Chapter 38
‘Paula’s home at last!’
Pauline winces, not just at the sight of her should-be-late husband, standing there in their kitchen, but at hearing that name. The name he gave her. ‘You took your time!’ He grins at her, waiting for a reaction. She freezes, unable to move.
‘Come on, Mum!’ Beside her, Tilly throws herself forwards, bundling her mum and dad into a group hug. From her position, looking out into the hallway, she can see John has left the front door swinging wide open. Outside, cameras are still flashing, journalists shouting.
The neighbours will not be pleased that the rows of media vans are back in front of Pauline’s house.
Inside the family hug, Pauline finds herself pressed into kitchen cupboards, handles poking into her spine.
She struggles to get free, ending up instead in John’s armpit.
The familiar odour makes her head spin – just like the last time, when she stood over him in bed with a pillow ready to smother him.
She should’ve done it. She wishes she had.
She’s repulsed by the smell of him and struggles to fight back nausea.
‘Seb, get over here,’ Tilly shouts over her shoulder.
Her brother appears through the front door, a little sheeny and manic-eyed. ‘Mum, you’re back,’ he says, slamming the front door, to shouts of protest from their not-so-adoring public.
He joins them, throwing his arms around the family unit. ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ he murmurs into Pauline’s ear. ‘Are you all right?’
She nods, wondering if her son had to cut short his course and what it was for.
Even with everything that’s happening, Pauline feels like she’s let Seb down by not asking more about his life.
The guilt pulses through her, even now. She looks away as Tilly finally releases them.
‘Let’s have a cup of tea,’ Pauline says, moving quickly through the kitchen in case her daughter makes them touch some more.
‘I think we should probably make it something a bit stronger,’ Tilly says, laughing to herself. ‘We’re celebrating, after all.’
‘Quite right,’ John says jovially as Seb nods agreeably. ‘Paula, get us a bottle of something special out of the understairs cupboard, will you? There’s some whisky I nicked from my Christmas work party last year.’
She swallows, fear filling her. His brothers drank it at the reading.
‘You gave it to Leonard,’ she whispers and he frowns.
‘What are you saying, Paula? Speak up, for God’s sake!’
She clears her throat. ‘In your . . . will,’ she says, trying to be heard. ‘You gave him the whisky.’ Her heart races. She’s still afraid of him, of his reactions. ‘I think there’s Prosecco?’
John’s face darkens. ‘Fine. Get that.’ He smiles then. ‘And get yourself a Malibu and Coke. I know it’s your favourite.’
She wants to weep, but obliges, feeling any residual strength draining away.
She’s felt so strong lately and look at her now.
Meekly obeying orders. Fetching and carrying.
Drinking fabric softener. But that strength she felt clearly wasn’t real if it could disappear so easily, simply at the sound of John’s voice.
They clink glasses, Tilly and Seb shouting, ‘eyes, eyes, eyes’ at each other, apparently oblivious to Pauline’s discomfort. She doesn’t want to look him in the eyes.
‘The first thing I’m going to do,’ John announces to the room, ‘is take my family shopping!’ He raises his glass again, adding gleefully, ‘Since I’m now a very rich man!’
Pauline notes the I’m , but no one else takes much notice.
‘Although,’ John muses, pouting, ‘I’ll also have to get myself a new car pretty sharpish, since that last one got a bit dinged up.’ He laughs. ‘I don’t even know what happened to it. Languishing in some Austrian junkyard, I expect!’
‘But you were in your car when it went off the road, right?’ Seb asks curiously, and his dad shakes his head, waving away the question.
‘Er . . . no, no, and never mind all that now,’ he booms. ‘Let’s just be glad it wasn’t me!’
‘But how did you end up in hospital then, if you weren’t in the car wreck?’ Seb continues, frustration in his voice.
‘Shut up, Seb!’ Tilly commands, looking doe-eyed at her dad. ‘Who cares about all that! He’s home, that’s what matters.’ Inspiration hits her. ‘Oh! Mum bought a new car. We can go shopping in that!’
John turns to Pauline with surprise. ‘ You bought a new car?’ He shakes his head, turning back to Tilly.
‘That’s a disaster waiting to happen. She’s the world’s worst driver!
’ He laughs at this and Tilly joins in. Seb does not.
‘Well,’ John continues, checking his watch, ‘bring me the keys then, Paula, I better take over the driving from here on out.’ He turns again to Tilly.
‘With your mother at the wheel, we’d all end up dying in a fiery wreck.
And I’ve only just escaped one!’ He laughs long and hard, then dumps down his champagne flute. ‘Let’s get going.’
They head outside, ignoring the cameras and the shouts.
John low-whistles at the sight of the brand-new Porsche parked down the road.
He side-eyes Pauline. ‘I never knew you had it in you,’ he murmurs with something like disgust in his voice.
‘Though I’d have got it in red,’ he adds with self-importance.
Pauline thinks of Teddy’s comment about middle-aged men driving red cars because they’re too scared to buy Viagra. Though, in hindsight, she’s very relieved John has always been too embarrassed to buy the blue pills he needs.
Poor Bridget, she thinks again.
John drives too fast towards London, but Pauline does not secretly delight in every speed bump, like she did in Audrey’s old car. Audrey’s joy in driving was infectious, while John’s road rage is stressful and uncomfortable.
In the back, Pauline’s adult children don’t seem to notice the tension. Tilly chats happily, filling her dad in on her life over the months he’s missed.
They pull up near Harrods, and Pauline’s heart beats faster knowing Teddy lives so close.
Are The Lottery Winner Widows Club all there together right now?
Are they having fun without her? Maybe they’re relieved to have lost the most broken – the weakest – of their group and now they can truly let loose and enjoy themselves.
Pauline thinks of Teddy’s anger the other day, and wonders if she’s been able to forgive Audrey’s lies. She wishes it were possible for her. Maybe she could’ve moved past it if John weren’t back, but she can’t have two people in her life like that.
Not that there would be any point in forgiving Audrey anyway. It’s not like John will let Pauline see the group anymore. He never let her have friends.
There are photographers waiting for them inside the grand department store, and it’s clear John has set up some kind of publicity shoot.
She didn’t speak or pose at the press conference, but – look – here is the dutiful wife now, back at her husband’s side.
Look how happy the whole family are, enjoying their miracle.
She watches John as he smiles widely for the cameras and jokes with Tilly and Seb.
She tries to smile, too, channelling air steward Connie as they move around the jewellery section.
This is the most attention John’s ever given their children, she realises.
The most he’s smiled at them their whole lives.
He always said the kids were her remit, her responsibility.
He had no interest in nappies or school reports.
Like those things were somehow so exciting for Pauline!
But look at Tilly now, basking in his attention, lapping up the praise; so desperate for his approval and love.
It makes Pauline sad.
John performatively calls his wife over now, loudly telling her – and the photographers – how he wants to buy her something sparkly.
‘I know how to keep the little woman sweet,’ he winks at the nearest camera. ‘Happy wife, happy life, eh, lads?’
She steps towards him reluctantly and he turns. ‘What do you fancy, love? A bracelet? A diamond necklace?’
She lightly shakes her head. ‘No, thank you,’ she says. A shadow passes across his face, a flicker of irritation.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he says through gritted teeth. He takes her arm, moving her firmly to a glass case. ‘What about that one?’ He points at a delicate necklace covered in diamonds. The description says it is a White Gold and Diamond Classic Butterfly Necklace.
‘There’s no price,’ Pauline says meekly, feeling so much like Paula and hating herself for it. She points to the small sign, reading, ‘Price On Application’.
‘That doesn’t matter!’ John says loudly. ‘We’ve got twenty million in the bank!’ He laughs again as flashes go off. The paps are loving this.
He lets go of her arm, moving off. ‘Maybe I’ll buy myself a watch!
’ he says, and Pauline breathes out, relieved.
He’s already forgotten about her and the ostentatious butterfly necklace.
John waves at a staff member. ‘That one doesn’t have a price.
’ He points to something within the glass case. ‘How much is it?’
The man smoothly removes the watch with gloves, placing it tenderly on the counter top.
‘This is the H. Moser & Cie. red gold and sapphire streamliner tourbillon watch,’ he says in an even voice.
‘Its case is eighteen karat rose gold, with sixty baguette-cut coloured sapphires. It features a circular dial and sapphire glass. It has a seventy-two-hour power reserve and represents exquisite craftsmanship—’
‘Yes, yes,’ John says a touch impatiently. ‘It’s very nice, I’ll take it. Bag it up for me. How much do you want for it?’
The man nods lightly and begins the process of carefully packaging up the gaudy thing. ‘It’s one-five-eight.’
When John nods and says, ‘Oh, I thought it’d be more,’ the staff member pauses and adds, ‘Thousand. One hundred and fifty-eight thousand pounds.’
John pales, swallowing hard. He glances anxiously at the audience around him. They close in, snapping endless shots, awaiting a reaction.
‘Well,’ John swallows again. ‘That is . . . completely fine, of course. That’s what I expected.
That’s about how much . . . I assumed it would be.
And that is fine, because I’ve always been a watch man, and I’ve always wanted a .
. .’ – he searches for the brand name – ‘a H . . . a HMV watch. So yes, how wonderful. Wrap it up, my good man!’
Seb leans closer for a proper look. ‘Wow!’ he says. ‘I like all the pretty pinks and reds. So cool, Dad, so modern of you that you’re choosing a women’s watch for yourself.’
John peers closer at the colourful watch, his face flaming red as he realises.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ he stutters, trying and failing to hide his irritation.
‘This is obviously – obviously – for . . .’ – he turns, waving towards Tilly – ‘my beautiful daughter. I’m buying her this .
. . HMV watch for’ – more swallowing – ‘one hundred and fifty-eight thousand pounds.’ He enunciates each number.
Tilly gasps, throwing herself at her dad for a hug. ‘Oh my God, thank you !’ she squeals. ‘Thank you so much! I can’t believe it!’
The staff member hovers with the bag. ‘And how will you be paying today, sir?’
John’s face falls. ‘Oh, I hadn’t thought. All my cards . . .’ He glances at his emotional daughter and she grimaces.
‘Sorry, Dad, we cut up all your cards when we thought you were . . .’ – she swallows – ‘gone. We had everything transferred into Mum’s name.’ John, Tilly and Seb all turn to look over at Pauline, who is hovering as far back as she’s able. Behind the row of cameras.
‘I’ve got a card,’ she confirms faintly. ‘I’ve got it.’ She reaches into her handbag and John stalks over, hand out.
‘Give it to me,’ he half-snarls, before remembering all the eyes on him. She hands it over and his eyes travel across the card – across her name printed along the bottom. The revulsion is clear.
‘We’ll have to get this taken care of,’ he mutters furiously. It’s clear he doesn’t mean a replacement card for himself. He means getting rid of hers.
John stalks back over to the counter where he indiscreetly arranges payment with the smooth-faced staff member. Pauline can see the way he gives himself a shake, and as he turns to present the gleaming box to his daughter, he’s back to being Charming John, smiling winningly for the cameras.
‘Man back from the dead spends his lottery winnings!’ he shouts to them, offering up his idea of a headline.
He grins, looking inspired. ‘We should go get some cash out. I’ll throw it up in the air, and you lot can take pictures of us jumping around in it.
’ He laughs. ‘I’m doing your job for you!
’ Pauline catches a couple of the photographers exchanging looks.
‘I think we’ve got what we need now, John,’ one of them says, adding nicely, ‘We’ll get going. Thanks.’
John pouts. ‘This is the story of the decade.’ He points frantically over at Pauline. ‘Don’t you want to get a few quotes from her? From the wife? About how thrilled she is to have me back?’
Pauline’s face flushes a deep red. The truth is, she would love to tell the whole world exactly how thrilled she is to have him back, but now’s not really the time. She glances at Tilly who’s beaming from ear to ear as she admires her expensive new watch.
Now’s definitely not the time.
A couple of the paps are looking at her earnestly. ‘Actually, yeah!’ one of them says eagerly. ‘We would love a few lines from you, Paula! How did it feel to get the call that your husband wasn’t really dead?’
She stares down, her throat closing up. John jogs over to her side.
‘Aw, my gal’s a bit camera shy,’ he tells them.
‘But you can quote her as saying she’s gassed to have me back.
It’s a bloody miracle and she’s been bursting with happiness every minute of the day. It’s a dream come true, eh, Paula?’
‘It’s Pauline,’ she whispers, something bubbling up inside her.
‘Eh? What’s that?’ he says, then more firmly, ‘Don’t get excited now.’
The bubbling stops.
‘Nothing.’
‘Right, good. Let’s go spend some more money!’ John shouts, leading the way across the marble floor. ‘After everything I’ve been through and had to do, I reckon I deserve to buy something huge and extravagant for myself!’
Pauline nods, watching him go. After everything John’s done, he definitely deserves something huge.
Like a garden spade to the back of the head.