He catches my shoulder. I turn. He pulls his hand back. Our eyes fix on one another. ‘I’ll call you.’ He lowers his voice, until it’s barely a whisper. ‘I promise.’
23
BETH
I excuse myself from the kitchen to collect my thoughts. My head is in all kinds of places today. Places I don’t want to go to. By the time I return, Justin has disappeared.
‘He’s gone to his office outside.’ Immy points to the kitchen door as if I don’t know my own house well enough. ‘You can leave Hattie to me. We’re OK, aren’t we, Hattie? What would you like to do today?’
‘I want to go on holiday.’
Immy smiles. ‘Holiday. And where would you like to go?’
Hattie shrugs.
‘It’s a bit hot to go on holiday just at the moment,’ I say. ‘We’d be baked alive.’
‘We could go somewhere cold. France,’ Hattie says. ‘It’s cold there, isn’t it?’
‘Why don’t we watch some TV?’ Immy suggests.
I leave before my mother-in-law can answer. I know the ensuing conversation is going to be long and repetitive. Immy can deal with that. I need to speak to my husband.
I can barely breathe as I walk into the sunshine. I used to love the heat. It’s now insufferable. I walk across the grounds to Justin’s office. It’s thirty-seven degrees, says the weather thermometer at the bottom of the stairs. The punishing heat is getting worse.
Climbing the stairs is an effort. Everything’s an effort. But as I open the door, I still manage to scream across the room at him. ‘What the hell?’
He looks up from his computer. ‘Whatever’s wrong?’
‘How could you do this to me?’
He readjusts his glasses in that annoying way, as if he’s about to lecture me. ‘What do you mean? Do what to you?’
‘You invited her to stay without even asking me.’ I raise my arms and let them fall by my sides. ‘After what we spoke about last night, as well.’
He turns back to the computer. ‘You were in bed, asleep.’
I walk to his desk and thump the side. ‘That’s bullshit. It’s because you knew I’d say no.’
‘Just calm down. It’s not good for you to get so worked up.’ He sighs heavily. ‘Listen, Beth. I’ve got work. You’re not well. Mum hates the care agency staff. What am I meant to do?’ He reaches out and lays a hand on mine. ‘I need help. We need help. I can’t cope with you both and carry on working.’
‘Give it up. We don’t need the money.’
‘You know I can’t do that.’
Won’t do it, more like.
I look around the small, uncluttered office. Neat and tidy because he hates mess. One of the abstract prints, splashes of energetic strokes, on the wall catches my eye. He saw it in a gallery in London and instantly fell in love with the energy of the piece, so I bought it for him for our tenth wedding anniversary. It’s positioned at the side of the wall that holds pinboards covered with photos of him at different work events over theyears. Him on the stage. Him standing next to pull-up banners advertising our company. Him shaking hands with clients and his followers. Him with all those gooey-eyed girls barely out of school. Him. Him. Him. It’s always about him.
I pick up a notebook with the name Jane scribbled on the front. It’s the only thing, apart from a pen and a larger notepad, on the desk. ‘What’s this?’
He grabs it. ‘It’s nothing.’
I grab it back. ‘Who’s Jane?’ I flick through the pages. They are empty.
‘It’s not mine. She was one of the girls at the office who left. I thought I could reuse it. Seemed a shame to waste it.’
‘You’re lying. About this Jane. About Immy. All of it. It’s lies.’ I wipe my brow. ‘It’s stifling in here.’ I grab the edge of the desk, feeling light-headed.
