KEW, SOUTH-WEST LONDON
Thursday, 2 September; 8.00 a.m.
The school playground was the last place I would ever have expected her to make her move, and yet, looking back, I can see now that it formed the perfect stage, surrounded as we were by an audience of other parents, each as oblivious as I was to the drama about to unfold.
‘Hey, Nish. All ready for your big day?’
That was Bea. Short for Beatrice.
Taupe cashmere coat and an abundance of jewellery deliberately advertised not only the success of her exclusive art gallery, but also her marriage to a wealthy antique dealer.
‘Amber’s big day, you mean.’ Nish stamped her feet to keep them warm. Early-morning frost sparkled on the tarmac playground. ‘I can’t believe my baby’s starting school.’
‘Actually, no, I meant yours,’ Bea insisted, stooping to air-kiss her shorter friend. ‘The kids are way too excited to be nervous.’ On cue, she stepped sideways to avoid being mowed down by stampeding four-year-olds. ‘We’re the ones who’ll be chewing our nails all day.’
‘Good job you’ve booked yourself a manicure, then, Bea.’
Jules. The fourth and final member of our little mum group.
‘Very funny.’ Bea frowned, fiddling with the end of her sleek, strawberry-blonde ponytail. ‘I need this spa day, OK? I’ve got so much shit on my mind.’
‘Fuck, it’s freezing,’ Jules complained. ‘Why don’t they open the door, already?’
‘Teachers love to torture parents. It’s the best part of their job,’ Bea told her drily. The stiletto heels of her tan suede boots were skewer-sharp; they carved circles of tiny indentations on the icy tarmac as her feet jittered.
Billy let go of my hand and inched closer, staring down in fascination at the bullet-hole-shaped marks. ‘Ouch! Aunty Bea! My foot!’ Hopping up and down, he screwed up his face in pain, at the same time reaching for the toe of his new, smart black leather school shoes.
‘Oh, sweetheart. Is your naughty mummy not paying you any attention?’ Bea consoled silkily, squeezing Billy’s shoulder while slanting a narrow-eyed glance at me. ‘You look miles away, Ruth. What’s up? Guilty conscience?’
‘Guilty … what? No, I …’ Before I could gather my thoughts to explain how anxious I was about leaving Billy, a boy sprinted over to him, holding out a ball.
‘Want to play?’ he invited with a grin, flicking back a ginger fringe.
Joseph. Jules’s son.
He lived with his dad and new stepmum, ever since Jules had lost custody during her divorce. I knew how much she missed him. I understood exactly how much it hurt to constantly feel like a part of yourself was missing, and I knew that was why Jules and I had clicked when we’d first got chatting at the school’s open day.
Even so, if her ex-husband hadn’t turned out to be Daniel’s new boss at the bank, I would have run a mile the second I’d discovered that Jules was best friends with Bea.
Or Beatrice, as I used to know her.
Back when we were best friends.
Before the night that changed everything …
Appearances can be so misleading. To passing strangers, I was sure I looked just like all the other mums, in my faded jeans, leather ankle boots and comfy green cardigan-coat slung on at the last minute, wavy blonde hair tugged back into a hasty ponytail. Only Bea wasn’t a stranger – and it seemed she was no longer even pretending to be my friend.
All things considered, she’d been friendly enough during the last six months, and I had played along, almost as though we had an unspoken pact to avoid mentioning our turbulent past. I’d even begun to believe it truly was all forgotten. Only, lately, something seemed to have changed. Bea was definitely acting differently towards me. Again.
‘God, I miss my boy.’ Jules’s despairing groan cut across my thoughts.
I smiled sympathetically at her. ‘It must be so hard knowing another woman is looking after your son. But you’re still his mum, Jules. Nothing and no one can change that.’
‘If my husband ever ran off with a younger woman, I’d serve him up a nice cold dish of revenge.’ Nish grinned. ‘Then rub his nose in it.’
‘Far better to have an affair yourself,’ Jules countered. ‘Poetic justice, isn’t it? Making the punishment fit the crime.’
‘An eye for an eye. Seems fair,’ Bea said blithely. ‘Actions have consequences. We’re all adults. We have to take responsibility for our mistakes. Don’t you think, Ruth?’
‘Boys, how about a penalty shoot-out?’ I called out, deliberately avoiding Bea’s eyes as it dawned on me what she was hinting at.
Feeling myself blush, I lifted my phone, taking a few quick snapshots of Billy to disguise an uncomfortable sense of shock and shame awakening inside me. Images flashed in my head. My throat dried.
‘My go first!’ Joseph yelled, racing Billy towards the goal posts.
I trailed along behind them, my heart pounding as memories came thick and fast now. Glancing back at Bea, I blushed again as I saw her staring intently at me, and in a flash, I realised: she must have found out what I’d done.
‘So, we’re all set? Sunday brunch at mine,’ Bea said as I re-joined the group, minutes later.
‘Sorry. Sunday’s out for me.’ I grimaced apologetically. ‘We’re—’
‘Oh, I know,’ Bea cut in. ‘You and Danny are taking Billy to Windsor, aren’t you?’
‘Windsor?’ That was news to me. ‘Daniel didn’t mention …’
‘Wives should always check their husbands’ phones,’ Jules commented bitterly. ‘That’s how I caught mine out.’
‘Now, now, Jules,’ Bea chided. ‘Danny would never do the dirty on Ruth. He’s far too much of a goody two-shoes. No, I think our Ruth here must be the one harbouring a guilty secret.’ Her tone was light, teasing, but her dark eyes glittered as they fixed on mine.
‘Of course not.’ I felt myself blush again.
‘That’s a shame.’ Jules sighed. ‘I was hoping for a bit of playground gossip.’
She and Nish laughed, and in all honesty, I couldn’t blame them; they had no idea what Bea had meant about Daniel being a ‘goody two-shoes’. But I did, and the barb hit home. It twisted deeper as I pondered how Bea could possibly know his weekend plans before I did. And I hated it when she called him ‘Danny’.
Back when the four of us were fresh out of university and starting our first jobs, it had been an in-joke that mine was the only name that couldn’t be shortened. In camaraderie, we’d all taken to using our full names: Beatrice and Finley; Ruth and Daniel. We’d coupled-up at about the same time and became a tightknit foursome for five years. Then, after that one disastrous night, we’d become strangers. I felt a creeping sense that we were now enemies.
I still vividly remembered our former friendship – the good times and the bad – and often wondered if Bea ever thought of it. Her appearance and lifestyle couldn’t be more different, these days: every inch of her home, every item of clothing she wore was refined, expensive, gleaming. As though she’d polished her former life, her former self, into oblivion.
Yet, increasingly, she’d been dropping hints that she remembered, too. Like the ‘goody two-shoes’ jibe and snide hint about guilty secrets. She obviously wanted me to know that she hadn’t forgotten. But how much did she know, and what did she plan to do about it?
‘What’s the urgency, anyway?’ Jules said impatiently. ‘We could meet next Sunday.’
‘Can’t. I’ve, uh, got big news.’ Bea linked arms with her. ‘I’ll tell you later, hon.’
I got the hint: her big news wasn’t for my ears. Bea was up to something; I could feel it, and I had a growing suspicion that it involved me – and that she’d deliberately waited until now, safe in the circle of friends that were more hers than mine, to throw down a marker.
‘Boys! Mind how you go!’ a teacher called out, and a sea of heads turned to look.
Diverted from thoughts about what Bea might be plotting, I felt a surge of panic and sprinted across the playground. ‘Billy!’ My heart was thumping as I watched him chase the ball towards the tall iron gate that stood open. ‘Sweetheart, wait. Stop!’
Relieved to see a tall, thin woman standing near the exit, I was about to call out to ask her to grab Billy before he could run through it, when I noticed her shoulders trembling.
‘Hey, are you OK?’ I asked in concern as I approached. The woman was clearly young, in her early twenties, perhaps, though it was hard to tell exactly, with her face half hidden by a black hoodie. But I immediately felt sorry for her, intuitively understanding how nervous she was probably feeling about leaving her child at school for the first time. I felt exactly the same.
‘I’m sure it’s not this crazy every day,’ I encouraged when she didn’t speak. ‘They’re all a bit hyper, aren’t they? First-day excitement. Which is yours?’ I added, looking around.
‘Yeah, right. Like you don’t know.’
‘Sorry?’ I stepped back, startled by the unexpected rudeness. ‘Have we met?’
‘Huh. Very funny, Ruth. Not.’ Edging towards me, the woman mimed a long, slow hand clap. ‘Top marks for acting, though.’
I frowned, about to turn away. I didn’t need hostility. Not today. I was anxious enough about Billy starting school, and Bea wasn’t helping. I knew her spiteful little grenades were a prelude to something infinitely worse. I needed to figure out what.
Yes, handling one toxic friend was enough. Whoever this mum was, I’d be sure to steer clear of her the next time I saw her in the playground. ‘Well, anyway. If you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to my—’
‘Son?’ Her stare was black and unflinching. ‘Is that what you were about to say?’
Peeling back her hood, she revealed long dark hair that tumbled around her thin shoulders in wild curls. Her face was pretty, despite a fierce scowl, and as I registered high cheekbones and pale, almost translucent skin, I realised that I did recognise her.
‘Yes. My son,’ I whispered, and a horrible, sick feeling began to coil in the pit of my stomach. Shocking, long-buried images flickered in my mind; I felt myself sway dizzily.
‘OK, enough already. It’s time to give it up. Give him up.’ One arm shot out to point at Billy. ‘No more lies, Ruth. That boy is mine. I know it. You know it. It’s time he knows it. I want him back. And if you don’t give him to me … well, I’ll just have to take him.’