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“No, but I’m sure she’d like to hear what he said.”
“She knows what he said! I told the paramedics and the police and they’d have told her. Even if they didn’t, it was in the newspapers,” he added bitterly, still upset that someone had had the insensitivity to leakTell Mum I love herto the press.
“Well, maybe she needs to hear it from you.” Iris paused, unable to understand his reluctance to meet Maggie. “Maybe she just wants to thank you.”
“I don’t want her thanks,” Gabriel growled. “I did what anyone else would have done, stayed with him until help arrived.”
Iris folded her arms across her chest. “Why are you being like this?”
For the first time in their marriage, Gabriel wanted to yell at her,tell her that any meeting between him and Charlie’s mum would only bring him endless grief and sorrow. It was one thing to lie to the paramedics and police, but a very different thing to lie to a mother’s face about the last moments of her son’s life.
“It’s not as if you don’t know her,” Iris continued when he didn’t reply.
“Last time I saw her, her son was alive and kicking a football around.”
“Okay,” Iris said. “You’ve obviously made up your mind. But have you ever wondered how you’d feel if you were in Maggie’s place?”
She left the kitchen, and not for the first time, Gabriel wished he could come clean and tell Iris the truth about Charlie’s last words. He knew that for some people it might not be a big deal, that doctors, nurses, paramedics probably told what people call an honest lie, to spare loved ones more anguish. But Iris wasn’t big on lies, not even when they were told with the best intentions.
20
Iris left the house, happy to be going to see Esme.
It was cooler today. She put her hands in the pocket of the cardigan she was wearing and grimacing, pulled out a used tissue and a hair clip, both belonging to Laure. Laure was still borrowing her clothes, even her sandals, which were a size too big.
She arrived at Esme’s. The front door was open but she knocked anyway. There was no reply so she went tentatively into the hall. Esme was expecting her, she had told her she’d call by.
Aware that Esme might be having a nap, Iris walked down the hall and looked through the open door into the vast kitchen rather than call out. Immediately, her eyes were drawn to the right-hand side of the room and she stopped abruptly. Esme was stretched out on the sofa, her red hair fanned on a cushion behind her, and Joseph, perched on the low table, had his hand on the mound of her stomach. As Iris stared, flustered by their intimacy, Esme murmured something to Joseph and he leaned forward and lay his head where his hand had been just seconds before.
Her heart thudding, Iris turned and walked quickly to the frontdoor, intending to leave. She would call Esme once she got back to the house and tell her she’d been delayed. But there was a part of her that wanted to interrupt whatever it was she had just witnessed.
Making a decision, she took a breath and turned around. “Are you there, Esme? It’s me, Iris!”
“In the kitchen!” Esme called back.
Iris expected to hear the sound of Joseph hurrying away. But there was nothing and as she moved toward the kitchen, she was half afraid to go in, in case he was still there with his head on Esme’s stomach. To her relief, Esme was on her own, pushing herself up from the sofa.
“I’m sorry, were you having a rest?” Iris asked.
“Just putting my feet up for five minutes,” Esme said, smiling.
“Can I get you some water?”
“I’d love a tea. But I can do it.”
“Please, let me.”
Iris loved that Esme didn’t insist. She might not have known Esme very long, but she felt comfortable with her, and as she made the tea, Iris pushed what she’d seen to the back of her mind. Hadn’t Esme said that she and Joseph went back a long way? It would be wrong to read anything into something perfectly innocent.
“Joseph said that you have some great ideas for the layout of the kitchen garden,” Esme said, over the noise of the kettle whistling.
“Yes, he seemed to like them.” Iris moved the kettle from the hob and made the tea as she’d seen Esme do, the first time she’d met her. “It’s an interesting project to work on. And Laure has said that she’ll help in the garden, which will give her something to focus on. Unless she decides to stay on in Paris.” She turned to Esme. “Pierre has asked to see her. She’s going on Saturday.”
“Yes, I know.”
Iris frowned. “Laure told you?”
“Yes, she came by this morning.”
