Chapter 10
TEN
Evie’s been impossible lately. Since Jack and I came back from our shopping trip last week and she noticed the baby things I was storing carefully in the spare room, soon to be our nursery, she’s barely acknowledged me.
I really need to try to have a proper talk to her, but she’s always either out or has Imogen superglued to her side.
Noting the clothes she’s wearing as she crosses the kitchen – a tiny burgundy skirt with a tight black sweater, revealing a bare midriff in between – I guess she’s going out this evening and wonder how to diplomatically ask her where.
I watch as she grabs a Coke from the fridge, her closed body language warding me off, and decide on a subtle approach.
‘You look nice,’ I compliment her, keeping my tone light.
I’m not sure what to expect; a half-hearted Thanks, possibly. What I get is blanked.
‘Evie, hold on.’ I go after her as she spins away from me, heading for the door where Imogen waits, dressed in a figure-hugging black lace dress that reveals more flesh than it covers, and meticulously applied Instagram-perfect make-up that makes her look much older than she is.
‘Nice earrings,’ I comment as she catches me looking.
‘Thanks,’ she says, fingering one of the bumblebee and moonstone earrings she wears along with several others in each ear.
‘Unusual.’ I give her a smile and look away.
I can’t quite warm to Imogen. I’m not sure why, possibly because she seems a little too mature for a sixteen-year-old and I’m imagining her to be a bad influence on Evie.
Unfairly, probably. The girl smiles affably enough whenever I see her, but there’s something behind her eyes.
It’s there now, a smugness, almost, as Evie strides towards her and the two disappear into the hall.
‘Evie, I know my having a baby has probably come as a bit of a shock,’ I say, hurrying to catch up with her. ‘If you’d like to have a chat, we could—’
‘Back later,’ she mutters over me, clearly in no mood for conversation. Unhooking her leather jacket from the hall peg, she tugs the front door open and walks out, Imogen close behind her.
Burying my frustration, I follow them. ‘What time will you be home?’ I call.
‘Later,’ she repeats without looking back, and I can’t help but feel hurt.
I understand why she would be angry, feeling the decision to have another child has been made without her, but how can I reassure her if she refuses to talk to me?
I’m about to remind her of her weekday curfew when I see Jack’s Land Rover approaching on the lane and I breathe out a sigh of relief.
Evie walks on as he pulls up in front of the house. Clearly perturbed, he pushes his door open and climbs out. ‘Hey, Evie, doesn’t your old man get a hug any more?’ he asks. ‘Or are you too grown-up for all that stuff now?’
His tone is amused but I sense his relief when Evie walks back and threads her arms around him. Jack and Evie are so close. He would be devastated if he thought he’d done anything to upset her.
As he eases away, he gives Imogen a smile.
I note the way she looks coquettishly at him from under her eyelashes as she smiles back, and I wonder if he realises she has a crush on him.
With his natural charm and swarthy good looks, I imagine he would fulfil many a young girl’s fantasy.
Evie clearly does realise. I note the sharp look she shoots her friend.
‘You’re off out, I take it?’ Jack asks. ‘Going anywhere nice?’
Evie shrugs. ‘Just Tramps in Worcester.’
‘Tramps?’ He raises his eyebrows in surprise, while my heart rate escalates. If she’s referring to the Tramps I went to back in the day, it’s a nightclub.
‘Relax, Dad, it’s under-eighteens night.’ Evie sighs.
‘A dance rave,’ Imogen picks up. ‘Chart and R where I can almost taste, feel and smell my precious little boy.
The idiot in the truck who’d crossed the central reservation while travelling at speed and looking at his phone can never take that away from me.
Still, the fact that the flashbacks are coming more frequently lately destabilises me.
I guess it’s my guilt at play because I’m having another child.
Jemma, who is always happy to offer me a shoulder as well as professional advice, reminds me it’s survivor’s guilt.
The tipping point for me had been when my beloved Lola had died.
Having lost her little human friend and her master, I was sure she’d pined to death, and my guilt almost ate me alive.
Jack had been so supportive. I will be forever grateful for the kindness he’s shown me.
‘Am I sensing some sadness?’ he whispers, clearly noting my sudden need for bodily contact.
I nod and squeeze myself closer, grateful too that despite feeling I was betraying my husband’s memory, I’d allowed Jack into my life. I think it was because he’d suffered such tragedy himself that I’d felt safe with him, able to share my vulnerability.
‘Memories floating back?’ he asks perceptively after a moment.
I answer with another small nod and blink my tears back.
Easing away a little, he lifts my chin gently with his finger. ‘Don’t bury them,’ he says softly, his dark espresso eyes looking tenderly into mine. ‘They’re therapeutic. Nature’s way of processing and helping you heal.’
I feel myself melt inside. ‘Did I mention that I love you, Jack Conley?’ I murmur.
‘The feeling’s mutual,’ he says, a smile curving his mouth. ‘Shall we?’ He nods past me to the hall. ‘It’s getting a bit chilly out here.’
‘Oops.’ I step quickly inside, realising he’s only in his shirtsleeves.
He follows me in, closing the door behind him. ‘I’m guessing Evie’s been acting up. Am I right?’
‘She is a bit moody,’ I admit, heading to the kitchen to turn on the coffee filter.
‘Sorry.’ Jack sighs as he follows me. ‘She’s not easy right now, is she?’
‘It’s understandable.’ I turn to give him a smile. ‘With all she’s had to deal with, she’ll be struggling to find her identity, which is important at her age.’
‘You’re probably right,’ he concedes. ‘I’m not sure she’ll ever come to terms with what happened to her mother. I should probably look at some more counselling for her.’
‘It might be an idea,’ I agree. Jack has taken her to a counsellor recommended by the GP, but Jemma asks about her often, wondering how’s she’s coping.
Jemma is extremely easy to talk to, never judgemental.
When, racked with guilt, I’d confided in her about my involvement with Jack, she encouraged me to go for it.
‘An overriding symptom of survivor’s guilt is to blame yourself,’ she’d reminded me.
‘Even when you couldn’t have done anything to change what happened, you tend to develop negative beliefs about yourself, seeing yourself as a bad person.
You’re not a bad person, Kara,’ she’d added, reaching for my hand.
‘You deserve some happiness. Jack does too.’ She had helped me move forward. I’m sure she could help Evie, too.
‘Although…’ Feeling I should mention what I think is bothering Evie, I glance cautiously at Jack. ‘I suspect it’s our news that might be upsetting her.’
A troubled frown crosses his face. ‘She seemed okay when I told her.’
‘I wish you hadn’t said anything, Jack,’ I say carefully.
I’ve tried not to mention it, thinking Evie would come round, and the last thing I want is to imply he’s been thoughtless, which I know he’s not.
‘On your own, I mean. If we’d sat down together with her, explained that it would make no difference to your feelings for her…
’ I pause, struggling for the right words.
‘She’s scared,’ I go on gently. ‘She probably thinks a new baby will replace her in your affections, do you see?’
‘Damn. I didn’t think it through.’ He sighs in despair at himself. ‘I’m sorry, Kara. I can’t believe I’ve been so insensitive.’
I smile, marvelling at how sensitive he actually is. ‘It’s okay,’ I reassure him. ‘I’m sure she’ll warm to the idea.’ I make up my mind to work harder to make sure she knows that I care for her, that we’re both there for her.
‘I thought she’d be pleased,’ he says despondently. ‘I’ll talk to her. Maybe I should take her out for a meal or…’ He stops, eyeing me curiously as the doorbell goes. ‘Not expecting any deliveries, are we?’
‘No. It’s probably a salesperson.’ I start towards the front door.
‘I’ll get it. You tend to be a bit soft-hearted,’ he says with a teasing smile.
I frown as he heads for the hall. Do I? I thought I was quite assertive, though I know I can sometimes be too forgiving. I think it comes from realising other people might have scars you can’t see on the outside too.
Leaving him to it, I see to the coffee, guessing he’ll be shattered after a seven a.m. start to help an elderly couple in the village whose heating had broken down.
I’m filling the mugs when, after a muffled exchange in the hall, I hear Jack raise his voice.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he grates.
Jarred by his rare show of anger, I clang the jug down and fly to the hall.
The woman standing facing him is well past her sixties.
Petite and frail-looking, she’s obviously harmless, so what on earth was that all about?
I look from her to Jack, whose face is like thunder.
‘Jack?’ I move worriedly towards him. ‘Is there a problem?’
He sucks in a breath. Kneading his forehead tersely, he doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at me.
I glance back at the woman, who arranges her face into a smile, then steps towards me. ‘I’m sorry to have called unannounced,’ she says, extending her hand. ‘I’m concerned about Evie. I’m Lina, by the way, Evie’s grandmother. Jack killed my daughter.’