What the hell is wrong with me? I spin away from the window and start to run, taking the stairs two at a time, yelling for Tom. But he’s there already and as I burst out of the house he sprints across the terrace, dives into the pool and brings both of them spluttering to the surface. I jump in, relieve him of Sophie and get her over to the side. She’s all right, only shocked.
Polly is wailing but I can’t deal with her now. I watch Tom with Amber. She is draped in his arms, her head back, her hair everywhere, in her face, across his lips, tangled in his fingers. Her clothes cling to her body and it’s that that kills me, the way her small breasts, her flat stomach and slender thighs are moulded by the wet fabric. Tom gets her to the steps, picks her up and lifts her out of the water. He lies her down on her back, bends over her and gives her the kiss of life. She splutters immediately and cries out. I turn my head away and concentrate on towelling a sobbing Sophie dry and telling her how brave she’s been.
27
Sunday, 4 April 2010
‘I MUST HAVE fainted,’ Amber says weakly.
We’ve brought her into the smaller of the two sitting rooms. In the other one, the girls have started rehearsing their play with Mum who, with unusual restraint and lack of melodrama, rounded them up, dried their tears, gave them each a chocolate Easter egg and suggested they think about where their stage is going to be.
‘It must have had something to do with the light flickering on the water. I’m so sorry to give everyone such a fright. Lucky the girls heard me screaming or that would have been it.’ She hesitates. ‘Where were you, Vicky?’
‘On the loo.’ It’s the best excuse I can manage.
She frowns. ‘Oh … I thought I saw … well, never mind. Thank God the girls were there.’
‘I haven’t seen Tom run that fast since he played football for his university team.’
Tom smiles. ‘I’ve still got it.’
‘I thought that was it. Everything went foggy and I even stopped panicking. I had this soft, drifting feeling. And then there you were. Like Superman.’
‘The real hero is Sophie,’ Mum says, coming back in. ‘She was incredibly brave. She could have drowned too.’
‘Oh God, absolutely! In fact, I’m grateful to you all.’
She’s crying. Her tears begin quietly and become great whooping sobs, and she flaps her hand in front of her face in an effort to stop them.
‘Try and drink some of that tea,’ Tom says. ‘You’ve had a nasty shock.’
He pulls his chair closer to hers and puts his arm around her. I love men’s arms. Tom’s are dusted with dark hair, the muscles and sinews well defined. Amber collapses against him, her face pressed into his armpit, shivering even though she has changed out of her wet things. The blue cashmere sweater Tom was wearing last night is hanging over the back of a chair and he passes it to her. She pulls it on and is swamped by it, her hands almost vanishing into the sleeves.
There is no denying it; Amber – the vulnerable version – is alluring; even to me. I want to put my arms around her and shield her from the world. And if I can feel that way, how much more must Tom feel, how hard would it be for him to resist her? I think she knows how adorable she looks, drowning in his jumper.
‘When will the grown-ups come and see our show?’ Emily asks.
‘After lunch, poppet,’ I say.
‘When’s lunch?’
‘About an hour? When everyone’s hungry. How are the rehearsals going?’
She makes a face. ‘Not good.’
‘Oh dear. Why’s that?’
‘Because Sophie’s mummy nearly drowned and Sophie’s too sad for shows.’
‘Ah, well. I think that’s understandable, don’t you?’
But Amber sits up and brushes her hair back. ‘Don’t worry. Tell Sophie I’ll be very disappointed if I don’t get to see it. I’m sure once I’ve had something to eat I’ll feel much better.’
Josh sits on the tiled floor surrounded by wooden spoons and saucepans; a noisy combination. Amber is slumped like a teenager, her hair bedraggled, her arms crossed loosely over her abdomen. She sniffs at Tom’s jumper then frowns, remembering the mark on his neck. How childish Vicky can be.
She’s keeping an eye on the baby while Maggie advises the girls on their big production. As part-time landlady to a regular stream of actors, actresses, wardrobe ladies and make-up artists, she is the voice of authority on all things theatrical.
The door opens. Amber lifts her head and catches the older woman’s eye, and there it is: that shock of connection and recognition.
What took you so long, Maggie?
‘Tom and Vicky not back yet?’ Maggie says.
‘I’m sure they won’t be long.’
Maggie stoops to talk to Josh, who drops his spoon and crows at her, delighted to get some attention. Amber isn’t much fun at the moment. On the other side of the hall, Sophie’s voice rises. She’s inclined to become strident if unchecked.
‘No, Polly,’ she squawks. ‘Like this. You have to concentrate. Do you know what concentrate means?’
Amber pictures her with her hands on her hips, lips pursed. She is as bossy as Robert’s mother. She isn’t keen on that aspect of her daughter’s personality.
‘Katya,’ Maggie says, in a voice so quiet Amber nearly misses it.
‘I don’t use that name and you mustn’t either.’ She smiles at her. ‘I don’t suppose you thought you’d ever see me again.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘But here I am.’
‘Have you known it was me all along?’
‘Of course I have. You haven’t changed. I can’t believe you didn’t recognize me.’
‘I didn’t. You’ve grown up. Your hair’s so different.’ Maggie peers at her, as if trying to fathom the riddle. ‘The fringe changes the shape of your face. But it isn’t just that. You used to be such a scared little thing. It’s your confidence. That’s why I missed it.’
‘I wasn’t looking for you either, you know. It was pure chance.’
It’s perfectly true. She hadn’t realized, not until she worked it out from Vicky’s wedding photo, that she was Emily Parrish. What had hurt was that Maggie hadn’t recognized in her daughter’s new friend the broken child she had walked away from eleven years previously. Emily Seagrave’s christening had passed off without any dramatic unveiling. It was only at the christening that she discovered Vicky’s middle name was Emily. It was an obvious choice when she thought about it. Maggie had had to think quickly.
‘Do you honestly expect me to believe that?’ Maggie says.
‘Why not? I wasn’t interested in you. I’d moved on. You say I seem confident to you, but if I do, it’s because I’ve worked at it. It hasn’t been easy.’
‘No, I can imagine it hasn’t.’ Maggie’s tone is conciliatory and she’s leaning towards Amber, her body language accessible. She doesn’t realize, she thinks that she’s forgiven. ‘I’m glad things have gone well for you, Amber.’
Amber shrugs. ‘I met some wonderful people at Fairhaven who helped me turn my life around. Then I met Robert. Now, if you have some idea of wrecking things for me by talking to Vicky, you need to think carefully, because I can do as much damage to you as you could ever do to me.’ She dips her head until her hair falls forward and then raises her eyes and looks directly into Maggie’s face. ‘So. What are you going to do?’
‘I was fond of you, you know,’ she says, as if that was answer enough.