‘Thank Christ it’s you,’ she said. ‘I’ve had enough.’
He found her curled in a ball in the darkness of the living room. He’d never seen her sucking her thumb before. Even Grace, safe in her playpen, was looking anxious.
Suttle squatted beside her. She’d been crying. He knew it. Another first.
‘What’s happened?’
‘I don’t know.’ She clung to him. ‘I just don’t know.’
‘Shit.’ He held her close. ‘Tell me. Just tell me.’
‘There’s nothing to tell. I’m just. . Fuck. .’ Her hand felt blindly for the tissues balled beside her. ‘This is horrible. . I’m sorry. . I’m really sorry.’
‘But what is it? Tell me. What’s happened?’
She began to cry again, gulping for air, real pain, real misery. Suttle tried to get to his feet but she wouldn’t let go. Grace couldn’t take her eyes off her.
At last she released her grip. Her face was shiny with tears.
‘I’m useless,’ she whispered. ‘Totally pathetic. Ignore me. Forget it. I’m sorry to get you back like this.’
‘I was coming home anyway,’ Suttle pointed out.
‘I know but. .’ She sniffed. ‘This is the last bloody thing you need.’
Suttle struggled to his feet and she stared up at him then turned her head away. Grace was agitated now, shaking the wooden bars of her pen in bewilderment. Suttle lifted her up and gave her a cuddle. She struggled in his arms. She wanted to be with her mum.
Lizzie reached out, taking the baby.
‘It’s on the table,’ she said.
Suttle found her mobile. It was still switched on. He read the message.
‘Who’s this from?’
‘Gill.’
‘Gill Reynolds?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she wants to come down?’
‘She is coming down.’
‘You said yes?’
‘I did.’
‘Shit.’
‘Quite.’
Suttle absorbed the news. He’d never had any patience with Reynolds. Once you got past the obvious there was nothing there but self-obsession. As long as she’d just been a mate of Lizzie’s, Suttle had bitten his tongue, but after what happened to Joe Faraday he’d consciously blanked the woman from his life.
‘I’ll cancel her,’ he said. ‘Leave it to me.’
‘I’ve tried.’
‘When?’
‘This afternoon. I gave myself a talking-to. I knew you wouldn’t want her down. It took me for ever to make the call but in the end I did it.’
‘And?’
‘It made no difference. You know what she’s like. She never listens.’ She took a deep breath and held Grace tight. ‘Tomorrow morning. Around twelve.’
‘I’ll phone her again.’
‘It’s pointless. You could go one better though.’
‘How?’
‘By being here.’
Suttle thought about it, tallying the work he had to get through by lunchtime. Day two of Constantine. No chance.
‘I can’t, my love.’
‘You could. If it was that important.’
‘Of course it’s important. You’re important. You’re both important. All this is important. But I can’t just-’ He broke off. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll phone her.’
Lizzie began to protest again, telling him she’d cope somehow, but Suttle wasn’t listening. The weakness of the signal drove him onto the patio. It was a beautiful evening, the sun sinking in the west, the wind beginning to die. They’d discovered a troop of ducklings on the stream at the bottom of the garden only yesterday. Suttle could hear them pestering their mother.
‘Gill?’ Suttle could feel the patio slabs moving under his weight. ‘Is that you?’
‘Of course it is. Jimmy?’ She sounded surprised.
‘Yeah, me. Listen. Something’s come up. Lizzie’s not too good. Some kind of bug. She’d never tell you in a million years but I honestly think-’
Gill broke in. She had a habit of ignoring the end of other peoples’ sentences.
‘She sounded fine this afternoon. It won’t be a problem. You know me. Iron constitution.’
‘It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s Lizzie. She needs-’
‘I know what she needs. I know that girl like a sister. I probably know her better than you do. I expect she needs a bit of TLC. I’m good with that. Just ask her.’
Suttle wasn’t having it. It was flu. Definitely. Lizzie needed peace and quiet. She needed to be left alone. Please, Gill. Just this once.
There was a brief silence on the line. The mother duck had mounted the bank, an unsteady line of fluffy nothings behind her. Under any other circumstances this would have been a precious moment. He’d run for the camera. Grace. Lizzie. The ducklings. One for the family scrapbook. Then Gill was back. There was something new in her voice, a definite edge.
‘I’ll be there for lunch, Jimmy. You won’t regret it.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘You heard what I said. You’ll be around too?’
‘No.’
‘Then I’ll stay for dinner. Don’t worry. No pressure. I’ll sort an Indian or something. Do they have takeaways in the country?’ She laughed, then hung up.
Suttle was still staring at the phone. You won’t regret it?
For a moment he thought about phoning back, upping the ante, going for broke, but then he heard a movement behind him and he turned to find Lizzie standing in the open doorway. She’d heard every word he’d said.
‘See?’ she said.
‘Fucking woman.’ Suttle risked a smile. ‘We’re doomed.’
They didn’t talk until later. Suttle had bathed and changed Grace, leaving Lizzie to do her best with a packet of pasta and what was left in the vegetable basket. After he’d put his daughter down and blown on the mobile over her bed, he drove down to the village store and bought a bottle of Chianti. The wine turned out to be on special so he grabbed another before returning to Chantry Cottage.
Lizzie had made a definite effort with the pasta. She’d even found a candle to soften the overhead light in the gloom of the living room. Suttle uncorked the Chianti and poured two glasses, raising his own in a toast.
‘To us.’
They touched glasses but then Lizzie put hers down.
‘Something wrong?’
She smiled. For some reason she seemed to find the question genuinely funny.
‘You want a list?’ she said.
‘Yeah. Since you ask.’
‘No, you don’t. And I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. I’m supposed to be better than this.’
‘You’re lovely. I love you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, really. I know I’m not, you know. .’
‘Here much?’
‘Yeah.’
‘It’s not that. It’s this. All of it.’
‘What?’
‘Everything.’ She made a vague, circular motion with her hand. ‘You, me, Grace, this horrible cottage, the country, the rain, the silence — it’s driving me nuts, Jimmy. I just don’t know who I am any more. Have you ever had that feeling? Not knowing what’s happening to you? Not knowing if it’s ever going to stop? I’m out of tune, my love. I’m not me any more. Do you know what I’m talking about? Has something like this ever happened to you?’
Suttle had to shake his head. Life had dealt him a number of evil hands. Twice he’d been hospitalised after making the wrong call in dodgy circumstances, once in the Job and once in his private life. That had hurt, sure, but he’d never suffered anything remotely like this.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m really, really sorry.’
‘Sorry doesn’t cut it. Not any longer. I’ve got to do something, Jimmy. I’ve got to take some decisions.’
‘About?’
‘Us.’
‘Ah.’ Suttle’s head went back. He reached for his glass. For the first time he realised they were facing something really serious. Not once had he ever thought she might leave him.
‘Is it me?’ he said at last. ‘Be honest.’
‘Yes, in a way it is. Because this, all this, is you. You love it. I can see you love it. You love the country, the space, the fresh air. Even the fucking rain seems to turn you on. Me? I loathe it.’
‘Then we’ll move.’
‘Where to?’
‘Somewhere the roof doesn’t leak. Somewhere with windows that fit. Somewhere mouse-proof.’