Sunday
What were you expecting? Someone prissy and perfect like you?
I’d fallen asleep with Colleen’s cruel words rolling like bullets in my brain, the image of her scornful face pressed behind my eyelids, but woke filled with remorse.
I shouldn’t have confronted her like that. It was obvious she’d had too much to drink, probably because she was nervous, and I’d made everything worse by saying I didn’t want her in my life.
You’re both a bit boring, actually.
Was that what she really thought of us? Of me?
I couldn’t deny that it hurt.
Maybe I needed to be patient and draw her out of herself slowly; give her time to adjust and feel comfortable with me. I hadn’t expected us to be so different but, with hindsight, I’d been led by emotion, rather than logic. I hadn’t factored in meeting a real person, with complicated feelings and – as it turned out – a spiky personality. She probably hadn’t anticipated how meeting me would affect her either. Whatever had made her lash out like that, I couldn’t believe she didn’t want to know me, and I wasn’t going to give up without giving us another chance to talk – this time while she was sober.
I turned over in the vast, comfortable bed, wanting to talk to Greg, but he was asleep with his back to me and I couldn’t face disturbing him. When I got back to our room last night, heart racing, wiping tears from my face, he’d been in with Maisie, saying she wanted him to stay with her, and it hadn’t seemed appropriate to tell him what had happened, or ask him why he’d had his hands on Colleen when the lift doors opened. He’d been so good to stay, when I’d fled the restaurant with Maisie, desperate to escape Colleen’s increasingly random behaviour, and was probably just steadying her on her feet. It had been obvious she was drunk.
Instead, I’d pulled the curtains across the window, noticing Colleen, weaving out of the hotel grounds, head bowed, and after crying into a towel in the bathroom, horribly aware that Mum wasn’t around to answer all the questions circling my brain, I’d crawled under the duvet exhausted, and into a dreamless sleep.
Now, I slid out of bed, and went to take a shower, and by the time I’d finished, Greg was awake, propped against the pillows with his hair standing out at odd angles. Maisie was rolling on top of the duvet, singing, ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’.
‘It’s a beautiful day,’ I said, dragging the curtains open and retrieving a scattering of toys that Maisie had arranged on the rug at the end of the bed. Streaks of sunlight beamed through the windows and slanted across the thick, cream carpet.
‘Bootiful,’ Maisie agreed.
I pulled on clean clothes, wondering if Colleen had slept well and was feeling more positive this morning and regretted what she’d said last night – if she could even remember it. ‘I’m starving,’ I said.
‘Me starving,’ Maisie echoed, lifting her pyjama top and patting her tummy. ‘Can I have Weetabix?’
‘We’ll see. Go and find some clothes,’ I urged.
She clambered obediently off the bed and scurried into the other room. I watched, smiling, as she upended her pink rucksack all over the floor and held up a pair of lilac leggings for approval.
‘Lovely.’ I gave her a thumbs-up and looked at Greg, surprised he hadn’t spoken. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You look tired.’
‘I didn’t sleep that well.’ He swung his legs out of bed and sat facing away from me, tension radiating from him.
‘Greg?’ I paused. ‘I’m sorry for leaving you to it last night. How was the meal?’
He rubbed his face with both hands before lifting his head. ‘You know how it ended,’ he said, not looking round. ‘What did she say to you after I’d gone?’
‘A lot of stuff I’m sure she didn’t mean.’ I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice. ‘We’re boring, apparently.’
‘Ha,’ he said, but it was a mirthless sound. ‘I’d rather be boring, than a drunk.’
‘Greg, it was one night,’ I said. ‘We were meant to be celebrating, you said so yourself. I’m sure she doesn’t normally drink that much.’
‘Did she say anything else?’ There was a twist in his voice I didn’t understand.
‘Like what?’ I walked round the bed and stooped to kiss him, the bristle of his cheek scratching my skin. ‘Greg?’
When he didn’t react, anxiety snaked through me. ‘What is it?’
He looked past me into Maisie’s room. ‘I think she’s trouble.’
My hand dropped from his shoulder. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I think coming here was a mistake.’ My heart made a painful somersault when I realised he was deadly serious, even though I’d had the same thought myself. ‘She’s not the sort of person we need in our lives.’
It was another echo of my own doubts, and Greg’s first instincts about people were usually right, honed by years of ‘cutting through bullshit’ at work. ‘We just need a bit more time,’ I said, injecting my voice with a dose of optimism I didn’t quite feel. ‘I know she came across defensive and a bit hostile, but you can hardly blame her.’
‘It was more than that.’
I glanced round, checking Maisie was out of earshot. ‘What are you talking about?’ He was gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles white. My heart revved up. ‘Greg?’
He rose abruptly and walked to the wardrobe, and began rifling through the clothes I’d hung there. ‘She made a pass at me, OK?’
I thought of his hands on her arms when the lift doors opened, and felt a dropping sensation. ‘What do you mean?’
He wheeled around, a pale blue shirt dangling from one hand. ‘She tried to kiss me, Ella. Twice.’
For a moment I felt as if all my circuits had been cut.
‘I know what you’re thinking.’ He flung the shirt on the bed and came over to grasp my shoulders. ‘But she really did try to kiss me.’
I reeled away from him, unpleasant memories resurfacing. When Maisie was a baby, Greg had got drunk at a company event and slept with a colleague. Sonya, she was called. I’d met her once, when she called at our house with some work documents. She was small and curvy, with glossy black hair in a high ponytail, and it was immediately obvious how much she’d fancied Greg. She called me afterwards and told me in exaggerated detail what she and Greg had done in bed together.
He didn’t deny it, swore it only happened once and that he could barely remember it. She’d been flirting with him for weeks, he told me, grey with anguish.
‘I know it’s not an excuse,’ he’d said, eyes glassy with tears. ‘I’m a shit and I don’t deserve you, but I promise it will never happen again. I’ll stop drinking.’
I’d let it go. Worn out by Mum’s illness and Maisie – who was teething at the time and not sleeping – I hadn’t the energy to deal with it. If I’d sometimes burst into tears at odd moments afterwards, I didn’t dwell on the reasons why. I’d believed Greg when he said it wouldn’t happen again. He confronted Sonya, told her to leave us alone, and she eventually left the company.
Greg was as good as his word and stopped drinking. Even as a teenager, he hadn’t been able to hold his drink. Alcohol brought out a side of him he didn’t like, he said. He didn’t want to risk losing me.
He was drinking last night. I stared at him through a blur of tears, seeing his hands on Colleen’s arms.
‘I only had two glasses,’ he said, holding up a hand is if warding off my thoughts. ‘Colleen was the one knocking back the booze, Ella. You saw what she was like.’
‘But you don’t usually drink.’ I sounded accusing. ‘Why last night?’
‘Ella, please, don’t do this.’ Greg extended his hand, a plea in his eyes. ‘Why would I have told you she tried to kiss me, if it wasn’t true?’
‘To get your side of the story in first.’
‘Surely if she was going to tell her side of the story, she’d have told it last night.’ He looked as if I’d slapped him. ‘Christ, Ella, I can’t believe you think so little of me.’
‘Why?’ I made a sound between a yelp and a sob. ‘Because you’ve never lied to me before?’
He looked crushed. ‘Ella—’
‘You know how much meeting Colleen matters to me,’ I said, tears falling. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Doing what?’ His eyebrows pulled together. ‘I haven’t done anything!’
‘You’re spoiling it all,’ I cried.
‘I think Colleen’s doing a good job of that herself.’ His voice iced over. ‘You just said, she told you she thinks we’re boring. Probably because I rejected her.’
‘I can’t believe she would go that far, not when we’ve just met.’
‘You don’t want to see it,’ he said, adding, after a pause, ‘Except, you did see it, didn’t you? You left the restaurant because she wasn’t what you wanted.’
I rushed forward and pushed him hard in the chest.
Taken by surprise, he stumbled backwards, shooting his hands out to stop himself falling into the open wardrobe.
‘What you doing, Daddy?’ Maisie ran over, her face bright with delight. ‘Is it hide-and-seek?’
‘Not right now, sweetheart.’ I wiped my face with the back of my hands before she could spot my tears. She was wearing a mismatching red T-shirt with her leggings, but I hadn’t the heart to insist she changed. ‘Pop your shoes on and we’ll go and have some breakfast.’
‘But Daddy’s not got clothes.’
‘I won’t be long,’ he said, giving me a hard look as he headed to the bathroom. ‘You two go ahead.’
There was no sign of Colleen in the dining room. I wondered if I should have given her a knock to wake her up, to let her know I hadn’t meant what I said about not wanting her in my life, but if Greg was right and she’d drunk too much, she might be sleeping off a hangover.
The waiter from the day before showed us to our table and made a fuss of Maisie. I didn’t want to think about what Greg had told me, but his words spiralled in my head, digging deeper and deeper. If Colleen had tried to kiss him, it really was the end of the road. If I couldn’t trust her around my husband, then what was the point of being here?
But maybe he’d got it wrong. Greg had been drinking too and might have misinterpreted an innocent goodnight peck from Colleen. I tried to recall their expressions when the lift doors had slid open – guilt, anger? Something had been off, and I should have pursued it then. There was no point going off the deep end now – not before hearing Colleen’s version. Then I would talk to Greg and apologise. We might even laugh about it later.
In an effort to avoid glancing at the doorway, I focused on helping Maisie choose some cereal from the breakfast bar. I could see she was charming the guests and staff with her smiles and stream of chatter.
‘What lovely manners,’ said an elderly lady with cropped white hair, giving me an approving smile. ‘You’re clearly doing something right, dear.’
I wondered what she would have said if she’d seen Maisie on the plane, and was glad my daughter appeared to be on her best behaviour.
‘Thank you,’ I said with a smile, filling a bowl with fresh fruit and yoghurt for myself.
Maisie insisted she wanted to sit on a proper chair. She knelt beside me, spooning her Weetabix into her mouth, a napkin tucked in the neck of her top. ‘Where’s Collie?’ she said when she’d finished, head cocked like a bird.
‘I don’t know.’ I pushed aside my plate of half-eaten fruit. My earlier appetite had fled. Where was she? Had she taken me at my word and was refusing to come down? ‘I think she’s still sleeping.’
I poured a second coffee, eyes searching the dining room, then flitting to the sliver of reception area visible from our table and the gardens outside.
Greg appeared as I sipped my drink, his hair slicked back. He looked calm and composed, but his face was pale above his newly grown beard, and he didn’t meet my eyes as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
‘Greg, I’m sorry—’ I started to say.
‘She’s not here then?’ There was a challenge in his voice.
Irritation rose. ‘I’ll go and fetch her.’
‘I don’t think we should discuss what happened in front of Maisie,’ he said, as if that was what I’d planned to do.
‘We don’t know that there’s anything to discuss yet.’ I was shocked by how cold I sounded. I kissed Maisie’s cheek. ‘Stay with Daddy,’ I said and walked away, pretending I hadn’t heard Greg call my name.
I paused outside Colleen’s room. Today would be better, I decided, resting a hand on the dark wood door. She and I would go somewhere together, the two of us, and talk properly – honestly and openly. Everything would be fine.
I knocked sharply, heart pumping. I had a smile ready, but it slipped as the door remained closed. I pressed my ear to it, but heard nothing inside.
I started as a couple passed by, their footsteps silent in the thickly carpeted corridor.
I knocked again. No answer.
A vision popped up of her lying face down on her bed in a puddle of vomit, unable to get to her phone, and I ran downstairs. ‘Do you know if the occupant of room eighty-nine has checked out?’ I asked the receptionist, every muscle in my body tensing for her reply. ‘Colleen Brody.’
She smiled politely. ‘We can’t give out personal information.’
‘Please,’ I said. ‘It’s urgent.’
‘Everything OK?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘She’s my sister, we were supposed to meet for breakfast. I’ve knocked on the door, but there’s no reply.’
‘Oh.’ The receptionist seemed taken aback. She looked very young, with wide blue eyes like a doll’s. ‘Let me see,’ she said, tapping her computer keyboard. ‘No. She hasn’t checked out,’ she said, eyes sweeping my face.
‘Do you have a key-card for the room, so I can check on her?’ My heart was beating so fast I felt faint.
‘I’m not sure.’ She looked round as if seeking help, but a large group of people was being checked in and her colleague was busy.
‘She’s booked in under my husband’s name. Greg Matthews,’ I said, gnawing my thumbnail.
She checked her screen again, then plucked a key-card from under the desk and handed it over. ‘I hope your sister’s all right.’ Her pale eyebrows pulled together. ‘It’s funny, because someone else was asking about her.’
‘Oh?’ About to dash back upstairs, I paused. ‘Who?’
‘A man?’ she said with an inflection, turning it into a question. ‘He seemed concerned about her too.’
Greg? Who else would know she was here? ‘Thank you,’ I said, rushing towards the stairs. ‘I’m sure she’s fine.’
I returned to Colleen’s room, the receptionist’s words reverberating in my ears. Was that why Greg had wanted Maisie and me to go down to breakfast first? So he could check on Colleen and get their stories straight?
But that would be so unlike him. We didn’t have secrets … not anymore. Or so I’d thought.
I knocked once more on Colleen’s door and when she didn’t answer, let myself in.
It was gloomy, the curtains half-pulled across, but I knew at once she wasn’t there. There was no sense of her presence: no rumpled bed, no clothes strewn about – just a small indent in the pillow and a couple of empty bottles from the mini bar on the bedside table.
Perhaps she’d left without checking out. Fled in the night, unable to face me. Was it because of Greg, or what I’d said about not wanting her in my life? Had she upped and left, without checking out?
My stomach turned over. I stalked to the window and yanked the curtains back, blinking as bright light flooded in. I turned back to the room, hoping I might have been wrong and she would emerge from the adjoining bathroom. A phone was face down on the floor, and I picked it up and laid it on the bed. Why would she leave her phone? Her rucksack was in a heap by the wardrobe, and next to it a pair of black knickers.
My mind raced back to last night. Unlike me, Colleen hadn’t brought anything down to dinner apart from her key-card, which she’d placed by her plate on the table.
She couldn’t have left the hotel if her things were here.
Hope bubbled up like champagne. She must have gone for a walk. Why hadn’t I thought of that? The simplest explanations were usually the right ones.
Feeling slightly furtive, I perched on the edge of the bed and switched on the phone. There was no password and the screen sprang to life, and an email from Reagan appeared. She’d arranged to meet him yesterday and he hadn’t turned up. I remembered her smile when I’d mentioned his name, and let out a noise of frustration. There were so many things I needed to ask her. Why would she have gone out without her phone?
Dread curled around my spine.
Holding the phone like a hand grenade, I rushed back down to the dining room, almost colliding with Greg in the doorway. He was carrying Maisie, chatting to the elderly, crop-haired woman who’d spoken to me earlier.
‘Colleen’s not here,’ I said, interrupting their conversation, managing to keep my voice low enough so that only Greg could hear. ‘I think something’s wrong.’