He’d brought expensive wine, a bag of late apples from the orchard’s shop at the foot of the hill and a bottle of their cider. I’d said I didn’t want any more alcohol, but he’d poured me a glass anyway; he’d chosen it because he thought it was my favourite.
Later, after we’d talked and talked, he’d said please could I sign something he needed me to – it was only to do with the bank accounts in my name that he’d opened when we married, which needed two signatures. I skimmed through the paperwork, and I couldn’t see anything untoward, so I did; I just signed where he asked. I couldn’t see any harm.
And when I did that, he was so pleased he kissed me.
I tried to move away – but he just took my face in his hands and looked down at me. And he smelt so nice, and maybe the drink had gone to my head, or maybe it was the sight of the tears in his eyes earlier – but I gave in. I let him kiss me – and then I couldn’t help it.
I kissed him back.
Oh God, I hope I won’t regret it.
‘What?’ he mumbles now as I shake him gently.
‘Your phone. It might be urgent.’
He groans, and, eyes half open, leans down, fumbling for the phone on the floor somewhere near the bed. Eventually he finds it, just as it rings again.
‘Hello?’
He’s frowning. There’s a silence whilst he listens, and I pull myself up now to sit, feeling dozy and uncertain.
What now, for us, I’m thinking when he explodes.
‘You are fucking kidding me!’
I turn. ‘What is it?’
‘You are fucking joking,’ Matthew repeats down the phone, glaring at me. ‘Are you sure?’
He’s pulling himself out of bed too and ignoring me, and I’ve got a bad feeling, a bad feeling that started a moment ago, and he’s telling whoever it was he’ll call them back in five minutes.
Then he’s off the phone and grimacing right in my face. ‘Did you know about this?’
‘What?’ I’m suddenly wide awake.
‘I bet you put him up to it. That’d be right, wouldn’t it?’
‘Put who up to what?’
‘I should have listened to my instincts about your son.’ He grabs his trousers and pulls them on. ‘So stupid, getting sucked in again.’
‘What is it? What’s wrong? Are you talking about Frankie?’
‘Yes, bloody Frankie, Jean, well done. Where the fuck are my socks?’ He’s so angry. ‘Have you bloody well hidden them?’
‘Matthew, you’re scaring me.’ I see his socks beneath the chair and clamber out to give them to him. ‘What is it?’
He grabs the socks, muttering to himself as he buttons his shirt.
‘Please calm down…’ I start, and he stares at me like I’m mad.
‘I’m not at all calm. And I won’t be any calmer when I find him,’ he spits, and I feel an intense fear I’ve never really felt before, not even when the whole Otto thing erupted. ‘You’re a fucking liar, Jeanie. I saw all those bloody pills again – and now this. God, I should have known.’
‘Please tell me what you’re talking about?’ I try to grab his arm, but he shakes me off like a dog would shake a rabbit, making me stumble so I fall against the bed. I crack my knee painfully on the wall, gasping with pain. ‘Matthew?’ I’m really scared, scrambling up again. ‘Please!’
‘And this fucking time I’m calling the police.’ Frenetic in his haste, he scoops up the rest of his clothes, his shoes, his jacket and leaves the room. Then he sticks his head back round the door. ‘You’d better tell him to get a fucking good lawyer. He’s going to need it.’
‘What’s he done?’ I follow him down the stairs as he fumbles to get his shoes on, swearing to himself. Has he found out about the emails? That Frankie might have sent them? But that was directed at me, not at Matthew…
‘Matthew, just tell me what the hell’s going on, for God’s sake!’
My shouting surprises both of us, I think.
He actually looks at me now. ‘Your bloody son. That’s what’s going on.’
‘But Frankie’s not even in the country.’
‘Yeah, well he’d better stay away if he knows what’s good for him.’
‘Why? What’s he meant to have done?’ My heart’s beating so hard I think it’s going to come clean out of my chest.
‘He’s cleared out Scarlett’s fucking savings account. There was thousands in there. Fucking thousands! Where the fuck are my keys?’
‘What bank account?’ Ice needles me now. ‘How do you know? Was that Scarlett?’
‘No, that was her mother on the phone. She’s totally distraught.’
‘Scarlett?’ I say stupidly.
‘No, Kaye. Scarlett doesn’t even know. Christ, the thieving little bastard…’
‘Kaye’s rung you to say Frankie’s taken Scarlett’s money? Are you sure?’
‘Kaye rang to say’—his tone is quiet and icy now—‘that she’s seen the account is empty.’
‘Empty?’
‘Yeah, empty.’
‘But how does she know it’s Frankie?’
He’s out of the front door now, key in hand, into the car. ‘She’s got evidence, she says.’
I run out into the tiny front garden in my dressing gown, to the passenger door, but it’s locked.
I rap at the window. ‘Don’t go like this please,’ I cry. ‘Please! We can sort it out together…’