IT WAS INCREDIBLE how lovely and peaceful the house could be without the children in it. Radio 4 played quietly on the kitchen windowsill, and Jo could hear a blackbird singing outside, probably on the apple tree. It was warm enough for all the doors and windows to be open, sending a green-scented breeze through the house. Honor was out for a walk, and it was Iris’s first morning at nursery with Oscar: a trial run, and just for two hours, three days a week, nine till eleven. When the children were with Richard the house felt empty to Jo, but two hours was perfect. Their scents lingered, their games only paused, not abandoned. Iris had been happy to go, toddling in after her older brother with barely a single cheerful ‘No!’
Honor might have offered to look after them – she seemed to be developing a bond with the children, which was more than Jo had ever hoped for. And Honor and Jo seemed to have come to some new understanding since they had been to see Adam together. Honor had softened, somehow. She had said, I have not been very kind to you, Jo. And though Jo would have thought that it would take a lot more after all these years of enmity, she found that actually, that one sentence of apology, of acknowledgement, was enough.
Still, Honor wouldn’t be with them for ever. Probably not for very much longer at all; she was walking without a limp now and would be well enough to go home soon. Besides, Jo wasn’t ready to tell anyone, let alone Honor, what she was thinking of doing with her six hours of freedom a week.
She perched on a kitchen island stool and opened the laptop, which she hardly ever used except for occasionally doing the weekly shop online or getting tips about potty training. She’d bookmarked the Open University webpage already.
She couldn’t afford the tuition; she couldn’t really afford the extra hours for Iris in nursery. But surely she could do something to save the money: sell the car and get a more economical one, switch supermarkets, not use the tumble dryer at all. With Richard remarrying, he might be amenable to selling this house, and she could find somewhere smaller for them to live – maybe even somewhere that would be all theirs, where she would feel at ease to decorate. Where she could put up a shelf for her teacups.
She was only investigating now. She wasn’t committing to anything, not yet. They had to see how Iris got on at nursery, get through Lydia’s exams, work out a budget and a timetable.
It was just that there was something about the way that Marcus had looked at her when she’d confessed she wanted to get that degree she’d never earned, maybe even teach. He’d looked at her as if she could do it. As if she were a person who had more possibilities than she knew.
Jo was clicking through to the courses, not wanting to look at the tuition fees yet, when her phone rang. As always, she got a warm thrill when she saw it was from Marcus.
‘I was just thinking of you,’ she answered. ‘Isn’t it risky to ring during school hours?’
‘It’s about Lydia,’ said Marcus, and Jo sat upright on her stool. ‘She’s walked out of her exam. She seems really upset. I thought she was ill, so I went after her, and she …’ He lowered his voice. ‘She knows about us.’
‘Oh no.’ Jo’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh God, that’s dreadful.’
She tried to think of how Lydia could have found out. Had she glimpsed them through a not-closed curtain, had she snooped on Jo’s phone? Jo thought she had been so careful, but how many other people might know, too, while she had been blissfully carrying on?
‘Yes,’ said Marcus flatly. ‘Dreadful.’
‘I need to go,’ she said. ‘I need to find her.’
‘All right,’ said Marcus, and she hung up.
She grabbed her keys, planning the route that would make her most likely to intercept Lydia on her way home from school, trying to think of what she could possibly say, when the door opened. But it wasn’t Lydia; it was Honor. She was walking without her cane, and she shut the door carefully behind her, wiping her feet although it was dry outside.
‘Have you seen Lydia?’ Jo asked wildly. ‘Did she walk past you?’
‘I haven’t,’ said Honor. ‘Doesn’t she have an exam this morning?’
‘I’ve just had a call from … from school to say she walked out. I need to find her and make sure she’s OK.’
The door opened a second time and Lydia came in. Her hair swung loose from her elastic; her eyes were rimmed with red. ‘Lyddie,’ said Jo, holding out her arms.
Lydia stepped around her as if she were a stone in her path, and headed for the staircase.
‘Lydia. What’s wrong? Please tell me.’
‘Why do you care?’
‘I’m your mother. Of course I care.’
‘No,’ said Lydia, without turning around. ‘No, you lost the right to ask me about my personal problems when you broke your promise to me.’
She began to climb the stairs. Jo followed her. ‘Lydia, it’s not like that.’
‘What’s it like then? Are you in love?’ She sneered the words. ‘Did you want revenge on Richard, or was it just because shagging a younger man made you feel better about yourself?’
Jo fought not to argue or to crumple in shame. ‘I’m an adult. I can make my own choices. But let’s talk about—’
‘You promised me.’ Lydia stopped on the stairs, turning around so quickly that Jo put out her hands, certain her daughter was going to fall. But Lydia held on to the banister. Her knuckles were white.
‘Did you leave your exam because of this?’ Jo asked.
‘It’s not about the exams, so you can stop harping on about them. Don’t you ever think that anything might be more important?’
‘Lydia, honey—’
‘You disgust me,’ Lydia spat. ‘You make me sick. You talk about love and how wonderful it is, and then you do this, and it pollutes it. It’s … everything is dirty and wrong.’
The last word was on a sob. Lydia ran up the stairs, one flight then another, her feet banging on the treads, and they heard her door crashing shut at the top of the house.
‘Oh God,’ said Jo again, her hands over her mouth. She sat on the stairs, her mind racing. The promise she had made her daughter, and almost immediately broken. This was all her fault, because she hadn’t been able to control herself. Lydia had somehow found out, and it had upset her so much that she was messing up her exams. Messing up her future.
And the contempt in her eyes …
‘Excuse me,’ said Honor. Jo blinked and looked up; Honor was standing on the step beneath her. She must have heard everything. Jo swallowed down hot shame.
‘Do you mind letting me past?’ Honor asked.
‘You can’t climb—’
‘I’ve been climbing these stairs for practice for the past three weeks. I’d like to try to talk to my granddaughter, see if I can help.’
‘It’s my fault,’ said Jo. Her voice broke.
Honor put a hand on Jo’s shoulder. ‘Don’t I keep telling you that the world isn’t your responsibility? You were right. You’re a grown-up. I don’t know what kind of foolish promise you made to Lydia, mind.’
‘She’s disgusted with me. My little girl.’
‘You’re not the only one in this family with secrets.’ Honor put her foot on the step where Jo was sitting, and Jo moved over to let her past. Her mother-in-law climbed up steadily but slowly, grasping the handrail. Jo listened to each step and heard the brisk rap, finally, on her daughter’s door.
She could hear Honor’s voice, but not the words she said; she seemed to be talking for a long time. But she couldn’t hear Lydia replying, and the door never opened. Eventually Honor descended. ‘She won’t speak with me. She says she doesn’t want to speak to anyone. She just wants to be left alone. Perhaps she’ll feel better when she’s calmed down.’
‘Maybe I should call Avril. She might be able to talk to her.’
‘Isn’t she in her exam?’
Maybe Marcus would know what to say, Jo thought, and then knew she was being ridiculous.
Stephen would know. Stephen and Lydia had always been so close. Even when she was a toddler, he could talk her out of tantrums. Jo put her head between her knees, squeezing back tears.
Honor’s hand on her shoulder again. ‘Let’s have a nice cup of tea,’ she said, apparently without irony.