Saturday 20 March
All day, Dylan thought of Imogen. While he was tidying away the breakfast things, he thought of her running down that lane then going into that house. Again and again he pictured that shiny black front door opening and her slipping inside. Did sheslip? He immediately felt guilty about his choice of words. Perhaps his imagination was going into overdrive. Maybe she was innocent and the door didn’t close quietly and secretly behind her. But the image wouldn’t go out of his head.
He took Rosie to the movies but he didn’t see what was on the screen. His internal projector was running a continuous loop in his mind. That shiny black door opening. Imogen slipping in. It closing quietly behind her. Then his mind took him inside. Inside the house with his wife and James. Just the two of them. That was the version he imagined.
Suddenly he laughed, shook his head. Surely Imogen wasn’t fucking that old, pompous bastard. It was madness, insane. She wouldn’t look at him. She had standards.
He attempted to release his mind from the torturousthoughts, tried to look for evidence to disprove what was plaguing him. If he could find nothing, the impending catastrophic disaster that was nudging at the edge of his consciousness would evaporate in a blessed relief. He thought back to the time James and Carol had come to their house for dinner after Rosie’s birthday. Had there been any sign of anything between James and Imogen? He didn’t think so. If there had been, he’dremember, right? He would have noticed something. Or he would have picked up on a distance between James and Carol. But there was nothing he could recall. Other than James being his usual supercilious self – all that crap about teaching at a decent school. Working in the private sector.
Dylan felt another landslide plunge into his world. The new job – the one he felt he’d got on his own merit. Had Imogen and James talked about it? Had they laid in bed together and discussed how to ‘help’ him, how to improve his lot? A fury washed over him as he made Rosie a sandwich for lunch.You don’t know that happened, he reminded himself.
‘Dad, can I go and see Tilly for a bit?’
Dylan turned, distracted. Rosie was asking to go and see her friend. He agreed, handing her the sandwich, and telling her to be back by four so they could go and get ready for the festival.
Once she left, he made a decision. He would see Imogen later. He’d ask her outright: was she having an affair with James Whitman?
What he didn’t know was what he’d do if her face said ‘yes’.
NINETY-SEVEN
Saturday 20 March
‘Where did you tell your mum we were going?’ Rosie asked Tilly as they walked away from Tilly’s house.
‘Just the cafe or something. She gave me some money. Shall we get a milkshake?’
‘We don’t have time,’ said Rosie, leading Tilly across the high street to the lane that led to the woods.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Tilly.
‘Wait and see.’ Rosie hurried on, so Tilly had to run to catch up.
‘What’s with all the secrecy?’ she asked, disgruntled.
Olivia’s house was up ahead. No one was there because she and her family were out at horse trials until later that afternoon. Rosie opened the wide wooden gate and gestured to Tilly to follow her into the yard.
‘Whose house is this?’ asked Tilly, wide-eyed at them letting themselves in.
‘The people who bought Lupin,’ said Rosie. ‘Don’t worry, I’m allowed to come here all the time.’
It wasn’t untrue but she made it sound as if she had permission to be there right now, which she didn’t.
‘Oh, OK. So are we here to see Lupin?’ asked Tilly, confused.
‘Kind of.’ Rosie gave Tilly a hard stare. ‘This is the secret,’ she said. ‘You have to promise...’
‘On my heart,’ said Tilly solemnly.
Rosie nodded, satisfied she meant it. ‘We’re going to organize a little surprise for Lara. At the festival. And I need your help.’
‘What kind of surprise?’
Rosie heard Lupin whinnying behind her, knew he’d seen her come into the yard. She went to get two carrots from the shed, along with a ball of strong twine she’d seen on the shelf last time she was there. She put one of the carrots in her pocket and took the other to Lupin, stroking his head as he leaned over the stable door.
‘He’s such a nice horse,’ said Tilly. ‘It’s so sad your mum had to sell him.’
‘I know,’ said Rosie, scratching Lupin’s ears.
