‘Sean?’ The jetlag was setting in and Em was finding it hard to keep up.
‘Sean Carter. You remember him? Tall, geeky lad who ran the scouts? Yeah, I married him.’
‘Oh, great. Congratulations. Didn’t you…? Do I vaguely remember you had a crush on him way back when?’
‘Yep. Turns out he had one on me, too. Who knew? All that teenage angst and worry – I’m so glad I’m not there now.’ She did a mock shudder. ‘And that’s probably my whole dull life story; one husband, two kids and not enough hours in the day. And I still never know when to shut up. What about you? What’ve you been doing? It’s been so long.’
Emily glanced over at The Judge just to check he was okay so close to the fire. He was watching them all bemused, but he was smiling. Smiling! ‘Er… nutshell… I live in New York. Not married. No kids.’ She fingered her engagement ring and thought about mentioning it – but everything was just a little too overwhelming right now.
‘Oooh, lucky. Double lucky. And wow – no wonder you look so amazing. Everything’s still in its right place.’ Beni was tugging at his mum’s hand and whispering loudly I’m bored over and over. Greta smiled. ‘Okay, little man, just give Mummy a second. Emily, I do want to hear all about your life and live it vicariously, but I really, really have to go now. Bedtime was hours ago and I’ve got work in the morning. Good to see you.’
‘You, too.’ It really was. Which was something of a surprise. A nice one.
Then Greta paused, biting her bottom lip, and Emily just knew what was coming. Because it had been going well, things had to take their inevitable turn downwards. ‘Er, does Sally know you’re back?’
Emily’s stomach tightened at the thought of her former best friend and the way things had turned so sour at the end. ‘I can’t imagine so. I’m only here for a week. I’m planning on keeping a low profile and hoping she doesn’t notice.’
‘Trust me, she will. She’s got an uncanny gossip radar; she will find out.’
Emily’s tight stomach bumped. ‘I don’t suppose she could have forgotten about it all?’
Greta’s eyes flickered to her kids and she leaned in out of their earshot and whispered, ‘Sleeping with her fiancé? I doubt it.’
‘But… oh… no, probably not.’ Emily closed her eyes briefly and fought the urge to protest her innocence. One day she’d tell everyone the truth about that night; she’d make them all listen to her side of that ridiculous story, but that would have to wait. She really didn’t want to get into it now in front of the kids and The Judge. Perhaps, too, when she did tell them, they’d all believe her this time. ‘Do you two still hang out?’
‘Hang out? What, with two kids, a job and a husband?’ Greta looked about as bemused as The Judge. ‘What planet do you live on?’
‘Planet New York.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. That explains a lot. No, I don’t get the chance to hang out – God, that would be lovely. Look, I do need to go. Sorry about losing The Judge earlier. Potty training and babysitting Houdini don’t go well together.’
But Emily just smiled. ‘It’s fine. Really. He was only down the road.’
The Judge stood up and boomed across the room. ‘Where’s Chip? Have you seen my dog? He was here a minute ago. I need to go and find him.’
Greta nodded. ‘Better sort him out. I’m at the Cosy Café every day. Pop in.’
‘I will.’
‘And good luck. You’re going to need it. And a tracker system. He’s a crafty old bugger. Yes, Mummy said a bad word.’ Greta pigged her eyes at her staring children then whispered again to Emily, ‘I say them a lot. There’s something about having two under five that makes you swear like a trooper. See you.’
‘Wait – I don’t suppose you know what I’m meant to be doing here with him?’
Greta shrugged as she settled Beni onto her hip. ‘Not really; I usually just come up for the odd hour and chat about random nothingness, to be honest. Did Tam not say?’
‘No. You’d have thought she’d have left a message or a note or something.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Looks like it’s baptism by fire, then.’ Emily waved them out, then turned her attention to the matter in hand. ‘Hey, why don’t you sit down, Judge? I’ll pop the kettle on.’
‘Sorry, my dear… but who are you again?’
‘Emily.’ How could he have forgotten so quickly? How did you deal with a confused man? Did you spend your time correcting him or did you just go with whatever flow he chose? ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘Oh! Are you the new cook? Excellent!’ He was still shivering, and it seemed as if every muscle in his body was twitching. She found a throw and wrapped it around him and made him sit back in front of the fire. Now, in the full glare of the library lights, she could see just how much he’d aged. It was like looking at a completely different man. Certainly not the one who’d stood here with his hands behind his back and a face of stone, refusing to hear anything she was saying.
‘No… well, maybe I am the cook.’ Among other things. Who knew what she was going to be doing over the next few days? Other than repressing her anger all over again? ‘I can rustle up a pot of Earl Grey if you like and maybe have a look for a biscuit or two?’
He looked so very tired and old. ‘No. No, I think I’ll just turn in. It’s late and I’m cold. There’s a hell of a draught. Did someone leave the door open?’
‘No. No, but you probably haven’t thawed out properly after your walk.’
‘Walk? Did we have a walk?’ He looked down at his pyjamas. ‘Don’t be silly, my dear. Who’d go for a walk dressed like this?’
Exactly, she thought, who would indeed?
‘He’s a lot worse than I thought. We need to get some regular paid help. Or move him into a home.’
Yes. That’s what she’d say to Tam and Tilda. Firmly and politely as if she were pitching for a new account. Someone needed to take control here and it looked as if it was going to be Emily, whether she liked it or not. All in a week.
Then, when they got back from Paris, she’d be able to leave knowing she’d done her bit. ‘We can use his retirement money. He worked hard all his life, so there must be lots, right? How do we get the ball rolling on this one?’ That’s how she’d pitch it.
After a woeful night’s sleep she was lying in her old single bed staring up at the ceiling, and planning. It was five-thirteen in the morning and the first fingers of daylight were creeping through the ill-fitting, faded, white-and-pink floral curtains – still the same ones as when she’d spent many, many hours sitting here plotting her escape the first time around. The pale-blue wallpaper hadn’t changed either.
Although, now the room had the addition of a strategically placed bucket under what appeared to be a crack in the ceiling. Thank goodness it hadn’t rained overnight. The hole explained the fetid damp smell, and clearly the room hadn’t been used as anything much since she’d left.
They’d removed all trace of her, though. Her boy-band posters had gone, the clothes she hadn’t had room for in her bag when she’d hurriedly packed and tiptoed out in the early hours of that July morning. Her duvet – the one her mum had bought her the Christmas before she died – gone. Now it was just another box room in a house full of empty