He smiled and held out his hand. ‘Shall I open it?’
She watched him as she handed it over and he could tell she was deliberating whether to press him; he was thankful this was a make-up dinner and she backed off. Browbeating him was not on the menu. At the same time, he was disturbed by the strong, almost survivalist instinct he had to keep what he had been told a secret. He poured them both a glass as Cherry served dinner. It was delicious, but the conversation didn’t ever get into full gear. They were both wary, unable to relax, and Cherry claimed a return of her headache. It was eaten quickly, and then they ended up in front of the TV. At half past ten, neither saw much point in staying up for longer, and they went into the bathroom separately and then got into bed.
‘Do you fancy your book?’ said Daniel, and Cherry knew by this that he did. He wanted to escape into something other than their evening.
‘Actually, I might just crash,’ she said, and switched out her light. ‘But you read.’
He did for about ten minutes before turning out his own light. As they lay in bed, Daniel sensed she was still awake. He called her name once, softly, but she didn’t reply.
Once she heard him drop off, Cherry allowed her mind to tick. She knew cracks were appearing. Something had happened tonight, something he was keeping from her. Something that had made him suspicious. Cracks had a habit of widening, deepening, faster and faster as they took hold. She had to resolve this soon or he’d slip away.
FIFTY-TWO
Saturday 7 November
Laura heard the mail fall onto the doormat. As usual she approached it with some trepidation, but it all looked fairly ordinary. A collection of statements buffered by some junk brochures selling cashmere sweaters and overseas investments. She flicked through it and stopped at an expensive cream envelope, thick with the paper it held inside. The doorbell rang before she had a chance to open it and she found herself peering through the hall window, aware she was behaving like a timid old lady. It was the builders, come to repair the leaking window. She made them a cup of tea while they assured her they would have the glass out by the end of the day, and hopefully back in the next.
Once they were out in the garden, she took her post to the quiet of the living room. She opened the thick envelope first.
Dear Mrs Cavendish,
I am writing on behalf of my client Howard Cavendish. He feels that a notable amount of time has passed since he first discussed the issue of divorce with you but so far has not received any correspondence detailing your request to start proceedings. He is still very amenable to your instigating proceedings rather than him, but you must make this known within fourteen days or I will be bound to file a petition to the courts. In order to facilitate the process, I recommend that, if you haven’t already, you get independent legal advice.
I look forward to hearing from you in due course.
Yours,
Alastair Lloyd-Edwards
Laura dropped the letter on the coffee table. Did it matter? Who cared who divorced whom? The relationship was over and no one seemed to notice or think that this might be the important thing. Or maybe it wasn’t, not for Howard, because of Marianne. Maybe their marriage hadn’t mattered to him for years. She was suddenly exhausted and knew she wouldn’t bother to reply. She hadn’t been to work much either, vaguely aware this was feeding into Cherry’s ambitions for her, but since the cancellation of her drama, she’d lost all energy. She wasn’t sleeping well at night, her skin was pale, and there were shadows under her eyes. She was afraid to go out. Food was delivered by the supermarket. When the post crashed on the mat, it startled her and she approached it like a wary animal, afraid of what it might be. And then there was Cherry’s nocturnal visit. Laura wondered how long she’d stood there, what she’d been looking for, what she was planning. When Izzy had called first thing to check in, she’d been so angry about it she’d threatened to call the police there and then, but Laura knew she’d receive a similar response to the one she’d already had. They couldn’t do anything until Cherry made a move. She realized she was waiting – waiting for something to happen – and it was slowly strangling her.
She had to do something. She had to see Daniel. Laura grabbed her bag and jacket, and headed out.
She approached the double doors with the large elevated sign ‘Cardiology’, apprehensive now. A young black nurse was sitting behind the desk.
‘Can I help you?’ asked the nurse.
‘I’m here to see Dr Cavendish.’
‘He’s in surgery.’
‘Oh, right. When . . . when might it be over?’
The nurse glanced at the clock. ‘Hard to say. Another two hours at least.’
Her face fell.
‘Anything I can do?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll come back then.’
Laura made a swift exit before she was asked any more questions. She had a dread of hospitals since Daniel’s accident but resigned herself to the wait. The minutes ticked by excruciatingly slowly and she stretched out a coffee for forty-five minutes, then suddenly thought, What if Cherry meets him after his shifts? What if she comes here? Her stomach constricted and she jumped up and nervously wandered around the charity shop, full of garments knitted by well-meaning patrons, then the gift shop, full of cuddly toys and metallic balloons on sticks, and then finally the mini supermarket. At about half three, she went back up to the ward.
‘Is Dr Cavendish free yet?’ she asked the same nurse, who looked up and nodded down the corridor.
He was deep in conversation with someone and didn’t see her at first, so she got a chance to look at him unchecked. It was the first time she’d seen him in his uniform and her heart swelled with pride. Then he looked up.
She didn’t know if he was pleased to see her or not. At first she thought she caught a glimpse of relief, gladness, but it turned into a frown before she could be sure. He walked over.
‘Mum, what are you doing here?’
‘I came to see you.’
‘I’m at work.’
‘Yes, I know, but I can’t come to the flat, can I?’ Laura tried to stem her anxiety. ‘I . . . I left you a message yesterday. I’ve left lots.’
She saw a flash of guilt. He pulled her away from the nurses’ station, conscious of gossip and alert eyes. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just . . . there’s been a lot going on.’ He paused. ‘Wendy got in touch.’
Laura looked at him, shocked. ‘What did she say?’
A nurse called his name. Daniel turned. ‘Coming . . .’ He faced her again and lowered his voice. ‘I can’t talk here.’
‘I can wait until your break.’
‘That’s five hours away and I don’t always get one.’
Seeing her crestfallen face, he relented. ‘I’ll come to the house.’
‘When?’
‘I don’t know . . .’
‘After your shift.’