28
Her mother was sitting in the living room, her feet in slippers, her hands in fingerless mittens decorated with little robins, and her face bare of its usual impeccable makeup. Her hair wasn’t tied back in its normal loose bun at the nape of her neck, but hung loose and unwashed, making her seem both younger and older than she was. She wasn’t alone.
‘Hello, Frieda,’ said David, looking up from the depths of the armchair, where he was occupied with the crossword.
‘David – I didn’t know you were here.’
‘Where else would I be, once I knew our mother was dying?’
Juliet gave an artificial cough. ‘The last time I checked,’ she said, ‘I was still alive.’ She put a finger on her wrist, then nodded. ‘Yes, as I thought. There is a pulse.’
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your companion?’ asked David.
‘This is Josef. You remember Josef, don’t you?’ she asked Juliet. She still hadn’t decided on what to call her (Juliet, Mother, Mum?) so had settled on not calling her anything.
Juliet frowned. Her eyes seemed cloudy. ‘The man from the council,’ she announced at last, triumphantly. ‘Pest control.’
‘Do you have mice?’ David frowned and glanced around, as though he expected to see them scuttling across the carpet.
‘No, Josef is my friend.’
‘I was here and make soup,’ said Josef, encouragingly.
‘How are you?’ Frieda asked her mother.
‘I don’t know. You tell me. You’re the doctor.’
‘Hardly.’ David gave a snort. ‘Unless you want to talk about your past and all its secrets.’
‘As a matter of fact,’ said Frieda, ‘there was something I wanted to ask you about.’
‘Perhaps a sandwich for good health,’ said Josef. ‘And later Frieda can wash your hair. Yes?’
‘Maybe we can be alone for a few minutes,’ continued Frieda.
‘I have nothing to hide from Ivan,’ said Juliet, peevishly.
‘Except I’m David.’
‘If you want me to recognize you, you should come more often.’
‘I’m here now.’
‘Can we have a couple of minutes alone?’ Frieda asked again.
‘I don’t think that’s necessary,’ said Juliet. ‘Just say whatever you want. I would like a sandwich. No crusts.’
‘No crusts,’ said Josef. ‘Very good.’ He left the room.
Frieda took a deep breath. ‘I wanted to ask you about Stuart Faulkner.’
For a moment the expression on her mother’s face didn’t alter. But then it gradually seemed to loosen and crumble. ‘What?’ she said at last.
‘Stuart Faulkner.’
David laid down his paper and sat up straighter in his chair.
‘What about him?’ Juliet managed.
‘You used to know him.’
‘I used to know a lot of people.’
‘He was a police officer.’
‘So?’
‘And you contacted him after I was raped.’
‘What? What?’ David stood up. ‘What the f*ck?’
‘Don’t swear,’ Juliet said crossly. ‘It’s a bee in Frieda’s bonnet.’
‘You asked him to get the case dismissed.’
‘I can’t remember.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I’m dying. Is this the way you treat a dying woman?’
‘You told him you didn’t believe me and he helped get the case thrown out.’
‘If I did, you should be grateful to me. That’s all I’m going to say.’
‘Rape?’ said David. ‘You were raped?’
‘She said she was raped. It’s different,’ said Juliet.
‘Why wasn’t I told about this?’
‘Because it didn’t concern you,’ said Frieda. ‘You and Ivan were at boarding school, remember? We were that sort of family.’
David didn’t reply. He looked so desolate that Frieda almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
‘Why did Stuart Faulkner help you?’ Frieda said.
‘I think I should lie down,’ said Juliet. ‘I have a tumour in my brain, in case you’ve forgotten.’
‘Police officers aren’t usually so obliging to vague acquaintances, people they’ve met at a local council event.’
‘Will someone please answer me?’ David spoke loudly but neither Frieda nor Juliet paid him any attention.
‘You were having an affair with him, weren’t you?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
‘You were having an affair with him and you asked him to intervene on your behalf.’
‘Someone needed to protect you from yourself.’
‘It began before Dad killed himself.’ It wasn’t a question but a statement. Everything had become clear-edged to Frieda. For a blinding moment she saw her father’s face: he was gazing at her with his beseeching eyes.
‘Jesus,’ said David. He was walking up and down the room with heavy footsteps. ‘Family reunion s.’
Juliet lifted her head and glared at her daughter. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she said. ‘Don’t you dare blame me for your father’s death. Do you have any idea what it’s like to live with someone who’s depressed? Who sucks the joy out of your life as well as his own? Do you have any notion of what my life was like year after year, trying to hold everything together? What if I was having an affair with Stuart?’
‘This can’t be happening.’ David stopped in his pacing and faced the two of them, his handsome face contorted with rage. ‘I’ve been here for fifteen minutes and I’ve discovered that my sister claims to have been raped and my mother was …’ He couldn’t even say the words. ‘No wonder I don’t come and see you more often.’
He left the room, slamming the door hard behind him. Frieda felt suddenly and immensely weary. ‘I don’t think I am blaming you, really,’ she said to her mother. ‘Though, of course, it makes everything even more complicated. I’m just trying to work out what happened in this house all those years ago.’
‘I thought you were delusional. I wanted to smooth things over.’
‘Smooth things over.’
‘Yes.’
‘I was raped.’
‘So you keep saying.’
‘You still don’t believe me.’
‘What does it matter? It was twenty-three years ago.’
‘It matters.’
‘Only because you let it.’
A thought struck Frieda, and it was like a window opening in her mind. She squatted beside her mother and looked into her face. ‘He was here that night, wasn’t he?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Stuart Faulkner was here the night I was raped.’
‘I don’t feel very well. I want you to go away and leave me in peace.’
‘Just tell me.’
‘It makes no difference to anything.’
‘It makes a difference to me.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Maybe he was here?’
‘Yes Maybe he came round for a bit.’
‘Sandwich,’ announced Josef, entering the room with a plate that he held out in front of him, like an offering. ‘Goat cheese and little tomatoes and salad leaves and spice paste I found in cupboard. I also threw away all rotting things from fridge. Is good?’
Juliet didn’t reply.
‘It’s perfect, Josef,’ said Frieda. ‘Thank you.’
‘Who’s that?’ asked Vanessa, who was sitting with Eva and Frieda in Eva’s kitchen, drinking tea.
‘That,’ replied Frieda, ‘is Josef.’
‘Who’s Josef?’
‘My friend. He’s a builder.’
Wherever Josef went, he made a home for himself: he’d done it at Frieda’s house, at Reuben’s, at the house of old Mary Orton, whom Frieda still remembered with anguish. And now he was doing it at Eva’s. He was on the top floor, ripping out rotten planks and inspecting the damage behind them. Eva had taken him up a mug of tea and a plate of homemade biscuits, and had lent him an oversized pullover because it was cold and he had come unprepared. He was talking about staying the night and continuing his investigations the following day. Eva seemed taken with the idea. She would cook him and Frieda supper. Perhaps, she said, she should go to the late-night supermarket and buy food and a toothbrush.
‘I always have toothbrush with me,’ Josef had said. ‘And clean clothes. The shorts. Just in case.’
Frieda didn’t want to ask in case of what. Josef was in a relaxed and expansive mood. Eva took him up another mug of tea and more biscuits and it was several minutes before she reappeared. When she did, her cheeks were pink and her eyes bright. Vanessa looked at her friend with raised eyebrows, and Frieda’s heart sank. She had the uncomfortable feeling of being sucked back into her girlhood, sitting here while Eva flirted with Josef and Vanessa rolled her eyes conspiratorially.
‘So, what’s it like?’ Vanessa asked Frieda.
‘What’s what like?’
‘Being here.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘It’s hard not to feel,’ said Vanessa, ‘that in some way those of us who stayed behind are regarded as the underclass.’
‘Nonsense!’ said Eva. ‘Or maybe you’re right. We’re the ones who didn’t get away.’
‘Regarded as the underclass by whom?’ asked Frieda.
‘I don’t know. You?’
‘That’s not how I think of you at all.’
‘Ewan and I love this area,’ said Vanessa. She seemed agitated, as if she was defending their entire way of life.
‘Me too,’ added Eva. She picked up a biscuit, examined it, then took a large bite. ‘Though sometimes I think I should have left.’
‘We don’t.’ Vanessa was almost aggressive in her vehemence. ‘We feel loyal to Braxton. Other people come and go but this is our home. I don’t understand why everyone leaves.’
‘Some people need to,’ Frieda said mildly.
‘And then they suddenly need to come back?’
‘You mean me?’
‘It’s a bit unsettling.’
‘Why?’
Vanessa frowned. ‘I don’t know. When I heard you were here, I was thrilled. But you’re not just here because you want to make contact with old friends, are you? We’re not sitting around giggling about old times and discussing the scandal of getting older. That’s what I thought we’d do. Though you never really were a girly girl, were you?’
‘Nor was I,’ put in Eva. ‘Maybe that’s why we were such pals. People thought you were sophisticated, woman-of-the-world, having sex and making out it was no big deal, but you weren’t, were you? It was just a cover. You were probably as scared as me and just pretending to be experienced.’ She put out a hand and touched Frieda’s arm, as though she were in need of comfort.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Frieda, who was quite baffled by the last comment.
‘Anyway,’ Vanessa continued, ‘it feels as though you want something from us all and we don’t know what. Both Chas and Jeremy said you’d been asking them questions as well. And Maddie’s hopping mad with you. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes. She blames me for Becky’s death.’
‘Poor Becky.’ Vanessa’s voice wavered. She looked close to tears. ‘And poor Maddie. God, that was a distressing funeral, wasn’t it?’
‘Are your daughters all right? I saw them in the church. They knew Becky quite well, didn’t they?’
‘Especially Charlotte. She and Becky have known each other since they were babies – they were born only a couple of months apart. I can’t tell you how horrible this has been for her. She’s been in floods about it since it happened. We all have.’
‘I’m so sorry about it all. Did Becky talk to her about what she was feeling?’
‘It was a bolt from the blue. Of course, we knew Becks was going through a rough time. Her father leaving. Wanker,’ she added unexpectedly.
‘Did she have relationships?’
Vanessa looked at Frieda curiously. ‘You see, this is what I mean.’ She addressed Eva, explaining to her. ‘She’s investigating us all. Did she have relationships? I have no idea. Probably. But one of the things you discover when you’re a parent is that there are things you don’t know about your children. You had boyfriends when you were Becky’s age, I seem to remember.’
‘Boys loved Frieda,’ said Eva, rather wistfully. ‘Don’t you remember? There was Jeremy, then Lewis. Poor Lewis.’
‘And you and Ewan,’ said Frieda to Vanessa. She was aware of how the atmosphere was endlessly shifting between hostility and a kind of matey nostalgia.
‘My one and only.’ Vanessa gave a laugh. ‘Yes. He was my first boyfriend. God, I was so smitten with him. I still love him,’ she added hastily. ‘But love when you’re fifteen or sixteen, that’s something different. Everything was so intense.’
‘Yes.’ Eva sighed.
‘But look at us all now. Me and Ewan, together for twenty-three years, with two daughters, elderly parents, a mortgage, a car, holidays in Spain or France. Chas with his terrifying trophy wife.’
‘Vanessa!’
‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it?’
‘Jeremy’s rather porky now, the last I heard of him. He used to be so gorgeous. He and Chas have become quite matey,’ Vanessa went on. ‘I guess they’re both rich – they’ve got that in common. And their thin, glamorous wives.’
‘Jeremy’s wife went to Braxton High,’ said Frieda.
‘That’s right. Catrina. Do you remember her? Catrina Walsh. Very good at tennis.’
‘Was she?’ said Eva. She pushed a biscuit into her mouth and chewed it thoughtfully, her cheeks bulging. ‘I remember her being Greg Hollesley’s pet.’
‘Really? Well, she married Jeremy and now she’s got perfect teeth.’
‘What were her teeth like before?’ asked Eva.
‘That’s not the point.’
‘Oh.’
‘Then there’s Lewis, all washed up,’ continued Vanessa, blithely. Frieda winced and would have spoken, but Eva got in first.
‘And me and Frieda unmarried and alone. Say it.’
‘It is possible to choose to be alone,’ Frieda said.
‘Maybe,’ said Eva. ‘But it does get lonely, doesn’t it?’
‘And Sarah May dead,’ said Frieda.
‘Sarah May.’ Vanessa repeated the name. ‘Yes, Sarah May.’
There was a silence. Josef warbled in the distance.
‘It’s nice having a man in the house,’ said Eva.
There was a loud rapping at the door and then it was pushed open.
‘Hello!’ a cheerful voice cried. ‘Your chauffeur is here!’ Ewan burst into the room, followed by three young people.
He kissed Vanessa, kissed Eva, kissed Frieda, knocked a couple of biscuits on to the floor with his sleeve, left muddy footprints on the tiles, beamed at them all.
‘This looks very cosy,’ he said. ‘You’ve met my girls, haven’t you, Frieda?’
‘Briefly. Amelia and Charlotte, is that right?’ They nodded, the younger Amelia shyly, while the older girl was cool, indifferent. ‘I’m glad to meet you again. I’m very sorry about your friend Becky.’
Immediately, tears welled in Amelia’s eyes while Charlotte nodded again and murmured something indistinct.
‘And you’ll never guess who this is,’ said Ewan, gesturing towards the boy who was with them, a lanky teenager in low-slung tatty jeans and a leather jacket over a grey hoodie.
‘I don’t know your name,’ Frieda said to him, ‘but I know you’re Lewis’s son.’
‘Yeah.’ Even the voice was the same. ‘I’m Max.’ Max. Becky had mentioned him to her. ‘Do you know my dad?’
‘I used to.’
Ewan punched him playfully on the shoulder. ‘Hasn’t your dad ever told you about the mysterious Frieda Klein?’
‘No.’ He had Lewis’s scowl as well, which he turned now on Ewan.
‘Were you a friend of Becky’s too?’
He met Frieda’s eyes. ‘I thought so,’ he said. ‘Though I had no idea. She shouldn’t be dead.’
‘You’re right, she shouldn’t.’
‘I don’t understand why none of us saw it coming.’
‘No one understands,’ said Vanessa, laying a consoling hand on his shoulder. ‘And everyone feels guilty.’
‘We should be going,’ said Ewan, shifting from one muddy foot to the other.
The door opened again and Josef came in, carrying two mugs and a plate. He was singing to himself, just two or three words on a loop, but stopped when he saw everyone, making a comical gesture of surprise. He put the mugs and plate carefully on the table, then made a slight bow towards Ewan and his daughter.
‘I am Josef,’ he said.
‘What were you singing?’ Frieda asked him sharply.
‘Singing?’ He looked confused.
‘When you came in just now.’
‘I not know.’
‘It was one of the Thursday’s Children songs,’ said Eva. ‘It’s been in my head, what with all the talk of that concert recently. And I was singing it when I took the tea up to Josef.’
‘Earworms,’ said Ewan. ‘Irritating little things.’
‘That’s it,’ said Frieda. ‘I remember now.’
And she did. Although she had never listened to their music since leaving Braxton, it was still lodged in her memory. She probably recalled most of the words as well.
‘We still listen to them sometimes, when we’re feeling romantic,’ said Ewan.
‘They dance to them,’ said Charlotte. ‘It’s embarrassing!’
Frieda grinned. She remembered the way Ewan danced, throwing his arms around wildly and bounding on the spot.
‘I’ll have you know, young woman,’ said Ewan, ‘that they have a special place in your mother’s and my affections.’
‘Yeah, yeah, you got it together at their concert. We know. We just don’t want a replay.’
‘You might not even exist,’ said Eva, to Amelia, ‘if your mum and dad hadn’t gone to that concert.’
‘I can even tell you the order they played those songs.’ He closed his eyes in concentration. ‘“City Song”, they always started with that. To get the crowd going. “Move In With Me”. “Better Do It.”’
‘“Dylan”,’ said Vanessa. ‘That was always my favourite.’
‘And “Donny’s Funeral”. And they ended with “Tight Fit”. And, of course, they did “Day Off” for an encore.’
‘Dad, this isn’t really very interesting,’ said Amelia.
‘My father plays them as well,’ said Max. ‘He doesn’t ever dance, though.’ He looked so forlorn that Frieda had to stop herself putting out a hand in comfort. She remembered Lewis like that. And then, from nowhere, she found herself thinking of Sandy – or, rather, picturing his face the last time she had seen him. She stared out at Eva’s muddy garden and for a moment lost all sense of what was being said.
‘Frieda?’
‘Yes?’
‘I said, we’re on our way.’ Vanessa was pulling on her thick coat. ‘We must do this again. You should come and have supper with us.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll call you.’
‘Yes.’
‘And we’ll see you at the reunion , of course.’
‘Perhaps. I’ve not entirely decided.’
Ewan kissed her on both cheeks, then turned to Max. ‘Can I drop you off?’
‘No. I’ll walk.’
‘I’ll walk with you part of the way,’ said Frieda. ‘I need a bit of fresh air.’ She nodded at Josef. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’
‘Is fine,’ Josef said cheerfully. ‘Isn’t it, Eva?’
‘Yes,’ said Eva. ‘Very fine. Time to open the vino, I think.’
Frieda and Max walked in silence for a few minutes, until Max suddenly asked: ‘Did you know my dad well?’
‘It was a very long time ago. Until now, I hadn’t seen him for over twenty years.’
‘What was he like?’
She considered. ‘He looked like you. But you probably already know that.’
‘People say so.’
‘He was bright and thoughtful. But you probably know that too.’
‘Not so much.’
‘He took things seriously,’ Frieda added.
‘Was he – did he –you know?’
‘Take drugs?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Yes. Like his friends. But maybe he was more susceptible.’
‘He keeps telling me he’s going to stop drinking and smoking and killing himself.’
‘But he doesn’t.’
‘I’ve given up. I used to go on and on at him. I used to beg him and say he had to do it for my sake.’
‘But that didn’t work?’
‘Greg says that in the end you can’t change people, they have to change themselves.’
‘He sounds like he knows what he’s talking about.’ A thought struck Frieda. ‘Greg who?’
‘He used to teach at the High, ages ago. He used to teach my dad. I met him at Maddie’s a few times. I was a bit cut up about everything and he was nice to me.’
‘Greg Hollesley.’ Whom she had seen hugging Maddie ever so tenderly at Becky’s funeral.
‘Maybe.’
‘He goes and sees Maddie?’
‘He has friends in the area from when he was teaching here. I think he comes down because his mum or dad is in a home.’
‘His father,’ said Frieda, recalling what Greg had said to her. ‘That’s right. Did Becky know him?’
‘She met him. I remember her saying she wished there were more teachers like him.’
‘You don’t want too many like him,’ she said.
‘Here’s where I go.’ He gestured to the road leading off to the left. ‘Were you Dad’s girlfriend?’
‘You should ask him questions like that, not me.’
‘That means you were. You’re well out of it.’
‘It’s tough for you, I know.’
‘I really liked Becky.’
‘Did you?’
‘We were friends, proper friends. All the girls were so bitchy.’
‘I’m glad she had you to talk to.’
‘It wasn’t enough, though, was it?’ He glared at her wretchedly.
She walked back slowly, thinking about what Vanessa had said: that her return had unsettled people; about Greg Hollesley in Maddie’s house; about Lewis and his angry, abandoned son. Music from Thursday’s Children ran through her head. She’d never liked them. The night was dark and quiet. Once or twice she thought she heard footsteps but when she turned no one was there. She told herself she was imagining it. When she reached Eva’s house she went round the back. Through the kitchen window she could see Eva and Josef standing close together. Josef seemed to be teaching Eva how to chop vegetables the way real chefs do. Eva was laughing. Frieda glimpsed her face, years younger and full of a merriment that took her back to the friendship of their teenage years. She turned away and went into her shed, shutting the door softly and pulling down the blinds.