‘I begged her to call you, Tom. But she was so upset, so horrified, that she wasn’t thinking straight.’
She doesn’t bother asking why he isn’t having this conversation with his wife. She assumes he’s too angry with her. But he’ll have to sooner or later, so this is her chance to tell it her way, to make sure she comes across the way she wants to: an honest and supportive friend inadvertently caught up in his wife’s crime. She watches Tom’s face and he doesn’t take his eyes off hers. Every so often he groans in exasperation.
‘Why the hell didn’t you call me?’
‘Don’t be angry. I can’t interfere in someone else’s marriage. It was up to Vicky to tell you the truth. All I could do was advise her. And things happened so fast. By the time I’d parked the car and found her again, she had already concocted this story. I couldn’t then go to the authorities and tell them she’d lied, could I? There was nothing I could do except support her and look after the girls.’
She searches for some warmth in his eyes and thinks she sees a glimmer. A slim wedge of light that she can prise further open. A few metres away a couple are hugging and kissing. The young man is carrying a huge rucksack, almost big enough to tip him over. She guesses he’s a soldier. She turns back to Tom.
‘It wasn’t my secret, but I’m glad you know now. I’ve hated lying to you. I’ve even hated Vicky for what she did and for involving me. But in my heart I know, if I hadn’t confirmed her story, you would have lost your children and I … I couldn’t do that to you.’ The tears that come are genuine and she grabs a brown paper napkin and blows her nose. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry.’
He reaches over and takes her hand. ‘It isn’t your fault, Amber.’
‘Please don’t hate me.’
‘I don’t hate you. Far from it. I understand that you did what you did for the best reasons. I’ll have to talk to Vicky now. I wanted to make sure I got the truth out of you first.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘Something Millie Boxer said when I bumped into her this morning.’
Oh fuck. Bloody Millie. She frowns and is about to ask more when he pockets his wallet and phone.
‘I should get back to work.’
‘Right now?’
‘Sorry.’ He touches her cheek lightly, almost absently. ‘I’ve got a conference call in twenty minutes. We’ll speak though. Soon.’
She wants to leave him with a lingering memory so she reaches up to kiss his cheek, her hand resting on his shoulder, and detaches herself with a smile that manages to be both mocking and rueful. He catches it and responds with a grin.
‘Amber,’ he chides.
She raises her eyebrows and he laughs, but he’s quickly serious again.
‘Please don’t warn Vicky. Let me deal with this my way.’
For a moment she thinks he means their affair, then she realizes he’s talking about Josh. Well, she never expected it to be easy; not with Tom, a man of principle who adores his children. This love affair wasn’t part of the plan, but it’s happened and, now that it has, it’s worth fighting for. And the best thing is, Maggie will know exactly what it means. She’ll understand the message. Katya is coming.
She looks up at Tom and smiles. ‘OK.’
The tube rushes her back home almost too quickly. She needs more time to think. Now that Tom is aware of the circumstances, ought she to withdraw the demand for money? She chews at her fingernail. It depends how Vicky reacts. Would she tell him? Her insides flutter with anxiety. Probably. She doesn’t want to become the bad guy in this. Tom has to understand that Vicky is the one at fault; the criminally negligent mother and unfaithful wife. Not Amber. She can’t let that happen, even if it means crawling to Vicky, getting back into her good books, at least until the dust has settled. She’s going to have to back off and convince her to keep quiet. It’ll be galling, but, when it comes down to it, although having both would be the aim, she would rather take Tom away from her than get the keys to that house. Hold on to the positive, she thinks. Forget the rest.
June 1992
LUKE HAD A beer in his hand, his feet up on the coffee table, watching a James Bond film. Katya listened to the sound of gunfire as she undressed and got into her bath. She sat in the hot water hugging her knees and staring at her white toes and skinny ankles.
I am only a child.
She washed slowly, soaping her face and rinsing it, then pressed the wet flannel into her eyes and mouth, like a mask. The heat made her forehead bead with sweat. She slid down into the water, combed her fingers through her hair so that it floated out around her head, took the biggest breath she could and slid down further until it closed over her face. The ceiling rippled and her lungs felt like they would burst. She made fists of her hands and thumped the side, animal noises coming from the back of her throat. It hurt to drown, more than she expected it would. She let the air out in an explosion of bubbles and burst through the surface gasping for air.
She climbed out, reached for the towel and wrapped it round her thin shoulders. The mirror had misted over. She wiped it and stuck out her tongue at her reflection. The yellow candlewick bathmat looked soft enough to sleep on and she was tempted to keep the door bolted against him and spend the night in there.
The television was still on when she came out, James Bond’s voice, smooth and seductive, teasing some woman who Katya guessed was going to die. The door was partly closed and she peeked through the gap at the back of Luke’s head. He sensed her and turned, so she scuttled into the bedroom, pulled the duvet over her head and started worrying at her scabs, making them bleed again.
36
Thursday, 22 April 2010
‘HER NAME WAS Katya and she was ten when I inherited her case. Her mother had died of a drug overdose – she was a prostitute. I placed her with a foster family but it was a failure. She ended up in a Young Offenders’ Institute and that was the last I heard of her.’
I slide down the door, gripping the phone. I’m hiding from the girls in Tom’s study. ‘You didn’t recognize her?’
‘Not until Spain, no. I’ve only ever met her fleetingly since you two became friends and she’s changed so much. She was tiny then, underfed. And she’s lost her south London accent; she sounds posher.’
‘So what made you realize it was her?’
‘I was watching the way she behaved around Tom, and I suppose things started to ring bells. It was the tiny scars on the back of her left hand that convinced me. When she was upset she used to stab herself with her compass.’