Chapter 10
Paula takes the bus to meet Teddy, the smell of someone’s curry following her from stop to stop. It’s a pungent reminder that the twenty-one million currently burning a hole in her purse could buy her way off of public transport forever.
Not literally in her purse, of course.
In her purse she has only her bus pass, an old photo of Tilly and Seb aged five and three, and a handful of pound coins.
John always took care of their finances, especially when things got difficult and mortgages had to be taken out.
So all their cards and accounts were in his name.
After he died, Tilly spent a long time on the phone with the bank, getting things reissued for Paula, and it still gives her a jolt, seeing the name Mrs P.
Sheldon printed there in that lumpy lettering.
Despite that, she can’t bring herself to use the card – she can’t even bring herself to hold it.
Not when she knows what it represents. All that money in one place!
Twenty-one million pounds sitting on that little bit of plastic inside her pocket.
It feels too frightening, like too much of a risk to have it with her.
So the card stays at home, sitting there on her living room dresser, looking at her reproachfully.
What would it be like to splash out on a taxi, Paula wonders.
What would it be like not to have to think about bus schedules and bus smells?
To not have to check Google Maps over and over, anxiously waiting for the right place to get off?
How would it feel to be reclining in the back seat of some kind of fancy saloon car right now, the feel of dark leather against her bottom?
How nice it would be to escape this stale curry air, to have the window open a little. To feel cool wind on her face.
But not so much, of course, that it messes up her carefully arranged hair. It took Paula forty-five minutes to get it just so this morning, and it’s thin enough already without being flattened by the air outside.
She wonders again what shampoo and conditioner Teddy uses.
A taxi would be nice, but Paula can’t, not yet. She can’t remember ever taking such a liberty, enjoying such a luxury. She doesn’t feel worthy of it.
She glances down at her lap, where a slip of paper sits.
She reads it again, though the words themselves are meaningless.
It’s the address Teddy gave her, written in the woman’s sloping handwriting.
Paula wonders about her again, feeling nervous.
The woman is so dry. So American. So relaxed about murdering people.
Maybe going isn’t the right decision after all. She felt so sure of herself after the therapy session yesterday – not that she shared it with the counsellor or her family.
Why didn’t she tell Tilly or Seb about Teddy? Or about today’s trip? Tilly, in particular, has been very worried about Paula’s refusal to leave the house in recent weeks. She’d probably be delighted to see her finally getting out and about.
But Paula finds herself clamming up every time Tilly asks if everything’s OK.
Everything is obviously not OK – her life and her world have been turned upside down – but she can’t tell her daughter that.
She can’t tell her the truth about how she feels or what she feels.
Sometimes it’s too hard to say these things to yourself, never mind anyone else.
And Tilly has always been such a worrier, so overprotective.
Of course her daughter means well, but it can feel a bit .
. . claustrophobic. Especially since John died.
Sometimes it feels like Tilly is the mum, not Paula.
It feels like there isn’t any room for Paula to think or speak when Tilly is already crowding in to anticipate her every mood.
She thinks again of how much she talked to the 111 operator. It was so much easier to speak to that stranger on the phone than to her own children. There’s something wrong with that. With her.
If she was very honest with herself, a small part of her feels quite excited about having this secret.
About this private new thing her family don’t know about, strange as it all is.
Paula’s always given so much of herself over to her family, she wants this to be something just for her. She doesn’t want them to know.
‘Oh!’ Paula leaps up, realising where they are. ‘Excuse me, please,’ she adds to the tall man beside her, who sat in the seat next to her despite the bus being empty.
She catches a loud tut floating over from the driver as she rings the bell one too many times and runs for the door.
After all that obsessive map checking, she almost missed her stop.
Too busy thinking about whether this is a good idea and whether Teddy’s glossy hair is just the result of good genes.
Off the curry bus, Paula breathes properly at last, steeling herself for the twenty-minute walk.
She spends the entire time staring down at her plimsolls, trying to work out how old they are.
Has it been five years since she and John went to Clarks?
Probably more like fifteen. They’re still comfortable enough – Paula does a lot of walking, especially with her job – but she has so much money now.
Maybe she could buy an even more comfortable pair?
Trainers and a taxi – goodness, it’s a whole new world she’s considering.
She is almost at her destination before Paula notices the overindulgent amount of greenery all around her.
She’s somewhere called Godalming in the Surrey Hills.
It’s an area that, despite having lived in Surrey her entire adult life, Paula has no knowledge of whatsoever. But it is undeniably beautiful.
Huge houses sit way back from the road, behind large black gates, surrounded by lush gardens. As she gets closer to the address, she can see only fields and high fences. Healthy-looking trees line the quiet, well-kept road. Paula can’t see a single pothole. She wonders about the council tax.
She spots a pair of brass gates, which open magically on her approach.
Paula walks through and down an extensive driveway, feeling more than a little dazzled.
A humungous red-bricked mansion comes into sight, surrounded on all sides by endless green spaces; cultivated hedges, flower gardens, water features.
Paula gasps at the sight of an enormous fountain surrounded by hundreds – thousands!
– of perfectly positioned peonies. She and John once had a small pond in their garden, and it got so grimy, so fast. Moby the cat kept falling in trying to catch wildlife.
They had to get someone to fill it in. This fountain looks like it’s cleaned every day.
The water is clear and algae-free. Untouched by creatures.
It’s like something straight off a film set.
This is where Teddy lives? Goodness gracious. It’s beyond anything Paula could’ve imagined.
In the distance, she spots a small group of people gathered near what Paula assumes must be the front door.
But it’s grander than any front door she’s ever seen.
Apart from on that show, Selling Sunset .
She and Seb watch the series together, and Paula likes it a lot, but she can’t imagine how they get away with wearing those clothes to work.
She tries to imagine how Gary would react if she came into the care home wearing one of those ‘bodycon dresses’.
It would’ve finished off residents Vinnie, Floyd and Handsy Harry long before Christmas.
Two women and a young man stand together in a loose huddle, a boisterous young dog circling them all at speed. As Paula approaches, she spots Teddy, taller than the rest, her hair still glorious, shimmering down her back.
She seems to be mediating some kind of argument between the man and an older woman who must be in her eighties. She’s waving her hands in the air as he nervously pushes back gelled hair.
The raised voices reach her. ‘I don’t care what your rules say; she’s coming in with us.’ This is Teddy, speaking calmly now in her un-pin-downable accent. It sounds Southern again now.
The older woman is cackling, her fury full of mirth.
‘Do you know how much collective wealth we have, Joseph?’ She grins as she says this, enjoying the shock on the man’s face.
Across the gravel, she clocks Paula and shrieks, ‘And that number just shot up by twenty-one million pounds!’ She opens her arms in Paula’s direction. ‘Over here! Welcome, Paula!’
The dog barks happily.
‘Um, hello?’ Paula calls back, a lump forming in her throat. This is all . . . a lot. The gigantic house, the new people, a barking dog, everyone shouting, the lack of potholes. Paula’s strength and resolve are both deserting her.
‘Join us,’ calls the older lady, oblivious to Paula’s impulse to run. ‘I’m Audrey Swift! That’s Swift like the singer, but we’re not related, so don’t ask me for an autograph or we’ll have bad blood .’ She eyeballs Paula, waiting for an acknowledgement.
Paula stares at her, taking in the octogenarian.
The woman is short and little, but vibrating with energy.
As are her clothes. They’re bright and floral, layered on with abandon.
There are sweaters on top of shirts, on top of T-shirts, with a cardigan over the rest and a marbled scarf wrapped around Audrey’s neck.
‘Audrey Swift, like the singer, but not like the singer,’ Paula repeats back to the older woman who looks miffed.
‘I thought that was funny,’ she mutters, then smiles brightly, throwing herself forward, scarf flapping excitedly in the wind. She folds herself into Paula for a hug and squeezes tightly. ‘I’m so thrilled to meet you!’ she murmurs as Paula freezes in the embrace.
‘And this is Joseph,’ Teddy calls out, pointing at the boy with gelled hair. ‘We’re just having a conversation about whether the dog can join us in the house or not.’