Preview
Follow Me Follow You
by Laura E James
CHAPTER ONE
‘I hate you.’
It wasn’t the first time Victoria Noble recoiled at her son’s hostility, but on each occasion she hoped, sometimes even prayed, it would be the last. Mondays triggered the worst attacks.
She looked at Seth across the breakfast bar, his arms folded and his scrawny legs swinging, left right, left right. His face and colouring was totally his father’s, but his wild mop of irrepressible curls was hers. She sucked in his words. ‘Well, I love you. And you’re stuck with me.’
Was that the right thing to say to a four-year-old? Apart from a few well-intentioned, but unsolicited pointers from her sister, what Victoria knew of childcare came from the Internet. In hindsight, she realised she should have sought a more personal approach for raising a challenging boy, but requesting assistance wasn’t a strength of hers. She was the Director of EweSpeak, Britain’s most successful social networking site, and as such, was expected to have all the answers. It had been the same at school; her old science teacher was shocked when Victoria failed to demonstrate what happened when molecules weren’t attracted to one another.
The image played out in her mind and she tilted her head. This was her and Seth. With the ease of oil repelling water, he resisted her attempts to steer him. Did it all come down to chemistry?
If he was one of her EweSpeak operatives, she’d have sacked him by now – or he’d have sacked her – but Victoria was intelligent enough to understand working with a child was nothing like working with employees. Not even young employees. They did as they were asked and weren’t prone to throwing a paddy by the water cooler. She had taken time to choose her colleagues. They’d completed application forms, taken part in isometric tests and attended three interviews.
Seth arrived under less stringent controls.
Was it too late to ask for help?
The nanny was a godsend with day-to-day issues, but offered no insight into how she managed Seth, and today she’d called in sick with flu – news neither Victoria nor Seth were happy to receive, and the catalyst for the bullets of resentment Victoria was currently dodging. Both mother and child relied on the nanny to get them through the day. This particular one, Cerys, was the first to survive longer than three months, the first to find a way to relate with Seth, and, by some miracle, the first to whom Seth had become attached. All reasons why Victoria had said no to a temporary replacement and yes to waiting until Cerys was better.
The upheaval of introducing another nanny to Seth was more than he or Victoria could bear. Seth and Cerys had formed a bond; a friendly, mutually respectful, genuine bond, and he would do anything for her.
And nothing for me.
The thought wrestled its way down to Victoria’s stomach and slammed it into submission. She used the excuse of collecting Seth’s trainers from under the counter to bend double, hoping to ease the cramping.
She was thankful her son had someone he could love, who loved him back, and she was grateful for the care Cerys took of him, but it hurt. It hurt Victoria that as his mother, she’d fallen short of his expectations. And it crippled her not knowing how to set things right.
The next couple of weeks were going to be tough.
As she breathed away the last of the spasms, she straightened up. What did her sister say in times of trouble? It will pass? She was fond of Juliette, but she knew nothing about demanding children. She had four angels. Not to mention she was a natural-born mother. Victoria raised a brow. Juliette was a natural-born everything; communicator, socialiser, wife. The fact the two women were related was a constant source of amazement to Victoria who, by her own admission, was the complete antithesis of her sister.
Victoria groaned. Give her computers any day. She understood those. There was a logic to them she never found in people, not even in her own child. Algorithms she could handle; especially rigorously defined algorithms, but the thought of dealing with people on a daily, face-to-face basis was enough to keep her locked away in a sterile white office hour after hour, with only Juliette for company. Victoria never engaged with her EweSpeak flock. She baulked at the notion. The irony of her situation had not escaped her.
She regarded her son, who was still sitting at the breakfast bar, his arms still secured across his chest, and his legs still kicking back and forth. ‘Shoes on!’ she demanded, hoping the change in tone would spur him into action.
Seth crossed his ankles and the swinging came to a gradual halt. ‘No.’
The coolness with which he responded sent a chill through Victoria and she was at a complete loss as to how to exert her authority. She traipsed the length of the tiled floor to the balcony doors and gazed out into the grey London sky. If there was a God, which she had fair reason to disbelieve, why had he sent her a difficult child?
She raised her hand to the glass and spread her naked fingers across the reflection of her face. There were days, like today, when she wondered if she was being taught a lesson for putting her career above having children.
When Seth was born, her husband … her shoulders sagged … her ex-husband, agreed to be the primary carer. He’d vehemently objected at first on the basis changing nappies was a woman’s job, and in case Victoria had forgotten – because they’d not had sex since the birth of the child – he was a man. Victoria pointed out she was the main breadwinner and with EweSpeak to run, it made sense for her to go back to work. At the time, she was happy to do so. Nurturing was not in her nature.
After two months of bitter complaints, declarations of emasculation, and continued assertions of ‘This is women’s work’, Ben Noble walked away, leaving Victoria shocked, and Seth fatherless. His parting shot was a scribbled note that read: It’s your turn to deal with the crap.
Studying her image, Victoria noticed her brow had furrowed into deep ridges, and she backed away from the door. It was insane analysing Ben’s motives; his conduct was as she had come to expect from his gender. The male sex first let her down when she was eighteen and had continued to do so ever since. That was almost half her life. The one man to stand by her was her father. That wasn’t to say he never got it wrong, but when he did, at least he displayed remorse and that made his flaws forgivable.
Perhaps that was all it was with Seth. A flaw. A glitch. If she accepted it was his way, they might get along. With a sense of defeat, she turned, faced her son and forced a weak smile. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I get it. You don’t want to come to the office.’
His round face remained expressionless and his dark eyes still. His feet unhooked, he reached for an apple from the crystal bowl before him, and he jumped off the tall stool. ‘No,’ he said, clenching the fruit in his fist. Before Victoria had time to react, he drew back his arm and propelled the firm, green missile at her. It smashed into her chest. She took a moment to regain her breath, experience telling her it would take infinitely longer to recover from her despair.
This was not the first time her son had launched an attack.
She stooped to retrieve Seth’s ammunition and breathed away the response to cry.
As she dropped the makeshift projectile in the bin, she kept her son under surveillance. He made no attempt to apologise; neither did he flee. His unrepentant eyes narrowed, and his knuckles whitened with the exertion of clutching another apple.
‘Put it in your rucksack,’ Victoria said. ‘And be warned, if you’re not dressed in five minutes, you’ll come to work in your pyjamas.’
She trudged into the hall, where she gathered several large files and dumped them into her briefcase. She hoped it wouldn’t come to it, but if she had to drag Seth into work kicking and screaming, then she would. As to who would be protesting the most, she was uncertain.
As Victoria slipped her feet into her shoes, Seth charged past and gave a forceful shove to her hip, knocking her off balance as he ran up the stairs of their split-level apartment. Victoria crashed into the wall and the side of her skull whacked the corner of the chrome coat hooks she’d had mounted a week ago. She steadied herself, fingered her temple and tested for blood. Dry. She left her hand resting on her aching forehead and concentrated on absorbing the pain threatening to swamp her. Enough was enough. She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell at the top of her voice and rant and rave, but the culprit was four years old. And he was her son. The fact he provoked such intense feelings within her was proof she loved him. Wasn’t it? The question banged around her sore head. She wanted love to flow through her veins. She wanted it to flood her heart and be her life force, but it was hard with a child who communicated with words of hatred.
Victoria studied her ringless finger. Love was hard. Full stop. Especially with a trampled heart. Twice she’d laid it in the open and twice it had been ridden roughshod over. Both men had said they loved her. Both men had lied. At least Seth was honest. Not once had those three little words passed his lips.
He struggled with Mummy.
As the adrenalin ebbed, so did Victoria’s energy and desire to fight. Four years she’d lived like this. In bedlam. It was a miracle she hadn’t been sectioned.
She yearned for the sanctuary of her office where she knew what to expect. In her virtual world, she was the one who pushed all the buttons and every response was as she’d programmed.
She checked her watch, walked to the bottom step and rested there, with her back, tense and hunched, to her son. She had to get to work. ‘Seth. Please get dressed.’
A second after Seth’s footfall halted, the apple clunked and thumped its way down each stair, coming to settle by the front door.
Victoria closed her eyes to it. Next week, she’d buy grapes.
‘That’s a nasty bruise.’ Juliette leaned closer to Victoria and inspected her forehead. ‘What happened?’
‘I walked straight into the new coat hooks. Stupid of me.’ Victoria focused on the sofa, where Seth was playing with his Nintendo DS, earphones in, oblivious to the world.
Juliette stepped away. ‘You weren’t thinking of Chris Frampton, were you? He has a lot to answer for.’ She wiggled the white mouse on her desk and the small sheep cursor sparked the monitor into life. ‘Seventeen years and he still plagues you.’
Victoria snorted. ‘I was thinking about Ben, actually.’ She directed her attention to her sister.
‘That low-life. I wouldn’t waste another minute on him.’ Juliette pulled out her leather chair and settled into it, smoothing down her navy suit. ‘He hasn’t concerned himself with you or Seth. I’m surprised you even talk about him, let alone show Seth photographs.’
‘Don’t you think a boy needs his father?’ It had crossed Victoria’s mind several times that having Ben in Seth’s life might moderate his behaviour. Seth’s. Not Ben’s. Although Ben would benefit from a shot of responsibility. She mirrored her sister, and assumed her position at her desk.
‘I’d rather raise a child alone than subject him to an uncaring parent,’ Juliette said.
‘That’s easy for you to say. You found the one decent man and married him.’ Victoria studied her amazing, bright and disciplined baby sister, whose ebony-black hair stayed where it should, whose clothes never creased and whose life overflowed with pleasure and wonderful moments of tenderness. Thank goodness she hadn’t suffered the humiliation and trauma of divorce. The tortured sister was Victoria’s role. ‘I’m glad you and Dan have each other,’ she said.
‘We may have been young, but Dan knew when he was onto a good thing.’ Juliette cocked an eyebrow. ‘Anyway, he signed a scrap of paper that said we’re stuck with each other until death us do part. Unlike Ben-No-Balls, Dan believes that means something.’
Victoria placed her hands on the desk and forced out a breath. Juliette saw only black or white, and made no disguise of the fact she was disgusted with Ben.
‘I know Seth was a shock to you,’ Juliette continued, ‘but Ben agreed to look after him.’ She jumped up from her chair. ‘And I’ll tell you what angers me the most. He watched you go through a traumatic birth, demanded you breastfed even though the very thought made you sick, and said you should have tried harder to be a mother. Do you remember? Then the pathetic excuse for a man walked out on you.’ Juliette puffed out her cheeks and released a gust of air. ‘Don’t ever wonder if Seth would be better off with him in his life. It’s a godsend he never came back.’
Clearly satisfied her point had hit home, Juliette resumed her seat and turned to her computer screen. ‘So. Is that why you were late today? The blow to the head?’
‘Yes.’ Reeling from the conversation and sudden change of topic, Victoria was in no condition to elaborate; it was neither the time nor the place. She allowed herself a moment to settle before switching to work mode. ‘How are our star clients doing?’
As efficient as Victoria, Juliette tapped on the keyboard and, after a fleeting silence, gave a nod of appreciation.
‘What is it?’
‘Your obsession, Chris Frampton. His flock’s grown substantially in the last twenty-four hours. There’s speculation he’s returned to the UK.’ She keyed in further information, and nodded again. ‘The board will be ecstatic.’
Victoria rose from her chair and crossed to the coffee machine. ‘Money grabbers. I should never have agreed to one.’
Juliette sighed. ‘Not this again. It was sound business practice.’
‘EweSpeak’s a private company.’
‘So?’
‘So it doesn’t legally require a board.’ Victoria poured two fresh coffees, returned to the desks and planted a hot mug in Juliette’s hand. ‘We could’ve developed the company ourselves.’
‘No, we couldn’t. It was turning in to Frankenstein’s monster.’ Juliette set aside her drink and clasped Victoria’s hands. ‘We needed an objective input. We needed legal and financial experts to advise. We needed an independent board to resolve our disputes.’
Reluctantly, Victoria nodded. As close as she and Juliette were, their opinions were invariably at opposite ends of the spectrum, and the board had brought an end to EweSpeak family feuding.
‘Do you know why I finally agreed?’ Victoria reclaimed her hands and reversed the hold. ‘Because you told me I was like Mum.’
Juliette laughed. ‘Well, you are. You’re as stubborn as she was. And you believe your way is the only way. Which, by the way, it’s not.’
Victoria grumbled as she released Juliette from her grasp. ‘I don’t force my religious views on others.’
‘Granted, Mum was a bit zealous, but she was doing what she thought best. The same as you. And really, if going to church and reading the Bible was the worst thing that happened to us, I’d say we’ve nothing to complain about, especially when you think of people whose worlds have shattered.’ Juliette pointed at her monitor. ‘Here’s a case in point. Your obsession.’
An image of Chris Frampton planted itself in the fertile garden of Victoria’s mind. It was impossible to uproot. ‘I am not obsessed with Chris bloody Frampton.’ Preoccupied maybe. She dreamed of him often. Intimate, sad, confusing dreams. ‘I’m not even sure which country he’s in.’
She was, though, well aware of the buzz created by the recent sale of his Los Angeles ranch, and of the whisper he was looking to come home. The news was everywhere, and the worst of it was the voracious media wolves were digging up harrowing images from two years back, when Chris was grieving for his wife and son. Thank goodness they were keeping the other twin out of the spotlight. Victoria had no desire to revisit the scenes.
‘Anyway, I’m interested in the future, not the past.’ She looked in her son’s direction. ‘Seth? Milk?’ No reaction. She raised her voice. ‘Seth? Would you like a glass of milk?’
‘No.’
It became apparent Victoria’s despondency was more obvious than she’d intended, as Juliette scraped back her chair, kicked off her shoes and padded her way over to Seth. She removed his earphones.
‘Please and thank you can get you a long way, you know.’ She sat down, curled her legs up and pulled Seth to her.
Victoria noted the lack of resistance on her son’s part. It wasn’t jealousy that passed through her. As with Cerys, she was thankful that Seth had means of finding comfort. No. She knew what it was; she’d experienced it before. It was rejection.
‘What’s making you grumpy, young man?’ Juliette’s gilded voice glided into Victoria’s thoughts. ‘Is there something else you’d rather be doing?’
Seth snuggled into Juliette and sneered at Victoria. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I like this.’
Was it possible for a four-year-old to understand manipulation? Seth used it with such devastating effect, it was difficult to think he didn’t. He was the one person Victoria should make sense of, but although they shared blood, their circuitry was very different.
‘I like it too, but both your mum and I have work to do. Shall I see what Uncle Dan is up to? I expect he’d like some help.’
Seth nodded. ‘I like Uncle Dan. He doesn’t shout.’
Once more, Seth glared at Victoria. She understood his implication.
Juliette moved away from him. ‘Who dares yell at my nephew? I’ll tell them off.’ She stood and pushed her sleeves up. ‘It’s not those naughty nannies, is it?’
Seth copied his aunt and raised himself off the sofa. Pointing a skinny finger at Victoria, he said, ‘She does.’
Both the allegation and her bruise stung. With her eyes fixed on Seth, Victoria watched him wind his way behind Juliette and peer from her side. In a small, but steady voice, he said, ‘She shouts at me and I hate her.’
Juliette coaxed him to stand before her. She knelt to his level and took his hands. ‘Now, young man, listen to me. Hate is a very strong feeling and saying that about your mummy is very unkind. It makes us both sad when you speak like that.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Victoria before returning to Seth. ‘All mummies shout from time to time. We can get just as grumpy as you, but we never stop loving you. I think you should say sorry and give your mum a big hug.’ She released him and stood tall. ‘Go on.’
As Victoria expected, Seth remained silent and still. She held out her hands, but Seth was too young to see it for what it was – a mother reaching out for her son. As he backed away from the gesture, Victoria wilted. ‘Leave it, Joo. Call Dan and see if he can have him for the day.’
Victoria retreated behind her desk and tapped her monitor. The virtual world was beckoning; the world that didn’t throw apples, and where hurtful words were deleted. If life had an undo button, she’d hit it right now. Start again. Never fall in love, never fall for a man’s lies, and never fall pregnant. She flinched. She didn’t mean that. She wanted Seth in her life, but she didn’t know how to make it – them – work. ‘There must be a way,’ she said, quietly. Maybe the Internet had more up-to-date information than when she last looked.
As she viewed the screen, Chris Frampton’s face loomed large, his dark, floppy fringe sheltering the top of his doleful, brown eyes. Next to him was his stunning American wife, Lacey. It was a clever move including her in his publicity shots; he was such a private man, any glimpse into his personal life created a whirlwind of interest.
Nowadays, it was his manager, Tommy Stone, who was forever by his side.
Victoria rested her elbow on her desk and her cheek on her fist. The picture of Chris was taken shortly before the death of his wife and son. Following that, he became a recluse. He stopped filming, removed himself from the public eye, and was rumoured to be separated from his surviving son. If that was true, it was tragic.
But what a life Chris had led. A Portland boy born and bred making it big as a Hollywood action hero.
It suited Victoria that he’d hooked up with Lacey all those years ago. It allowed her to forget her past. Their past.
And it was forgotten until she developed EweSpeak and her youthful team of go-getters acquired Chris as one of their first clients. From that point, Victoria struggled to avoid hearing about him. A number of years ago, she received some sensitive information she’d been compelled to buy in order to bury it. The secrets she held had the potential to finish his career. Now, they would infect open wounds. Thank God she would never need to see him in the flesh again.
His bronzed, toned flesh.
She outlined his lips with her cursor. Chris had always been handsome. He was beautiful. And daring. He was the one man who’d shown Victoria what it was to let go and live.
And the first to betray her.
CHAPTER TWO
Victoria was attempting to create the impression she was engrossed in her work. From the moment Dan collected Seth, she’d buried her head in buff-coloured files, raising it once to study her monitor. At that moment, she realised Juliette was watching her.
‘I’m all right, Joo, honestly.’ That was a lie. She was preoccupied with thoughts of Chris Frampton returning home, considering ways to stop EweSpeak’s Board of Directors from travelling a destructive path, and despairing over her non-existent relationship with her son. She grimaced. ‘Apart from the blinding headache.’
She thrust herself away from the desk and rubbed the back of her neck. Her life was too cluttered for her to make informed decisions, and too many demands were being made of her, emotionally and physically. Something had to give. ‘I could do without this stupid business with the board.’
‘Do you think they’ll go ahead?’
Victoria huffed. ‘Of course they will. They’re motivated by money. They’ll do whatever it takes to keep their bank accounts full and their fat backsides comfortable.’
‘But they have a duty of loyalty, and their report states the move will secure the future of EweSpeak—’
‘It only secures their position, Juliette. Let’s face facts. We made bad choices, electing certain members to the board. We were blinded by their past successes. They’re cut-throat businessmen with reputations to uphold.’ Victoria swung her chair round and gaped at her sister. ‘I’ll bet a year’s salary there’ll be redundancies.’
‘But if charging clients to join will increase profits—’
Victoria cut her off again. ‘Did you miss the bit where they proposed paying celebrities for exclusive bleats? It’s ridiculous. It won’t work. People will opt out. Our followers enjoy the personal contact, the chance to hold a discussion with like-minded souls, maybe even exchange a bleat with their idol. If it’s sensationalism they want, they’ll buy a glossy magazine, or worse, they’ll flock to our competitors. They won’t subscribe to our network.’ She shook her head. ‘It has disaster written all over it.’
‘I don’t see it. The board’s acting in the company’s best interest. We have to make money. And it’s not just their pockets they’re lining, is it?’ Juliette waved a hand in the direction of the window. ‘I don’t hear you complaining about the flashy, two-seater sports car you’ve parked in our private garage.’
Victoria reached for the remote on her desk, and switched on the TV. ‘I need a break.’ She stood, gave her arms a stretch, and walked across to the sofa, collapsing into it, irascible and frustrated. Surely Juliette wasn’t voting with the board? Victoria cast her eyes to the large screen, scoured through the programme guide, and settled on a news channel.
It was a mistake.
Wherever her eyes fell – the TV, online, mobile applications – Chris’s then thirty-five-year-old haunted face appeared, vacant, pale and broken. There was no escape from the dated footage of him being jostled out of the way of bloodthirsty, aggressive photographers or being hustled into his ranch house by burly security men. Victoria had seen the images thirty, maybe forty times in the last couple of years. Every piece of technology in her office was broadcasting his grief all over again, and each time his name was typed, bleated, or beamed across the Internet, and for every second his tormented features were on public display, Victoria was on trial. Her technology, the company, the brand she had developed and grown was helping prolong his terror. To see this beautiful man reduced to a floorshow for the cheap seats made her sick to the stomach.
She jumped at a touch to her arm.
‘Are you okay?’ Juliette took the remote from Victoria, switched off the TV, and sat down. ‘I’m sorry I called him your obsession. This must be hard for you.’
Victoria shrugged. Although she understood Juliette’s concern, she didn’t appreciate intrusion, and sharing, as her sister called it, was not Victoria’s way. There’d been far too much of that already. A small shudder ran through her. ‘It’s complicated,’ she said, hoping a few words, regardless of content, would appease Juliette.
‘Well, his whereabouts has caused quite a stir. He’s the number one name in everyone’s bleats. He’s all over EweSpeak.’
‘He’s trending?’ It was what Victoria expected, but not what she wanted to hear. Pulling her knees up, she fastened them with her arms, laid her head on them, and closed her eyes.
‘In all honesty, I’d be asking questions if it didn’t trend,’ Juliette said. ‘It was a devastating story of epic proportions. Anything Chris does now will be measured against how he’s survived his loss. EweSpeak is doing exactly what we’ve asked of it.’
Victoria’s eyes burst open, and she threw up her head, as she felt raging heat radiate her cheeks. ‘No. It’s not. I didn’t set out to wreck people’s lives.’
The atmosphere in the third floor office was so thick and hot, even Victoria’s slim frame struggled to draw a clean breath. She kicked out her legs, pushed herself up from the sofa, and opened a nearby window, taking the cold November air deep into her lungs. ‘I can’t do this to him. Not again. I’m not heartless.’
‘I’ve been telling you that for years.’ Juliette returned to her computer and tapped the keyboard. ‘But you must remember, Chris willingly took centre stage. He was renowned for his ambition. We offered him a media platform, and he grabbed it with both hands.’
‘That’s not fair, Juliette.’ Victoria reeled round as her sister resumed her seat. ‘He was pursuing his dream.’
‘Yes. He was. He was an unknown, jobbing English actor scraping a living together in America. Now look at him.’ Juliette switched the monitor round. ‘He’s won two Taurus World Stunt Awards, goes drinking with Jason Statham, and has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.’ She picked up her mobile, wielding it in the air. ‘The world first learned of Chris Frampton, actor, right here, on EweSpeak. Have you seen how many are in his flock?’
Victoria prepared to speak, but Juliette held up her hand, indicating quiet. Victoria obliged.
‘And how did he gain support when he was lobbying the Academy to introduce a Best Stunt Oscar? By bleating to over three million fans, on our social network. Three million.’
‘It’s not all been one way. EweSpeak’s benefited from his celebrity.’
‘I agree. He’s an excellent investment. Financially, I mean.’
Victoria snorted. ‘But not emotionally? Thanks.’ She turned, yanked the window shut, and then leaned her back against the cold glass. ‘I’d just turned eighteen when he and I got together. What did I know about relationships?’ That excuse would hold no water with Juliette – she was eighteen when she met Dan. Nineteen when she had her first baby. Victoria changed tack before her sister objected. ‘I’d not met anyone like him. He was exciting. Impulsive. Willing to try anything. So different from me. I was …’ She thought for a moment, wanting to use the word with the most impact. ‘I was inspired by him.’
‘You loved him, Victoria. Say it.’
Victoria sealed her lips shut, shifted her weight from one foot to the other, and glowered at the floor.
‘You’re not incapable of it. Two minutes ago, you declared you have a heart.’
‘This isn’t helping, Joo.’ Victoria rubbed her eyes, watering from staring so intently at the carpet. She blinked them into action, and looked across the room. Juliette’s outward-turned monitor was in slumber mode, displaying a full-sized image of her four children, with Dan, splashing about in the sea. As Victoria’s vision improved, she was drawn to two figures in the background paddling through the shallow waves. One was tall and portly, the other short and slim, with a mass of curly hair. Victoria approached the monitor. ‘Who’s this?’ She pointed to the smaller figure.
Juliette joined her, looked and smiled. ‘Seth. And that’s Dad. We went to Weymouth for a few days last summer. Remember? You couldn’t make it, so we took Seth. Bit of a squeeze in Dad’s bungalow, but it was so warm, the boys camped in the garden.’
‘Seth camped?’ This was news to Victoria.
‘Oh, yes. Didn’t I say at the time? The girls and I stayed in the bungalow, but Seth slept in the tent with my Alex and Dan. Dad cooked tea for everyone on that single gas stove he used when we were children. Goodness knows how old that is.’ Juliette swivelled the screen to its normal position and stepped behind her desk. ‘It’s such a shame you weren’t there. Seth was very cute all wrapped up like a caterpillar. I’m surprised I haven’t shown you the photographs.’ She took her seat again and grasped the mouse. ‘I’ll find them now.’
Victoria responded with a distracted nod, revisited the window and studied the pedestrians below. The fact Juliette was reminiscing about Seth grated on her, but it was Victoria’s fault. If she applied the same energy to motherhood as she did for work, she’d have earned that memory for herself.
She closed her eyes, endeavouring to corral her thoughts, shepherd the good memories to the fore, to prove she too had happy times. She wanted to promote those moments she’d shared with Ben – their first kiss, his marriage proposal, Christmas at Klosters. Not one of them came.
Rejecting the image of Chris barging its way to the front, she attempted to recall Seth’s milestones. She scrunched her eyes tighter, putting the squeeze on her recollections, forcing them through the narrow tunnels of her mind, but she saw cavernous, black holes. She couldn’t unearth her son’s baby gurgles, first tooth, or his toddler steps, no matter how deep she explored. There was no trace. They did not exist.
With her composure threatening to split at the seams, she put her hands on the window, and leaned into them. As if choking on chalk, she swallowed down the sensations and they plummeted like lead bullets to the pit of her stomach.
Once she recovered her poise, she opened her eyes and squinted through the haze her breath had left on the glass. The world below was abstract with blurred shapes and blended colours, but as Victoria stepped back and the cloud shrunk, her view became clear and well defined. It was all about perspective.
‘Juliette?’ Her voice was soft and small. ‘Juliette?’ Stronger now. She twisted to meet her sister. ‘How do you rate me as a mother?’
There was a long silence before Juliette answered. ‘I understand work is important for you. In many ways, it defines you, but I also know being a working mum is hard. We’re not in a position to drop everything and run home to our children, however strong the desire. I suffer from ten types of guilt starting with leaving home before the children wake, to forgetting to ask what they ate for tea.’ Another lengthy pause. ‘Considering your situation, you do well.’
For Victoria, the reply was too calculated. ‘I don’t want diplomacy, Juliette. I want honesty. I’m not a good mother, am I?’ She noted Juliette was spinning her wedding ring around her finger. It was a sure sign she was uncomfortable with the moment. That was all the reply Victoria required. She held up her hand. ‘It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.’ It was a horrible realisation that others perceived her as a poor excuse for a mother. She clutched at her stomach.
‘Victoria? You’re very pale.’
With her insides reacting to the maelstrom in her head, Victoria felt faint and nauseous and presented no resistance as Juliette guided her back to the sofa. With a gentle push on her shoulders, she sat, assumed the hunched recovery position and waited for the dizziness to settle.
Two distinct and unpleasant insights emerged from the darkness: Seth hated her and it was her fault. Instead of living life to the max as she once had, she’d invested her time in developing EweSpeak, and in the process, lost her husband and gained a son full of resentment. At some point, she’d made the decision to escape into the virtual world.
As she searched her memories for answers, one stood out: the night she and Chris Frampton made love on Chesil Beach. Was that her conscience suggesting betrayal was responsible for how she lived her life? She’d have to review that later. Right now, she had her son to think about. ‘I need to fix things with Seth, before it’s too late.’
‘What do you mean fix things?’ Juliette’s nose wrinkled. ‘What things?’
‘Everything. You heard him. He hates me.’
Juliette knelt at Victoria’s feet. ‘All children say stuff like that when they don’t get their own way. You’ve had a difficult day, that’s all.’
Victoria shook her head. ‘No. Every day is difficult.’ She blew hard air through her lips. ‘I need to distance myself from the business, and concentrate on my son. I don’t want to wake up one morning to find mine or Seth’s world destroyed by my short-sightedness.’
‘Victoria, you’re a visionary.’ Juliette jumped up, grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk, ripped it in four and scribbled money signs on each quarter. She let them fall like confetti onto the couch. ‘You took this scrap of an idea and turned it into a multi-million dollar business. How is that short-sighted?’
‘I’m not talking about EweSpeak. I’m talking about my son. I’ve been blind to his needs. Selfish.’ Admitting it didn’t appease Victoria’s guilt. So much for a problem shared … ‘This is important, Juliette. Put yourself in my shoes. What would you do?’
Juliette retreated to the coffee machine, paused, seemingly caught in thought, and then pressed the power button. ‘I have it easy, don’t I? Of course it’s important. You must go. How long do you think you’ll need?’ Not waiting for the drips of water to finish splashing into the drink, she withdrew the mug. ‘A week? A month?’
Victoria shrugged. It was pointless guessing. ‘Tell me how long it will take for me to get to know my son and I’ll give you a date.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘Nope.’
‘You always know.’ Juliette sipped her coffee. ‘You plan your life to the nth degree. You don’t do spontaneity.’
Victoria raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s caught me on the hop too, but it feels right.’ She shrugged again. This was all new to her. Winging it was Juliette’s speciality. ‘I’m the only parent Seth has. It’s time I behaved as one. I was given this most precious gift, and I let it slip through my fingers. Gone.’ She stared at the ragged strips of paper Juliette had written upon. ‘I love the protection EweSpeak provides, it’s my sanctuary, but I love Seth more, despite everything.’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’ Juliette’s face was crumpled; folded in on itself.
Victoria collected the four paper examples of empire building, scrunched them into rough balls and aimed them at the metal bin beside her desk. ‘No. Nor do I, but I can’t go on like this.’ She pointed to her bruised forehead and waited for Juliette’s reaction.
‘That wasn’t an accident?’ Calmer than Victoria expected.
‘Not exactly.’
‘Well, what?’ A definite rise in Juliette’s tone.
‘Seth was angry, he pushed me, and I fell onto the hooks.’
Juliette approached the Chesterfield. ‘Seth pushed you?’ She perched on the back. ‘He was angry, and he pushed you? But he’s four. It must have been an accident.’
‘The push was no accident. The whack to the head was a bonus.’
‘How can you say that about your own child?’
‘Because it’s true. It’s happened before. Kicks to the shin, thumps to my back. Missiles. And sometimes, it bloody hurts.’
‘But he’s only four.’
‘I know. You’ve said that already.’ Victoria was losing patience. Juliette disbelieved her. This was the very reason she’d not mentioned it before. If her own sister thought she was lying, what chance did she stand telling others? ‘Forget it, Juliette. Forget I said anything. I thought I could talk to you. I thought you of all people would listen. More fool me.’
Victoria rose from the sofa, moved over to her desk, and sank on to the chair. Blindly, she rooted through her desk drawer, gathered a few items together, and dropped them into her bag. She stood, ready to leave. ‘I’ll be back for the board meeting, otherwise, consider me on sabbatical.’ She covered the distance from her desk to the door with determined speed, and snatched at the handle. ‘I’d prefer you didn’t discuss this with anyone.’ As she waited for confirmation to her request, she saw Juliette’s eyes glisten and her mouth tremble.
‘I’m sorry, Victoria. I had no idea. I realise Seth can be a handful, but to lash out so violently? I can’t imagine it. He’s never done it to me.’
‘That’s because he doesn’t hate you. Or wish you dead.’
‘He’s said that?’
Victoria nodded. ‘Even though he’s only four.’ She released her grip on the handle, and bowed her head. ‘I don’t know how to put things right, but I’m hoping time away will provide a bit of perspective.’
‘Where will you go?’
‘Dad’s. He always has an answer.’ Victoria gave a half-hearted laugh. ‘Not necessarily the right one, but he’s a good starting point.’
‘And Seth adores him,’ Juliette added.
‘Apparently.’ Visiting her father was another of Victoria’s shortcomings. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d driven to Weymouth. She must have taken Seth for a visit as a baby. ‘He’ll be surprised to see me. Us.’
‘He’ll be over the moon. And you’ll be the first to meet his new lady friend.’
The women stared at each other, before Victoria gave a tiny shake of her head. ‘That’ll be fun. I hope Seth behaves.’
Juliette stepped forward and embraced Victoria. ‘I’m so sorry it’s come to this. I should have helped you more.’
‘None of this is your doing, Joo. And you did try. You drove me round the bend with your helpful hints and subtle suggestions. Have you forgotten the arguments?’
The hug was abandoned and Juliette shook her head. ‘I should have stood my ground. Insisted I helped.’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. I wasn’t listening. I was too busy proving I was capable.’ Victoria released a low, drawn out sigh. ‘Nothing new there.’
‘Still, I wish you’d told me sooner.’
‘I wasn’t ready until today. Just thinking about it makes me feel sick. Talking about it … Well, you know me. I like to work things out for myself.’ Victoria drew her sister to her and kissed the top of her head. ‘Right. I’ll be back to stick a rocket up the board’s fat backside, so don’t do anything daft.’ She pulled away and searched Juliette’s eyes. ‘It’s your vote, but use it wisely. Think about what I said. There’ll be members round that table who’ll see this as an opportunity to reduce costs and stamp on our authority. What’s left of it.’ The conniving bastards.
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