A grin spreads across his face. ‘I could slip easily into people-pleasing mode and say yes, but you said you wanted true answers, so. I don’t know, Beth. You and Dom disappeared from my life in kind of a weird way. What was that all about? Flora would never tell me. She wanted me to believe we’d all drifted apart but I don’t think that’s what happened, is it?’
‘No.’
‘No. I told Flora I didn’t believe that story, so she made up a better one, hoping I’d like it more: some nonsense about you cutting up a photo of our children.’
‘That’s true. I did. But I don’t think that’s why our friendship ended.’
‘It’strue?’ Lewis laughs. He looks delighted – as if it’s the best news he’s heard in a long time. He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. The doors at the far end of the corridor open and two women appear. Lewis waves in their direction without really looking at them, then gestures again through his open office door. ‘Come on in,’ he says. ‘I haven’t got long, but I want you all to myself for the time we do have. Something tells me you and I are going to havefuntoday.’
20
There’s a framed photograph on Lewis’s desk: of him, Thomas and Emily sitting outside a beach-front restaurant, under a green-and-white-striped awning. All three of them have lobsters in front of them and they’re all laughing.
‘No Flora?’ I say, pointing to it. ‘No Georgina?’
‘In that particular photo?’ says Lewis. He moves over to inspect it more closely. ‘I’ve never seen either of them, and I work next to that photo most days of my life. But let me know if you spot something I’ve missed. Mint tea? Once I’ve made it, I’ll take the photo out of its frame and you can cut it up if you like. It’s okay, I’ve got plenty more.’ He grins to make it clear he’s joking.
‘You didn’t want a reminder of all four of them on your desk?’
‘I’m fascinated by these questions.’ Lewis arranges white square mugs in square saucers at the drinks station beneath his huge, metal-framed window. ‘I change the picture all the time,’ he says. He sounds gleeful. If he wishes I hadn’t turned up in his new American life, he’s doing an excellent job of concealing it. ‘This week it’s Thomas and Emily’s turn in the frame. Everyone gets a turn. Just like, at home, I change my colleague picture regularly. On the mantelpiece in the lounge, I currently have a framed photo of Aaron and David from Marketing.’
I laugh. I think it’s convincing.
‘So, when does the secret-swapping start?’ Lewis asks, handing me my tea.
‘Soon as you like. I’ll go first. I cut up a family photo Flora sent me – one that came with a Christmas card. Actually, I didn’t cut it up completely. I just cut Georgina out of it.’
I watch Lewis’s face to see if anything changes when I mention her name. It doesn’t. All I see is intense curiosity and relish, no discomfort or guilt. No sadness either.
‘Go on,’ says Lewis. ‘I’m intrigued.’
‘I’d have thought you’d be disgusted, or furious,’ I say. ‘Georgina was only a tiny baby. I cut her out of a photograph of your family. She fell on the floor.’
‘So what?’ Lewis chuckles. ‘This was more than ten years ago. Whatever you did, you did it to a piece of paper, not to my daughter. I’d love to know why, though.’ He walks over to his desk, sits behind it, then uses it as a footstool, putting his feet up on a pile of glossy brochures.
I try to focus on his face, not the soles of his shoes. ‘When I saw the picture, I realised Flora had been pregnant and had a baby, and not told me. I took that as evidence of how little I mattered to her. The photo she sent was the first I knew of Georgina’s existence. I was upset, and I overreacted. Then I felt terrible about it. Flora found out I’d done it, which didn’t help our friendship, but that wasn’t the cause of the rift between us. That was something else.’
‘Was it a rift? Is that what it was?’ asks Lewis. ‘A rift sounds dramatic and exciting. You’re telling me a rift happened and I missed it? I’ll be honest: I always thought the root cause was envy.’
‘Because you suddenly had money? No. For a long time I thought it was the money that had changed things between us, but I was wrong.’
‘Then what was it?’
‘That’s what I’m waiting for you to tell me.’
‘Well … let’s see.’ He smiles conspiratorially, as if we’re both enjoying the game. ‘I’ve never cut up any photographs of your children.’
‘You know what I want you to tell me, Lewis.’
His face changes. The smile is gone. Now he’s staring at me earnestly, with sympathy in his eyes. ‘I think I do,’ he says. ‘I think you want a story that explains why you’ve seen Flora in England recently. The thing is, Beth, you can’t have. Flora hasn’t been in England. She’s been here, with her family. I don’t know who you saw, but it wasn’t her.’
‘Maybe I saw the woman who lives there now,’ I say.
‘Quite possibly.’
‘Jeanette Cater?’
‘I can’t remember her name, if it’s even the same family that we sold to.’
