‘He went where?’
‘To Cam’s flat. In Reading.’ I’m in the far corner of the garden, concealed behind a purple-flowered rhododendron, talking to Vicky on the phone with an eye on the gates to watch for Nathan.
‘Why? How? Tell me again. But slower.’
I repeat everything I’ve already told her.
‘Jesus,’ Vicky breathes. ‘That fucking arsehole is back in Newlyn? You actually saw him?’
‘Yes. I told you. He drove Alex back to the house.’
‘And you talked to him?’
‘No. He dropped him then drove off.’
Lies, lies, lies. I feel weak with lies.
‘Jesus, I’d like to give him a piece of my mind. Bastard.’ She mutters something I can’t make out, then asks, ‘Did you tell Alex the truth then? About Cam? Is that why he went?’
‘He found my diary. I wrote about Cam in it. The entries were dated and he worked it out.’
‘How on earth did he know where to find him?’
Her pitch is getting higher and higher with each question.
‘A letter. With his address on.’
‘But you told me you hadn’t been in touch since he left?’
The lies are thickening the air and my chest feels tight. ‘It wasn’t worth mentioning. I knew you’d get cross. It was one letter. It said he understood if I didn’t want to see him, but gave his address in case I did.’
‘But you didn’t?’
‘No. I couldn’t see the point.’
This is a welcome nugget of truth and I take a breath. Lying is second nature, but lying to Vicky is painful.
‘How did you explain it to Nathan?’
‘I told him Alex had found my old diary and was curious about meeting an old friend from my past. I said he was angry and struggling, and who can tell why teenagers do what they do.’
‘He believed that?’
There’s a car on the lane. I peer through the rhododendron and see Nathan turning into the driveway. ‘Nathan and Alex are back from the police station. I should go. Oh, by the way, it’s all good for your birthday. I can definitely come.’
‘What? Are you serious? Oh my god. That’s great! And he let you? Just like that? How come?’
‘Don’t know. He just said yes.’ I pause. ‘Maybe he’s relaxing in his old age?’
‘And maybe hell’s frozen over.’
When Nathan and Alex walk in it’s clear they’ve either argued again or spent their time together in stony silence. Nathan huffs and puffs and stamps around the kitchen like a wounded bull.
‘So? How did it go?’ I venture, offering the question to either of them.
Nathan picks up the post and leafs through it without acknowledging me.
Alex shrugs. ‘Fine. They weren’t bothered. They basically wanted to know why I went there and whether he’d made me go and if he’d been chatting to me on the internet. I don’t know, maybe they thought he was a paedo or something. They asked loads of other questions I can’t remember. I told them I was bored and don’t know why I went. They looked like they didn’t believe me but then I made up some bullshit about being overwhelmed by school work, which they liked better.’
Nathan glares at him and I drop my head to hide a smile.
‘I think they should have done a lot more to let him know what a bloody idiotic thing he did,’ snaps Nathan. ‘His little stunt was a complete waste of police time and resources and, if it had been me out there looking for him, I’d have been angry it was just a selfish kid on some sort of self-absorbed jolly.’
Alex ignores him. ‘They asked if I felt I was getting too much pressure from my parents to do well in my exams. Then they reeled off some statistics about the numbers of kids with mental health issues and said pressure was often the cause.’
Nathan snorted.
‘What’s for supper?’
I’ll say one thing for my son: two nights away from home, a trip to the police station, and a fuming father doesn’t seem to faze him. ‘Your favourite,’ I say with a smile.
‘Bolognese? You legend!’
‘Garlic bread, too. Go fill a jug of water and let’s eat.’
I fill a saucepan with water and put it on the hob, resolutely avoiding Nathan’s glowering.
‘Two plates not three,’ he barks, when I walk the plates to the table.
‘Oh?’
‘I’m out tonight. Remember?’
I shake my head vaguely.
‘A supper meeting. I’ve an important client who lives in Dubai. He’s in the UK for a few days. This is the only slot he can make. It’s a pain, to be honest.’
It’s Nathan’s turn to look away. I wonder, Nathan, is it the blonde from the award ceremony who’d touched your arm? Hilary, I seem to recall. Maybe she’s getting another outing after all.
‘Hannah,’ he says impatiently. ‘Take that blank look off your face. I told you last week. Standing right here in the kitchen. I said I had an evening meeting. You nodded.’
This used to make me scream with frustration, but I’m used to it now. He’ll spring something on me then swear blind we discussed it. He can sometimes regale me with whole conversations he says we had. Sometimes he shouts and blames me for my appalling memory or not concentrating on anything he says (which, to be fair, is true more often than not). I used to stand up for myself, or at least try, but it’s exhausting. It’s easier to nod and allow him to moan that I never listen properly.
‘Honestly, Hannah. You never listen properly.’
‘What time will you be home?’
‘Late, I imagine. Don’t wait up. The client is travelling down from Heathrow,’ he says, as he heads out of the kitchen. ‘And then we’re meeting for supper.’
‘You said,’ I say as his footsteps climb the stairs.
‘Your Bolognese is the best,’ says Alex, either oblivious to, or disinterested in, our conversation. ‘I mean, literally the best.’
He eats like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. Sauce spatters his cheeks and lips, grease from the garlic bread slicks his lips with a sheen of butter.
‘What’s the best ever food you’ve eaten, Mum?’
My chest swells with love for him. Fifteen years old, capable of unbearable surliness and mood swings, but right now, belly full, grinning widely, he could be eight years old again.
I press a napkin against the corners of my mouth. ‘Best food ever?’ I muse. ‘Well, your father has taken me to some lovely restaurants, but—’
I lower my voice and glance at the door then back at Alex conspiratorially. This is a dangerous game to play. Nathan would be furious if he overhears, but fuck him and fuck Hilary and their seedy fake supper meeting.
‘—the best food I’ve tasted was when I was going out with Cameron Stewart.’ Alex’s eyes light up. ‘He invited me out on his fishing boat and said he’d be making me tea. I thought it would be a picnic, a sandwich, a chicken salad or something, some beer. I didn’t pay much attention when he dropped a fishing line into the sea. We sat and talked for a while, then he leant over and pulled up the line and there were three shiny mackerel caught on it. Dinner, he announced.’ I furrow my brow and make a face at Alex. ‘I wasn’t overly impressed. I wasn’t that fond of mackerel.’ I pause and reach for some bread and break off a small corner. The garlicky butter runs down my finger and I lick it off before popping the morsel into my mouth. ‘But he told me I hadn’t tried mackerel until I’d tried it his dad’s way, the way the Scots cook it. He filleted the fish, fingers moving as fast as quicksilver, then dropped them in some oats which he kept in a battered old tin on the boat. Then he got out a single burner, the type you have when you’re camping, an old blackened frying pan from this chest he had on board, then a pat of butter wrapped in foil like you get in a café and a salt cellar from his pocket. And, oh my god. It was incredible. Fresh from the sea and covered in crisp buttery salted oats.’ As I think about it I can recall exactly how it tasted. ‘It was like heaven.’ I smile and tear off another corner of garlic bread as Nathan’s footsteps come down the stairs. I raise my eyebrows. ‘Seriously,’ I whisper. ‘Best thing I’ve tasted in all my life.’
‘Don’t wait up. I’ve no idea how long this will take,’ Nathan calls.
‘Hope it goes well.’
And give Hilary my love.
The door closes with a slam and Alex helps himself to another portion of Bolognese. I get up and clear a few things, put my plate on the floor for Cass to lick, and turn the tap on to run a sink of water. A knock on the front door makes me start.
‘Must have forgotten his key,’ I say to Alex, who is wiping his plate with some garlic bread.
I walk down the hallway and see the bowl on the hall table is empty. Nathan has his keys. I peer through the side window. My heart skips a beat. I glance over my shoulder but there’s no sign of Alex, so I open the door.
‘Cam?’ I whisper. ‘Jesus. What are you doing? You can’t be here.’
‘I saw him leave. I was in my car a little way down the lane.’
‘You were watching the house?’
He shrugs.
‘How long have you been there?’
He doesn’t reply.
‘Shit, Cam. You can’t come in. Alex is here. It’s too complicated. You have to leave.’
He looks up at the sky, shakes his head, and looks back at me. ‘Why the fuck did you marry that prick?’