Chapter 30 Burnt
A successful marriage is a joy solely for the happy couple; a failing marriage, however, is a pleasure for all to enjoy.
We arrive at Aisha’s house, as planned, with bags of clothes and various household items to help Cait rebuild her life.
But as soon as the door opens, we know that something is wrong.
‘Oh my God,’ says Sophie, standing beside me and staring at Aisha. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s Ranni,’ says Aisha, tears streaming down her face as she stands in the doorway.
‘God!’ says Sophie. ‘Is he ill?’
‘No, no,’ she says. ‘He’s gone mad. Completely mad! Come in. I don’t want the neighbours to see me like this.’
We follow Aisha into her super-modern townhouse made of steel and untold quantities of glass. Every line is squared off, every light fitting recessed. There isn’t a curve or decorative flourish in the whole house.
‘Please sit down,’ she says as we enter the kitchen. ‘Sorry, it’s such a mess.’
Sophie and I stare. Admittedly there is a single glass on the side and one of the chairs is askew, but it’s otherwise spotless.
‘Sounds like drinks are needed. Don’t worry, the cavalry has arrived!’ says Sophie, removing a bottle of wine from her tote bag.
‘We had a blazing row last night,’ she says. I presume this means they didn’t end each sentence by rubbing noses. ‘And he left this morning without a word. It’s beyond comprehension. The children are happy here. I’m happy here.’
‘Is he sleeping with someone?’ I ask.
‘It’s worse than that,’ she says.
Aisha pulls a tissue from her sleeve and dabs her eyes, which she finds difficult as she’s shaking her head in disbelief the whole time.
‘He wants to destroy our family,’ she says, and looks like she’s about to break into tears again. ‘He wants us to move to Abu Dhabi.’
There are gasps of shock, as though she’s told us that he’s leaving her for a nurse.
‘When?’ I ask.
‘He leaves in three months. We’re supposed to join him in September.’
‘How did this happen without you knowing?’ says Sophie, unscrewing the cap on the wine bottle.
‘Oh, he went off alone to the UAE for a series of interviews. Told me it was a conference and came back with our new life all mapped out. Said he didn’t want to get my hopes up.
They’ve offered him the post. I don’t want to live in a cultural and actual desert,’ says Aisha, a sudden defiant tone in her voice.
‘They have a Louvre franchise there now,’ I point out. ‘And it’s so sunny.’
‘At least we know the price he puts on his family,’ she says.
‘Is it just about money or is it a promotion?’ says Sophie.
‘It’s a lower position, but he can earn three times his current salary, and it’s tax free. Financially, it’s a no-brainer. But I don’t want to bring up my children in the UAE.’
‘He can’t make you move,’ I say.
‘He’s made an executive decision. He’s resigned from his position at the Royal Free.’
‘Wow,’ says Sophie, and gulps half a glass of sauvignon blanc.
‘What about your interior design business?’ I ask.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I can just set up over there, apparently.
Yeah, dead easy. Just pull a new client list together, work like a madwoman to rebuild my reputation, and find a new set of talented colleagues while trying to get Hari, Ajay and Ria settled into new schools in a new country, while missing all my lovely friends. ’
‘How about planting drugs on him?’ I suggest. ‘You can’t work in the UAE with a drugs conviction. Simple sabotage is sometimes the best thing for a marriage.’
‘Sure, and he won’t be able to work anywhere else either. We’ll be destitute,’ says Aisha, wiping her eyes, when the doorbell rings. ‘Oh no, that’ll be Cait. Please don’t tell her about this. I don’t want to cry about having too many homes when she’s lost everything.’
We’ve each brought enough spare stuff to tide Cait and the twins over. Tor was supposed to contribute toys, but she’s gone missing again, claiming an urgent podiatry appointment, which is probably a euphemism for something to do with black market Ozempic prescriptions.
‘Bloody men,’ says Sophie, as soon as Aisha’s out of hearing. ‘They ruin everything.’
‘Oh, dear, what now?’ I realize that I’ve been so caught up in my own problems I’ve probably missed several obvious signs that Sophie’s no longer dancing in the streets.
‘I found Paolo texting a woman. A friend of his dead wife. And he slept with her.’
‘When?’ I say, genuinely shocked as Paolo has always seemed so rooted to his sofa.
‘Twenty-four years ago. It was before his first marriage, but why’s he texting her now?’ she says, slurping wine liberally.
‘Might be innocent,’ I say.
‘Ha! The moment he proposed to me, he starts missing his wife and reconnects with her best friend.’
‘You might be overreacting,’ I suggest calmly. I fear this is not her first drink.
‘Oh, did he write your script for you? That’s exactly what he said.’
I shake my head. She’s worked so hard on this relationship and with Ellie that it’s sad to see her sabotaging her own happiness because of alcohol-induced paranoia. I am about to lecture her when she throws her arms around me.
‘I’m a fucking idiot, aren’t I?’
‘I’m sure things can be mended.’ I pat her gently.
We stop discussing Sophie and Paolo’s courtship rituals as Cait enters the room with Maeve and Orla. Our children are at nursery, but Cait isn’t letting the twins out of her sight.
Sophie and I fetch our bags of clothes, and within twenty minutes, everything is spread out on the kitchen worktop. Aisha cleverly spirits the twins off to Ria’s room to play with her toys, returns, puts her own troubles to one side, and sits down next to Cait.
‘So, how are you, you poor thing?’ she says.
‘The police came round again,’ says Cait. ‘They’ve started an investigation into the fire.’
‘Was it the boiler?’ asks Aisha.
‘It wasn’t,’ says Cait. ‘But they don’t know what it was yet. They can’t get to the first floor as the beams burnt through, but the fire dog smelt something on the stairs. They think it was an accelerant.’
‘Do they think someone started it?’ says Aisha.
‘I don’t know,’ she says.
‘Have you told them about Owen?’ says Sophie.
Cait looks down to her lap. ‘The thing is . . . they know I was there that evening. I told them I was.’
‘Oh, what? They think you did it?’ says Sophie.
‘Why would I burn my own house down?’
Cait is about to add something, but she stops and stares ahead as if lost for words. Too much stress is clearly bad for her skin as I can see two or three spots around her mouth.
‘Are you looking after yourself?’ I ask, feeling pleased at how this fire business has stopped her going on about Jason Mercer.
‘I can’t eat or sleep,’ she says. ‘The doctor gave me some antidepressants.’
‘How about the insurance issue?’ asks Aisha. ‘Did you check?’
‘I’m trying to argue with the insurers but they say he’s not paid and the policy has lapsed,’ says Cait.
‘If you want some legal advice, I know someone in Hari’s class,’ says Aisha.
‘Yes, that’s helpful, thank you,’ says Cait, and picks up a blue sweater. ‘This is nice.’
We’re all sipping on the matcha that Aisha insisted we try (I’ve never tasted anything so awful in my life), when Cait’s phone goes off. She scrambles through her bag and finds her old iPhone.
We watch as Cait listens, nods, and answers with single words. Her pale skin seems to shrink against her skull, and her hand clenches tighter and tighter.
Cait drops her phone to her side and stares blankly ahead. ‘They’ve found a body in the fire. They want me to try to identify the personal effects that didn’t burn to a cinder. The remains of a watch, and . . .’ She pauses, then looks up at us blankly, ‘a wedding ring.’