“See. You’re not denying it,” said Cherry, dejected.
Everyone was looking at her. Daniel had a face like thunder and Laura felt two little hot spots at the top of her cheeks.
“I think that’s enough,” she said quietly. “It might be time for you to go inside and sort yourself out.”
“I’m taking Cherry home, Mum,” said Daniel, and at her crestfallen face, he added, “She hasn’t got any clothes. I’ll have to.”
As they turned back toward the house, Laura knew that they would go to his car and drive to Cherry’s flat, and she probably wouldn’t see her son for a day or so, perhaps not until Monday, when he would come to collect his things to move into the new flat.
“Anyone for a sausage?” asked Howard.
Isabella sidled up. “Darling, what was all that about? I thought you liked her.”
Laura didn’t answer, just watched them leave, feeling deeply unsettled.
18
Wednesday, July 23
CHERRY STARED OUT THE WINDOW OF HER OFFICE. IT HAD BEENraining solidly for three days now, and when it rained, it was quiet—and when it was quiet, she got bored. She felt like a zoo-trapped animal, except she couldn’t even expend her head-ramming restlessness by pacing up and down. Her iPad, lying on the desk, meant she could at least surf the Internet to pass some of the time, something she was sure Abigail and Emily were doing right now, as no one took such a keen interest for such an extended period of time in houses. Judging by the intense concentration on their faces, she suspected they were shopping for clothes or shoes.
She had read theGuardian,earmarked some TED talks she wanted to listen to, and then found herself Googling Nicolas’s name, something she knew was a mistake even as she did it. There was an article in a telecoms trade journal, announcing his recent promotion to Deputy Managing Director—at age twenty-four!—a remarkable accomplishment, gushed the paper.His dad’s the owner of the company,Cherry wanted to scream at the screen. The piece went on to list his achievements: the job and his recently getting married. There was a picture of Nicolas and his wife at some swanky charity thing, noted Cherry bitterly, and then thearticle had jokingly asked when he was going to provide the next heir to the company’s throne. It cut her deeply.
Throat thick with hurt, she closed the page, then defiantly started to look at villas for sale in the South of France. Since returning from her trip, she’d found it an effort to get back into work mode, go back to the persona she’d created for herself and the job she had to get through as a means to an end. It was a dangerous sensation, this fidgety impatience, and she had to discipline herself. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake now, not when she seemed to have actually found someone who had the potential to permanently pluck her from a life of work and drudgery. Feeling physically sick from sitting in one place, staring at her screen, trying to find something to amuse her brain, Cherry shut down her iPad, barely refraining from stabbing at it. She wanted to smash it up—she was so bored—smash it and tip the desk over. This amused her for a nanosecond and she smiled.
Cherry’s mind worked well and it worked fast. It had an insatiable need for information, plans, and projects. It rebelled against enforced nonproduction, began to turn in on itself, to implode if it didn’t have something to occupy it. She had too much mental energy, something she’d been aware of ever since she achieved top in her class for every subject during school. She sometimes wondered what she could have become if the option of university had been available to her—perhaps a lawyer, for she hated injustice, particularly toward the underdog, the poor man, and she thought she was good at turning a point on its side, revealing it to be something else entirely. Anyway, it didn’t matter, as this was where she was now, a real estate agency in Kensington, a stepping-stone to a far greater achievement.
She stared out at the rain again, watching the steady drumming on the window and hoping it might anesthetize her into a state of tranquility. People around here didn’t talk as much about the weather as those from Croydon or Tooting. They could afford to escape it and often did for weeks at a time.
She looked at the clock. At least, Daniel would be here in a few minutes to mark the halfway point of the day. Newly ensconced inhis flat, he was taking her to lunch and they were going to buy some new bedding. He’d moved into his flat on Monday, but had been staying at hers ever since the party. He’d been upset with his mother, something she’d never seen before.
She’d cheered him with details of the white-water-rafting trip she’d booked (quickly, on the Sunday after the party, when he’d gone back home to pack his things). He’d deliberately timed his return to the family home, his last one as a resident, to be when his dad was at golf—Cherry was starting to get suspicious about the number of times his father played golf, and made a mental note to pursue that one—and when his mother had gone to visit a friend. He’d then effectively moved out, leaving a note for his mum, promising to call soon. Cherry was fairly certain he still hadn’t made that call. She was currently trying to work out whether to encourage it; such mature, magnanimous behavior could only draw him closer to her, but letting the anger toward his mother fester some more would widen the gap between them. It was a tricky decision.
* * *
Daniel hooked his hood over against the rain and, shoulders hunched, forged his way through the few streets to Cherry’s office. He was hoping to get the shopping out of the way as quickly as possible and suddenly wondered why he hadn’t just let her pick something out herself. As usual, he didn’t much care what the bedding was like, but he had recognized he needed some and was both grateful for her taking the hassle out of it and amused by how much enjoyment she seemed to take from buying it.
He knew he was falling deeply for Cherry and this made him happy. Everything about her, aboutthem,seemed so compatible, so much fun, so easy . . . except, of course, the growing conflict with his mother. He was angry that her hints about Cherry being a gold digger had become public and caused real upset. He didn’t understand why she was so set on it—everything pointed to the opposite. Cherry had bought him a ridiculously expensive painting, for God’s sake! If anything, Cherry was the more generous of the two of them. Even when he had helped out, buying herairline tickets, he’d practically had to force her to take the money. Just thinking about it all made him angry again and he sighed; he hated confrontation and wished his mum would just see Cherry for who she really was and be happy for him.
It had been something of a relief to move out. It was bad enough on holiday—not wanting to fall out with his mother, but at the same time feeling uncomfortable with her growing disenchantment with Cherry. The leading questions, little comments, the general lack of warmth that seemed to increase over the days, had grated on him and he’d found it draining to keep on fending them off like a UN peacekeeper. He also didn’t like his life resembling a soap opera, it embarrassed him, as did the little episode at the BBQ on Saturday.
The day after, he’d received a text, saying:I hope you know this but just to be sure, I promise I didn’t push her in, Love Mum x. He didn’t want to get into it any more and was annoyed it was still hanging over him. Consequently, he had not yet replied, although he knew that he would have to call soon, if only to stop the whole thing from escalating further. Perhaps after he’d had lunch with Cherry today, he would ring his mum and say that if they were all to get on in the future, she would need to back off a bit and stop thinking Cherry was only with him for his money. His mates had also texted, giving him a hard time the way that guys do, and Will had Photoshopped,LAURA’S SWIM SCHOOLover a picture of a daredevil diver crashing into a swimming pool, and added,Your mum given any more lessons lately?
In a way, his mother’s recent reticence toward Cherry just strengthened his affection for his girlfriend even more. He liked uncomplicated women and she was just that; and despite her mistreatment, she had not once complained about his mother to him. He admired her for that. She just seemed to get on with it, to continue enjoying life. Thinking about her cheered him and he quickened his step. It was time to get the horror of shopping out of the way; then maybe she’d come back tonight and help him try out the new sheets.
* **
The clock strained toward one and then finally it clicked over, a flag placed on the top of a mountain after a strenuous climb. Cherry had the one o’clock lunch slot this week, Abigail and Emily had to wait until two, and Neil was walking back in now. A system to cover the lunchtime “rush,” although it was doubtful that flocks of people would be flooding in to rent and buy houses on a day like today. The door opened again and, as it was so quiet, all heads tilted up and Cherry was pleased to note that Daniel had such an audience. She looked up to greet him herself, but the smile died on her lips.
“Hiya, love!” called Wendy self-consciously from across the office, with a silly little wave as she took down her umbrella and rivulets of water fell to the floor.
Cherry sat there, unmoving, horror and growing panic rooting her to the chair, as she tried to fathom what the hell her mother was doing there!
Wendy was still waiting for some form of greeting and edged farther into the room, hopping toward Cherry’s desk, aware that everyone was looking at her.
“Sorry, love, didn’t mean to shock you or nothing, but I’ve not heard from you since you was away, and as I got today off work and had no plans, boss has gone and changed the shifts, I thought, well, we talked about me coming up to see you, and—”
Cherry stood abruptly, a defensive action against the tirade, a spewing of words that could revealanything,and Wendy, thank God, stopped talking.
