‘Why don’t you just tell her he’s dead?’ Ed finally demanded.
I wanted to scream at him then. Couldn’t he understand? Daniel was mine. He was none of Carla’s business.
And then there’d been that hideous row about Carla’s begging letters, where Ed accused me of killing his inspiration.
‘Did you have a good Christmas?’ asks my secretary as I settle into my desk.
‘Yes, thanks,’ I answer automatically.
Then I glance at the sparkling diamond on her left hand. ‘Do I gather that congratulations are in order?’
She nods excitedly. ‘I couldn’t believe it. He put the ring in the Christmas pudding! I almost swallowed it when –’
And that’s when the phone goes. It’s a woman. A frantic mother. Her son has been arrested for drink-driving. He’s in the cells right now. Can we help?
Thank goodness for work. It shuts everything out. It seals the gaps where the gas is seeping through. It helps me to forget that Mum is, right now, helping Tom to prepare for his first week back at school, where he will go to bed every night without my bedtime kiss or Mum’s.
‘Oh, and one more thing,’ says my secretary. ‘It was in the in-tray when I arrived.’
A photograph. It’s in an envelope bearing just my name and the word PRIVATE in handwritten capitals.
The picture clearly shows a junction without any road marks.
The night porter, who is just finishing his shift, confirms my worst fears. A man with a short haircut gave him the envelope last night.
Slowly, I rip the photograph into little bits and then hand them to my secretary. ‘For the confidential waste bin,’ I say.
‘You don’t need the information then?’
‘No.’
From now on, I win cases on my own.
38
Carla
Not long after Boxing Day, Carla got up to find that Lily had already gone back to work on the 6.05 a.m. train. ‘A client needs her attention,’ Ed had muttered.
After Lily’s departure, everyone seemed so much more relaxed. No more snide comments. No more, ‘Please, Tom. Just sit still for a moment, can’t you?’
Yet even without Lily’s prickly presence, Carla still felt there was something wrong in the Devon house. Lily’s mother had been particularly nice to her, but in a way that suggested there was something to hide. She felt sure it was to do with Daniel, the son no one wanted to talk about.
Perhaps they were estranged? Carla considered her own home in Italy, where many of the neighbours continued to snub her for her illegitimate status, even though her mother’s ‘disgrace’ had happened so long ago.
Carla spent her last day in Devon walking with Ed and Tom along the beach – all part of vital preparation for the next move. Actually, it was good fun! She paid particular attention to Tom, teaching him some Italian phrases, and noted with pleasure that he seemed to like her already. He was a quick learner too, even though he had to hit his knee with his left hand every time he got a phrase right. ‘One of his rituals,’ Ed whispered, as if he knew she’d understand.
Carla had also been careful to endear herself to Lily’s parents. ‘Tom’s at a special school during the week, you know,’ his grandfather said to her just before she left for the station. ‘We all find it very difficult. You, though, seem to have the knack.’
‘Come back again,’ Lily’s mother said, pressing her cheek against hers on one side. Such an odd English tradition not to do the second cheek! ‘You are good for us.’
When the time came to leave for the station, Carla didn’t want to go. On the train she was buzzing. She and Ed had arranged to meet to discuss the sitting. ‘I can’t wait,’ he’d said, squeezing her hand as she’d left.
The hostel had seemed even colder and lonelier when she returned. Despite knowing many of the girls by sight, she hadn’t made any friends. They weren’t her type with those ugly tattoos and nose rings. As if sensing the same, no one had asked her to join in the hostel New Year’s Eve party. Not that she had wanted to go. Instead, she had huddled up under the duvet and swotted up on some new precedents.
She’d rung Mamma earlier. It was a big expense, but Carla needed to hear her voice. The line had been faint though. ‘I love you, cara mia,’ she had just about made out.
‘I love you too, Mamma.’
Now, lying back on the narrow bed, Carla lit up a cigarette and exhaled deeply as she took stock. It was already January! Yet she still hadn’t achieved what she had hoped to by now. Something needed to happen to move things along.
As she fine-tuned her next step, loud music began to vibrate through her ears. The girl in the room next to hers always had it on so loud! How could she possibly think with that racket? Maybe she’d go and have a shower to get some peace. Grabbing her sponge bag and dressing gown, Carla locked her door and stomped off down the corridor. She’d only been there five minutes or so when there was a hammering on the door.
‘Fire! Fire! Quick. Get out!’
I can still smell.
They say it’s the last thing to go.
So all is not lost.
Not yet.
That’s the good news.
The bad news is that something is burning.
Even worse, the red stiletto shoe is no longer there.
39
Lily
It’s New Year’s Day. Ed and I are spending a quiet evening in. Somehow neither of us could muster up the energy to go to the lunch party we were asked to by one of the partners. It wouldn’t look good, but there are times, I tell myself, when you have to put family first.
The table is covered with sketches. Presumably, they’re from the last couple of days Ed spent in Devon. Carla laughing. Carla bending over Tom. Carla widening her eyes. Carla in thought, her hands round the stem of a wine glass. All that is missing is the subject herself, in the flesh.
The phone rings. ‘Can you get that, please?’ I call out.
A pan on the stove is boiling over. I turn it down. The green beans look slushy. I turn to Ed, who is, I now realize, clearly trying to calm someone down. My mother. Tom must have done something. Again.
‘How awful,’ he’s now saying.
My heart tightens. I knew it. We shouldn’t have left. I should give up work and …
‘You poor thing.’
Ed doesn’t usually call my mother ‘poor thing’. I hover by the phone, wondering what is going on.
‘But of course you’re right to ring. You must stay with us. Wait there. I will come and fetch you. What is the address again?’
My husband grabs his jacket. ‘It’s Carla. There’s been a fire at the hostel. She’s outside in the street right now in her dressing gown.’
‘Is she hurt?’
‘No, thank heavens. Just scared.’
‘I’ll go if you like.’
‘It’s OK.’ He’s already at the door. ‘Maybe you can make up Tom’s bed.’
Of course, it’s the right thing to do.
When Carla arrives, her beautiful olive face is drawn. She is shivering in a pretty pink dressing gown and her hands are gripped together so tightly that her knuckles are white. ‘It was so frightening. We had to run down the emergency staircase outside. I thought I would fall …’
News of the fire had been briefly on LBC. No one, apparently, had been hurt. Meanwhile, the cause of the fire would be investigated.
Ed hands her a tumbler of whisky. ‘Take this. It will help a bit.’
Any excuse to have one yourself, I almost say.
‘Sit down. Please.’ I remember my manners. ‘You’re safe now.’
‘But I have nothing, no clothes,’ sobs Carla, cradling the whisky with those elegant hands. ‘And my books are gone too.’
‘They can all be replaced,’ I say soothingly, taking her hands. Although I had enough opportunity to examine her at Christmas, I am reminded right now that she really is very beautiful. Those dark, almond-shaped eyes and thick black eyebrows would look masculine on a pale Englishwoman, but only make her look even more gorgeous, even in her distress.
Perhaps having Carla to stay will be a good thing. Ed and I will no longer be able to argue with someone else here. Our guest will be a buffer – just as she was as a little girl.