The Night You Left Read online

  That morning, watching his father charge round the garden with Alex on his back, chased by Rory and Izzy, Nick had never felt so lonely. He had watched the girls covertly as they lounged on a rug, painting their toenails, about twenty feet from him, and their laughter grated so much he had to go inside. In the cool of the library, he felt as though he was hiding from himself as much as from them.

  GRACE

  Monday, 16 April 2018

  THE SUPPER TABLE IS SET FOR THREE. LOTTIE IS DOING her homework while I shake risotto rice on to the scales. Two ounces each; six ounces. A chopped onion sizzles gently on the hob and the kettle has been set to boil for the chicken stock. In the oven, three pieces of chicken breast are roasting. I’ve chopped a cabbage finely, the way Nick likes it, and dropped it into the steamer. Lottie has already grated a generous pile of Parmesan for me. I have some wine to hand, the remains of last night’s bottle, to add to the stock.

  My doorbell rings. Until now I’ve never noticed how often it does. Whether it’s the post, a parcel delivery or a neighbour, it rings all the time. I turn the heat down, then Lottie and I run into the hall. I grab her shoulder and pull her back. The figure standing behind the stained-glass windows is tall and thin. It’s not Nick. My heart slams. I’m certain that it’s a policeman, come to give me bad news.

  ‘Lottie,’ I murmur urgently. ‘Go to your bedroom.’

  ‘But Mum,’ she protests. ‘Why do I have to?’

  ‘Do as I say, darling. Please don’t be difficult.’

  She gives me a look of reproach and drags herself upstairs. I wait until she’s out of sight and then I open the door to a tall silver-haired man, dressed in a beautifully cut City suit.

  I’m so surprised, I lose the power of speech. We’ve met only a handful of times over the last few years, but he’s unmistakable. It’s Nick’s boss. I stand to one side and allow him in. He bends to pet Toffee.

  This is a man of substance, a man to whom people rush to say yes. He is relaxed and yet coiled, friendly and yet intimidating. I remember when we were first introduced, at a work drinks, one of the rare events to which other halves are welcomed; he had taken my hand in his, looked me directly in the eye, nodded his approval, and smiled. It was a smile that covered everything from sympathy because I was out of my depth, to an understanding that I was an outsider. The smile said that he would keep my secret, he was on my side. He knew nothing about me, of course, he just instinctively understood people. I’d felt quite wobbly when he finally let me go and went to greet someone else. ‘He likes you,’ Nick had grinned. ‘Yeah, well.’ I brushed it off. ‘It’s you he likes.’

  ‘So how is the invalid?’ he asks now.

  His presence is so strong that my voice trembles when I speak. ‘He’s asleep. He had a bad night.’

  Without waiting for an invitation he strolls into my kitchen. ‘Lovely place you’ve got here.’ He slides open the garden doors and steps outside. I follow him nervously, pulling my long cardigan around me. ‘You’ve done a lot of work on it, Nick tells me. It’s certainly paid off.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I look back at the house. It is impressive, without a doubt. The modern kitchen extension could have been an uncomfortable juxtaposition, but the heritage-cream paintwork connects it firmly to the wooden window frames. I lift my gaze to the top floor and see Lottie peering out. He’s seen her too, and he gives her a cheery wave. It’s strange that he’s turned up here. Not normal boss behaviour, even if they do have an excellent relationship.

  ‘So, what’s wrong with him?’ he asks.

  ‘Some kind of virulent tummy bug,’ I respond instinctively. It makes no sense, but I pray that Nick doesn’t pick this moment to come home. It would be so embarrassing.

  ‘Can I see him?’

  ‘I don’t want to wake him. I’ll get him to call you. This is a bit out of your way, isn’t it?’

  He smiles and his teeth gleam. ‘I’m due for dinner round the corner, and as I had some papers I wanted to give Nick, I thought I’d drop in and see how he was doing.’ He holds up his briefcase, as if to prove it.

  ‘You can leave them with me if you like,’ I say. ‘I wouldn’t want to make you late.’

  ‘I’ve got a bit of time. I don’t suppose I could have a drink? It’s been a long day and I need to fortify myself before supper.’

  I doubt that’s true, but I fetch a beer, pop the lid and hand him the cold bottle.

  He stands with his feet apart, towering over me. ‘Nick was in an odd mood on Friday,’ he says. ‘So, I was concerned that the no-show today might have had something to do with it.’ His head tilts, as if he’s trying to gauge my response.

  ‘Not at all,’ I say, blushing. ‘He’s genuinely ill. Vomiting, diarrhoea and a horrible headache.’ I’m hoping that a graphic description will get him out of the house. ‘What do you mean, an odd mood?’

  ‘Subdued. Did he say anything to you?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. Well, he may have said he’d had a stressful day.’

  ‘Does he share his worries with you? Would he tell you if something was wrong? I try not to bore my wife with the day-to-day aggravations, but if something is genuinely bothering me, she’s very good at winkling it out. And helpful. Do you help Nick?’

  His dark eyes, under the silver brows, probe for the truth. Does he sense that I’m lying?

  ‘Not really. Look, I’m sorry to rush you, but I’m in the middle of getting supper ready.’

  I glance inside, my body language clear. A polite request for him to leave. I wish I could tell him the truth, because he might be able to help, but if Nick has had some sort of emotional breakdown he wouldn’t want him to know.

  And if he doesn’t come back?

  But I won’t think about that.

  After he’s gone, I make the risotto and steam the vegetables, but the chicken is spoilt, overdone and stringy. Lottie and I chew disconsolately, leaving most of the chicken on our plates. Nick’s plate is covered with a Pyrex bowl to stop the food drying out. I’ll have it for lunch tomorrow. We don’t talk much, and I hate and resent the silence that has fallen between us. Lottie has always been chatty and open, but right now her body language is that of a teenager, withdrawn, folded in on herself. I badly need a hug, but I daren’t ask.

  ‘Lottie, I’ve told Nick’s work that he’s ill. OK?’

  She pushes her plate away and looks at me. ‘Is he?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why did you—’

  ‘I thought it was best.’

  ‘Can I tell Hannah?’

  ‘No, not yet, sweetie. I don’t want everyone knowing our business.’ Now I sound like my grandmother.

  I have a horrible thought. I jump up and go to the fridge to look at my calendar. Tomorrow is Tuesday. There’s a coffee morning and it’s happening at my house. I’d totally forgotten about it. My mind spirals into panic. It’s too late to cancel, and what would I say anyway?

  I should have made brownies. They’ll have to make do with shop bought. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.

  TAISIE

  July 2000

  IT WAS THE END OF THE FOURTH DAY; AN AFTERNOON spent lounging around with the Moody twins talking about boys, gossiping and sunbathing, exhausted by an enforced cycle ride that morning. The adults banged on about how beautiful it was, but scenery was so not her thing. She’d seen it before. She knew Izzy was breaking the Nick rules whenever she could, but it was too hot to get worked up about it.

  Secretly, what Taisie liked about those balmy evenings was the temporary cessation of hostilities between her and Nick, with him restored to visibility by the presence of their parents. It was bittersweet. Sometimes, when he looked unhappy, he reminded her of when they were younger. She wished she hadn’t started this stupid game, because it was making her miserable, but she couldn’t stop it, not without losing face. She wanted her friend back. Unfortunately she had probably pissed him off so thoroughly that he would never trust her again.<
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  Besides, what she had felt for Nick paled in comparison to how his father made her feel. She eyed Tim across the scented candles that had been placed around the table to discourage wasps. He was carving into his steak, cooked on the barbecue to perfection by Angus, his eyes bright as he laughed at something Lorna said. Taisie stared at him, wondering whether he could feel the electricity like she could, whether his senses were alert to her, and when he suddenly caught her eye she felt it like a lightning bolt. The fact that it was wrong made it all the more exquisite. This was the urgent, yearning side of love. Forbidden and taboo. It was OK to dream.

  Taisie, Nick and the twins were allowed one small glass of wine each, because they were on holiday – no one realized the twins were used to alcohol. They’d told her that it was smuggled into their boarding school all the time, in soft-drink bottles, protected by ski socks wrapped in articles of school uniform. But as the adults drank more, they became less bothered, and didn’t notice that the kids were helping themselves.

  Nick was pissed, Taisie could see that. She could also see that he was building up to something. To have a go at her, probably. He was sitting at the end of the table, with Izzy on his right and Pansy on his left. Taisie was sitting between Alex and Pansy with Freya opposite her, and Rory was at the other end with their mum because he was falling asleep.

  Nick hadn’t spoken to Taisie all evening, concentrating his efforts on Pansy and Izzy and enjoying himself. Taisie pretended she didn’t care, but Pansy was flirting with him, batting her eyelashes and giggling like an idiot. Taisie narrowed her eyes. Izzy had a fit of giggles, spitting out her water, and Pansy rocked back in her chair and stretched her arms up behind her head. It was pretty overt, but Nick seemed not to notice. When Izzy got up to go to the loo, Taisie slipped into her place. Nick turned from Pansy and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She chewed at her bottom lip. ‘Just wondering.’

  ‘I didn’t realize you had the capacity for thought.’

  Pansy burst out laughing then shut up quickly at a killer look from Taisie.

  ‘You can talk.’

  ‘But apparently I can’t be heard,’ he retorted. Then he turned his back on her and put his bare feet up on the strut of Pansy’s chair.

  Taisie’s eyes pricked with tears. She hated him.

  The children tidied up after supper, the boys on washing-up duty while the girls cleared the table. Taisie made her way round to where Tim was sitting and let her hip lightly brush his arm as she leaned to take his plate. When she came back out, she plonked herself down on the vacated chair beside him and picked up a half-full glass of wine. Her mother stared at her until she caught her eye.

  ‘I think you can do without that, don’t you, darling?’ she said.

  Taisie held the stem of the glass tightly and raised it to her lips. The wine had warmed and tasted horrible, but she drank it anyway.

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Taisie, don’t be so immature.’

  ‘Come on, Jess,’ Tim said. ‘Cut her some slack. We’re on holiday, and she’s practically an adult.’

  Her mother softened, as she always did around Nick’s dad, behaving like a cat being stroked. Taisie pushed the glass away. It was late, and she felt drowsy. She stared at the moths flitting round the candles, then dropped her head on Tim’s shoulder. Through half-closed eyes, she saw both Nick and her mum watching. Good.

  ‘Sleepy, kiddo?’ Tim asked.

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Taisie,’ her mother said. ‘You haven’t finished clearing the table yet.’

  There was an edge to her voice that made Taisie’s hackles rise, but she got up anyway and picked up the salad bowl, leaning across Tim to get at it. She swung her hips as she walked away, thinking of his eyes on her denim-covered bottom and tanned legs, but when she glanced over her shoulder he was leaning back so that he could talk to Sean behind Lorna Moody. It was her mother who was watching her.

  GRACE

  Tuesday, 17 April 2018

  THERE ARE FIVE OF US SITTING AT MY KITCHEN TABLE, a plate of Tesco’s brownies between us; five young mothers, well dressed, well groomed, attractive and vivacious. We know each other well, and gossip comfortably about school, family, extensions, Polish builders, planning applications and paint colours. At least they do; I listen. I’m cold, even though the sun is shining through the wall of windows and the others have shed their jackets and jumpers.

  There’s Cassie, my closest friend, a stay-at-home mum to Hannah. Cassie has fine brown hair which she keeps twisted up with a butterfly clip. She’s kind and can be over-serious. She is not the life and soul of the party, but that suits me fine. With her are Susanna, bossy and manipulative, and Mara and Kit, both bright, cheery women with smart cars, photogenic children, diamonds on their fingers and Instagrammably beautiful lives. I often wonder how I found myself here. It wasn’t meant to be like this. Not that I’m complaining; I’m safe and so is Lottie. At least we were until Saturday night. Now I’m scared again, anxious about what might happen. I feel like those people who are urged to evacuate their homes because the wildfires might reach them. No certainty of outcome whichever decision they take.

  We were expecting Anna, but she called and cancelled, and I was glad. It’s hard enough trying to hide what’s going on around here, without putting pressure on her as well. This is not her problem.

  ‘I noticed Nick’s done zero steps since Saturday,’ Kit says after I’ve told them all that he’s ill. ‘Poor thing.’

  I even took up a cup of coffee, to be extra convincing. It’s growing cold beside our empty bed.

  Mara laughs. ‘Yeah, I saw that too. I was going to tell him to get off his backside. I’m glad I didn’t.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have minded,’ I say.

  I should tell them the truth, the secrecy is ridiculous, but when I look round at their smiling faces the words won’t come. The mantra I grew up with, from both my mother and my gran, was: don’t tell other people our business. The reaction would be violent if I did.

  ‘Are you sure you can’t sacrifice a couple of hours a week, Grace?’ Susanna asks. She is after parent-readers.

  As the class rep, it’s Susanna’s job to throw out a net for volunteers. I would like to help very much, but it’s impossible.

  ‘I’m really sorry. I can’t tie myself down to being somewhere at the same time every week. I wouldn’t be reliable enough.’

  Cassie gives me a searching look. Because I work from home when I’m not visiting a site, friends and neighbours, and even the school, assume I’m available. But that’s not the real problem. The real problem is a little more complex.

  I can feel my colour rise. ‘Sorry,’ I mumble, biting into a brownie. The intense sweetness of the chocolate bursts in my mouth, making me feel better, less absent. ‘So, we were going to talk about the school fete. Can I put my hand up for the book stall? I’m happy to do a couple of stints on the bouncy castle as well.’

  The bouncy castle is the short-straw job, the attraction where most of the tantrums occur and the bulk of the injuries are sustained. I know she’ll be grateful enough to forget the other thing.

  Susanna opens an Excel spreadsheet on her laptop and starts tapping in requests. After that bit of admin we go back to more comfortable topics of conversation.

  ‘It’s a pity Anna couldn’t make it,’ Mara says. ‘It would have been an opportunity for her to get to know us better.’

  ‘Did she say why she pulled out?’ Cassie asks. ‘Only she seemed so excited about it last week. I had the impression she wanted to get involved.’

  ‘Perhaps she had to work,’ I say.

  ‘Perhaps she figured out she would be given jobs to do,’ Susanna says.

  ‘What do you think of her?’ Kit asks.

  There’s a silence and I imagine them trying to think of polite ways to disguise a bitchy comment. Kit has her three-month-old baby with her, draped fast asleep on his tummy over her knees,
his face pointing towards me. I ache to stroke his silky hair. I want another one. It’s time.

  ‘She seems very pleasant,’ Mara prevaricates. ‘She just needs to bed in a little. Kai’s an absolute delight though, isn’t he? So interested and chatty. Leila adores him.’

  Kit pours herself a fresh mug of coffee and adds a splash of milk. She stirs it and her spoon clinks against the china.

  ‘Anna’s a man’s woman,’ she says. ‘I mean, she’s friendly enough, but when she’s talking to you it’s as if she’s got her radar out in case a likely prospect hovers into view.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that’s fair,’ Cassie says. But she smiles. ‘She is a bit of a flirt. Remember that drinks party at the Filbys’? You and Nick weren’t there, Grace. Anna was wearing this killer dress and kept swishing her fingers through her hair. I think it’s insecurity though, don’t you? She’s trying to make an impression. We’ve all known each other for donkey’s years but she’s starting from scratch. It’s nerves.’

  Mara brushes a crumb of brownie off her left breast. ‘She’d better not start feeling nervous around John.’

  Kit snorts with laughter, spraying coffee.

  ‘Look, she’s not here to defend herself,’ I protest. But I’m laughing too. John is short and plump. He’s a lovely guy, but not someone a woman like Anna would have any interest in.

  ‘She’s more likely to feel nervous round Nick, don’t you think?’ Susanna says, giving me a mischievous look. ‘He’s so handsome.’

  ‘And such a lovely guy,’ Mara says. ‘You’re very lucky, Grace. I hope you know that.’

  ‘Shall I make some more coffee?’ I squeak.

  I go into the kitchen to make a fresh cafetière and while I wait one of Mrs Jeffers’ cats, the tabby, stalks across the garden. I bang on the glass. It treats me to a haughty glance before continuing on its way. It reminds me of Nick’s boss.