Camilla stood splashing water on her face in the ‘hers’ sink of the marble en suite bathroom, her head feeling like it might even explode. The children were downstairs already, having breakfast. Now they were in their teens they were largely self-sufficient in the mornings, but even so Camilla would normally be down there fussing around them, trying to force them to eat porridge, make sure they had their PE kit, and they would chastise her crossly, complaining that they were fourteen and sixteen, not four and six, and James would tell them not to be rude to their mother, they were lucky they hadn’t been packed off to boarding school like every other male in her family.
Camilla felt devastated this morning. She had been so excited about the picnic, about seeing everyone again – it had been much too long since they’d all got together – but last night had been horrendous, and she knew that James had been deeply perturbed by her arriving home not only drunk, which was unusual in itself, with hair band askew, pristine white jeans trashed, but sobbing, which was absolutely unheard of. She vaguely recalled staggering into the bedroom, wailing that she’d had the worst night of her life, but she couldn’t remember now exactly what she’d said to James, and then she’d just fallen into their antique French bed and passed out. She’d been horrified when he’d asked her all sorts of terrible questions this morning: about Renée nearly drowning, and being raped, and someone being killed, by Stephen, had she said? What on earth had Camilla revealed to her husband?
Camilla was aware that she hadn’t been so hysterical since her father’s death, when her friends had done everything for her, been everything to her – perhaps that was why she’d become so distraught last night; maybe the fact that the ties had been severed at last was triggering some new wave of grief for her father.
Camilla felt heartbroken as she acknowledged that things would never be the same again. What had happened to her old friends? They seemed to have changed so much, particularly Natasha, who although she had been Camilla’s fiercest protector once, seemed so cold and brittle now. Privately Camilla had thought for ages that if Natasha would only spend more time at home with her family, rather than obsessing about her career, maybe her children wouldn’t be so badly behaved and her marriage (in Camilla’s opinion) wouldn’t be in trouble.
Camilla turned off the tap and buried her face into a thick white towel. She was grateful to James now, that he’d insisted he didn’t need to go into the office today, could work from home instead, keep an eye on her. Even if her group of best friends had just been decimated, at least she still had her husband, her children – and even through her current despair Camilla knew that, unlike some of the others, she would be all right, that ultimately her family’s love would be enough.