Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
There wasn’t much point staying in Paris after that – our mission was accomplished, after all. But, somewhat guiltily, Rowan and I stayed anyway. We might as well, we agreed – the tickets were paid for, my children were safe with Patch and Clara was spending the weekend with a friend. We were free; we might as well enjoy ourselves.
And so we did. We went to a patisserie with an array of cakes in the window that looked like jewels, and took as long deciding which to have as we did eating them. We walked along the river in the sunshine and climbed what felt like a million steps up to Montmartre to see the city spread out below us like a printed silk scarf. I bought a beautifully cut slate-grey blazer that would form the basis of my future work wardrobe.
Being there with my friend was a reminder of how things used to be and a promise of how they’d be again – if only I could find a way to make it so. All the way home on the train, I carefully considered my strategy. I wasn’t going to descend on Kate at work the way I had on Rowan – I knew that wouldn’t work. I needed to be careful and tactful. I knew how to do that – or at least I used to, back when it was my job to manage people’s demands and needs and moods just as much as it was to manage my boss’s diary.
So, on Monday afternoon, I sent Kate an email asking if I could meet up with her. It was the first time I’d been in contact with her since I’d left the Girlfriends’ Club group; I imagined her seeing my name in her email inbox and reacting with – what? Happiness? Anger? Disdain? I couldn’t be sure, which was why I’d approached her saying that I needed advice, without specifying about what. I knew that whatever doubts she was feeling about our friendship, Kate would be willing to help me if she believed I needed her.
And I did need her. What she didn’t know was that she needed me, too.
She replied after an hour or so, with her typical efficiency.
Sure – want to come round to my place this evening? Or I could come to yours if you can’t leave the children?
Fortunately, Patch had reluctantly taken the day off work and hadn’t yet left for the gym, so I was able to apologetically inform him that his plans were changing, and he’d have to stay in to give the twins their dinner.
‘But you’ve been away all weekend,’ he objected.
‘But I give them dinner every single day of my life,’ I countered. Then I decided I’d catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, and added, ‘Please? It’s important.’
‘Fine,’ he grumbled, and I grabbed my bag and fled before he could change his mind.
When I arrived at Kate’s apartment just south of the River Thames, the door to her balcony was open and a bottle of wine in an ice bucket, two glasses and a dish of cheese straws which I could smell were freshly out of the oven awaited us on the table outside.
I felt briefly encouraged by this welcome, before remembering that even if Kate’s worst enemy had called on her unexpectedly, she’d have insisted they have a cup of Earl Grey and a scone.
‘How was Paris?’ she asked.
‘It was good. Interesting. I’ll tell you all about it soon. But first, there’s something I really wanted to ask you.’
Kate gestured to one of the chairs, poured the wine and sat down. ‘Go ahead.’
‘It’s about Bridget.’
‘Bridget? Your mother-in-law?’
I nodded. ‘I’ve been worried about her. She’s getting absent-minded – well, more absent-minded. She keeps calling Toby and Meredith Patrick and Niamh, and the other day she almost burnt our house down when she was babysitting.’
I poured out the story and Kate listened, her head on one side as she nibbled a cheese straw.
‘I thought you might have some advice,’ I finished, ‘because of all the stuff you do with your lonely older people who meet for coffee and company at St Mildred’s church.’
‘St Mungo’s,’ she corrected. ‘And I don’t actually do anything. Mona organises it all. I just turn up and drop off cake for them when I’ve been up all night baking because I haven’t been able to sleep.’
I knew this, of course – but I also knew that Kate loved nothing better than a problem she might be able to help solve.
‘But I suppose I pick up a bit,’ she went on. ‘Just through chatting to Mona. When elderly people are isolated, it can sometimes accelerate symptoms of dementia – if it is dementia. And often it isn’t. Other things can present in the same way – urinary tract infections, deafness, plain old loneliness.’
‘I see,’ I said.
‘So it sounds like a trip to her GP is the first step,’ she said. ‘And why not bring her along to St Mungo’s? I know it’s a bit of a journey for you but they’re a friendly lot. Mona’s got a real gift for getting people to open up about their problems. They meet every Wednesday and Saturday at ten.’
‘I will,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
Kate smiled and sat back in her chair. Beyond her, I could see the setting sun glinting off the river, Tower Bridge silhouetted in front of it. The cries of gulls rang out over the water and I could hear a group of young men laughing as they walked along the path below.
I can do this , I told myself. I can get everything back to how it used to be – before Zara came back.
‘Now, tell me about Paris.’ The tentative ease there’d been between us seemed to have faded now; Kate was looking down at her hands instead of at me, twisting her fingers together in her lap. ‘Did you see Zara?’
I said, ‘No, we didn’t. We tried, but we didn’t. We did see her old flatmate, though –Gabrielle. And we saw her cat.’
Kate’s face turned white, as if there was no blood left in her at all. ‘Oh no. Does that mean she?—’
‘No! Not that,’ I hastened to reassure her. ‘She’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with her. Well, nothing except…’
Quickly, I filled her in on the story, watching as her expression went from bemused to incredulous to amused.
‘My God,’ she breathed, when I’d finished. ‘That’s – I mean, I’d say it was incredible. But it’s not, really, is it?’
‘Not really.’
‘And it’s a massive relief, obviously.’ I could see the analytical part of her brain working – If that wasn’t true, what else isn’t true?
I seized the moment. ‘So that made me realise there’s something I need to ask you.’
The smile faded from Kate’s face. She looked closed again, guarded. ‘Go on.’
‘When you met up with her, back in February, what happened? What did she tell you?’
Kate sighed. ‘She told me she felt partly responsible for what happened with Andy.’
‘Wait, what? She did?’
‘She told me about a time Andy visited her in Paris. It was a couple of years back, she said, during his sober period. They went out together, and they – you know. Partied.’
I sighed. ‘You know what Andy was like. You could have dropped him down on the surface of the moon and he’d find a dealer. Go on.’
‘And she said she felt guilty about having been there when he relapsed. She said that was why she’d come to the funeral. To get – you know. Closure.’
‘But even if that did happen, it doesn’t mean Andy’s death was Zara’s fault.’
‘I know. That’s what I told her.’ Kate pushed her hair back from her face. It looked like it took a huge effort to move her hand at all. ‘I wanted to make her feel better. I told her that I’d always blamed myself for it, for years and years. All the times I was there with Andy when he relapsed and I did nothing.’
‘But you did. You did everything you could. Everything anyone could.’
Kate held up a hand to stop me. Her fingers were silhouetted against the sunset now, obscuring the distant bridge. ‘It didn’t feel that way. I told Zara that. And she was sympathetic – she said she got it. And then she said…’
‘What?’
‘She said that all of you thought I was responsible. Because I’d been there all along. I’d been closest to Andy. He and I were – you know. More than friends, all that time, and I hid it from you. She said she understood how that felt, because she felt responsible for what happened too, and blamed herself.’
‘But we never blamed you. Never.’
I could see it now. Zara’s manipulation – so subtle, but so effective. The same as what she’d done to me – telling me that she’d always felt like the odd one out in the group, reminding me – as she must have guessed – that I had felt that way. And that, along with all the guilt I’d felt when I first fell for Patch, causing me to doubt my friends and turn away from them.
‘I wanted to move on from it,’ Kate went on. ‘But I couldn’t. Not quite. Because I wouldn’t have blamed you for blaming me. It made things between us – not the same.’
‘I get it,’ I said. ‘I really do. But can’t you see – that was what she wanted. To drive us apart. And she succeeded.’
Kate nodded. ‘I suppose she did.’
I asked her the question I hadn’t asked Rowan. ‘Why did you believe her? Why did any of us believe her? After what happened before?’
‘That’s what I thought,’ she said. ‘I asked myself – why are you buying this? You know she lies about stuff. But everything she told us before – that was about her. Details about her life and her past that didn’t really matter. This felt different. It felt like it could so easily be real.’
I thought of what she’d told Rowan – introducing doubt and mistrust and fear. Souring things with lies that were based on the things we most feared could be true. Same as she’d done to me.
‘Kate?’ I said. ‘Did she speak to Abbie as well? What did she tell her?’
‘I don’t know. But we should ask her.’
‘We have to. We have to find out. All of us together.’