‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on here anymore,’ she says quietly into the awful hush that has befallen the table. ‘But my priority is my children. I’m going upstairs to see if they’re all right.’
Olivia takes a deep steadying breath to compose herself before standing. Her legs feel jelly-like despite the fact she has only drunk water. Ironically, she would gladly accept a stiff drink right now. Tobias seems to have the same thought as he flags down a waiter and orders a neat double whiskey, calling, ‘make that two’ as he looks again to Marcus. Whatever it is these two have to discuss, she no longer wants to be here to witness it. And as she attempts to make her way through the tables, head held high with as much decorum as she can summon, she feels a terrible sense of inevitability shrouding her, settling on her shoulders like a cloak.
Somewhere, deep down, she always knew that Tobias was capable of cruelty, callousness. Bad deeds swept under the carpet and hastily forgotten. He has passed through life with the cavalier attitude of one who makes mistakes easily and expects everyone else to clear up after him. Not surprising when he grew up with staff, spent years abroad living in foreign locations with his parents, where servants were the norm. Often viewing people, especially women, as merely in service to him.
As she finds her way to the central atrium and begins to climb the stairs, she stops. This is it, she acknowledges. The defining moment in her life, or one of them at least. The point at which her life will be divided into the ‘before’ and ‘after’. She is alone. She cannot rely on Marcus, does not want to stay with Tobias. She has sullied herself in the eyes of her children. Bella and Drew, who always used to look at her with such trusting adulation when they were babies. Will she ever win back their love and respect? Possibly not. But then, perhaps it is time they both grew up to see her as a person, not just a mother.
She raises her chin up at this, straightens her spine, and continues to climb, ready to face the music.
56
Lottie wanders aimlessly through the town. She can’t face going back to the dingy flat where they are now staying. It feels like another prison of sorts, as does this whole resort since they are no longer allowed to leave for the foreseeable future.
When she saw Tim briefly at the police station, they were not allowed to converse or touch but she witnessed the fear and sadness in his face.
What have you done?she had intimated with questioning eyes and he had merely shaken his head in response, unable or unwilling to answer her in the company of the duty officer.
‘Say nothing,’ she had mouthed at him and he had hung his head and nodded.
‘My husband has a right to a lawyer,’ she had said then, turning to the attending police officer, who had grunted in confirmation, replying that trying to find a local one available on a bank holiday Monday wasn’t going to be easy.
Now as she pushes Josh in the buggy – they had gratefully borrowed a cheap replacement from one of the neighbours – she watches him sleep the easy, contented sleep of the innocent. She counsels herself that Tim can’t be charged with anything more serious than petty theft, can he? Possibly with intent to cause criminal damage? But nothing can be proven without hard evidence. It’s his word against theirs. And it is so out of character, beyond anything she could ever imagine her husband doing. Her good, solid, quiet, dependable Tim. And what if any of this reaches his employer at home? What will the school headteacher, the rest of the staff, and all theparents and pupils say? He’ll be sacked, or expected to resign more like.
Her eyes fill with tears now and she’s glad Josh is not awake to see her upset. She no longer cares what anyone else thinks, what the locals or tourists must wonder as she traipses these idyllic coastal streets with no purpose, her face wet with emotion.
She stops at a quiet, shaded bench to rest her legs, suddenly exhausted by everything that’s happened in the last couple of days. She hardly slept a wink in the cell last night but feels strung out on machine coffee and adrenaline. Her head aches from it all, her tears leaching what feels like the last available moisture from her body.
With one hand she continues to push the buggy backwards and forwards to continue the momentum, in the hope that Josh will sleep on. She just can’t parent right now and wishes she could go home to their own little flat in London, throw herself on the mercy of family and friends for some babysitting, request sick leave from her job perhaps and sleep for a week. Until this whole terrible nightmare has drifted into memory.
As Lottie looks out across the water towards the other side of the bay, she can see the renovation property clearly. It sticks out like a sore thumb; its blackened shell a blot on the landscape in this picture-perfect place, where every building is painted in a seaside palette and window boxes sport cheery geraniums.
She still can’t believe that tools have been found in their holiday apartment, missing tools from the building site. How is that possible? Someone must have put them there, one day when they were out of the property. Perhaps someone who is responsible for the fire and wants to divert attention away from themselves. It makes her so angry to imagine her loving, law-abiding husband holed up in that horrible little prefab building, held in custody, arrested on trumped-up charges. A renewed wave of fury washes through her and fresh tears accompany it. She hates injustice above all things. They don’t deserve this, she and Tim. They’re the good guys in this scenario. It’s not fair.
Lottie is so lost in her thoughts, it is a moment before she notices that she has been joined on the bench by someone else. She casts a sidelong glance and is surprised to see she recognises the person — it’s the grumpy old man, Ted Stark, who she first met out on the headland while she was running at the beginning of the week. God, she would give anything to go back to the start of their holiday. She would have put her foot down. Demanded a refund from the landlord of their place, complained to ABTA or the Citizens Advice Bureau, reported Tobias Woolf and his dodgy build to the local council. Moreover she would have insisted to Tim that they move, find alternative accommodation or just go back to the safety and comfort of their home in London. Anything to avoid this horrific turn of events.
She can smell pipe smoke now, hears a deep sigh and a clearing of the throat; all coming from the man to her side. She looks over towards him again as she tries to surreptitiously dry her tears.
‘Bad business this, then?’ he says to her, nodding in the direction of the burned-out building across the water.
Lottie sniffs and wipes her nose, pulling herself together.
‘The house fire? Yes, terrible,’ she agrees. ‘We were staying right next door.’
Old Ted turns to her now, lifting the stem of his pipe from his lips for a moment.
‘That right? Hmmm,’ he says, with an air of curiosity.
‘Yes, it was a good job me and my husband and son got out in time,’ she says, looking towards Josh in his buggy, still blissfully unaware of his surroundings.
‘Folks round here are saying it might have been deliberate,’ he says, puffing away on his pipe again. ‘That someone started it.’
She finds the smell of the pipe smoke strangely comforting; a combination of sweet and bitter that doesn’t bother her as much as the harsh chemicals of cigarettes or vapes.
Lottie purses her lips.
‘Perhaps it’s best to wait for the findings of the investigation before everyone starts speculating?’
‘I s’pose so,’ he agrees with a grunt.
