It was exactly a week since Damian St Claire had turned up at the gate of her new home, and exactly a week since Lexia had felt the wonderfully comforting arms of her brother-in-law, Richard Boothroyd, around her in the grounds of Brenton Wood golf club.
With Ariadne and Juno busy working, Lexia had only had minimal contact with the pair of them that week – the former having called round the previous evening on her way home after babysitting Juno’s two while Juno was apparently in London at some work conference. But she’d been round to see her mum every single day after dropping Cillian off at Little Acorns. It was so lovely to see and be with her mum; how could she have lived all these years without her? She and Helen had shopped at Sainsbury’s, or they’d simply sat and chatted for hours, looking at old photographs. And they’d also been out for a daily walk, each one longer and more exploratory than the previous day. While she loved the countryside she’d never in a million years thought of herself as a walker, but she’d even been out walking the country lanes of her childhood by herself and, she laughed at the very idea, had just sent off for her first ever pair of proper walking boots. The walks with her mum were wonderfully good for both of them, but particularly for Helen who was looking so much better than when Lexia had first arrived back home.
The only two occasions she’d felt one of her panic attacks coming on was when Ariadne had appeared unannounced yesterday evening at Lexia’s house and it was obvious, to anyone with half a brain – and this was Ariadne, with enough brain power for the whole of Westenbury – that she was having a problem with Theo. He’d been drinking solidly all Sunday and the tension she was feeling as she waited for him to come round from his drunken state on the sofa was only compounded by Ariadne’s taking in the whole situation in one knowing glance.
The other had been last Thursday when she and Helen had set off for their daily walk, chatting away about nothing much, happy to be in each other’s company. It was Helen’s turn to choose their route, and when she suggested they head for Norman’s Meadow, the local wildflower beauty spot a couple of miles past Heath Green, Lexia had to fight the rising nausea and racing pulse that heralded a full-blown panic attack. She’d been able to persuade Helen that it probably wasn’t a good idea to venture over there because of the new development of rather upmarket houses that was being built at the very edge of the woods right next to Norman’s Meadow and, although she’d felt shaky and sick for the rest of the morning, Helen hadn’t appeared to notice anything amiss.
Lexia now had Richard’s phone number safely in her mobile and she took comfort in the fact that he was there, solid, reliable and at the end of the phone, as they discussed the best way forward with Damian St Claire. She knew it wouldn’t be long before he was back with his usual demands.
Well, not this time, Lexia thought determinedly on this Tuesday morning, the beautiful spring-like air, with all its promise of the season to come, filling her lungs and giving her a confidence that was taking her by surprise. She bundled Cillian into his warm coat, popped his bobble hat onto his fair head and set off for Little Acorns. No more. No more, bloody Damian St Claire. What was he but a pathetic little drug addict? Time to have the truth out in the open.
Well, most of it, anyway.
The excitement of having Theo Ryan and Lexia Sutherland living in Heath Green had obviously waned somewhat, she realised, as both she and Cillian waved to the lone reporter leaning against the black gates, crafty fag in one hand, mobile in the other. Mrs Beresford at Little Acorns had suggested Lexia stay with Cillian for the first half an hour or so every morning to ensure he felt settled and she wasn’t abandoning him. Cillian had created loudly the first two mornings in Reception class, throwing the chunky wax crayons at her, Mrs Beaumont, his teacher and several of the children, but Mrs Beresford herself had quickly intervened, taking Cillian out and giving him short shrift before returning him to the class and, once he was sitting quietly with a group listening to a story with a nursery nurse, telling Lexia to leave him to it.
This morning, Cillian actually ran into Reception, dropping Lexia’s hand and heading straight for a little group of children already excitedly handling the musical instruments laid out on a table. Oh heavens, Lexia closed her eyes. Was he going to barge in, grab the drums and tambourines from the other children and shake them loudly in their faces. Or worse, throw them across the classroom in order to hear the crash, bang, tinkle, they would inevitably make?
Lexia watched, hand to her mouth, as Cillian skidded to a halt, eyes wide and bright with excitement and anticipation. There was one tambourine and one metal triangle left on the table and, as Cillian reached a hand for the tambourine, another little pair of hands did the same. Lexia closed her eyes, waiting for the scream of fury she knew would ensue. Nothing. Lexia opened her eyes to see Cillian handing the tambourine to the little bespectacled red-head who’d just missed out to her son. Bloody hell. Cillian picked up the one remaining instrument – the triangle – and walked back towards her, smiling.
‘Sing, Mummy.’
‘Oh, Cillian, I don’t think so…’ Lexia glanced round the classroom to where Mrs Beaumont and two of the teaching assistants had stopped what they were doing and were watching with interest.
‘Hush little baby, don’t say a word,’ Cillian sang, striking the metal triangle on each alternate beat. ‘Come on, Mummy, sing…’
Hell, Lexia thought, this is like something out of a sodding film, like that nun singing on the spoof film ‘Airplane!’ She hadn’t sung in front of an audience for years; she didn’t even know if she could anymore, but Cillian was looking at her with such hope in those big brown eyes of his, she sang the first word quietly, clearing her throat when nothing much came out. Cillian stood in front of her, hitting the triangle as she tried again.
And then she was singing, acapella, the beautiful lyrics and tune soaring around the classroom while Cillian accompanied her every now and again on his triangle. As she came to the end of the song there was a silence and then a spontaneous burst of applause from the staff and parents dropping off children who’d gathered to listen to the haunting melody and voice of the once-famous Lexia Sutherland.
Embarrassed, but pleased that she’d managed to sing in front of people once more, Lexia waited until Cillian had re-joined the other children in the classroom and, when he turned and waved her goodbye, sitting attentively at Mrs Beaumont’s feet as she called registration, she slipped out of the classroom and crossed the hall towards the heavy Victorian door that led to the playground.
‘Mrs Ryan?’ Mrs Beresford popped her head round her office door. ‘Have you a minute?’
Lexia retraced her steps and headed for the headteacher’s office, her heart sinking. Was she going to be told Cillian was unmanageable?
‘I just heard you singing.’ Cassie Beresford smiled. ‘I absolutely loved your albums years ago. Well, I still do, really.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ Lexia smiled, relieved. ‘I thought you were going to tell me something awful about Cillian.’
‘Cillian? No, he’s settling down, don’t you think? I know it’s only been a week, but we’ve seen a marked improvement in his behaviour already. I don’t think there’s been a paddy for the last couple of days.’ She paused. ‘You know, he’s a very bright little boy. Sometimes, when a child has a pretty high IQ for his age, he can become frustrated; frustration can lead to behaviour problems. He needs occupying, needs to play with the other kids.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ Lexia felt a big smile spread across her face.
‘We just wondered, you know, with your being new to the area, whether you needed a bit of occupation too?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Lexia frowned.
‘It’s just that our Y6 children are looking at future goals and ambitions in their PSHE lessons at the moment. Mr Donnington, their teacher, is hoping to get a few outside speakers in – I think he’s going to approach Dr Armstrong – to discuss various careers. You know, how do people get to be doctors, architects and the like? Just a question and answer session really.’
‘Yes, but I don’t have a career.’
‘Of course you do. Or at least you did. The kids would be fascinated to hear your route to success, particularly as you are a past pupil.’ Cassie Beresford smiled encouragingly.
‘Oh gosh, I don’t know, I don’t think I’d be any good at talking to children.’
‘Think about it. I know your niece is in that class and that might make you feel a bit strange, but we’d love it if you’d think about it.’
‘I will. You know, I really will think about it.’ Lexia felt a sudden burst of happiness that this was something she might be able to do. That she might be able to encourage kids to follow their dreams, but that the path forwards wasn’t always an easy one.
‘Well, we’ll be in touch,’ the head said, smiling as she opened the door for Lexia.
Lexia walked back to her car, a big daft smile on her face. Cillian was settling well, he was very bright for heaven’s sake (his nursery school and previous Reception class had only ever reported what a nuisance he was and that his behavioural issues, unless she sorted them, would only hinder any educational progress he should be making) and she’d just sung again in public (well, if you could call a class of uninterested five-year-olds and a few parents public: she giggled to herself at the thought) and, best of all, she was being asked to make herself useful in the school.
Lexia’s smile stayed on her face all the way down to the main road, where she positively skipped back towards her car. Her new walking boots might have arrived when she got home: she’d see if her mum fancied a really long walk…
‘Lexia! How lovely of you to turn up here. What’s up? You’re looking very pleased with yourself.’ Damian St Claire was leaning against the side of the large 4x4 vehicle Theo had insisted she drive up here but, because she was parked right up against the verge, she didn’t see him until she’d crossed the main road and was actually at the car.
Lexia ignored him, fumbling with the remote on her key, but Damian crossed in front of the vehicle to stand in front of the car door and make it difficult for her to gain access.
‘Fuck off, Damian,’ Lexia said hotly. ‘You’re not having another penny from me.’
‘Hey, hey, no need for that sort of language,’ he grinned. ‘Oh, I think both you and your sister will be coughing up again rather than having your past little history on the front of the papers…’ Damian’s voice, oily yet conciliatory, was in her ear, one hand on her wrist, the other lifting his T-shirt (oh, he knew exactly how to frighten her) to reveal his naked torso, as she reached for the car’s door handle and pulled.
Before she could reply, Lexia’s phone rang and, pushing Damian out of the way, she opened the car door, simultaneously pulling her mobile from her coat pocket and slamming the door in his face. Lexia listened to the caller, a look of intense concentration on her face and then, winding down her window, she spat at St Claire, ‘Too fucking late, you bastard. It’s going to all come out without any help from you. And, about time too…’
Lexia put the car into gear and roared off at speed, sending gravel and uprooted grass into the air and Damian St Claire onto the floor.
*
‘What are you doing here?’ Lexia walked into Pandora and Richard’s beautifully decorated hall, too agitated to take in the difference in décor since she’d last been there, over sixteen years previously.
‘I’ve taken the day off school – family crisis, I told the secretary when I rang. The head won’t be pleased, but I really don’t give a toss. I think this is all a bit more important than a bunch of girls learning Homer, don’t you?’ Ariadne nodded towards the kitchen. ‘Juno’s here too; it’s her day off.’
‘Right.’ The new sense of confidence Lexia had been feeling as she’d left Little Acorns had morphed into fury on seeing Damian St Claire waiting for her. Now, with Pandora sitting upright at the kitchen table, her usually immaculately made-up face devoid of any colour, and Juno at her side as they waited for her arrival, she suddenly felt only fear. Had Pandora told her sisters everything?
‘Where’s Richard?’ Lexia asked as Juno came towards her, taking her into her arms and giving her a hug. ‘He rang me just now. Is he here?’ Lexia looked from one to the other of her sisters.
‘He was. He rang you from here, but we thought it best he drives up to North Yorkshire to pick Hugo up from school and bring him back here.’
‘On a Tuesday morning in the middle of term?’ Lexia stared. ‘Isn’t he going to find that strange?’
‘Not as bad as if that little runt, St Claire, does what he’s been threatening all week,’ Ariadne said grimly. ‘Pandora’s told us everything, Lexia. We know all about him.’
‘I’ve just seen him.’ Lexia frowned. ‘He was waiting for me outside the school. You know, when Richard phoned?’
‘He was hanging around here earlier too. He must have walked over to find you when Richard put the door in his face.’ Pandora spoke for the first time. ‘You know, we can pay him off again…’
‘For another year? Until he’s spent up again?’ Lexia shook her head vehemently. ‘I am sick of being frightened, of living in fear that this is all going to come out.’ She turned to look directly at Pandora as she emphasised the word all, the imperceptible shake of Pandora’s head, as she held Lexia’s eye, telling her what she wanted to know. Lexia relaxed slightly and turned to Ariadne and Juno. ‘But it doesn’t matter anymore. For me, anyhow. My big days of fame and stardom are over, thank goodness. I want it all out in the open now. We can hold a press conference…’
‘A press conference?’ Ariadne snorted with derision. ‘You’re not the Prime Minister, Lexia.’
‘No, but Lexia was a big enough star – don’t forget she was huge, and Theo still is always in the news – for this to make the front pages of the tabloids. Far better, don’t you think, to invite them here and tell them the story yourself rather than that St Claire bastard trying to make himself more money?’ Juno smiled at Lexia, seeing she was hurt by Ariadne’s cutting remark.
‘And of course, once it’s out in the open, Damian St Claire loses any bargaining power.’ Ariadne paused, a tight little smile on her face, ‘And then, of course, you press charges for blackmail.’
‘I think,’ Pandora said, her large brown eyes stark against her white face, ‘the most important thing – the only thing – in all this bloody mess is Hugo. How on earth are we – am I – going to tell Hugo?’