‘Don’t say it meant nothing because I won’t believe you.’
‘I’m not saying that. Christ, this is so complicated. Look, what happened happened, and it was lovely, but it doesn’t change anything at all. I don’t regret it, but it doesn’t mean I can rewind the last few days. I never thought this would happen to us but it has, and we need to think about the children. I know it may seem hard but it’s better now, don’t you think, while they’re still little. They’ll get used to the idea.’
I try to keep the stammer out of my voice but I’m collapsing inside. Whatever I say, he has an answer. It’s as if he’s asked himself every single question I could possibly come up with, every excuse, every piece of emotional coercion, and he’s prepared for it. He is destroying us. I should desist, because I know I’m beaten, but the words tumble out, unstoppable, distorted by my sobs.
‘But why should they have to get used to it? Why can’t we try again? David means nothing to me. I’ve apologized and I know I’ve been an idiot. But why do you have to be so extreme? Can’t you just not speak to me for a couple of days?’
‘David was a symptom. You aren’t happy. Not really. You take me for granted because I’ve always been there for you. I’ve never looked at another woman, not since I met you. But it’s all gone to hell now.’
I stare at him. ‘Is it really about that, Tom?’
‘What do you mean?’
I sniff and look around for a hanky, tear a sheet of kitchen towel from the roll, rub the scratchy paper across my eyes and blow my nose. ‘Amber’s been talking about me, hasn’t she?’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘I don’t know. But I think she’s manipulated you. I think she has an agenda.’
‘This is between me and you. How could you think I’d make important decisions based on anything Amber said?’
He’s angry suddenly. And defensive. I look at him, suspicion and jealousy crowding in.
‘OK,’ I say carefully. ‘But I was awake that night in Spain when you two were having a cosy chat on the sofa. I heard everything.’
‘Then you would have heard me tell her that I love you.’ His eyes are filled with pity. ‘You know what? I look at you and I feel this weird sense of detachment, when I used to feel like you were part of me, under my skin. I have no sense of what is real and what isn’t.’ He sees me struggling to control my facial muscles and adds, ‘This isn’t all your fault, Vicky. I’m not whiter than white either. It’s over, that’s all.’
I swallow. ‘I’m sorry. I wish to God it never happened, but it did, and I have to live with it.’
‘Well, so do I.’ His eyes meet mine and then he looks away. He seems to withdraw.
‘Everyone does stupid things.’
He nods and then he walks out and I let him go and sit staring at the wall. There’s a lovely black-and-white photograph taken, ironically, by Amber, before Josh was born, before I was even pregnant. We are in the garden and it’s a summer’s day and we’re all bunched up together, smiling into the lens. We look free of care, in a bubble of love.
I wonder if she hated me even then.
33
Monday, 19 April 2010
I GET DOWN on my hands and knees and press a section of skirting. Hidden behind it is a shallow wooden box. I turn it upside down and its precious contents roll out and settle into the palm of my hand.
Two days have passed since Amber made her blackmail threat and I’ve given in. The girls are at school, having had a wonderful weekend being spoilt rotten by my mother, her guests and Maureen. When I picked them up Emily actually cried, she was so devastated at having to leave. She wants us all to move down there, preferably next door to her grandmother. Even Josh seems better tempered.
I push the rings apart with the tip of my finger. There’s the solitaire that Tom bought me after I had Emily. It’s an antique, a future heirloom, he said, for Polly or Emily to inherit and pass down to their daughters and on through the generations.
Can I pawn it? I fold it into my palm and hold it so tight that it leaves a mark. Yes, if it comes down to a choice between a piece of jewellery and my children, of course I can. I love jewellery; I love the way it sparkles, the little spikes of adrenaline the sight of it produces. Pawning isn’t selling; I will get them back.
There’s an eternity ring as well, and the ruby-and-diamond engagement ring that I’d been wearing on the day of the break-in. I have no idea of the rings’ values, but the three of them together might possibly come close to the amount Amber is demanding. I try each on in turn and then together, rocking my hand from side to side to catch the light. When you put diamond rings next to each other, their sparkle increases tenfold. The effect is mesmerizing. I tug them off, drop them into a jewellery pouch and close it quickly before I can change my mind.
There is a pawnbroker’s reasonably close to where we live but I choose to drive to Elephant and Castle, where there is no chance of being recognized. The street is uninspiring; a low, sixties-built parade with only anonymity to recommend it, cluttered with betting shops and fast-food outlets, choked by traffic. When I looked it up on Street View I expected something discreet and Dickensian, maybe cloaked in shame and dust, but the double-frontage is an unmissable bright blue and yellow.
Josh has fallen asleep in the car and the pneumatic drill going in the street right outside the shop wakes him up. Once inside with the door closed, the sound is somewhat muted. The room is brightly lit and there are long, glass-topped cabinets arranged on three sides. Behind them, shelving displays all manner of objects; evidence of someone else’s desperation.
‘Good afternoon, madam. Can I help you?’
The man’s voice is old-school working class. Overly respectful. I imagine him training his assistants. Tact, he would tell them. Tact and discretion is everything in this business. I dig in my bag for the pouch and shake its contents on to the glass counter. He puts his hand out and stops them rolling away.
‘A beautiful piece,’ he says of Tom’s heirloom.
Josh pulls at his harness and protests loudly. I find a well-loved fabric book at the bottom of my handbag and give it to him. He throws it on the floor and then reaches for it, nearly tipping the pram over.
‘It’s turn of the century,’ I say, my eyes on the top of his balding head as he bends over it with his magnifying glass.
He’s mildly interested in the eternity ring and more excited by my engagement ring. ‘Art Deco. Lovely.’ He names a price for all three which is so far off what Amber is asking, it’s laughable.
The incessant drilling and Josh’s whinging make me incredibly stressed. Deep in my bag, my phone rings. ‘You can’t do better than that?’
‘Sorry, madam. It’s the going rate. Would you like me to take them?’
They’re worth a quarter of what I need. I have nothing that I can raise the rest with, so there is really no point. I am furious with myself, with Tom, with Amber. I should not be in this situation.