The park was still and moonlit. Clouds seemed to be gathering, as if sensing the danger. A bat flew over silently, but she didn’t see it, not even in the reflection on the water. The women’s voices were far enough away to be nothing more than low-level bitching now, not in-her-face vitriol, and it was a relief to her.
She knelt at the lake’s edge with her head between her knees, oblivious to her surroundings, to the blackness of the water. She was breathing hard, panting almost, trying not to sob. She just couldn’t take any more of those women tonight, their feuds, their hatred – Natasha screaming at Juliette that she was shagging her husband, and Juliette not even denying it, and Natasha trying to go for her, pull her hair like they were five-year-olds; Renée sitting there sobbing about having been raped, and although she felt desperately sad for her friend, really, just blurting out twenty-five years too late that it was Stephen who’d done it, not the stranger in Cleveland after all, while they were all totally paralytic, was not the way to go about it. Siobhan had told Renée so many times to go to the police, go to counselling, get help, get closure, but Renée wouldn’t. She preferred to drink herself senseless and shag other people’s husbands, as though she didn’t deserve any better.
As Siobhan slumped at the lakeside, she knew her behaviour had been far from perfect too tonight. She’d been in a terrible mood by the time she’d got there, she’d had such a lousy day, and they’d all been mean to her, as usual – and then she hadn’t helped matters by inflaming everyone over Stephen. She must have been mad to insinuate that Stephen had had something to do with Nigel’s death, she’d kept it secret for so long – and although she’d tried to cover it up, pretend she hadn’t said anything, she knew it had been her words that had kicked everything else off. Running off screaming had been ridiculously melodramatic too, but she couldn’t bear to hear any more – she’d simply had to get away once they’d all got going, screaming at each other like they were harridans in some dreadful soap opera.
Was it really all her fault? It had been years coming, Siobhan realised, and they’d all drunk far too much, even Sissy; and Renée had just gone straight in there, given the sniff of an opportunity. She obviously hated Stephen, despised him, and Siobhan couldn’t blame her, not at all. Even Siobhan had to admit Stephen seemed despicable these days, a serpentine man, but really, Renée calling him a murderer, a rapist, in front of everyone, spitting out the words like they were poisoned meat, was too awful. Siobhan actually felt a tiny bit sorry for Stephen, although she knew that she shouldn’t. But he was the one who had to live with Nigel’s death, with what he’d done to Renée, even if he hadn’t directly planned either. He still had to sleep at night, knowing someone had died, that he was a crook, a rapist.
What was odd though, Siobhan had always thought, was how Renée had seemed all right with Stephen when she’d first got back from America, acted almost normal with him still, although it was clear their affair had been very short-lived, in fact pretty much a one-night stand. At the time Siobhan had just assumed that Renée had cooled it with Stephen because she hadn’t wanted to upset Juliette, ruin their friendship over a man.
But, months later, Renée had eventually confessed to Siobhan that it was Stephen who’d raped her, and she’d broken down as she’d described how much he’d grovelled to her afterwards, told her he’d thought she wanted it too, and apparently Renée had fallen for it, accepted it – at first. She hadn’t spoken of it again for years, and now it seemed to Siobhan that the impact must have grown over time; as if the further away Renée had moved from what had happened, the more it had affected her – and the more intense her hatred for Stephen had become.
Siobhan gave a great heaving sigh. Renée’s outburst had been bad enough, but then on top of all the drama Natasha had got stuck in too – once she’d finished attacking Juliette she’d had a go at her, Siobhan, almost seeming to enjoy ganging up on her, like a playground bully, when what she should have been doing was tearing a strip off her adulterous husband. Only Camilla had risen above it all, nothing seemed to enrage her, apart from inappropriate picnic contributions perhaps. No, Camilla and Sissy were the only two Siobhan was going to see from now on – she’d steer clear of the others, even poor Juliette, who would never be happy while she stayed with Stephen, and especially not now. She never should have gone out with him in the first place, Siobhan thought, through the Prosecco, she was always too good for him. She’d tried to tell her, but what can you do, people never listen to the truths that don’t suit them, and Juliette had always seemed too vulnerable to be on her own for long.
The clouds moved silently across the moon, and the night became velvety dark. As Siobhan knelt quietly, trying to breathe slowly, ignore the still irate voices from beyond the bushes, she calmed down a little, began to regain some control. And then she thought she heard something near her, and she raised her head and looked up. She felt nervous suddenly, and a feeling of doom drenched through her, as though she were drowning in fear.
Words and images tumbled through her head in the darkness, and they were scarier than any movie she’d ever seen. Her heart thudded and seemed to stop. Someone was there, she was sure of it, someone in the bushes. It wasn’t one of her friends, definitely not, she could tell it was a man. Who was it? As her brain flipped in on itself in panic, the clouds passed by and the moon reappeared, as if on cue, to light up her nightmare.
Stephen!
What was he doing here? She was consumed with terror, with what she’d said about him, the secrets she’d unleashed. She knew he was ruthless. Maybe he wanted to silence her. Perhaps he was a murderer after all. Perhaps he was going to murder her.
As their eyes made contact she thought she’d pass out with dread and horror and drunkenness. She opened her mouth to scream, but before she had time to, her would-be murderer looked more shocked than her suddenly, and instead of running over and stabbing or strangling her, he turned on his heel and legged it, stifling a sneeze as he went – and as he disappeared along the path she realised it wasn’t Stephen after all, he was too slight for a start, her nerves had obviously got the better of her. But then who was he? Why had he been spying on her? Siobhan’s head restarted its spinning, sending her thoughts haywire, and she dropped back down onto the hardness of the concrete, trying to quell the nausea.
Her phone rang. She sat up and grappled in the depths of her bag, and got to it just before it went to voicemail. Her fears vanished when she saw who it was. She felt giddily drunk, euphoric, relief flooding through her.
‘Hello,’ she said, but even through her joy her voice was slurred and faintly hostile, she couldn’t help herself.
‘Hi, Shiv,’ said Matt. He paused. ‘Are you all right? Are you at your picnic? How’s it going?’
‘Terrible,’ said Siobhan, and she started to cry, despite feeling better, or maybe because of it. The man in the bushes seemed to have definitely gone, thank goodness, she must have imagined he was after her. Maybe she’d even imagined him, she was drunk after all.
‘Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t called before. It’s just that the reception here’s rubbish, and I’ve been a bit distracted lately, you’ll understand why soon.’
She panicked again, convinced suddenly that he was about to dump her. ‘Matt, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve had an awful evening. Is it OK if we talk about this another time?’
‘Of course, it’s just that, well … look, where are you?’
‘By the side of the bloody Serpentine,’ she said. ‘We all had a terrible row and I ran off like a total drama queen, but you should have heard it, the things that were said, it was poisonous. Then I thought there was someone in the bushes, but maybe I was wrong, I don’t know, and I’m covered in wine and chocolate and I look like a tramp, a pissed daft tramp.’ She began to cry a little harder.
‘Someone there? What d’you mean? Are you OK?’
Siobhan listened. Everywhere there was stillness; even the women were quiet now. She tried not to alarm him.
‘Oh, I must have imagined it, I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure, Siobhan? I don’t like the sound of it. How are you getting home?’
‘I don’t know, try to flag down a taxi I guess.’
‘I wish I could come and get you, make sure you’re OK, I wish I wasn’t in the bloody Kimberleys.’
‘It doesn’t matter, there’s no-one here now, I’m sure of it. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you after the weekend.’
‘Come round on Sunday, my flight gets in early morning. Come round then.’
‘You’ll be knackered.’
‘I’ll be OK. I can’t wait to see you. Oh, please don’t cry again. I … look, this isn’t quite how I envisioned it, but I hate to hear you so upset … so when I get back … I … Oh, fuck it … (Deep breath.) Siobhan, when I get back I’ve got something to ask you.’
Siobhan felt a hot sweet feeling course down her neck, through her back, like you get when you say hello to a stranger and they respond to you, smile at you unexpectedly. She stopped crying, stopped breathing.
‘I’ve already spoken to your father, don’t worry, I’ve done it all properly. Listen, I’ve got to go in a minute, the truck’s waiting for me.’
‘OK,’ she said. ‘… Matt?’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m a nutter.’
‘That’s OK, I like it.’
‘Ma – att?’
‘Ye – es?’
‘I really, really love you.’
‘I really, really love you too, Siobhan, I really, really do. I always have. See you soon. Look after yourself, OK?’
‘I will, don’t worry, I’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘The others are still here, they’d hear me if anything happened, I’m good at screaming. I love you, Matt. Bye.’
Siobhan shoved her phone into her bag and sat there for a while, stunned, savouring Matt’s words, delighted chills still coursing through her spine. Finally she pushed up on her hands and hauled her legs around, resting drunkenly for a moment on her left arm and left thigh, as if she were posing for an old-fashioned swimwear shot. She smiled her killer smile, teeth perfectly straight these days, hugged the knowledge to herself like a newborn baby. She felt totally fine about getting home now – the park felt brighter, safer, in fact the whole world felt lovelier, she loved everything about it. There were definitely no more strange men lurking in the bushes, and there was bound to be a cab up on the bridge, she’d be home in no time. She even felt more optimistic about her friends now – she’d be sure to ring everyone in the morning to make up, even Natasha. After all it was her own lapse in discretion that had kicked everything off – thinking about it, maybe it was all her fault, the least she could do was apologise to everyone. And they were all friends still, always had been, always would be, they’d been through so much together. Her mind waltzed a little, full of love and Prosecco. She’d invite them to the wedding of course – in fact, maybe they could even be bridesmaids! She’d love that. Yes, she’d sort everything out tomorrow. It would all be all right tomorrow.
Siobhan’s head spun as she fully stood up, and she tottered on her ridiculous heels, and she tripped clumsily on the trailing strap of her handbag, and as she fell she gashed her head on the rowlock of the little boat, the one that they’d left there with a hole in it, and as everything went black a splash – was it a bird or a woman – sounded into the soft summer night.