‘Are you two going anywhere?’
‘No. The timing isn’t great at the moment,’ Robert says. A look passes between him and Amber. Is she pregnant? No, surely not. She would have told me. ‘Holidays are going to be off the agenda for the foreseeable. Amber and Sophie can always spend a week in Suffolk.’
‘Yes, that’s always great fun,’ Amber says drily.
She catches my eye and I smile. I know exactly how she feels about staying with her in-laws.
The oven timer pings and Robert trails his wife into the kitchen. I turn to Tom and he sinks his head in his hands.
‘I know. I’m sorry. Shit.’
There is something very endearing about Tom when he’s feeling guilty. He’s like a dog caught chewing a pilfered lamb chop.
Robert returns with a casserole, followed by Amber carrying a pale-pink china bowl piled high with greens. They set them on the table and we breathe in the delicious aroma of Moroccan tagine.
‘Do you want to hear the good news?’ Amber says.
‘Go on,’ I answer. ‘I’d love to.’
‘We put in an offer on Browning Street and it’s been accepted.’
Taken by surprise, I can’t think of anything to say. I catch Tom’s eye and he gives an almost imperceptible lift of his eyebrows.
‘Browning Street?’ he says, stalling for time.
‘Yes. Didn’t Vicky tell you she’d been to look at it?’
‘The place you went to see that awful morning? Yeah, I knew about that.’ He glances my way again and says, ‘I don’t know why you went to see it, Vicky. We don’t need to move.’
I get the message. He thinks I should take a step back, not confront this head on; not turn it into an issue. He doesn’t want to get into a property war with our best friends, and neither do I, but it doesn’t stop me feeling as though I’ve been winded. Amber’s timing is perfect. She’s caught me off guard and made sure there are witnesses.
I take a deep breath. ‘Tom’s right. It isn’t practical for either of us at the moment.’
Tom’s smile of approval is all the recompense I get, but at least I’ve concealed my real feelings, behaved graciously. I can’t believe it though.
‘No, that’s what I thought,’ Amber says, directing her speech to Tom and not looking at me. ‘I didn’t think you’d mind. It makes sense. I can probably get their price down after the survey as well, because it has more problems than the executors are letting on. It’s in an awful state, to be honest, but it’s the only way we’ll get our feet on the ladder.’
I muster a few words. ‘It’s still a lot of money.’
‘Oh,’ Amber says breezily. ‘That’s what mortgages are for. It’ll go up in value.’
I try and feel excited for her but I can’t. I love that house and if it hadn’t been for what came next I would have put an offer in straight away, not waited until now. She knows that and yet she’s stepped in. Why couldn’t she just have told me?
‘Vicky, you know how badly Robert and I need to move out of this place. I hate it here.’ She stops speaking and in the silence we hear the boom boom boom of a bass and raucous laughter coming from downstairs. ‘We’re not students. We’re a family.’
Tom is looking at me and I take a slug of wine and mentally step back from the edge. I force myself to see it from her point of view. Amber wants this as badly as I do and who am I to begrudge her the chance to change her life? Inwardly, I contain my bitter disappointment, aware that everyone is waiting for me, that Amber is particularly tense.
‘I hope you get it. And if you do, I’ll help you strip wallpaper.’
Her face relaxes. ‘You don’t have to.’
‘I do. I want to. You know I love that sort of thing.’ I am rewarded by the rare sight of Amber’s eyes welling with tears. She wipes them away with a napkin and reaches across to briefly squeeze my hand.
‘You can use me too,’ Tom says.
‘Er … perhaps not,’ Amber says. ‘Remember when you accidentally bought that disgusting, gritty non-slip paint and slapped it all over the bathroom floor? It took Vicky a week to put right.’
He pokes her arm. ‘Let’s wait and see what happens when you pick up a paint roller, shall we?’
‘I wouldn’t let him anywhere near the place, if I were you,’ I laugh. ‘He’s a liability.’
‘Don’t listen to her, Amber. Point me in the direction of a wall and I’ll strip the paper off. Or Robert and I can weed the garden. Anyway, let’s drink a toast. To Amber and Robert, who are joining the ranks of the heavily mortgaged.’
‘How’s the investigation going?’ Robert asks as he tucks into Amber’s homemade lemon tart.
‘Slowly,’ Tom says. He moves his glass, swivelling it to and fro, and it catches my eye as candlelight glints against its surface. He explains about Grayling and the hospital, about the frustration of trying to get answers. ‘They don’t have a clue. That man, whoever he was, must have some serious balls, breaking into homes in broad daylight.’
‘He’s bound to be caught sooner or later with an M.O. like that,’ Robert says.
‘M.O.?’ Amber laughs. ‘Who do you think you are? Inspector Morse?’
Tom stops frowning and grins at her. ‘I suppose, after last week, he won’t be trying it again in a hurry. I should think Vicky scared the living daylights out of him.’
The Collinses are the only people we can joke about it with and I try to join in, but I feel sick. To my horror my heart starts racing, the room and the people in it blurring. They’re still chatting away, the wine making them voluble, the men puffed up, describing how they would have reacted had it been either of them who had interrupted our burglar. I can’t breathe and my limbs feel leaden. Why don’t they change the subject? Can’t they see I’m shaking? I drop my spoon and it clatters to the floor but I leave it, not trusting myself to move or speak.
At the sudden noise Amber drags her gaze from Tom’s face and looks at me. Her smile is tentative, worried. ‘Hey,’ she says. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Vicky?’ Tom finally notices. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘We have to go home.’ I push my chair back and nearly fall over. Robert grasps my elbow and steadies me, gently pressing me back down on to my seat. ‘The children …’
‘You mustn’t worry so much, darling,’ Tom says. ‘Magda has it all under control.’
I stare into his eyes, willing him to take me seriously, trying not to cry, anxious not to make a scene in front of our hosts, but it’s no good and I break apart.
‘She’s having a panic attack.’ I hear Amber’s voice through the muddle in my brain. She comes and crouches down beside me and pulls me round to face her. ‘It’s OK, Vicky. Breathe.’
I try. I pull air in and out of my lungs, my hands clasped in Amber’s. I hold her gaze and she nods encouragement.
‘That’s right. Good girl. Everything’s fine.’