Liz was standing in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil when the phone rang. She picked it up listlessly. The early morning nausea wasn’t as bad today but she still felt pretty ghastly. It was a wonder that women ever had more than one baby, she decided, a triumph of instinct over common sense. ‘Yes?’
‘Hi there. How are things? Can you talk?’
She glanced quickly round, but Bill was still upstairs. ‘What do you want?’
‘Just to find out how you are. Have you – er – dealt with that little problem?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Need any money?’
‘No.’ She hesitated, then malice made her add, ‘I’m thinking of keeping it, actually.’
His voice grew hard and angry. ‘I’ll deny everything.’
She felt perverse, not wanting to make it easy for him. ‘But will people believe you? Ros, for instance? Plenty of hotel staff saw us together – that barman who made the beautiful cocktails. I can easily prove we were together if I have to – and then there’s DNA testing.’
His voice sounded incredulous. ‘You’re going to tell Ros? And you call yourself her friend?’
‘I’m a better friend to her than you are a husband, you rotten sod. I’ve betrayed her once. How many times have you betrayed her?’
A sound made her glance round and she saw Bill standing behind her, his face like stone.
He walked forward and took the phone from her hand, shouted ‘Go to hell, Stevenson!’, then slammed the receiver into its cradle. After breathing in and out deeply several times, he finally raised his eyes to look at Liz. ‘I’m disgusted by what you did. Utterly, totally disgusted.’
‘You’re a fine one to talk.’ But her protest sounded weak and unconvincing, even to herself.
He stared at her for a moment, then shrugged. ‘I’ve broken my marriage vows, yes – several times. But I’ve never betrayed my best friend and, strange as this may seem, I’ve never stopped loving you. What’s more, I’ve dealt fairly with the other women. They all knew the score, knew I wasn’t about to break up my marriage.’ His voice grew thick with revulsion. ‘How could you do it to her, Liz? Rosalind Stevenson, of all people? The gentlest, kindest person I know. How could you even think of it?’
She was sobbing now, her whole body shaking with the violence of her feelings. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know, dammit! I think I went mad for a time. I was furious with you and so bloody bored up there in Hong Kong. I was even thinking of coming home, that’s how bored I was, only I wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction. Then Paul arrived and turned on the charm – and that bastard can be very charming when he wants, believe me. And I fell into his arms like a ripe cherry. Only you ripened me, you know you did.’
She looked up for long enough to hurl at him, ‘Don’t you think I’m sorry? Even without this,’ she gestured towards her belly. ‘Don’t you think I feel like the lowest kind of – of worm, doing that to my best friend?’ The minute the plane took off coming home from Hong Kong the guilt had started to nag at her, and she’d been amazed that she had even thought of having an affair with Rosalind’s husband.
When her husband didn’t speak, she asked, ‘You aren’t – going to tell her, Bill?’
‘Me? Of course I’m not. What do you think I am?’
She covered her face with her shaking hands. ‘Sorry. I know you won’t. I don’t know why I said that.’
‘Will he tell her?’
‘He’s managed to keep all the others from her,’ she said in a dull voice.
‘All the others?’
‘Yes. It appears he’s made quite a hobby of it, says he enjoys the variety.’
‘He was just making use of you, then.’
‘Yes.’ After a moment she stood up, wanting to escape, unable to stand his calm scrutiny and the scorn in his eyes, but she stumbled and would have fallen headlong had he not jerked forward to catch her. Then she started sobbing loudly, clutching at him, calling his name. ‘Bill, Bill, Bill!’ On and on. She couldn’t stop herself.
Bill sighed and closed his eyes, keeping hold of her, patting her shoulder occasionally. She was right. He had to take some share of the blame, he knew that, but could he take another man’s child along with it? She was still weeping helplessly against him, the whole of her small body shaking, her eyes drowned in tears. The only other time he’d ever seen her weep like that was when they’d told her she wasn’t likely to have children.
‘Shh, calm down, Liz. This isn’t good for you or the baby. We’ll work something out – together.’
She looked up, hope dawning in her eyes. ‘Bill?’ she said again, uncertainly this time.
‘Don’t – push things.’ His decision was made, really, but he didn’t want to say it out loud yet.
She stared at him, not daring to voice her hope in case she broke the fragile gossamer threads that were starting to draw them together. After a moment, she laid her head against his shoulder with a weary sigh and they stood there in silence.
Finally he muttered, ‘Oh, hell, I don’t want us to split up, Liz.’
‘Neither do I.’ She huddled against him, praying for a miracle.
‘And I definitely don’t want to kill a baby.’
Another silence. Much longer this time. She hardly dared breathe as it dragged on.
Then, ‘You’d better be a bloody good mother, though.’
The old Liz revived enough to ask, ‘Will you be a good father?’
He nodded, holding her at arm’s length and looking very solemn. ‘I like kids. I always have. I was wrong about not adopting. But you’re not to tell anyone it’s not mine. Ever. That’s my only condition.’
‘I won’t. Oh, Bill, I promise I won’t.’
Then she was weeping again, tears of joy this time, and they were kissing one another as they hadn’t kissed for years, hungrily, needily. Excitement flared between them and they started tearing at one another’s clothes as they sank down together onto the soft vinyl of the kitchen floor.
Flesh against flesh, stripped of all barriers, they started to grow together again.
Tim drove through the darkness and when it started to rain, he didn’t switch on the windscreen wipers, laughing as he nearly ran off the road. Maybe that was one way to end it? But something made him switch the wipers on and slow down just a little.
He came to Poole, eventually. Everything looked quiet, but when he got down to the docks area, there were signs of life, lights here and there, the odd person walking or stumbling along.
He stopped the car and got out, waiting till a man came along and asking bluntly, ‘Where’s the action?’
‘Piss off.’
The words were slurred and Tim could smell the beer on the other’s breath. He stepped back and watched the man stumble away. Patient now, because the end of his agony was in sight, he waited for someone else.
This man tried to avoid him, but when Tim repeated his question, ‘Where’s the action?’, the fellow stopped and stared at him suspiciously.
‘You want to score?’
‘Yes.’
After a careful scrutiny of both him and the surrounding area, the man nodded. ‘You’re in luck. I’ve got some. Cost you, though.’
Tim fumbled in his pocket. His mother had had quite a stash of money in her handbag, thank goodness.
When he got the stuff, he had to ask, ‘I’ve lost my equipment.’
The fellow laughed. ‘Cost you some more.’
Tim paid, then walked away, twitching now for a hit. The only question was where. He didn’t want anyone interrupting him.
He remembered the pub in the village. It was further than he really wanted to go, but still, it’d be deserted at this hour of the night and the car park was hidden from the road.
He got into the car and drove off again, this time switching the windscreen wipers on immediately and even humming along to the radio. Not long to wait. Just a hit now and then so that he could think straight, get his life in order. If you controlled the habit, it wasn’t so bad. It was when you let the need control you that it was dangerous, and he’d proved he could live without it most of the time.
Rosalind felt as if she’d been sitting in the kitchen for a very long time when Louise got up and joined her.
‘Ooh, Mum, you gave me a shock, sitting there so still!’ She was dressed for her run and had already begun the warming-up exercises. She finished and realised her mother hadn’t moved. ‘You all right?’
‘Tim hasn’t come back. He went out last night, took my car. He left about two o’clock and – he hasn’t returned.’
‘He might have stopped somewhere for breakfast.’
‘Where? This isn’t a large city, with cafés open all hours. This is a small village, with one olde worlde tea room that doesn’t open till ten.’
‘Perhaps he stopped off at a garage for a coffee or something.’
‘I can’t see that, somehow. He’s been avoiding other people ever since he got here.’
‘I’ll go and check his room.’
Louise ran upstairs, there was silence, then the sound of her coming down again slowly. ‘His loose change is lying on top of the chest of drawers, just as it was last night when we were talking. I kept staring at it, seeing the patterns of the coins while we talked. It hasn’t been moved. So he can’t have stopped anywhere for breakfast.’
Fear dug its claws right into Rosalind’s guts. ‘What if something’s happened to him?’ She gave a shamefaced laugh. ‘I expect I’m just getting worked up over nothing. He probably stopped the car somewhere and fell asleep. He’ll be back soon.’ Surely he would?
Jenny, who had been woken by Louise’s footsteps pounding up and down the attic stairs, came into the kitchen in her dressing gown. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Tim went out last night and took Mum’s car. He hasn’t come back.’
‘Oh.’
‘I should have taken him straight back to Australia,’ Rosalind worried. ‘Gone with him and made him seek proper treatment. I will when he gets back. In fact, we’ll all go home. I’m fed up of living here, with your Dad popping in for an odd day. And now, well, he’ll only rub Tim up the wrong way, he always does. I’ll book our fares as soon as Tim gets back.’
Jenny and Louise exchanged worried glances.
The words if he gets back might have been written in fire around the walls.
‘I don’t want to go home to Australia. Not now,’ Jenny said. ‘Ned and I have only just got engaged and – well, I’m not going back.’
Rosalind went across to hug her. ‘I’ve plenty of money. You can rent a flat in Dorchester or somewhere. I just – think Tim is in danger if he doesn’t kick his habit. I have to do something. Help him. I trust our doctor at home. He’s known us for years. He’ll help me save Tim.’
Louise didn’t go out for her run. Half an hour later she looked at the clock again. Nine o’clock. ‘Oh, Mum, where is he?’
Another hour passed, long, tedious minutes dragging by between short bursts of awkward conversation.
‘Should I ring the police, do you think?’ Rosalind asked suddenly.
It was Louise who spoke. ‘It wouldn’t hurt. They could tell you if there’d been any accidents, couldn’t they.’
So Rosalind found the number and dialled the nearest police station. To her surprise, they took her seriously. ‘Has there been an accident?’ she repeated.
‘No, ma’am. What sort of car did you say it was?’
She told them, impatient now to get off the phone in case Tim was trying to ring home. The car had probably broken down, that was all.
‘And the number of the car is?’ the voice pressed. ‘Thank you. And your address? If we hear anything we’ll get back to you.’
She put down the phone and turned to smile shamefacedly at her daughters. ‘He’s probably just broken down. If he didn’t take any money, he’ll not be able to ring us.’ She picked up her handbag from beside the phone. It felt too light. She peered inside. ‘Anyone seen my purse?’
There was dead silence.
She looked from Louise to Jenny and back again. ‘He wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t.’
They searched the house carefully, but there was no sign of her purse.
‘I probably left it in the car,’ she said uncertainly.
Louise shook her head. ‘You’re very careful with your purse, Mum. Ever since it got stolen that time.’
Tears filled her eyes. It seemed all too obvious Tim had taken it.
Louise put one arm round her mother, guiding her into the kitchen. ‘I’ll make us all some fresh coffee, shall I?’
At midday, still with no sign of Tim and no word from the police, Rosalind could stand it no longer. ‘I’m going to ring your father. Ask his advice about what to do.’ At that moment she’d completely forgotten about Paul’s affair with Liz, forgotten everything except her anxiety for her missing son.
‘Yeah,’ Louise nodded, ‘I’ll say that for him – Dad usually knows what to do in a crisis.’
The secretary was insistent that she couldn’t possibly disturb Mr Stevenson, whereupon Rosalind stopped being polite and yelled, ‘This is a matter of life and death, and if you don’t fetch my husband now, I’ll have to send the police to do it.’
There was a gasp from the other end, then, ‘I’ll see what I can do. I’ll call you back.’
When the phone rang a few minutes later Rosalind snatched it up. It was Paul and he was furious. ‘What the hell do you mean by ringing me here, Ros? You know I’m working.’ Twice now this had happened. What would the chairman think?
‘It’s Tim. He turned up a few days ago. He’d got himself into trouble in the States. Drugs.’
‘What?’
‘He was trying to kick the habit, and I know he hasn’t taken anything since he’s been with me. Only,’ she had to gulp back the fear before she could put it in words, ‘now he’s taken my car and – and disappeared. My purse is gone too. Should I call in the police and tell them?’
‘What do you mean “disappeared”?’ Paul questioned her with the skill he usually brought to his work, drawing more details out of her. What he discovered made him splutter with rage. ‘The stupid young bastard! What did he think he was playing at? And why didn’t you let me know before?’
‘If you can only mouth off at me, I’ll put the phone down,’ said the new Rosalind. ‘For the last time, should I or should I not call in the police and tell them everything? I think – I feel sure he’s in trouble. Serious trouble.’
‘Not yet. I’ll come straight home. It’ll take me about two hours. Don’t do anything at all until I get there. Not a single thing. Is that clear?’
‘Yes.’
When a car turned into the drive a couple of hours later they thought it was Paul and all three of them went rushing to the front door. But it was a policeman. He had a woman with him, not in uniform, but she looked like some sort of official, too.
Rosalind took one look at their solemn faces and guessed what they were going to say. So when blackness rose around her, she let herself slip into it gratefully.
From a long way away she heard Louise’s voice. ‘She’s coming round. Don’t stand too close. Let her recover before you say anything.’
A mutter of voices.
Rosalind didn’t want to open her eyes, but knew she had to. Had to face it. Had to.
She was surprised to find herself lying on a sofa in the living room. How had she got here? Louise was kneeling beside her, there was a wet cloth on her forehead and Jenny was standing behind the couch, gripping it with white-knuckled hands. Rosalind felt their anxiety and their support even before she looked across to the two strangers sitting stiffly on the other sofa.
‘He’s dead, isn’t he? Tim’s dead.’
They nodded.
‘Sorry,’ said the woman.
‘How?’
‘Overdose. He was sitting in your car behind the pub. You’d contacted the police earlier about it, if you remember, asking if there’d been any accidents.’
Rosalind tried to take it all in. It was the sort of thing you heard about on the television news. She always felt sorry for the families. And why wasn’t she crying? Shouldn’t she be crying? Only there were no tears, just a huge block of ice forming slowly inside her, layer upon chill layer.
After a while, she found she had to know one thing above all others. ‘Did he – feel any pain?’
The man shook his head. ‘Shouldn’t think so. I don’t think he’d even have realised what was happening. And it must have been very fast. The – er – needle was still in him.’
‘Probably the heroin was too pure,’ the woman said, ‘and he gave himself an overdose by mistake.’
Rosalind couldn’t speak or move, still trying to come to terms with the idea that her son was dead. They didn’t try to pester her with any more questions, thank goodness.
At last, she forced herself to sit up properly but couldn’t think what to do or say next.
Jenny slipped round to sit on the sofa beside her. Louise came and perched on the sofa arm at her other side.
Rosalind reached out to touch them, needing to make contact. Jenny was weeping. Louise looked frozen, stricken.
Another car drew up outside and someone pushed open the front door. ‘Ros! Where are you, Ros?’
‘That’s my husband,’ she told the police officers quietly, relief surging through her. For once Paul had put his family first. She found that comforting. If anything could be comforting on a day like this.
‘We’re in here!’ Jenny called, her voice breaking on the words.
He stopped in the doorway and glared at Ros. ‘I told you not to call in the police till I got here! Do you never bloody think before you act?’
It was Louise who got up and stood toe to toe with him. ‘Don’t you talk to Mum like that! We didn’t call the police in. They came to tell us that Tim’s body had been found in the car.’ Her voice wobbled for a minute, then she forced herself to continue. ‘He’s dead! So don’t start throwing your weight around because we don’t need any aggro from you today!’ Then she collapsed against her mother, sobbing wildly.
Rosalind put her arms round Louise and watched her husband. He looked stunned. She was glad he was here, but she didn’t want to go to him, just wanted him to take charge. She continued to hold Louise and patted Jenny’s hand from time to time with her other hand.
‘Tim’s – dead?’ Paul’s voice was the merest scrape of sound.
Rosalind nodded.
Paul couldn’t move for a moment. Tim dead. His son. His only son. And the last time he’d seen him, they’d argued, shouted – said dreadful things to one another. He shuddered and tried not to think of that.
The policeman seemed to materialise at his side. ‘Come and sit down, sir. You’ve had a bit of a shock.’
Paul shook the hand off his arm and found his own way to a chair. ‘Tell me the details. I need to know.’
So once again they described what had happened.
He tried to focus on the police officer as he listened, but his eyes kept sliding back to Ros, sitting with a daughter on either side of her, weeping, being comforted. Why was no one trying to comfort him?
The woman cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry to do this to you, sir, but someone will have to come and identify the body.’
Paul stared at her in horror. ‘But you’ve just told us he’s dead, so you must know already who he is. What good would it do for us to go and see him?’ And with a shock, he realised that for the first time in a lot of years he couldn’t do what was expected of him. He just – he simply couldn’t. ‘You shouldn’t even ask it of us, dammit.’
Rosalind surprised them all by standing up. ‘I’ll go and identify the body, officer. I want to see my son.’ She had to, in order to accept that he was dead. Her boy. Her baby. Her agonised young man of the embroidery.
Louise stood up. ‘I want to see him, too. I need to – to say goodbye.’
Jenny shook her head in response to their questioning glances. ‘I’m sorry. I c-can’t face it.’
‘We’ll take you in the police car, Mrs Stevenson,’ the woman said quietly. ‘And bring you back afterwards. We’ll get your own car back to you as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll get the leasing company to change it,’ Paul said at once. ‘You won’t want to drive that one again.’
Rosalind looked across at him. He sat down, shook his head blindly and put it in his hands without saying a word. He didn’t attempt to speak to her, let alone comfort her. And she found she had nothing to offer him, either.
She looked at her younger daughter and put an arm round Louise’s shoulders, feeling Louise’s arm round her waist. Together they walked out of the house with the police officers.
When they’d gone, Jenny scowled across at her father. ‘You couldn’t even help her do that, could you?’
He glared at her. ‘You didn’t go with them, either.’
‘I’m not her husband. You are.’
She went to phone Ned.
Paul sat there and tried not to weep. He hadn’t wept since he was a small boy and it’d do no good now, no good at all. He kept seeing images of Tim, hearing faint echoes of their many quarrels – and wishing he’d seen him alive once more and made up the quarrel.
In the end he went and poured himself a large whisky. It was the only comfort he could think of.
By the time Rosalind got into the police car, the news was all over the village, because one of the Tuffins had found the body.
Feeling upset about the dreadful news, Harry drove over to see Jonathon. Better if she told him about it so that he didn’t give himself away. She came straight to the point. ‘Have you heard?’
He was working in the big formal dining room, sanding the floorboards in preparation for a new coat of stain. ‘Heard what?’
‘Heard about Rosalind’s son?’
‘Tim? No. What’s he done now?’
‘He hasn’t done anything. He’s dead. Drug overdose.’
Jonathon stood up, turning white and leaning one hand against the nearest wall. ‘Dead?’ he whispered. ‘That poor lad’s dead?’
‘Yes. Alice Tuffin told me. Her eldest son found the body in the car park behind the pub. This morning. Just sitting in the car, she said. She thought I’d want to go and see Rosalind. But – well, I thought I’d better come and tell you first.’
‘Oh, hell and damnation! Hasn’t she enough to bear with that selfish brute of a husband? Does she have to bear this, too?’
‘Tim was twenty, that’s all. Twenty.’ Harry looked at her brother. ‘Got any gin?’
‘Yes.’ He escorted her through to the small sitting room he used in winter to conserve fuel. ‘Sit down. I’ll get us both a drink.’
They sipped at gin and brandy respectively, sitting in silence. Once he got up to put some more wood on the fire. Once she opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. Nothing you said made any difference at a time like this. She’d found that when her husband died, had often wished her kind friends would just go away and leave her to grieve in peace. But today she sat on in case Jonathon needed her.
‘What hurts,’ he said at last, ‘apart from the tragedy of a young life lost, is that I have no right to go and comfort her. And I can’t see that damned husband of hers being much use at a time like this. Can you?’
‘He’ll probably deal with the practical details very efficiently – which will spare her that trouble, at least,’ Harry said. ‘There are a lot of details to sort out when someone dies. I’ll call in on them tomorrow, if you like, then let you know how things are going.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll call myself.’ He had to make sure Rosalind was all right.
‘We’ll go together, then. It’ll look better, don’t you think?’
He raised his eyes to stare at her. ‘You know, don’t you? How I feel about her, I mean?’
‘Oh, yes. Sticks out a mile. Well, to me it does. Pity she’s married. I like her, too. Bit soft for her own good, but nice. Heart’s in the right place.’
But for once Harry was wrong. Paul Stevenson wasn’t dealing with anything efficiently. While he sat and waited for his wife to return, he drank a whisky quickly, then poured another one, drowning his grief in gulps of amber comfort.
By the time the car turned into the drive, he was sitting in an owlish stupor and Jenny was fiddling around in the kitchen, trying to keep herself occupied while she waited for Ned to arrive. She went into the hall, expecting her mother and Louise to be in floods of tears, but they weren’t. They were very still and white. For the first time ever she saw a faint resemblance between them, something about the expressions on their faces.
She took their coats, hesitated, then whispered, ‘Dad’s drunk. In the sitting room.’
Rosalind looked in to see Paul slumped down in an armchair, snoring, a glass with an inch of whisky in it tilting dangerously in his hand. And was glad. She didn’t want to face him yet. Not about anything.
‘What shall we do?’ Jenny whispered.
‘Nothing. Leave him to sleep it off.’ She switched the living-room light off again, turned back into the hall, hesitated, then gave in to temptation. ‘I’m going out. I’ll take your Dad’s car.’
‘To see Jonathon?’ Jenny asked.
Rosalind looked at her, startled.
Jenny blushed and said in a very low voice, ‘I saw you kissing him at the fête.’
‘How long ago that seems now.’ It was important to set the record straight. ‘We’re not sleeping together, you know.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that. You wouldn’t.’
But she’d wanted to, Rosalind thought. Heavens, she’d wanted much more than Jonathon’s kisses. Did that make her as guilty as Paul? Did it matter? Did anything matter now?
At the door she turned. ‘If your father asks, would you mind saying you think I’ve gone to see Harry? If he wants his car, ring Harry and explain.’
Jenny rushed forward to give her mother a hug, then watched her walk stiffly out of the house. Strange. She’d expected her mother to crumble, not her father. She went to sit with Louise in the kitchen and pick at a sandwich. ‘Ned’s coming over tonight.’
‘Good. I’m glad you’ve got him.’
‘What about you?’
Louise looked at her blindly. ‘I’d actually prefer to be on my own.’
She heard Ned arrive and go upstairs with Jenny, but sat on alone with her thoughts and memories. Tim had looked so peaceful in the morgue it had surprised her, almost as if he’d been ready to die. ‘Have you done anything to – um, make him look better?’ she’d asked the assistant as they all stood there in that chilly room, gleaming with stainless steel and smelling of antiseptic – and of something else she didn’t like to think about.
‘No. We haven’t touched his face at all. That’s how he looked when he was found.’
At that moment Louise had been certain he was glad to be out of it and she even wondered if he’d done it on purpose, though she’d never say that to her mother, of course. He’d said a few times that he felt used up, exhausted. When she’d tried to talk about the future, he’d said he couldn’t see one for himself.
But she had to carry on, and her future didn’t look very rosy, either. She had to face her pain at losing her brother and also sort out her own life. Probably that’d mean rows with her father.
She wandered into the sitting room and stared down at him, taking the glass from his hand. He didn’t move and she didn’t try to rouse him.
You’ve let her down, she thought. Mum needed you to be strong and you let her down. You should have gone with her today, then comforted her when she got back. I’m not going to be like you when I grow up.
Tim was right. She still had a long way to go before she could consider herself mature. But she was sure of one thing: she was never, ever going to let anyone down again.
And then it all overwhelmed her in a great black wave of sorrow. She had to run up to her bedroom and bury her face in her pillow so that her father wouldn’t be woken by her sobbing, so that her sister wouldn’t come in.