“Oh, my God, do I have to spell it out? It’s bad enough having to say this about me own daughter . . .” She paused. “Cherry’s not as sweet and simple as she makes out. She wants to win. She gets an idea in her head, and she wants it. If that idea’s a life where she doesn’t have to work in some crappy job, like . . . a supermarket, then she’ll do anything to get it. And she’s not gonna give up easily, which is why she’s made your mum’s life hell, and I can’t say for sure where she’ll stop.”
Daniel was playing with the fork on the table, pushing the tip of the handle so it sprang up in the air. Suddenly it clattered onto the floor.
“Are you still there?” said Wendy.
“Yes. I am.”
“I’m sorry to be saying this, and I wasn’t going to, but you was so nice to me. That day we all went to lunch. Even though I gatecrashed your own time with Cherry, you was so friendly, made me feel really welcome, I’ll never forget it. Anyway, I couldn’t just let you go on being in the dark or nothing. And I know about the awful thing your mum done, but still . . .” Wendy’s voice was wavering and Daniel could tell she was on the verge of tears.
“Listen up. When Cherry was a kid, about fourteen, she cut up a girl’s school shirt while she was out doing PE. Two holes in the front, just ’cause she nicked her idea in a school competition. Prize was fifty quid. The girl didn’t even win, Cherry did, but I think she was making a point.”
It was a small thing—a stupid, small thing that a teenager would do—why, then, did it make his blood run cold?
“Anyway, I think I’ve said enough, so I’m going. I’m sorry, Daniel. I feel like this is partly my fault. Like I didn’t bring her up right or something . . . I’ll be seeing yer, okay?” She hung up.
Daniel put the phone down on the table and stared uncomprehendingly around the room. All of a sudden, the hole his mum had stubbornly, unwelcomely, been trying to pry open in his relationship had widened. He didn’t know what to do with what Wendy had told him; he needed time to think. He heard the sound of the key in the lock and jumped up as Cherry came in.
“‘Australian, savory and powerful, with intense spicy . . .’ What’s up?” She looked up from the label.
“Nothing,” he quickly reassured her.
“Something’s happened.”
He smiled and held out his hand. “Shall I open it?” She watched him as she handed it over, and he could tell she was deliberating on whether to press him; he was thankful this was a makeup dinner and she backed off. Browbeating him was not on the menu. At the same time, he was disturbed by the strong, almost survivalist, feeling he had to keep his phone call with Wendy a secret. He poured them both a glass as Cherry served up dinner. It was delicious, but the conversation didn’t ever get into fullgear. They were both wary, unable to fully relax, and Cherry claimed a return of her headache. The meal was eaten quickly and then they ended up in front of the TV. At half past ten, neither saw much point in staying up longer, and they went into the bathroom separately and then got into bed.
“Do you fancy your book?” said Daniel, and Cherry knew by this that he did. He wanted to escape into something other than their evening.
“Actually, I might just crash,” she said, and switched out her light. “But you read.”
He did for about ten minutes before turning out his own light. As they lay in bed, Daniel sensed she was still awake. He called her name once, softly, but she didn’t reply.
Once she heard him drop off, she allowed her mind to tick. She knew cracks were appearing. Something had happened tonight, something he was keeping from her. Something that had made him suspicious. Cracks had a way of widening, deepening, faster and faster, as they took hold. She had to resolve this soon or he’d slip away.
52
Saturday, November 7
LAURA HEARD THE MAIL FALL ONTO THE DOORMAT. AS USUAL, SHEapproached it with some trepidation, but it all looked fairly ordinary. A collection of statements buffered with some junk brochures selling cashmere sweaters and overseas investments. She flicked through it and stopped at an expensive cream envelope, thick with the paper it held inside. The doorbell rang before she had a chance to open it and she found herself peering through the hall window, aware she was behaving like a timid old lady. It was the builders, come to repair the leaking window. She made them a cup of tea while they assured her they would have the glass out by the end of the day, and hopefully back in the next. Once they were out in the garden, she took her post to the quiet of the living room. She opened the thick envelope first.
Dear Mrs. Cavendish,
I am writing on behalf of my client, Howard Cavendish. He feels that a notable amount of time has passed since he first discussed the issue of divorce with you, but so far has not received any correspondence detailing your request to start proceedings. He is still very acceptable to you instigating proceedings rather than him, but you must make this known within fourteen days or I will be bound to filea petition to the courts. In order to facilitate the process, I recommend that, if you haven’t already, you get independent legal advice.
I look forward to hearing from you in due course.
Yours,
Alastair Lloyd-Edwards
Laura dropped the letter on the coffee table. Did it matter? Who cared who divorced whom? The relationship was over, and no one seemed to notice or think that this might be the important thing. Or maybe it wasn’t, not for Howard because of Marianne. Maybe their marriage hadn’t mattered to him for years. She was suddenly exhausted and knew she wouldn’t bother to reply.
She hadn’t been to work much either, vaguely aware this was feeding into Cherry’s ambitions for her. However, since the cancelation of her drama, she’d lost all energy. She wasn’t sleeping well at night; her skin was pale and there were shadows under her eyes. She was afraid to go out. Food was delivered by the supermarket. When the post crashed on the mat, it startled her and she approached it like a wary animal, afraid of what it might be.
And then there was Cherry’s nocturnal visit. Laura wondered how long she’d stood there, what she’d been looking for, what she was planning. When Izzy had called first thing to check in, she’d been so angry about it she’d threatened to call the police, there and then, but Laura knew she’d receive a similar response to the one she’d already had. They couldn’t do anything until Cherry made her first move. She realized she was waiting. Waiting for something to happen, and it was slowly strangling her.
She had to do something. She had to see Daniel. Laura grabbed her bag and jacket and headed out.
* * *
