Chapter 25
LENA
When I get home from work I’m surprised to see Charlie’s van parked outside my house. He’s standing on the doorstep, looking flustered in his paint-splattered overalls, the sun highlighting the toffee tones of his hair.
‘What are you doing here?’ I brush past him to open the front door. He gave me back his key when he moved out. Phoenix charges out to greet us.
‘Just here to pick up Rufus.’
‘He’s at college.’
Charlie’s good-natured face looks momentarily confused. ‘Oh, yes, of course. I thought they’d finished for the summer.’
‘Not until next Wednesday. And, anyway, isn’t Rufus staying over at yours tomorrow night?’ He’d said we were watching a movie tonight.
He lifts his shoulders in a half-attempt at a shrug, then bends down to pat Phoenix’s head gingerly. Phoenix side-eyes him before strutting into the house.
‘That dog’s never liked me.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t really like men.’
‘He likes Rufus.’ Charlie straightens. ‘We talked about him coming to a gig tonight. Rufus, that is.’ He chuckles. ‘He wanted to do some filming. Something to do with one of his media projects.’
‘He said it was tomorrow night.’
‘Ah, yes, sorry about that. My fault. The date was moved.’
The equipment Rufus had brought home from college for the two-hander. I remember now. I bite back my disappointment. We can always watch the movie tomorrow night.
Charlie stands there, taking up most of the doorway. Funny how in just seven months he looks so out of place in what was once his home. He pulls at the straps of his overalls while rolling back on his heels, the action so familiar that I feel a lurch of nostalgia.
‘Do you … er … want to come in?’ We still haven’t talked about the house and he never answered my text about Susi offering me holiday cover.
His eyes widen in surprise. Then his expression relaxes. ‘If you’re sure?’
‘Of course.’
He follows me into the kitchen. The bin bag needs changing and there is the faint aroma of rotten veg.
I open the patio doors, pour us both some lemonade without asking – it was always his favourite soft drink – and then, because there is no shade in our garden, we sit at the kitchen table with Phoenix flopped at our feet.
‘Doesn’t look like the weather’s going to break any time soon,’ he says, sipping his drink and looking awkward.
Sometimes I can’t believe this is the man I shared my bed with for so many years, who was there at the birth of our son, who sang to my swollen belly when I was pregnant, who held my hair back when I was sick after a terrible bout of food poisoning, who wrote songs about me.
He has seen me at my best and my worst. The person I thought knew me better than anyone.
He’s like a stranger now. A stranger who has to make small-talk about the weather.
Suddenly I feel heavy with sadness and unsaid words.
What happens to all the emotions, all the love, after you split up? Where does it all go?
‘So,’ I say, coughing to disguise the crack in my voice, ‘you never texted me back about the mortgage. Susi has upped my hours to cover holiday leave. From next week I’ll be full time for a couple of weeks and she said if it goes well she’ll try to make it more permanent.
Rufus is getting a summer job too, not that I’ll take any money from him, but … ’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘That’s great.’ He looks down at his big hands, stroking his fingers across the wooden grain of the table.
He’d bought it eight years ago from a reclamation yard and spent weeks sanding and revarnishing it so that it gleamed in all its honey-toned glory.
He always did prefer to buy something pre-loved rather than brand new.
He said he liked a piece of furniture to have a history.
I feel a jolt of surprise when I see that he’s still wearing his wedding band.
I wonder what his new girlfriend, Rosie, thinks about that.
‘So … you want to keep the house?’ he asks without looking at me.
‘Yes. Of course. I love it. This is where Rufus grew up. This was where …’ I was about to say this was where we were at our happiest, but it would feel wrong under the circumstances.
Because it was also where I was at my most miserable.
He almost sounds disappointed. Was he using my lack of full-time paid employment as an excuse to sell up?
‘Right.’ His jaw tightens.
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
He sighs heavily, which makes his huge shoulders shake. ‘I am. Of course I am. But, Lena, you won’t be earning enough to allow us to keep the house for ever. We do need to sell it when Rufus is eighteen.’
‘Do you need the capital from it?’ I wonder if that’s it. He’s run out of money now he has a new girlfriend to woo.
‘No, Lena. Like I said before, everything has gone up and running the flat and a three-bedroom house is expensive.’
We slip into another awkward silence. I can tell there is something on his mind, something he wants to say to me, but I know better than to probe.
Charlie is a man of few words. That has always been part of the problem.
For someone so creative and passionate, who has written incredible, heartfelt songs, he’s rubbish at having a proper conversation.
He channels his feelings into his songwriting: I spent most of our marriage trying to work out how he was feeling by reading between the lines of his lyrics.
‘I know you’re attached to this house …’ he begins.
My eyes well up.
‘Lena?’
I sniff. ‘I’m being sentimental, that’s all. Ignore me. It’s just … I keep thinking of when Rufus was little. I miss it. I miss it all and …’ I falter.
‘I understand.’ He places his hand on top of mine where it rests on the table.
‘I really do. But it’s because you’re looking at it all through rose-tinted glasses now Rufus is about to fly the nest. It was hard work at times.
Do you remember that massive tantrum he threw in the middle of Tesco?
You were so embarrassed. You thought everyone was judging you for being a bad mother because you snapped at him.
Or when he was tiny and we were so sleep-deprived because he was suffering with reflux? It was horrendous.’
I laugh, guilty. ‘It was. You’re right.’
‘Do you really want to go back to those days? Like, really?’
‘Well … maybe not those exact days.’
He squeezes my hand and then removes his to pick up his lemonade. There is a pulse of silence, of shared memories, a life.
‘He’s a good kid,’ he says.
‘He is. And he’s happy now he’s left that school and those … bullies.’
Charlie doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a sip of his lemonade. He never wants to talk about what happened last year. I wonder if it’s because it marked the beginning of the end for us. I decide to change the subject. We’re getting on so well, for a change.
‘Did you know that the house next door was bought, in the end? Henry and Marielle moved in recently.’
He lifts his brows. ‘And what are they like?’
‘Ah, now, there’s a story.’
He grins. ‘Well, I’m all ears.’
It’s a relief to be able to tell him everything, and his presence is comforting.
He sits very still, his hands cupping his glass as I fill him in, beginning with the overheard conversation last Thursday.
As I get to the bit about Drew and all the stuff with his missing sister, I notice his expression cloud with uncertainty, which makes me falter a bit, but I carry on regardless until he’s totally up to speed.
‘Right,’ he says, with a frown, when I’ve finished. He scratches the stubble on his chin. ‘So you’re saying you suspect the new neighbours are, what, criminals? You do realize how that sounds?’
‘Well, I don’t know for definite what they’re planning. That’s the problem. But the creepy doll, the lying about having a daughter-in-law, the wall of newspaper clippings … it’s all a bit weird, isn’t it?’
‘You should never have gone into their house. God, Lena, what were you thinking?’
‘I knew they weren’t there. And the baby crying, I had to check it out. You’d have done the same.’
He grimaces.
I chew the skin at the side of my thumb. Charlie’s eyes are still on me and there is a sudden tension in the air. I break eye contact and turn away from him to take a tin of beans I don’t need from the cupboard.
‘Be careful, Lena.’
I swivel back to face him, still clutching the tin of beans. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just keep out of it. It’s none of your business.’ He stands up, adjusting his overalls.
‘You’re such a pacifist,’ I snap, hearing how resentful I sound. Things would have turned out differently between us if only he’d taken more action – if he’d stood up for Rufus more when he was being bullied. If he’d stood up for me.
He ignores the barb. ‘You’ve got Rufus to think about. If these neighbours are dangerous, or whatever, you don’t want to be in their firing line. I don’t think you should have given Drew the recording.’
Feeling suddenly queasy, I put down the tin of beans. Charlie opens his mouth to say something else when we’re interrupted by the buzz of my mobile. I pounce on it, hoping it might be Drew with news about his police visit. But it’s Susi.
‘Hello,’ I say, moving away from Charlie to stand in the frame of the patio doors.
‘Lena, hi. I’m sorry to be calling you at home but we need a word.’ She sounds stern and I feel the first kick of unease.
‘Okay. What about?’
‘It’s about Drew Mayhew. It’s been brought to my attention that you’ve been visiting him at home. Is that correct?’
‘I … well, yes, but …’ How does she know? Have the police said something already or has Drew told her after I said no to dinner?
She sighs in disappointment. ‘Lena, this is unethical. You know that.’
‘But …’ I can sense Charlie’s eyes boring into my back and my body temperature goes into overdrive. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘Well, then,’ she says crisply, ‘you should tell it.’
‘I …’ I flounder, not sure where to start.
‘Not now,’ she snaps. ‘I want to see you first thing on Monday. And I have to warn you, Lena, your job is in jeopardy. If you can’t keep a professional boundary as an adviser, this line of work may not be for you.’
‘Listen, Susi, I …’
But she’s ended the call.