After lunch I spend a contented hour and a half regrouting the tiles in the yellow bathroom. Josh, refusing to allow his plaster cast to impede his progress, plays with Mum’s supply of plastic toys in the empty bath. Mum touches up the woodwork. The radio is tuned to a local channel and the music perks me up. I used to love doing this sort of thing with my mother, in the same way that most children love baking cupcakes with theirs. There’s the easy intimacy, the rest of the world shut out so that it’s only us. I smile to myself and glance at her. We get things done, me and my mum.
Once I’ve sponged off the tiles, I perch on the side of the bath picking the grout off my fingers and admiring my handiwork. Mum wipes her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a smear of paint in her hair.
‘Why don’t you come with us to Spain?’ I say.
‘That’s very kind, but I don’t think so. I’ll be busy here.’
‘Couldn’t Maureen take over?’
Maureen has been my mother’s neighbour right from the beginning and has covered Mum’s holidays for as long as I can remember. She’s prone to small disasters but has never burnt the place down. Breaking crockery and putting the chain on the door at night so that guests can’t get in is more in her line.
‘I’m sure she could, but you need to concentrate on your family.’
‘It’ll be fine. I think we’re having Amber’s lot for the first week. You could do with a change of scene, and the house is big enough. There’s a pool and Barcelona isn’t far away. The children would love it.’
She thinks about it and shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, Vicky. It’s a busy time of year for me.’
‘I nearly forgot – before you go …’ She hurries to the dresser and picks up a shoebox. ‘I found this in the attic at the bottom of a box of old junk I was throwing out. It belongs to you.’
‘To me?’ I hold out my hands and take it. It’s heavy, the objects inside shifting as I set it down on the table. ‘What is it?’
‘Open it and see.’
I lift the lid. Nestling in tissue paper and cotton wool is a collection of memories. I take them out one by one. There’s a porcelain shoe decorated with tiny forget-me-nots that bite into my fingers, a miniature Venus de Milo, the white paint flaking off the lead. Mum watches me, a smile playing on her lips.
I look up at her. ‘I’d forgotten all about these.’
I take more of the things out: a small framed photo of me and Mum eating lollipops on the beach. I wonder which lover took it. There’s also an ivory elephant, about two inches high, missing one of its tusks, and a porcelain frog. A dozen or more objects. I lay them all out on the table. I can remember their positions on the shelf above my bed and I start to move them, switching them round to find their companions.
‘We left in such a rush,’ Mum says. ‘I remember putting them in the box, but we lost such a lot between there and my parents’.’
I nod, but my mind is elsewhere. There is an anomaly. The elephant wasn’t beside the Venus. There was something in between them. I edge them apart with my finger and gaze at the gap. It feels like when you get to the end of a puzzle and there’s a piece missing.
‘The amber,’ I say with a smile of satisfaction. ‘It isn’t here.’
‘I’m sure I took everything. I wouldn’t have left anything out – not deliberately, at least. Maybe it got knocked down behind your bed.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s nice to have these. The girls will be thrilled. Anyway, I have an alternative Amber now.’ An unwelcome image intrudes; my friend crouched inside the block of sap, a black silhouette. It melts away from her and she unravels her body and steps out of the sticky mess. ‘I’ll save them for Christmas.’
12
AMBER WATCHES VICKY push Josh’s pram at a brisk trot up the street to the school gates, weaving through families already on their way home.
‘Thank goodness you’re here!’ she says, falling into step as Vicky races breathlessly into the playground. ‘Could you have Sophie for tea? I need to go and see our financial advisor. I’m so sorry about the short notice, but he’s free at four and Robert’s got time, so …’
Vicky doesn’t hesitate. ‘Of course I will.’
Amber relaxes. She hasn’t been sure how welcome the request would be, whether there would be awkwardness between them after Saturday night. It’s likely that Vicky assumes Amber was drunk and didn’t really mean it. But she did. Very much so.
Sophie zips up her dark-blue Puffa, smiling her gap-toothed smile. ‘Am I coming to your house?’ she asks Vicky.
‘Yes, you are. Aren’t I lucky?’
‘You’re late, Mummy,’ Emily says.
Not for the first time either, Amber thinks, as they head out, Polly clutching the handle of the pram and skipping beside them. Her god-daughter is such a sweet, undemanding child. Vicky doesn’t deserve her.
‘I know, Emily,’ Vicky says. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been to see Granny and the traffic was bad.’
The kids vie for the adults’ attention, wanting to talk about their day, so it’s impossible to discuss anything important. To Amber, it feels as though the subject of Vicky’s disastrous lapse in judgement has become taboo. And there’s the other issue: Vicky’s affair. She’s done some calculations, looked back and remembered certain things; hints her friend has dropped over the last few months, things she’s avoided saying, and she’s made an educated guess. She understands her only too well, knows that she’s desperate to share her secrets but can’t in all conscience do so.
She gives her a friendly nudge, saying in a sing-song whisper, ‘I know who he is.’
Vicky is visibly startled. ‘Who?’
‘Him. The man you were seeing.’
‘You don’t!’ Vicky says. But she isn’t as outraged as she sounds. Her eyes are laughing.
‘Oh yes I do. It was a process of elimination. It’s Astrid North’s father. I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘So now you think I’m a complete idiot.’
‘Why would I think that?’
‘Because he’s married, old and flabby.’
‘So? That didn’t stop Anne Boleyn.’
Vicky concedes the point with a wide smile. ‘I don’t understand why you’re so interested.’
‘You’d be just as curious if the tables were turned.’
‘True. It’s a good thing Astrid will have left before I start work again. I don’t think I could stand it otherwise. It was a moment of madness, Amber. I honestly don’t understand what got into me.’
‘When did it start?’
‘When Hellie went back to Sweden for two weeks. He had to come in and talk about Astrid’s problems. I cannot believe I was so unprofessional!’ Vicky groans. ‘Can you imagine the fuss if it got round? When I think about it – teacher having an affair with a pupil’s father – it is so tacky. Not that I did have the affair,’ she adds quickly.
‘Of course not. And he’s very attractive. Sexy eyes.’
‘Stop it!’
She laughs. ‘OK. I’ll let you off. Wish me luck this afternoon. We’ve been stalling the vendors like mad.’ She watches Vicky’s face redden with a certain amount of satisfaction. Let her feel awkward.
‘You haven’t managed to raise the deposit?’
‘No, and obviously there are other buyers sniffing around. I’m terrified we’ll be gazumped. That’s why this meeting’s so important.’
‘But you work for the estate agent. Surely that gives you an edge?’
‘Not when it comes to money, it doesn’t. Vicky, I honestly hate to do this to you but I am desperate. Is there no way you and Tom could lend us the deposit, just for a few months?’