Once I asked her if she meant me, deserve me, and then she looked a bit sorry and she gave me a cuddle. She smelled a bit funny but for once I didn’t mind.
‘No,’ she said, ‘That’s not what I mean. I just wanted better for you, that’s all. For both of us. I still do.
I want that too, but I don’t know how we’re going to get it.
Kent
Corinne
I don’t know why my mother lied, but I do know that the doll house isn’t in the attic. I keep looking at her, trying to catch her eye, but it’s as though she is avoiding me; she is constantly doing something, talking to Ashley, playing games with Benji.
I can’t shake the kernel of worry in my mind, the possibility that the things I’ve found – the chimney and tiny door – really are from the house. That someone has left them both for me to find. What I don’t know is why. It makes no sense. I don’t know why someone would do it, I don’t know who would do it, or what on earth it would mean.
Did Mum throw Dad’s things away without telling us? Maybe they made her too sad. Has she forgotten where they are, is that it? I try to think of the last time I saw his stuff. I remember packing everything away after the funeral, but it is all a bit of a blur. Ashley guided me through most of it, her stomach stretching out before her, walked me past the row of well-wishers as though I was a zombie. It was just before Holly was born. I close my eyes for a second, remembering the sadness of the day. Dad had a mahogany coffin, a wreath of yellow daffodils. Lots of people came – people from the architectural scene, designers, all of them singing his praises. ‘Highest of the high-flyers, your old man,’ one guy said to me, and I felt the praise warm on my skin in spite of my grief.
Mum really struggled; I think of her face, almost hidden by her big black hat. She had been almost completely silent for the whole day. Maybe she did find it too hard keeping his things. Even as I try to rationalise, I can’t shake the feeling that she knows more than she said last night.
‘Corinneeeeee!’ Benji is tapping his fork against my arm. There’s a smear of mashed potato on it but I don’t mind. I ruffle his hair and feel Dominic watching me from across the table. I catch his eye and smile. His cheeks are red from the cold outside and his hair’s a bit messy. He looks gorgeous.
We’re at a pub in the Kent countryside having lunch; it’s all very rural, surrounded by open fields. I keep seeing burly men who look like they’ve come straight from a hunt; it’s a far cry from our tangle of streets in Crouch End.
James arrived about an hour ago. He seems a bit strained and he’s been sipping at the same pint for ages. I watch him lean over to prise Lucy’s fingers away from her mobile phone. I need to remember to thank him for the money.
I spot my chance when he eventually goes to the bar to get more wine for Mum and Ashley.
‘I’ll get you a lemonade, Luce,’ I say. ‘You can Instagram the bubbles.’ I smile at her, ignore her scowl and follow James up to the bar. The barman isn’t looking at us, his attention caught by a pretty blonde girl who’s asking him to mix her a drink. She’s twirling her plait flirtatiously, putting the end to her lips, confident in that way I have never understood or mastered. Her tinkling laugh travels. I touch my own hair self-consciously.
‘James,’ I start, and he turns towards me. His eyes look a bit bloodshot and I smile. ‘Late night?’
‘Me? God no, no, just working, you know how it is. I wanted to come up yesterday but I was just swamped.’
‘Oh, poor you,’ I say. ‘Ashley’s told me great things about the digital world, though, seems like it’s all really taking off. eBooks are all the rage right now.’
He’s not really listening to me; his eyes are scanning the bottles of whisky behind the bar. The barman has finally spotted us and stands waiting, PDQ machine in hand.
‘Pint of Amstel, please, and a bottle of the Merlot,’ James says.
‘And a lemonade,’ I add and the barman nods.
‘Listen, James, I just wanted to say thank you,’ I say quickly. I can feel the heat rising in my face. ‘It’s so kind of you to help us, and I want you to know that we will pay you back, and we are so grateful. It means such a lot to me and it’s our last hope.’
He turns to face me, looks confused. ‘Sorry, Cor . . . you’ve lost me.’
I lower my voice. ‘Well, we went to the hospital last week. For the last round of IVF. And I wanted to thank you for the money you lent us.’ I swallow, praying that I don’t have to repeat myself again.
The barman places a dripping pint in front of us.
‘The money . . . oh right, sorry, Corinne, of course,’ James says, and he reaches out and touches my hand. Thank God for that.
I smile, relieved, and pick up Lucy’s lemonade. As I walk back to the table I think I can feel his eyes on my back, watching me as I weave through the people, past the dwindling fire. I wonder what he is thinking, whether there is any truth in Ashley’s worries. When I look back at the bar though, unable to bear the sensation any more, James has gone, his pint still sitting on the wet wood. I scan the pub, feeling jumpy, but all I see are families engaged in conversation. No one is remotely near me.
I sit down next to Dom, take a big bite of my roast and try to relax. ‘So, Dominic,’ Mum says, ‘tell me, how is the paper going? I’ve been trying to read the online version but our internet wire is terrible here.’
‘You don’t need a wire, Grandma,’ Lucy says, rolling her eyes. ‘I showed you before.’
‘I’m sorry, darling, forgive an old lady,’ Mathilde says. ‘Perhaps you’ll show me again when we’re home?’
Dominic smiles. ‘It’s fine, thanks, going really well,’ he says. ‘I’ve just started work on a property piece – a big Georgian house on the outskirts of London. Massive place! Corinne came to see it with me, didn’t you, Cor?’
I nod. The image of Carlington comes to my mind, the strange atmosphere, the way my hand felt against the stone. The dark windows. The empty rooms. The face at the window. I shiver.
Dominic is still talking.
‘We’re featuring it in the spring property round up. Got the tip-off from a company called Wells and Duggan. Impressive building, or it will be anyway.’ There is a clatter; water spills from Mum’s upturned glass out over the table.
‘Wells and Duggan, did you say?’
Dom nods. ‘Yep, that’s right. Here, let me get you a napkin.’ He reaches out, starts to blot the table.
Ashley leans forward, her wedding ring tapping against the wine glass in her hand. ‘Ooh, sounds wonderful. I love Georgian buildings.’
James reappears suddenly, slides in beside Ashley at the long table. He picks up his beer and takes a long drink, the tendons in his neck stiff. He looks very pale. My sister’s eyes follow his movements, track the liquid as it slides from hand to throat. The blonde girl at the bar laughs again and I see James look at her, see my sister notice.
*
Dominic squeezes my hand as we walk back out to the car park. I’ve just put hand cream on and he laughs.
‘You use too much of that stuff!’
He’s probably right, but I like it. It calms my nerves a bit.
‘OK? Enjoy your chicken?’ he says, and I nod and squeeze him back, his hand warm in my own. I am so lucky to have him. I know he’d never hurt me. But then, I still don’t think James would hurt Ashley.
‘Time for a quick walk? Burn