Too Close For Comfort (26 page)

I felt a little shiver run through me, as much from the tone in his voice as the words themselves. Patrick saw far more darkness than me – perhaps he saw it now.

‘I will be,’ I said. ‘I should go. I love you, Patrick.’

I didn’t know it yet, but I’d just made another promise I wouldn’t be able to keep.

It was inevitable: here I was, back in the twee confines of The Crumpet. Even the way the metal sign swung in the breeze, the steaming crumpet proudly painted on, seemed
unbearably smug. Joshua had finally arrived. He was shouldering his way through the morning mummy crowd, mouthing an apology. He was dressed in a well-cut suit, the shirt underneath perfectly
pressed, the cracks in his veneer already plastered over.

‘So sorry,’ he said, dropping down into the seat opposite. ‘And I’m afraid this is a bit of a flying visit. I’ve got a conference call at ten that I can’t
miss.’

‘OK,’ I said, forcing myself to drown out the shouty judgements that were booming inside my head. ‘Have you got time for coffee, at least?’

‘Coffee’s a necessity in my book,’ he said, signalling for the nose-ringed waitress.

Once there were two steaming mugs in front of us, I reached for the right words. ‘Max seems like such a special, clever little boy,’ I said.

Massaging the parental ego tends to open them up, but in this instance I believed every syllable. Joshua smiled, his brown eyes softening in a way I hadn’t previously witnessed.

‘We certainly think so.’ He paused, looked away. ‘Thought so? I never thought the past tense would be a source of such . . .’ He looked back at me, rueful. ‘You
know.’

I gave a nod of acknowledgement, searching for the right words. ‘I only met Sarah once, but I thought she was . . .’ I paused, looking for something sensitive and truthful, which was
surprisingly difficult. ‘She was impossible to ignore.’

The phrase splintered into a thousand meanings as soon as it left my mouth. Impossible for Peter to ignore? Where was his head at? Had he thought that Peter was a crazed stalker, only to see
that footage and have to perform a devastating review of his marriage?

‘She certainly was,’ he said, dryly.

Not least for him: he’d blown up his whole life for her. Lisa – brisk, efficient Lisa – couldn’t be more different.

‘It’s hard to know what to say – anything is inadequate for what you’re going through. A traumatic bereavement is terrible enough, without this horrific press
circus.’

I’d spotted April having a fag in the car park as I’d left, talking nineteen to the dozen on her iPhone. Her eyes had widened, like she might rush after me, but I’d walked off
with a cheery wave and averted disaster.

‘I wouldn’t recommend it,’ agreed Joshua, before lapsing into silence. I let it linger a second, and then carried on.

‘So, Max. He seemed very keen to talk about his mum – normal stuff. How amazing she is. It’s definitely
is
, not was, for him right now. Children often
fight the reality for quite a while.’

‘And Sarah was never a huge fan of reality either. She liked the drama.’ He paused, measuring his words. ‘That was part of the fun.’

Was this a tacit acknowledgement of what was emerging about her and Peter?

‘The fun of being with her?’

‘Yes, I suppose,’ he said, pausing for a second. ‘Being around her was never boring. Max certainly agreed.’

‘Yes, it’s obvious how bonded they were.’

He nodded, gave a half-smile. ‘Hard to infiltrate,’ he said, trying and failing to make it sound like a joke.

Max’s ‘secrets’ were starting to make more sense. Perhaps they were nothing more than a way to make sense of his parents’ marriage? I could feel an echo of my own early
life: that sense of responsibility for my crazy and seductive dad that had defined everything for me. Had Max felt the same blind loyalty to his charismatic mum, his dad held firmly at bay?

‘And now you’re having to find a whole new relationship with him, without Sarah there to broker it.’ Joshua gave a pained nod. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know how
you feel about therapy, for you or for him, but I do think ongoing professional support could help you both. It won’t wave a magic wand, but . . .’

Joshua cut across me. ‘I’m not such a fan of magic wands anyway.’

‘Right. What I would say is that Max seems very keen to open up, which is a really good sign. He’s not internalising his distress. You should absolutely feel safe to talk to him
about what’s happened as often as you both want to. If he gets upset, it may simply be emotion that he needs to be expressed and doing that with you is the safest place.’

His eyes flicked down to the large, top of the range phone which he’d left face up on the table. ‘Sarah was a great believer in letting him emotionally splurge.’

It didn’t sound like a compliment.

‘I think she might’ve given him a gift there,’ I said.

Joshua’s eyes rolled back up to meet mine, his gaze almost confrontational.

‘You saw it, I assume?’ It came from left field. ‘The footage?’

‘I did, yes,’ I admitted.

‘You and all of them,’ he said, making a discreet gesture out into space.

My eyes flicked around the room. The Crumpet was packed, the coffee machine hissing and spitting, Jake confidently surfing his way through the narrow gaps between tables. He was right. People
hurriedly looked away as soon as they saw me look from the island of our table out towards them.

I felt a sharp burst of compassion for him. A sense of how humiliating it must have been. ‘But nobody knows – no one knows what you know about her. About your
relationship.’

Joshua gave a discreet snort. ‘That’s an understatement.’

This whole encounter felt even stranger than I’d anticipated it would be. It was like he was slamming the door in my face and throwing me tasty breadcrumbs all at once. I cast a quick
glance at the large, round clock above the counter. It was 9.45. Was he doing what clients so often do – dumping the painful bits they can’t bear to explore in detail in the dwindling
moments of a session?

‘It looked to me last night like you’ve got a good network of people you love and trust around you.’

His eyes blazed suddenly – did he think I was judging him for leaving the house? ‘I do. And these people – they’ve got no right to judge her. Marriage is harder than
anyone ever warns you. I know that.’ He paused. ‘So did she.’

I could see in his tortured expression that he meant it, that he wasn’t simply saving face.

‘That’s a real insight to have, particularly now.’

‘She never wanted Max. I mean, of course she did once he’d arrived. She kept counting his toes, like they were the first toes to have ever been minted.’

‘So she never looked back? Everyone says what a natural she was at it.’

‘In one sense, yes.’ I felt him change track, the charged energy starting to dissipate. ‘So what else do I need to know about my son’s state of mind?’

I paused a second, stirring the froth of my coffee. My thoughts needed unscrambling. ‘I’m not sure if this is meaningful or not, but did he have a difficult time at birth?’

‘No, not especially. I mean – Sarah had made some choice remark about what it did to her nether regions, but, of the three births I’ve been at, it was probably the most
straightforward.’

‘OK – he talked about hospital and ambulances like he’d been treated. Anything else – tonsils, appendix?’

‘No, he’s always been in rude health.’

I thought about it. ‘I guess it might just be another way of bonding with his mum. Taking on what he imagines she went through in her last hours.’ Joshua’s face was stricken.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ashamed of the paucity of what I could offer him. I wanted to explore it more, not yet satisfied with my explanation for what Max had said, but the pain it
had visibly stirred in him was too great to be contained in the frantic hubbub of The Crumpet.

‘Can you see him again?’ he asked, simultaneously signalling Jake for the bill.

‘Of course. He needs to know it’s not ongoing, so he doesn’t feel like I’ve abandoned him when I leave, but I’m very happy to fit in another session.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, haltingly. ‘I – we – appreciate that.’

I didn’t know who made up the ‘we’. Was it Sarah or Max? Jake swung up to the table, the bill in his hand, a smiley face drawn on the fold –
Service
not included!
. We read it at the same moment, our shared look more of a cringe, a moment of connection passing between us.

‘I’ll get it,’ I said, dropping a tenner into the saucer. ‘You get to your meeting.’

The light in Joshua’s eyes snuffed out.

‘No,’ he said, terse. ‘I’ll pay.’

He picked up my crumpled note, discarding it on my side of the table. He placed his credit card in the cream saucer with a certain deliberateness, signalled authoritatively to Jake.

‘Thanks, guys,’ said Jake, all Aussie bonhomie, hurrying off to get the card machine.

Any bonhomie left with him: there was a painful awkwardness to us now. Once Jake returned and the transaction was complete, Joshua stood abruptly.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he said.

Would he? In that moment it seemed unlikely. As he weaved his way out of The Crumpet, no one made the slightest effort to look away.

*

It was only a few minutes later when the bell above the door gave a jangling peal. I’d been contemplating a second cup of coffee, replaying the nuances of my conversation
with Joshua in my mind, but the sound shook me from my reverie. Kimberley was standing there looking over at me, Helena, Alex and – my heart lurched – Lysette, crowded behind her like a
gaggle of ducklings. Her eyes slid towards Lysette, and then she gave me a big, empty wave.

‘Hi, Mia!’ she sing-songed.

Jake was already clearing a large table on the other side of the café. She pointed at it, waved a collective goodbye. I’d half stood up by now, and I sank back down into my seat,
feeling about thirteen years old. My face was burning hot. I looked down at the table, making a big deal of gathering up my iPad and notebook. A well-padded midriff appeared in my eyeline.

‘Why don’t you come and join us?’ said Helena, smiling down at me. Her brown eyes were like warm chocolate.

‘Thank you,’ I said, smiling back gratefully, ‘but I really don’t think it’s a good idea.’

My eyes darted towards their table. Lysette wasn’t exactly looking at me, but from the way her body was half twisting out of her chair, I could tell that she had been.

‘Kimberley asked Lysette. She’s fine with it.’

I tried not to bristle.

‘OK,’ I said. I took a deep breath, swallowed my pride. ‘Thanks.’

I felt trapped in a sugary spider web. I couldn’t say no – to do so would have been humiliatingly childish – but this was the last way I’d have chosen to re-encounter
Lysette. My legs were shaking as I crossed the tiled floor behind Helena, my eyes trained downwards.

‘Hi there, Mia!’ said Kimberley, loudly yanking a chair from the adjoining table and putting it next to hers.

‘Hi,’ I said, scanning the table. I let my eyes settle briefly on Lysette, then looked away. Being so close made the things she’d said to me start to burn and spit.

‘Let’s get you a fresh coffee,’ said Kimberley, her sleek mane swishing through the air as she scanned the room for Jake. ‘And not staff-room instant like we had
yesterday!’

Did Lysette know about our meeting, or was Kimberley stirring the pot? Jake appeared at the table before I could discreetly gauge her reaction.

‘There you are!’ trilled Kimberley. ‘Honestly, you just can’t get the staff these days.’

‘Yeah, let alone riff-raff from the colonies,’ shot back Jake, grinning down at her. ‘Skinny lattes for you three, yeah?’

‘You know us so well!’ said Kimberley.

There was a pause, five pairs of eyes suddenly trained on me.

‘Can I have a latte too?’ I ventured. ‘Just one shot?’

‘Just one shot,’ chimed Lysette from the other end of the table, and we finally allowed our eyes to meet properly.

As soon as they did, I felt my anger start to melt. Lysette’s hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, which was something I knew she only did when it was too greasy for public consumption.
Her eyes were soft, but they were ringed by blue-grey smudges, which only served to enhance the sadness I could see pooled in them. She was wearing a ratty grey sweatshirt, face devoid of make-up.
Meanwhile, Kimberley looked back and forth between us as if she’d singlehandedly brokered world peace. Jake, dismissed, strutted back to the counter.

‘How are you all?’ I said, my eyes still fixed on Lysette.

‘Well, I think the whole town’s still reeling from the aftermath of that footage,’ declared Kimberley. Lysette looked down at the table: I wished I had long, extendable arms
like a cartoon character and could reach down the table and make contact with her.

‘I presume you’ve seen it?’ said Alex. Every sentence she uttered was so donnish, as if she was chasing up a late essay I stubbornly refused to hand in.

‘Trust me, Mia knows far more than you or I!’ said Kimberley. ‘She’s got the inside track. We talked about it yesterday, when we finally had our heart to
heart.’

‘It’s stupid, really,’ said Helena, shaking out her shoulders. ‘But there’s something about watching her there, knowing she was about to die, and she’s
oblivious . . .’

‘I suppose the only mercy is that it looks like they’re close to wrapping it up,’ said Kimberley.

I looked at Lysette, who was trailing her teaspoon around the inside of her cup.

‘Yeah, that is something,’ she said, voice flat and colourless. I tried not to stare at her, to betray my surprise.

‘Do you think he definitely did it now, Lys?’ I asked.

Kimberley’s gaze was intense.

‘There’s no other explanation, is there?’ said Lysette, echoing the words Kimberley had uttered in the staff room. ‘And he’s dead.’

What had happened? She’d been so adamant: had that tiny snippet of footage radically changed what she believed? I realised as I computed it, how much of my own anxieties about the
direction the case was determinedly driving towards were down to her dogged conviction about Peter’s innocence. For all the alienation of recent weeks, I’d always put Lysette on a
pedestal, and I think she had me. It’s kind of in the job description of being a best friend, even if the ‘girls’ involved are eighty, not eight. I looked back at her, tried to
assess how much she meant what she’d just said, but I couldn’t catch her eye.