She’s trembling with the effort of self-control. ‘No, let’s do this, actually, let’s have it out.’
She asked for it. I start with something she can’t deny. ‘Ok then. How do you explain Zambia? How do you explain stalking us in Turkey?’ Her mouth falls open; she wasn’t expecting that. ‘Someone filmed the festival, you were in the background with a photo of us, asking people if they’d seen us.’
We’ve been speaking in murmurs until now; her voice cracks wide.
‘Why do you think I went to Zambia?’ The barman, sensing a catfight, looks our way. Beth drops her voice. ‘To find out why you would leave me that way, just when I had a chance to show you some of the support you showed me?’
I let out a not-laugh. ‘I can’t believe I’m hearing this.’
Beth puts her hand over her heart in a way that’s presumably meant to show honesty. ‘You meant the world to me, Laura. You rescued me, I loved you. You and Kit got me through the worst thing that had ever happened to me, and then you . . .’ she mimes the pulling away of a rug. ‘You broke my heart.’
The words trigger a memory. ‘That’s exactly the phrase you used about Tess before you carved up her tyres,’ I say. Beth has no comeback. The hand on her chest falls limply on to the table.
‘Look,’ I say, ‘I know you couldn’t help it. Jamie made you this way. I can see that now. I mean, I feel sorry for you. But that doesn’t change what happened.’
We stare at each other; there’s a world of something going on there, but I don’t know what. I keep quiet, giving her space. An admission now will restore some of my faith in her. There’s a tiny shake of her head, then she visibly swallows her words.
‘You don’t know what you’re saying.’ There’s broken glass and fire in her voice. ‘Actually, you know what, Laura? Think what you like. Think what you fucking well like. I’ve done what I came to do.’
She pushes her chair back, and gets to her feet.
‘I’m not going home, so don’t get any ideas,’ I tell her.
‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ve been insulted enough for one day.’ She pauses, winds her scarf tight around her neck, and gives me a look that slows my blood. ‘You can’t say you weren’t warned.’
As she stares me out, the fire comes back to me in all its searing horror. I’ve been an idiot trying to reason with her. I give the table an ungainly push, then wobble to my feet. Still only halfway into my coat, I shove through the heavy double doors and on to the blare and lights of Green Lanes.
It’s not a good idea to run when six months pregnant with twins. Even with one hand on my belly for support – I need the other for balance – I can feel my pelvic floor give out with every heavy step. I cut the wrong way through Harringay Passage just in case she’s after me. By the time I get to Ling’s I’m a sweaty, panting mess.
‘Laura!’ says Juno. She’s old enough to know something’s wrong but not old enough to cope with it. Her lip wobbles. ‘What’s up, is it the babies? Come in.’ She calls over her shoulder, ‘Muuuum!’
Ling charges down the stairs, two at a time.
‘Oh my God, Laura’ she says, throwing an arm around my shoulder and steering me in. ‘I got a missed call, I was just about to ring you back. Do we need to go back to hospital?’
I don’t even consider the truth.
‘Panic attack,’ I say. ‘I couldn’t be on my own.’
She takes me at face value. Why wouldn’t she?
‘You can have my bed.’
Ling’s bedroom has clean sheets, fresh flowers, white walls on to which I mentally project everything I think I know. The threat of Jamie feels real – the sentiment is familiar from his letters – but distant, like a figure on the horizon vivid only when viewed through binoculars. My instinct is to run again, start another new life, but we are tethered now, not least by hospital appointments and work and mortgage. We are embedded here. Fury at Kit rises to the fore again. I actually twitch with the desire to punch him. How could he put us at risk like this? How could he lie to me? It must be one o’clock in the morning when anger trumps restraint and I fire off a nasty text message.
Beth came to the house – thanks to you. She told me what you did. How could you, Kit? I’m staying at Ling’s tonight but we need to talk, big time, when you get home.
Lashing out is a huge release. Isn’t part of the marriage contract to take shit off each other from time to time? We’ll have our row tomorrow and then we’ll make up, like we always do.
I can’t deal with Beth, let alone Jamie, on my own.
Chapter 49
KIT
21 March 2015
‘I’m so tired,’ I moan, as we stand on the bridge, coffees in hand, waiting for the first sight of land. The sky is white, the morning light is cold silver and the North Sea is a uniform dolphin grey.
‘I slept like a log,’ says Richard cheerfully.
He doesn’t have to tell me that. I was awake for every snore and fart. I would have thought that after the relief of Beth not catching up with me, and with the pre-eclipse tension having dribbled away into anti-climax, I would have slept like a log too, but instead I tossed and turned in my narrow bunk, checking my watch through the night and plunging further into wakefulness every time.
A murmuring starts up as shapes form on the horizon. Even through its swathe of low cloud, the Northumberland coastline is an almost vulgar green after the rocky black Faroes. It feels good to see England and my pulse quickens in anticipation of home and Laura. We close in on the cranes and gantries of Newcastle dock and I wonder if it’s worth hurrying to catch the ten fifteen to King’s Cross or, I should just relax and enjoy the ride. Either way, I should be home by two, three at the latest.