Never Close Your Eyes (4 page)

Becca frowned, lifted her eyebrows and frowned again, just to be certain. ‘Best potties?' she said. ‘Why don't you tout yourself round, try to write for some different publications? Now that Dominic is older you must be fed up with writing about toddlers.'

Nic took a slug of wine and topped everyone up. Evie admired the coloured bangles around her wrists that jangled when she moved.

‘It's all right for you' – Nic shrugged – ‘you're so dynamic. If you want something, you just go for it. But I'm no good at freelancing. I hate having to hustle for work.
Mums
gives me lots of features and I can practically do them standing on my head so it makes sense for me to stick with them. Anything for an easy life.'

Evie glanced at Becca, who looked irritated. She knew why. Becca was a ‘can do' person who had no patience with defeatism. Becca opened her mouth to tick Nic off, but closed it again. Evie took a deep breath. She wasn't satisfied with Nic's explanation either but the conversation was moving on.

‘Talking of potties,' Becca said, ‘Tom insisted on throwing out James's old buggy the other day. It was getting in the way of his golf clubs. It made me feel quite sad. I realise how little I took James out in it.'

‘But you had weekends with him when you weren't working,' Nic insisted. ‘You shouldn't feel guilty.'

Becca sighed. ‘I know, but I do.'

Evie suddenly felt her eyes filling with tears. They'd been doing that a lot recently. ‘God, it's so difficult,' she sighed. ‘Here am I not doing much work and feeling guilty that I don't bring in more money and that I'm a bad example to my kids, while you've got an amazing job and you're fretting away about neglecting yours. Why can't we get it right?'

Becca shrugged. ‘Don't ask me. But I wouldn't call it an amazing job. It pays well but they buy you body and soul.' She thought of something. ‘That reminds me. I've got this colleague at work, Moira, whose daughter's getting married. I told her you designed wedding dresses. Shall I give her your number?' Her eyes were shining.

Evie made a face. ‘I don't know. Thanks for thinking of me but I've already got a dress on the go. I'm not sure I can take on anything else right now.'

Becca tipped her head on one side and looked at her friend closely. ‘But I thought you wanted more work?'

Evie groaned. ‘I do – and I don't. I'm so confused. To be honest I'd bite somebody's hand off to go back into a job instead of working for myself. I like being around people. I miss the stimulation so much. But I've been out of the fashion world so long, I've lost confidence. Besides, the kids have been through so much, I couldn't go waltzing off to work and leaving them.'

She ran a finger round the rim of her glass. ‘I'd love to set up my own shop, but it's such a gamble and you need capital. And then I think, What on earth am I saying when I can't even cope with having more than one dress to make at the same time? I must be mad.'

‘Stop agonising and just get on with it,' Becca said. ‘Being negative will get you nowhere.'

She sounded sharp. Evie bit her lip.

Becca must have noticed. ‘Things still hard with Neil?' she asked more gently.

Evie tried to smile. ‘Ish.'

Nic topped up her glass again. ‘It'll get easier but it's going to take time. Is he still dropping round a lot?'

Evie nodded. ‘Almost every day. I don't know which is worse: the days when I see him or the days when I don't.'

Nic pulled a face. ‘I'd like to strangle him, Evie, really I would.'

Becca rummaged in her handbag, took a hankie out and blew her nose. ‘I've got a cold coming.'

Evie noticed her hair. It had been blow-dried completely smooth. ‘You've been to the hairdresser's.' Becca was always having her hair done.

‘You're observant,' she said. ‘I nipped out at lunchtime.'

‘Nice,' Evie fibbed. She hated Becca's hair. It was thick, straight and nearly black – to match her perfectly arched eyebrows – and parted rather severely at the side. It didn't do her justice. It was obviously dyed and looked so unnatural against her pale skin.

Evie had wanted to say something for ages, ever since the three had met at ante-natal classes nearly ten years ago when they were expecting their boys, but she'd never dared.

Maybe the wine was giving her courage. ‘Have you ever thought of trying a slightly lighter shade?' she asked tentatively. ‘I've always thought you'd suit light brown, or even—'

‘I agree!' Nic chipped in rather too eagerly. ‘What colour are you really? I imagine . . .'

Becca's look stopped them both in their tracks. She could do that. ‘I like this colour.'

Evie swallowed. ‘Of course, it's lovely.'

‘Yes, lovely,' echoed Nic.

The bell rang, punching a hole in the awkward silence.

‘Time, please,' the barman called.

Becca rose.

Nic squealed. ‘Look, we've left nearly a whole bottle of wine. What a waste!'

‘You paid for it, you take it,' Evie insisted, picking the bottle up and passing it to Nic. ‘It's a screw top. You and Alan have it.'

Nic winked. ‘If you insist.'

‘Mind how you go, ladies,' one of the men shouted after them.

Nic turned and shot them one of her most dazzling grins.

She's so gorgeous, Evie thought, and she really doesn't know it.

She and her friends wandered out into the night.

Chapter Four

Evie fiddled with the front-door key, gently nudging it in and out of the lock trying to find the right position. Damn. It was playing up again. What if this time it had properly broken and she couldn't get in? At least the children were home but she didn't want to ring the bell and wake them.

Finally, after more twisting and turning, the key slid into its appointed grooves and the door creaked open. Evie found herself thinking for the umpteenth time that she really must get someone to fix the mechanism.

The overhead lamp in the hall cast a dingy glow. It was a lovely, wide hall with a high ceiling and elaborate cornicing, but the unflattering light seemed to emphasise all the bad bits. The wooden floor had long since lost its polished sheen and was now scuffed and worn, and there were dirty marks on the walls.

Evie's eyes fell on the thin crack, running almost from ceiling to floor, on the left-hand wall by the mirror. She couldn't help herself. There was a new sheet of plain paper over the crack in a nondescript, off-white. You could tell it was new because the paint was brighter and cleaner than the rest. It was obvious that it had been slapped on to try to hide what was behind. Only it hadn't worked. The crack had come through again.

It depressed Evie. She remembered how worried she'd been when the crack had first appeared, fearing subsidence or some other major problem. She'd begged Neil to investigate, or at least to let her pay someone to do so, but he'd refused, insisting he'd do it himself – when he had time.

Eventually, fed up with her nagging, he'd gone out one Saturday morning and bought a roll of wallpaper and some glue from a DIY shop. It had taken him about half an hour to plonk a sheet over the crack and another half-hour to paint it. The paper looked dreadful, all bobbly. A botched job. And he knew it. Evie was upset, she'd have to live with that, but Neil really didn't care.

‘Do it yourself if you don't like it,' he'd snapped.

Well, the penny had finally dropped. It had taken her all those months to face up to the truth and now it was staring her right in the face: he didn't care about the house because he didn't love her any more. She'd tried so hard to ignore the signs: the bad temper, the never wanting to go out with her on their own, the longer and longer working hours, the turning away from her at night.

It was several months more, however, before he'd sat her down on the shabby sofa in the sitting room and told her that he'd fallen for someone else. The way he'd spoken, you'd honestly have thought that it was her fault.

‘We've got nothing to talk about any more,' he'd said, refusing to meet her gaze. ‘You're so wrapped up in the children, whereas Helen has an interesting career and really understands my work.'

Helen, of course, had every reason to understand his work, being a nurse at the hospital where he was a consultant obstetrician and gynaecologist. She was also twenty-five, childless and beautiful. Neil had always liked beautiful women.

Ironically, he was the one who'd persuaded Evie to give up her job thirteen years ago when she had Freya. He'd said that she could always go back to designing and making wedding dresses when the children were older.

Evie felt a painful lump in her throat. She tried to swallow it down. It was so cruel. She felt washed up, discarded like an old shoe.

She dropped her keys on the hall table and caught sight of the white envelope, still unopened, addressed to Mr Neil Freestone. She must remember to give it to him next time he dropped by. Tomorrow, probably.

She tugged off her coat and threw it over the banisters. Kicked off her shoes too, and left them there in an untidy pile along with the others. At least she had Nic and Becca – and the children, of course. He couldn't take them away from her. She swung round, glanced at herself in the mirror and smoothed down her fair hair, which had been blown out of place by the wind. She wasn't bad-looking, really. But her eyes were sad.

She felt the tears welling again and bit her lip. If she could only hate him. Then it would be easier. Instead, she hated herself for hoping like some stupid, lovestruck fool that he'd change his mind. She stuck her tongue out at her reflection and turned away. She was tired, that's all. She needed to sleep. She'd feel better after a good sleep.

There was no sound from upstairs, which was a relief. Michael was supposed to go to bed at 9 p.m. on weekdays and Freya no later than ten, but when Evie went to check on her she was often awake still, chatting to her friends on the computer. No wonder she found it so hard to get up in the mornings.

Evie didn't like leaving Freya to babysit – she'd only just turned thirteen – but there wasn't a lot of choice. Money was tight now. It was either that or not go out.

She tiptoed into the kitchen and turned on the light. That empty feeling in the pit of her stomach had returned: a strange, gnawing sensation. It wasn't hunger but she needed to fill it. She opened the fridge and peered inside. There were yoghurts, milk, cheese and a piece of old quiche on a plate covered in clingfilm.

She pulled out the quiche and took a bite. It was so cold that it hurt her teeth and the cheese tasted sharp. She pulled a face, wrapped the clingfilm back over the plate and shoved it in the fridge again.

She got a glass of water, turned out the light and padded upstairs, past the hole in the wall made by Michael's cricket ball. Seven years they'd lived in this house and how long had the hole been there – five? She'd had such big plans when they'd moved in, too. It was her dream home: Victorian, with six big bedrooms and a large, south-facing garden. But it had needed a lot of work even before the kids had given it a battering and Neil hadn't been prepared to pay.

Evie shivered. She'd felt so angry and frustrated. She simply hadn't been able to understand his attitude. What a fool! It was all so clear now she knew that he'd started seeing someone else and didn't know how much longer he'd be around. She felt herself sway slightly. She closed her eyes and steadied herself on the handrail.

The bathroom door was open on the first floor and the light was on. Someone had left a wet towel on the lino. She bent down to pick it up. There was scum around the bath, too, and hairs on the soap in the sink. She put the soap on the edge of the bath and brushed her teeth quickly. She'd do a big clean-up tomorrow.

Across the landing, Freya's room was in darkness. Evie poked her head round the door and waited until she could hear her daughter's soft breathing, in and out, in and out. She felt a rush of love – her big girl. Freya was such a support, always asking if she was OK. Evie pulled the door to gently.

Michael, in the next room, had left his radio playing quietly. For company, probably. Even at nine years old he still didn't like it when his mother went out. She tiptoed in and turned the music off, taking care not to wake him either.

Evie went up another small flight of steps to the third floor in the attic and her heart gave a little skip as she entered her own bedroom. It was the one place that she'd managed to decorate before Neil left and it was gorgeous: her haven. She'd chosen a thick, coffee-coloured carpet and a queen-size bed with a squishy brown suede headboard that was really comfortable to lean against when she was reading.