Clearly it referred to breaking up Ed and Lily’s marriage.
The writing was in spidery capital letters. Who had sent it? Lily? Yet somehow Carla knew it wasn’t her style. Someone at work then? Even though most were friendlier now, there were still some who talked about their former colleague with affection. How she’d set up a new branch (with flexible hours apparently), focusing on cases where parents had children with special needs. How ‘she deserved to do well’. This last bit had been said by Lily’s old secretary with a meaningful look towards Carla.
Was it possible one of them had sent the note? Once more, she read it to herself.
YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS.
Part of Carla wanted to show Ed so he could banish her fears. Tell her it was all right. But what if it stirred his conscience? Made him feel guiltier than he did already? There were times when she often found him looking at pictures of Tom with a wistful gaze. And he was always in a difficult mood after their weekend visits. Did he regret leaving his son for her, Carla? Was it possible that he might leave her and return to Lily?
Such humiliation! She couldn’t end up like Mamma.
So instead of telling Ed about the note, she ripped it into little pieces. And just to make sure he didn’t find it like he’d found Rupert’s, she dropped the pieces of paper into the rubbish bin down the street.
For a few weeks after that, she felt nervous, looking over her shoulder every time she went to the office, out-staring the secretary. But nothing happened.
At home, Ed’s infatuation with her made him clinging and controlling. ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded one night when she came back late after sorting out an urgent land contract. ‘I tried to ring you but there was no answer.’
‘I had it switched off so I could concentrate.’
But when she came out of the shower that night, she found him stuffing her mobile quickly back into her bag as if he’d been checking it.
‘I’m not hiding anything from you,’ she said, annoyed.
‘Of course you’re not, darling.’ He draped an arm around her. ‘I just thought I heard it hum. Look, you’ve got a text.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Your work again.’
That stifling feeling increased.
Then an important client cancelled a commission for a portrait of his wife. ‘Apparently she disapproves of the press publicity over us,’ said Ed, shrugging. ‘Never mind. Commissions come and go. The important thing is that I’ve got you. You know, I never felt I really had Lily. She was always thinking of Daniel or Tom or her career.’
Meanwhile, bottles of wine were disappearing from the cellar at an alarming rate. ‘I took them into the gallery,’ said Ed when she questioned him about it. But later in the week, she found the bottles at the bottom of the recycling bin at the back of the house.
Carla, still on a high from having briefed a barrister about a case that looked as though it was almost in the bag, began to feel a stirring of frustration. Was this how Lily had felt?
Then, one Sunday when Ed was out sketching (again), she did a great tidy-up, partly to expunge Lily’s lingering presence in the house. Ed’s study was sacrosanct: no one went into it. But when she peered inside, she could see the desk was overflowing with bits of paper. Cobwebs fluttered in the corners. Dirty mugs were on every surface. Just a quick bit of rearranging wouldn’t go amiss.
Underneath the half-finished sketches, she found a pile of unopened post.
Some had ‘Urgent’ stamped on the envelope. Others, ‘Open Immediately’.
So she did.
Aghast, Carla sank on to Ed’s chair. He owed thousands on his credit card. The mortgage hadn’t been paid for two months. There was a letter giving them three more months, ‘following your request’.
But after that, the money would have to be paid.
‘It will be all right,’ Ed said when she confronted him as soon as he got back. ‘It’s just a question of cash flow. I’ve got the new exhibition coming up. My agent is very optimistic. I’ll sell more than enough to keep us going.’
Then he looked at her disappointedly as though she’d been in the wrong. ‘Please don’t go into my study again. It’s not as though I’ve got anything to hide.’
The next day, she found the letters had gone.
The exhibition opening almost distracted Carla from the doubts that were building up. It was such fun to be photographed on Ed’s arm! He looked so handsome dressed in his tuxedo. ‘Shall I refer to you as Mr Macdonald’s companion?’ asked one of the journalists.
Ed, hovering at her shoulder, had stepped in. ‘Put fiancée, would you?’
Carla started. They hadn’t even discussed marriage! But Ed was speaking as though it had all been arranged.
‘Why did you say that?’ she asked as they walked home.
Ed’s handgrip tightened. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I am.’
But inside, she really wasn’t sure. Instead, Carla thought back to the night when he’d first made love to her. She’d adored his impulsiveness then. But now it felt as though she was being treated like the child she’d been when Ed had first known her. He was making all the decisions. Huge ones which she should have a say in too. Did she really want to get married? It no longer seemed so important.
The following night, when she was working late at the office, Ed rang. ‘Have you seen the Telegraph?’ he demanded tersely.
Carla felt a quickening of apprehension. ‘No.’
‘Then get one.’
There was a copy in reception for clients. Swiftly Carla skimmed through until she reached the arts pages. Dear Lord.
NEW EXHIBITION DISAPPOINTS
ART LOVERS
Artist Edward Macdonald fails to live up to expectations …
‘Sorry,’ she said to one of the partners. ‘I’ve got to leave.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You’ve finished the briefing?’
‘Not quite. But I’ve got an emergency.’
‘We’ll have another if you don’t have everything ready first thing in the morning.’
‘I will.’
When she got home, Ed was slumped on the sofa.
‘It will be all right,’ she said, bending down to kiss him on the forehead.
‘Will it? We’ll have to sell the gallery. I just can’t afford to keep it going any more.’
Never had she seen a man cry before.
‘I’m sure …’
Then his arms opened and he pulled her towards him. His breath stank of whisky and his mouth was wet as he pushed her down on the sofa. ‘Don’t, Ed, don’t. It’s not safe.’ But he continued to kiss her, and it seemed easier to let him than carry on protesting.
The following week, she received a letter from Mamma.
Cara mia,
You will not believe what has happened! Larry has left me a little money. I have only just found out – his widow fought against it but the judge ruled I should have it. My Larry changed his will at the end, apparently. It shows what a good man he was, don’t you think? …
So her visit had achieved something after all.
Yet Carla felt physically sick. Yes, her mother would be financially secure now, judging from the amount mentioned. No wonder the widow had challenged it. But where did that leave her, Carla? Had she put herself into this awful position with Ed for nothing?
Perhaps it was time to get out.
47
Lily
February 2015
‘He’s nearly here, he’s nearly here!’
Tom is pacing up and down, patting his hands on his knees as if playing the drum. This is another habit associated with his condition. The action, according to the experts, soothes the person concerned. Even if it plays havoc with everyone else’s nerves.
‘There’s his car, Mum. There’s his car!’
Ross always has this effect on him. If there was one thing that Ed and I got right, I tell myself, it was choosing his friend as godfather.