annoyed that he didn't get up to give her a kiss.

‘Turn the music down so I can talk to you,' she said.

‘What?'

He didn't seem pleased to see her.

‘Turn the music down!' she repeated.

Dominic fiddled with the volume on the CD player at the foot of his bed. Now at least she could hear herself think.

She glanced around the room. Anna, who was Polish, rose. ‘You have had nice partee?'

Nic, still upset about Dominic, ignored her. ‘I'd like you to tidy up your room now, Dominic, it's a mess.'

He picked up a plastic Lego Transformer model that was on the floor and started pulling at its head. ‘Later.'

‘No, now.' She glared at him. Where was her hug and kiss?

Anna, clearly uncomfortable, took a step towards the door. ‘You need me for anythink else or I go now?'

Nic pulled back her shoulders and managed a thin smile. ‘No thank you. I've left your money on the hall table. I'll be down in a minute.'

‘Bye, Dominic.' Anna smiled as she left the room.

‘Bye. Thank you.' Dominic smiled sweetly back.

Stung, Nic turned to him again. He'd now pulled the head off his Transformer and was yanking at an arm. He still wouldn't look at her. She picked up a pair of jeans that were lying beside his bed, folded them roughly and tried to shove them in a drawer. It wouldn't close, so she kicked it with her foot.

‘Durr, they don't go in there,' Dominic said, finally looking up. ‘They go in the one above.'

‘Don't be rude,' Nic spat. ‘Don't talk to me like that. You're a rude little boy.'

‘“Don't talk to me like that”,' he said imitating her voice. ‘Are you drunk?'

‘What?' She must have misheard.

‘I know you've been drinking alcohol because you're all clumsy.'

She narrowed her eyes and snatched the Transformer from him. ‘What did you just say?'

He stuck out his lower lip sulkily. ‘Daddy says you're always clumsy when you're drunk.' He was still sitting on the floor. He drew his knees into his chest so that he was in a tight little ball.

‘How dare you speak to me like that!'

Their eyes locked. Nic could see both fear and defiance in his gaze. The fear made her want to cry. The defiance infuriated her. She picked up a CD that was lying on his bed and threw it against the wall.

‘You're grounded, young man,' she said, ‘for a very long time.'

At last Dominic started to weep. He sat there, snivelling, like a beaten animal. She was shocked; no one was allowed to make her darling boy cry.

‘I'm sorry, poppet,' she moaned.

She stepped unsteadily towards him, holding out her arms. She wanted to hug him, to make things all right again, to claim the kiss that she'd been after all along.

‘Go away,' Dominic said in a muffled voice. He was so young still – only nine. But he seemed much more grown up sometimes. ‘I hate you,' he went on, his face buried in his knees. ‘I can't wait to grow up and leave this house and then I'll never have to see you again.'

Nic felt as if she'd been thumped in the stomach. She cried out and staggered towards the door. She could hardly see through the tears. She loved Dominic so much. She put her arm against the wall to stop herself falling.

‘I was going to ask if you'd like to come to the Bergs party with me,' she whispered. ‘I thought we could have a nice evening together, just the two of us . . .'

‘I don't like the Bergs.'

‘Well, you can bloody well go to bed then.'

It might only be 6 p.m. or thereabouts, but she wanted him to suffer.

‘I will,' he said, climbing into bed in all his clothes and throwing the duvet over his head.

Nic stumbled downstairs. The au pair had taken her money from the hall table and left already. Nic poured herself a large glass of red wine in the kitchen and gulped it down. Sod the lot of them, she thought. This wasn't supposed to have happened. She couldn't stay here, with this atmosphere. And she did want to go to the Bergs. It would take her mind off things. She'd just have to go on her own.

She walked slowly upstairs again and flung off her clothes. The door to Alan's study was still closed. That was a relief, for once. She didn't want him to know what had happened with Dominic.

She pulled her black cocktail dress out of the cupboard. It was sleeveless chiffon, empire line, with a low cut, scooped neck and a velvet bow below the bust. She wore high gold sandals with it and lots of gold jewellery. Then she pulled up her blond hair – it was hardly long enough, but she managed to catch just enough to fasten it with a clip – and applied more make-up. She wouldn't bother to get rid of the old stuff. She wanted big, smoky eyes with masses of brown eye-shadow and black mascara.

She checked herself in the full-length mirror. Her skin was very pale and she had dark circles under her eyes but she looked interesting, a little bit heroin-chic. She blew herself a kiss. ‘You're gorgeous, sweetie, no matter what anyone says.'

Her head felt muzzy but another glass of champagne would make it better. She grabbed her handbag and car keys, slammed the front door and tottered to Alan's Merc in her high heels. She chose the Merc deliberately. It was the car Alan always took to work. Good. She hoped he'd be really upset.

She lowered herself into the driver's seat, turned the key in the ignition and revved up the engine. With luck, Alan would hear. Then she accelerated – fast – down the drive, kicking up the gravel as she went.

Chapter Thirty-Three

She turned the CD up loud and started singing to Oasis. ‘Fuck you, Alan, I'll do what I fucking well like,' she belted over the music.

There was a fair amount of traffic on the road. She was in the wrong lane for the South Circular heading for Clapham but managed to weave across the road. Several cars honked at her. She'd have to concentrate. There would be dozens of police about so near to Christmas.

She slowed right down, gripping the steering wheel, and tried to focus on the road ahead but it was difficult to keep in a straight line. It was as if the car had a mind of its own and was determined to veer off to the left.

When she reached Clapham Common, where the party was, she sighed with relief. Nearly there. A small blue car started to overtake on the right. She checked her speed: she was doing 20 m.p.h. Safest that way. But he was obviously in a hurry. He seemed very close to her, only a few feet away. She could see the driver's short brown hair and the leather watchstrap on his wrist. He was going to hit her, surely?

She swerved hard to the left. She needed to get away from him. Far too hard. The steering wheel spun right round. She hadn't meant the movement to be so extreme. There was a tree, a big old London plane, right in front of her. She tried to brake but her foot missed the pedal.

There was a crash. She ricocheted forwards then back then forwards again. She was going to die. The airbag inflated, cushioning the impact. She could hear glass smashing and there was a sharp pain in her neck, then the car stopped moving. She sat there, shocked. Her right shoulder was throbbing. She wiggled her arms, her toes and legs. They seemed to move all right. She wasn't dead or paralysed.

She managed to shift a little to the left and clocked that the windscreen had shattered. It looked as if the bonnet had crumpled right up in front of her. She could see tree bark. A branch was poking through the passenger side. The car must be in a terrible mess.

‘Alan will be furious,' she giggled. ‘Poor old Alan and his fucking car.'

There were people around her. A man yanked her door open. ‘Are you all right, love?'

She tried to take off her seatbelt but couldn't. She was all fingers and thumbs. The man moved round to the other side of the car, opened the passenger door and managed to unclick her. She tried to get out but couldn't; the airbag was blocking the way.

‘I must hurry, I'm late for my party.'

The man took her arm and pulled her out. Her high heel caught the edge of the car and she fell on to the road. She thought she'd hurt herself, hurt her face, but she couldn't tell. There was no pain.

She heard the man speaking to some other people round about: ‘She's drunk.'

‘Look at the state of her.' It was a woman's voice this time. ‘Fancy driving in that condition. She could have killed someone.'

The man helped her up off the floor and she stumbled to the edge of the pavement and sat down. She wiped her face with her hand. There was blood, quite a lot of it. The man passed her a hankie: ‘Here. You've cut your face.'

She took it and said nothing.

For a moment she saw herself through everyone else's eyes. She was in the air, looking down on herself. She was expensively dressed, small, thin and elegant, probably in her forties. She was roaring drunk beside her posh, crushed car.

‘She should know better,' another woman tutted.

‘Shocking, isn't it,' came a different voice.

Nic didn't blame them. She would have said exactly the same. Drunk drivers should be locked up for a long time. It was a wicked thing to do.

She could hear police sirens now. She gasped. She had to get away, run away from all these people. She tried to rise but couldn't. Her limbs were like jelly; they wouldn't do what she wanted.

Alan's face took shape in front of her, then Dominic's. He looked so sad and worried. He was crying: ‘Mum!' She started to weep noiselessly.

‘Come on, let's get you up,' someone said. She looked up and there were police officers standing over her. Two men and a woman. She glanced to her left and there seemed to be at least a couple more standing further off. She was surrounded. The woman and a man took her by the arms and helped her rise.

‘Looks like you've got a few cuts and bruises,' the WPC said. She sounded kind. ‘We'll get the paramedics to check you over.'

Nic could hear an ambulance now. Soon she was half walking, half being carried inside. She felt strange and disorientated. This seemed to be happening to someone else. A male paramedic with watery blue eyes was checking for broken bones, dabbing her face gently with cotton wool and strong-smelling antiseptic. ‘We'll soon have you cleaned up.'