The Playdate (12 page)

“Bit tired. It’ll take her a few days to get used to it. Oh. By the way, can you believe it? That woman next door, Debs, works there.”

Suzy spins round, surprised. “Really? I didn’t know she was a teacher.”

“I know. It’s great, isn’t it? It means Rae will have someone she knows from home at after-school club. And I’m hoping Debs might keep an eye on her because she knows her.”

Suzy looks thoughtful and nods. “Well, she doesn’t KNOW her.”

“No—but you know what I mean. She’s a neighbor.”

Suzy seems distracted, checking her watch.

“So, how was your day?” I ask. “OK?”

“Yeah,” she says absentmindedly. “I kept the twins off nursery. We baked brownies.”

“Are you OK?” I ask. She seems quieter than normal. A little deflated.

“Oh, yeah—no. I thought Jez would be back by now. He took Henry swimming.”

I stare. “He did?”

“Yeah, he says Henry should have learned by now.”

Maybe if Jez ever bothered to take him, he might have done, I think.

“So—did you decide whether you’re going to the spa this week?” I ask carefully, trying to judge her mood.

“Oh, I’m not sure. Jez is around this week. Maybe I’ll go for lunch on Hampstead Heath with him instead, or something.”

I nod and wait.

And wait.

She doesn’t ask me.

“So . . .” I whisper. “Suze . . .”

“What?” she says.

“Work. It was SO amazing.”

“Oh—yeah?” She turns her head round to check the twins in the kitchen.

“The studio was incredible. You should see it. It’s all been done up like a spaceship, and there are these toilets where it took me five minutes to find the soap because it was hidden under this stainless steel bar . . .” I laugh, but I am not sure she’s listening. “And I was so nervous. But Guy liked the work I did today. And being back in Soho. And hey, who’s that American actor that . . .”

She leans forward and touches my shoulder. “That’s great, hon. I told you you’d be brilliant. Listen, I have to get the boys ready for bed. Do you want to stay and have some tea? I’ve got some chicken left in the oven?”

As she says it, I realize I’ve been smelling something. That’s what it is. But behind the cooking smell, there is another odor.

I inhale silently.

Urine.

The familiar tang of wet nappy is hanging in the hallway, in air that is stale with the breath and body odor of people who have been trapped inside all day. Suzy’s T-shirt is stained again with sauce. Her cheeks are pink and sweaty from cooking, and there is a slight sheen of perspiration around her hairline, turning her blond hair darker at the roots. Behind her, through the hallway, I can see a trail of toys littered about the kitchen. Crayons and pens without lids are scattered on the white porcelain tiles. And the kitchen. The kitchen that yesterday looked like it came straight out of an interiors magazine now looks a little homely after the top-end industrial aesthetic of Guy’s studio.

Perspectives shift like a kaleidoscope in front of my eyes.

Peter toddles to the door of the kitchen, and I wave to him. A thick stream of snot runs down his nose and he wipes it away with a pen-stained hand.

No.

No. I don’t want to stay for tea.

“Suze, it’s really kind of you, but I think Rae needs some quiet time,” I say.

And that is true. But what is also true is that I don’t want to be here tonight. I was here last night, and the day before, and the day before that. I want to go home. I want to pour a bubble bath for me and Rae to share, and have a chat to reassure her about after-school club. Then I want to work out some notes for my meeting with Loll Parker tomorrow, and maybe have a glass of wine and pluck my eyebrows.

The thought of eyebrows makes my mouth twitch.

*     *     *

It was just before home time when I pushed open the heavy metal door of the toilet at Rocket, with its black granite
V
for Venus (
M
for Mars on the men’s), to find Megan standing looking in the mirror.

“Great promo,” she says. “Guy’s so chuffed to have you back. We’ve all heard about you, you know.”

“Really?” I frown, not knowing how to reply. Instead I watch her applying red lipstick, presumably on her way out for a night in Soho.

“Your eyebrows are amazing,” I blurt out, pointing at the arched, penned creations above her huge blue eyes.

“Thanks,” she says cheerfully. “This woman at my dry cleaner’s threads them for me. She says the arch shapes your eye better.”

“Oh really?” I mutter ruefully, poking at the little advancing army of mousy hairs that I notice have crept below my own eyebrows. “Yeah, well, mine don’t so much frame my eyes as keep them warm.”

And this is the bit that is making me smile in Suzy’s hall.

Megan laughed.

Not the neat little laugh that Suzy emits when I attempt humor, followed by the comment, “That’s a good one,” as if she understands I’m making a joke but not why it’s funny. This was a proper laugh. First Megan snorted through her nose. Then she threw her head back and let out this warm, joyous, throaty chortle, and touched my arm warmly.

“It’s going to be so great having another girl here,” she exclaimed happily, heading out the door. “See you tomorrow, Callie.”

*     *     *

“What?” Suzy says. “Why are you smiling?”

“Oh,” I say. “Nothing—just something at work. Anyway, listen, I meant to say. Rae tried to run down the pavement tonight—if you are with her, can you make sure you hold her hand? She nearly fell.”

“I always do, hon.”

“I know. Thanks.” I touch her arm. “And, thanks for being here when I’m at work. Next time she stays at Tom’s, I’ll babysit to say thanks.”

“Cool,” she says, still looking distracted.

What happened to
coolio,
her favorite stupid word? I watch her. What is up with her? She’s not sulking about the spa, is she? Suzy and I have never had a cross word in two years. Not for us the carefree, drunken arguments Sophie and I used to have about who locked who out of the flat last night by accident, made up croakily over cereal bowls in the morning and hugs in pajamas and last night’s mascara. I can’t risk that with Suzy. Who knows what might be said?

“So . . .” I say, carefully, forcing myself to remember that I only want to pull away a little from Suzy right now. Not lose her completely.

“So,” she replies. “See you tomorrow.” She hugs me and Rae again, and we walk across the road to our front door. I pull out the key, already dreading the mess of discarded pajamas and breakfast bowls waiting behind it.

Tiredness washes over me. Rae sighs, too, leaning into my side. At least her cheeks are bright. They have definitely taken on a new, rosy hue. I put my arm round her shoulder and guide her inside the house. As I pull the door behind us, I look up and see Suzy standing at her gate, peering anxiously up toward the main road.

No. That has nothing to do with me, I reassure myself. Not this time. And shut the door.

14
Suzy

Suzy turned back from the gate, shut the front door, and returned to the kitchen, biting her lip. Wordlessly, she removed the plates, cups, and cutlery she had laid out for Callie and Rae on the kitchen table and put them back in a cupboard.

She looked at the oven clock. Where on earth was Jez?

She ran upstairs to turn on the taps for the twins’ bath, poured in some baby oil and threw in a few plastic trucks and ducks, then came back down to the hall and picked up the phone for the fourth time since five o’clock.

“Jez,” she said into the receiver. “Hon, where are you? I thought you’d be back by now and I’m getting worried. Henry needs to eat his dinner. It’s six-thirty. Ring me.”

Just as she replaced the receiver, the phone rang.

“Hey!” she said. “Where are you guys?”

There was a pause.

“James here,” said an impossibly genteel voice.

“Oh. Hi, James,” she replied, her voice automatically taking on a more refined tone. She hated the way he did that to her.

“Is Jeremy there?”

For such a well-bred man, he was severely lacking in manners, Suzy thought, not for the first time.

“No, no he’s not, James. He’s taken Henry swimming. I was actually expecting them back by now . . .”

Her father-in-law made the strange snorting noise it had taken her a while to get used to. A mix of a horse’s whinny and a grunt.

“Give Jeremy a message, will you? I’ve booked lunch at the club on the twenty-ninth, one o’clock, for our meeting.”

What meeting? Why didn’t he just say “lunch”? Suzy tried to think quickly. How much could she ask her father-in-law without appearing too suspicious?

“Will it just be the two of you?” she said, trying to make her voice sound casual.

He repeated the odd noise again, a kind of
harrumph
. James Howard was not used to being questioned by anyone, and certainly not a young American woman, daughter-in-law or not.

“Jeremy knows about it,” he replied. “Tell him Michael Roachley has confirmed. Please pass on the message. Goodbye,” he said without warning. And with that, he replaced the receiver and was gone.

“Yes, James, the twins would love to say hello to Grandpa—let me fetch them,” Suzy trilled sarcastically into the empty handset. “And how is Diana? Are you looking forward to your break in South Africa?” She put the phone down and sat on the stairs, biting her thumbnail. Who was Michael Roachley? A divorce lawyer friend of James’s?

“Come on, boys,” she said, marching into the kitchen. “Bath time.”

She picked up their chubby little bodies, one under each arm, and swiftly moved up the stairs. Removing their clothes gently and popping them in the bath together, she left them giggling as they put bubbles on each other’s heads. Leaving the door open, she ran up to Jez’s office and sat down at his computer. He had left it tidy as usual, the small bold capital letters written on yellow sticky notes on his keyboard presumably there to remind him to do certain tasks when he came home. None of them, she noted, mentioned Sasha or her initials, SW.

She moved his mouse and a blue screen appeared. Nervously, knowing that he hated her to be on his computer, she called up a search engine and typed in “Michael Roachley,” before jumping off the chair to the open door to check she could still hear the twins shrieking and splashing downstairs.

The first search offered little of any interest, just a few genealogy sites mentioning Sir Michael Roachleys from the nineteenth century.

Frowning, Suzy tried again, inserting “lawyer” after the name, to no avail. Once more she tried, this time adding James’s name alongside Michael Roachley in the search box.

Maybe she was spelling it wrongly. She checked the twins quickly, then tried again: Rochley. Rokesley. Roshley. Roachleigh. Still nothing came up that looked significant.

Too late, she heard the heavy tread on the stairs. She swung round, one hand desperately trying to grab the mouse, to see Jez at the study door. His eyes sprang to the search engine page, which she just managed to delete before he could see it.

“Er,” Jez said. “Why are the twins alone in the bath?”

“They’re not alone in the bath, I’m checking them every
few seconds,” she retorted, her cheeks flushing at being caught out. “Peter has a rash and I was just checking the symptoms on the Internet. Where on earth have you been? I was getting worried.”

“What do you mean, where were we? I told you. I took Henry swimming, then we went for something to eat,” Jez said, looking again over her shoulder at the computer.

Downstairs, there was a shriek as Henry entered the bathroom.

“Henry!” Suzy shouted, running past Jez, glad to have a reason to escape. She could hear the hyperactive excitement in Henry’s voice from here as he teased his brothers. She couldn’t blame him. An outing on his own with Jez by himself was so rare he must have been hyperventilating. It would take her hours to get him to sleep tonight.

She walked in to find Henry shooting water at Otto out of a toy water pistol, his dark eyes flashing with fun. “Henry!” she shouted, grabbing it from him as Otto finally found enough breath to let a long, piercing wail out of his shocked mouth. She tested the water before she put the gun on the side. It was freezing. Henry must have filled it from the cold tap.

“How could you do that to Otto?” she admonished Henry.

To her horror, Henry ran past her, picked up the gun and squirted Peter, then ran out of the room laughing.

Jez caught him at the door, and swung him high up in the air before landing him firmly back on the bathroom floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. Henry’s laugh slid downward on his face and turned into a howl.

“Mommy,” he whined, holding his hands out to Suzy. Automatically, she lifted her arms.

“Come here, boo-boo.”

“No,” Jez barked, frowning at Suzy. “Look at me, Henry. You’ll listen to me. Now, say sorry, then go to your room.”

“Mommy.” Henry started to scream, trying to wriggle free.

“I said, NO!” Jez shouted, giving Henry a firm shake.

“Jez, give him to me,” Suzy cried, seeing that Henry was going to reach the point of no return soon.

“He’ll do what he’s told, Suze. Don’t undermine me. It’s this type of behavior that’s turning him into a bloody mummy’s boy. Now go to your ROOM and stay there.”

She gritted her teeth as Jez took a screaming Henry to his bedroom. Putting her head in her hands to block out the noise, she knelt down beside the twins in the bath. Henry’s tantrum continued, in long agonized bursts, as Jez repeatedly stopped him from running back out of the room, and placed him back in his bedroom.

“Stop it, stop it,” she whispered again and again. She felt Peter’s little wet hand emerge from the bath and rest on her arm, and grabbed it tight in hers.

This was unbearable. Hearing her baby so upset. Desperately, she fought the urge to run into the hall and take Henry from Jez and give him the big cuddle she knew he would need. Each time that Jez shouted, “No! Back in your room!” at Henry it felt like he was punching her in the stomach. “Leave my baby alone!” she wanted to shout.