I took another drink, then the first piercing wail reached me. Jamie was awake and I dragged myself out of the water to go and tend to her. If Ray is the father, I thought to myself, he can bloody well do the nights from now on.
It was eleven thirty and I was in bed but wide awake when I heard him come back. The door banged a second time; he’d be taking Digger for his walk.
I’d left a note on the kitchen table asking him to see me when he came in. I was taut with apprehension, my guts twisted in knots. Unable to stay still, I got out of bed and put my dressing gown and slippers on and went to wait on the stairs.
What would he say? I tried to imagine but failed. What would it mean? My eyes roamed over the pictures on the walls: a photograph of the city, some of the kids’ paintings, two of Diane’s silk-screen prints, and took in the carpet on the stairs, threadbare in places. I looked down at the hallway that needed a tidy up and a lick of paint. Home. And it all felt precious and tenuous. If Ray left, could I cope here? Rebuild a sense of family with someone new, a stranger? Only recently we’d talked about renting out the attic flat again – we could use the money. Our experience with lodgers had been mixed but more good than bad. But if Ray went, I’d need to let out Ray’s room as well as the flat. Perhaps convert the playroom into another bedroom as well. I’d be in a minority; the new people would invariable bring their own foibles and habits. New debates about the standard of housework and how we shared the kitchen. Could I face all that again? Maybe it was time to call it a day. To leave the lovely old house and the garden I’d spent hours creating and all the memories, and find somewhere manageable for Maddie and me. What could I get for the same rent? A rabbit hutch with a window box.
The sound of the door opening snapped me back to the present. Ray came in with Digger. He took the lead off the dog. He saw me sitting on the stairs and looked away while he shrugged off his jacket.
‘Well?’ My voice sounded small in the space.
‘No one there.’
‘What?’
‘No one in. No answer. No lights on.’
The anticlimax was infuriating. ‘Well, didn’t you try the neighbours? Ask if she’d moved or something?’
‘I’m not the bloody detective,’ he swore at me. ‘It’s still her name on the buzzer.’
‘Well, we can’t just leave it like this,’ I protested. ‘We need to know, Ray.’
‘I know!’ he shouted back at me, flinging his arms wide. ‘But there’s nothing I can do till tomorrow. I’ll go back then, all right?’
‘Shit.’ I got to my feet and stomped up the stairs. Then a thought hit me. I turned round and came down a few steps. ‘Where’ve you been?’ It was classic and could have been lifted from any movie – the nagging wife and the errant spouse. ‘You’d have been there by eight. So where did you go after?’
Ray shook his head slowly, mouth ajar, in a gesture that proclaimed how breathtakingly unacceptable my questions were.
‘You went to the pub!’ I accused him. ‘I’m sat here like an idiot, desperate to know if you’re the father of this baby and you swan off to watch the match. That’s how much it matters to you. You didn’t even call me!’
He walked away from me. I was livid. I whirled around and ran back to my room. As I opened my door, I realized there was something else he needed to know. I marched downstairs and into the kitchen. He was making coffee. He turned to look at me, his face closed, chin raised, ready to defend himself. Guilty as sin.
I wagged a finger in true harridan style. ‘And when that baby wakes up,’ I spat at him, ‘I’ll bring her to you and you can damn well sort her out.’ I jabbed my finger at him one final time, for emphasis.
Back in bed the frustration and sense of impotence seethed inside me like food poisoning. The froth of indignation rose high in my chest. I hoped he’d come and explain, ask for my understanding, comfort me. Soothe away the awful anger I felt and the fear that flickered beneath it. But before long I heard Ray go to bed and the snick of his door closing, like a reproach.
Sleep came at last with lurid, twisting dreams. Houses melting and merging, swept away by a raging torrent of water, corridors swaying and plunging, doorways shrinking and me dragging Maddie along, finding myself lost in unfamiliar rooms and hidden attics, as the building buckled and fractured, as the flood rose.
And Jamie slept right through.
The day was thick with fog; the air smelt sour and matched my mood. It was the weekend so the kids would rise late. Even Jamie slept until seven thirty.
Before I got downstairs, I heard Ray call Digger and take him out. I was relieved not to have to face Ray while I fed the baby and got my breakfast. Was he the same? Sneaking out to avoid me? The issues between us were too prickly.
Maddie came down and helped herself to Weetabix. Jamie had hiccups again. I thought Maddie might be amused but I’d not allowed for her growing disdain for the interloper. She cast a scornful glance at the baby, her lip curling in an impressive sneer.
‘What would you like to do today?’ I asked her. Even though I knew my day would be dominated by Ray’s return visit to Laura’s and the consequences.
Maddie shrugged.
I cast about for suggestions. Tried a few: ‘The park, the cinema, baking?’
‘The Arndale,’ she proposed, with a pleased little nod.
I hated shopping malls as much as she loved them. ‘Perhaps,’ I said weakly.
She smiled.
‘But we won’t stay long. Is Tom still asleep?’
‘Yes – and he’s snoring.’
‘Well, see if he wants to come when he wakes up.’
‘I’ll wake him!’ She dashed out.
‘Maddie-’ I called to stop her but she ignored me, her feet drumming up the stairs.
Ray got back from walking the dog. I steeled myself as he came into the kitchen.
‘Ray, I was thinking,’ the words were clotted in my mouth, ‘Laura’s number – someone where she works might give you it.’
‘It’s personal information,’ he said coldly, peering into the cupboard, ‘they’ll hardly hand it out on spec.’
‘I just thought-’
‘Christ, Sal!’ He slammed his hand on the counter. ‘I’m going round there, I told you last night. Just give me chance.’
‘Don’t shout at me!’ I yelled.
Digger barked and skittered into the kitchen, ready to defend his lord and master. Jamie jerked; startled by the noise, her lip began to tremor. My phone rang.
I swore and picked it up, slid it open. ‘Hello.’
‘It’s Chloe.’
My heart sank. I didn’t want to talk to her or discuss her flaky brother’s chances at the moment. ‘Chloe, this really isn’t a good time,’ I said quickly. ‘Can I ring you Monday?’
‘It’s Damien,’ she said, her voice odd. Then, in a rush: ‘He’s dead. They found him hanging in his cell this morning.’ And her voice cracked. ‘He’s killed himself. He’s gone and killed himself.’
TWELVE
Chloe’s house was busy with well-wishers. Neighbours or family, I’m not sure. No one introduced me. There was an atmosphere of shock, accompanied by that sudden intimacy of strangers in the wake of any disaster.
‘Is she here?’ I asked the woman who answered the door.
‘In the back.’
I went through the living room, where the hum of conversation was louder than the muted TV. Chloe’s kids were there in front of the set, another child beside them and on the sofa and assorted chairs maybe half-a-dozen people.
There were people crammed in the kitchen and others smoking in the backyard. Chloe was seated in the same place at the kitchen table. She looked up, relieved to see me, and someone stood up to give me their seat.
Chloe looked washed out, her eyes red-rimmed. Like Damien’s had been.