TIM POURS ME A GLASS OF WINE. I TAKE IT OVER TO the table. Cora darts him a look and purses her mouth. They’ve been back since two o’clock this afternoon. He takes a seat and folds his hands in front of him. The last three days have passed by in a state of suspended numbness, but now we are gathered at my kitchen table to talk about The Situation, while Lottie is out of the way with her father.
‘Nick’s body may be found, but equally it may not,’ Tim says.
I keep my hands folded over my stomach as I listen, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of me. Tim put it there, in case I want to make notes.
‘If that proves to be the case,’ he continues, ‘we’ll have to accept that we’ll be in legal limbo at least until the Guardianship Act becomes law.’
I’ve looked into this. The Guardianship Law allows relatives to look after the affairs of loved ones with disabilities, but the new Act will cover missing persons as well. At the moment families have to wait seven years; a horrible situation, and one that I’m beginning to feel the effects of already. I can’t talk to Nick’s bank, I can’t close down standing orders; even the utility bills are in his name. Nick set them up when he bought the house; I didn’t think to suggest they were put in both our names. I can see how much danger Lottie and I are in; how much we could lose.
Cora is speaking now. ‘But the Act has passed three readings, so it’s more than likely it’ll go through, and when that happens, Grace …’ She pauses, then says, ‘Tim and I will be applying for guardianship of Nick’s estate.’
I’m confused at first, then the penny drops. This is exactly what Douglas warned me about. ‘You are joking?’
‘Certainly not. This is extremely serious. As Nick hasn’t made a will, there’s going to be a complicated process which I hardly think you have the education to follow.’
‘Douglas will help me.’
‘Give me strength.’
‘Cora,’ Tim says, quelling her.
She folds her arms and sits back. ‘You forget; we are his next of kin.’
‘I haven’t forgotten that. You won’t let me.’
Tim cuts in. ‘Cora and I appreciate that Nick wouldn’t have wanted to leave you and Lottie high and dry …’
‘High and dry?’ I echo. ‘I can’t afford to walk away from this. How are we expected to live?’
Cora’s gaze moves swiftly over my face. ‘You have a job.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything? I don’t make nearly enough money to cover our outgoings.’
‘That’s my point. None of us do, so the sooner we can work something out the better.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Just to clarify one or two things,’ Cora says. ‘Could we—’
‘Remember what we talked about, darling.’
I look from one to the other. ‘What did we talk about?’
Cora puts her hand on Tim’s arm, as if to silence him. ‘We need to make sure everyone’s on the same page.’
‘And what page would that be?’
‘Perhaps later,’ Tim says. His protest is feeble, and Cora loses patience.
‘It’s best to be prepared. We know you wouldn’t want to take anything that isn’t rightfully yours, so I was going to suggest that you have a look round the house and place Post-it notes on the items that you paid for.’
I look at Tim, but he averts his gaze. The silence is treacly.
‘We are prepared to be reasonable when it comes to your settlement,’ Cora goes on. ‘Which you have no legal right to demand, of course. When this house is sold, we’ll use part of the proceeds to set up a trust that will pay for Lottie’s university education. I think that’s very generous, considering she isn’t a blood relation.’
My jaw has dropped so far, it’s practically scraping the floor.
‘We’re prepared to give you and Lottie one month’s notice, but after that I’m afraid you’ll have to make other arrangements.’
‘This is my house.’
‘No, it isn’t. The deeds are in Nick’s name. You weren’t married. Everything that belonged to him, will belong to us. I’m sure there are one or two articles of furniture we can let you have, to help you set up, but otherwise, I’m afraid, this house and its contents are ours. I refuse to believe my son saw you as a permanent fixture in his life. He expected it to end at some point and, when it did, he would have fallen in love with …’ She pauses meaningfully. ‘With a more suitable girl and married her. He would have given us grandchildren.’
We sit in silence. Tim fiddles with his phone. Cora looks down at her clasped hands. My mouth is dry.
I drink some water, then say quietly, ‘Nick loved both of us very much. We were his family. More than you’ve ever been.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Her voice is full of bile.
‘Maybe we should leave it here,’ Tim says. ‘Before someone says something they regret. We’ll give you a chance to get your head round what we’ve said. It’s a lot to take in.’
‘You take over my home, with no regard to my feelings, and stake your claim at the first possible moment. For God’s sake, there’s no real proof your son is dead. You are unbelievable.’
‘Nick is dead,’ Cora says, folding her arms. ‘That will be proved sooner or later. I’ve accepted it and you need to accept it as well, for your own sake and your daughter’s.’
‘You can’t do this.’
‘Yes, we can. And yes, we will. I’ve never liked you, Grace.’
‘You could have fooled me.’
She tuts. ‘Nick was such a happy little boy and he would have been a happy man if he hadn’t met you.’
‘He was happy,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘We loved each other.’
‘So why, when Douglas Parr clicks his fingers, do you come running? Nick hated that man.’
The word hate jolts me. Nick wasn’t Douglas’s biggest fan, but he respected what he meant to Lottie. ‘They were fine. Don’t exaggerate.’
‘I’m only repeating what he said to me.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Be that as it may. The fact remains that you are now here on sufferance. You’d better start looking for something more modest. I hear there are some perfectly decent ex-council properties in the same catchment as Lottie’s school, so at least she can keep up her friendships.’
I say, very slowly, ‘This is my home, my house. The things in it, Nick and I chose together, bought together.’
She shrugs. ‘That won’t make any difference, I’m afraid. If he had loved you that much, he would have married you.’
‘We were engaged. We were committed to each other.’
She laughs. ‘You’re not wearing an engagement ring.’
‘That’s because he had only just asked me.’
She raises her eyebrows slowly. ‘Grace. He didn’t. You’re clutching at straws, and it’s pathetic. Now, I don’t know where you came from, but quite frankly, you’re not one of us. You’re still young, and you’re an attractive woman; I’m sure you’ll find another wealthy man to leech off.’
‘How dare you? I have never leeched off anyone in my life. And I don’t have to go anywhere.’
Cora smirks. ‘Neither do we. We’re putting our house on the market and moving in here permanently. Now, I have things to do, so if you wouldn’t mind …’
‘I do mind, actually. You don’t get to dismiss me, Cora. This conversation isn’t over.’
She looks down her nose. ‘I’m afraid it is. Without my son you are nothing.’
I race upstairs to the spare bedroom where I begin tearing clothes off hangers and throwing them into their suitcases. Cora pounds up after me, bursts in and pulls one of Tim’s sweaters out of my hands.
‘Get out of here! Don’t touch our things, you little bitch.’ She starts clawing at me, grabbing at my hands, her manicured fingernails gouging at my wrist. It hurts so much that I elbow her hard. She falls against a chair, rights herself and comes for me. I duck out of her way, pull open the chest of drawers and scoop armfuls of underwear on to the bed. Bras and knickers, tights, Tim’s socks and boxers. Cora keeps shoving them back in, but I pick up a bundle of clothes, take them out of the room and throw them over the stairs. Some of them get caught on the banisters on their way down, giving the stairwell a chaotically festive look.
Cora comes storming out of the bedroom, her hand raised. I step to one side to avoid a slap and she trips over Toffee, who has sprung forward to protect me. Tim catches her, and they struggle, almost falling downstairs. Cora, normally so coolly elegant, lands heavily on her husband in an ungainly sprawl.
I come to my senses. Horrified, I try to help her up, but she shoves my hand away.
‘That’s assault. I’ll be reporting you to the police.’
‘But I didn’t,’ I splutter. Then I look at the three of us and feel sick. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. The last time I lost control this badly was with Douglas. He still bears the scar to prove it, and I have a criminal record. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
Tim rubs the back of his head. ‘Oh Lord,’ he says. ‘That was a bit … uh … unexpected.’
‘I’m not sure I can stand,’ Cora says.
I wince. ‘Shall I call an ambulance?’
‘No. Just get out of my sight.’
I hesitate, thrown by the vitriol in her voice. ‘I’ll get some ice.’
I run downstairs and into the kitchen. Cora’s mobile starts ringing. Ignoring it, I get a packet of frozen peas out of the freezer and wrap it in a clean dishcloth. Then I pick up the phone and go back up.
‘Your phone rang,’ I say, handing it to her. I kneel down next to Tim and press the improvised ice pack against his bump.
Cora taps her phone, checks the display. ‘It’s my mother’s nursing home.’ She swipes the screen, puts it to her ear and stands up, surprisingly lithe considering her injuries. We listen to her side of the call. It’s obvious things aren’t good.
‘Something up?’ Tim grunts, when she finishes.
‘Mum’s worse. The manager thinks it’s pneumonia, but whatever it is, they don’t think she’ll last. I’ll have to go tonight.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.
She doesn’t reply.
Once Cora has left, the house feels different; not better or worse, but weirdly expectant, as if it’s holding its breath, as if it knows something will happen. I’m on my own with Tim and despite his easy charm, I’m on high alert. I like him; I’ve always felt that he’s on my side, but now I’m not so sure. Nick made excuses for his father, but the very fact that he did told its own story. Tim is a coward; the kind of man who says one thing to one person, the opposite to another, because he’s scared of not being liked. What would he do to prevent anyone finding out how morally bankrupt he really is?
I wonder if, in actual fact, he hates me, wants me out of his life as much as his wife does; and the sooner the better. I’ve rocked the boat.
‘We’re not going anywhere, are we, darling?’ I whisper to Toffee, who pricks his ears, looks up at me from under his old man’s eyebrows, then sighs and sinks back into his dreams.