Chapter 28 Insurance
‘I thought you were at your mother’s?’ says Tor, as Cait arrives at our table looking gloomier than ever.
‘I had to come back,’ says Cait, her voice trembling. ‘Police called me.’
‘What’s the matter?’ says Aisha.
Cait starts to cry before she’s seated, and she’s soon blubbering inconsolably. If this is about Owen, I’m going to be quite annoyed with her. You shouldn’t cry over a little spilled blood. Not of a man like that.
I try to hug her but it’s not the least sincere as I’m trying to avoid her tears getting on my D&G floral print blouse. Aisha takes over, shushes Cait quickly, sits her down, and strokes her hair, which could do with a good wash and blow-dry.
‘Tea with honey,’ commands Aisha, with a nod to Sophie.
Sophie’s eyes are wet with sympathetic tears and she doesn’t move. There’s emotion again, making her experience things that haven’t happened to her. I turn to Tor. She’s not even feigning interest and is distracting herself with her phone.
‘What’s happened? Are the girls all right?’ asks Sophie.
‘Yes, they’re fine . . . fine . . . they’re with Mum,’ says Cait, gulping.
‘Is it Owen?’ I ask, trying to move us to the point more quickly.
She shakes her head. I let out a little exclamation of mild surprise.
‘My house burnt to the ground,’ she splutters.
‘Oh God. That was your house!’ says Sophie. ‘We’ve all been talking about the fire.’
‘I only went there to collect clothes for the girls, but it was damp, so I put the heating on. I must’ve forgotten to switch it off.’
‘Well, you’ve had a lucky escape if the boiler blew up,’ says Sophie.
I’m not unsympathetic, but I do think it’s a good thing that her house was incinerated.
Not only was it a poor example of Edwardian architecture, but it removes so many unsavoury memories.
People find de-cluttering the past so difficult and this gets the whole thing done in an instant. It’s a completely fresh start for her.
I return from the counter, having ordered the tea with honey myself, to hear Cait relay her tale of woe as Sophie and Aisha comfort her in a pincer movement. Tor, meanwhile, is looking at Cait in the manner of a mother looking at a friend’s child who’s just reported a severe case of headlice.
‘Was it an old boiler?’ says Aisha.
‘Only thirty years old,’ says Cait, and looks around the table. ‘Are you OK, Lalla?’ she says, which takes me aback.
‘I’m fine, Cait, why?’
‘There’s a bruise,’ she says. ‘On your neck.’
My hand rises automatically to rearrange my scarf. Owen’s abuse has made her notice these things.
‘Stephen’s autoerotic games again. He just can’t get enough,’ I say with an ironic raise of the eyebrows. It’s an awkward enough statement that people shy away from further comment, but Aisha’s expression tells me I’ve been inappropriate.
‘Is there anything you can salvage?’ says Sophie.
Cait’s little head moves from side to side. ‘I’m not even allowed near it. It’s unstable.’
Aisha says how fortunate it was that Cait and the girls weren’t at home when it happened, and Cait bursts into fresh tears and has to retreat to the loo to wipe the black smudges from her face.
‘Do you think Owen did it?’ says Tor, as soon as she’s gone. ‘Come on, I know you’re all thinking it.’
‘More likely to be the boiler,’ I say, nodding towards Aisha, who nods back. Sensible people think sensible things.
‘But he was in her house,’ says Sophie. ‘She said so at Nathan’s party. And she wouldn’t give him the money he wanted.’
‘If it’s Owen, Cait could be in real danger now,’ says Aisha. I want to dispute this but choose to keep silent.
‘More importantly,’ I say, ‘Cait’s homeless situation is now permanent, and she’s got no belongings. We all need to help.’
Everyone agrees solemnly. In order to suggest these kind of things, I just ask myself what Mother Abbess would say.
Cait returns from the toilet looking only slightly more presentable. She sits and puts both hands flat on the table to steady herself.
‘The house will probably have to be demolished,’ she says, clearly still wanting to dwell on the fire. This touches a nerve or two, and Sophie sheds another tear, although she’s lost nothing at all.
‘Surely buildings insurance will cover it,’ says Tor, which is what she once said when we were discussing people losing their homes in the floods in Sudan.
‘Yes,’ says Cait. ‘Owen did all that. I’m sure it’s just on direct debit.’
‘His direct debit?’ asks Aisha. ‘I thought he was in desperate need of money.’
Cait freezes, and for a moment it seems like the whole of the café holds its breath.
‘Fuck,’ she says, loudly.
To-do list
Buy concealer for bruises
Find old clothes and toys for Cait
Book meeting with Adams headmistress
Check buildings insurance