‘Why, so you can gloat?’
God forgive her, Cassie would have felt precisely like that once upon a time. ‘Of course not,’ she said, ‘that’s a terrible thing to say. How’s his wife coping?’
‘Like you care!’
‘Please, Ems, don’t keep thinking the worst of me.’
Emily sniffed and then rubbed the tears from her eyes. ‘If you must know, she’s not coping at all. She’s a wreck and it’s a wonder she’s held up for as long as she has.’
‘You’ve probably been a great support to her,’ Cassie said. ‘I’m proud of you. And I’m sure Drew would have been proud of you too.’
It was the wrong thing to say. The girl’s face crumpled, and Cassie longed to put her arms around her daughter and make all this wretched heartbreak go away. If only Drew had left well alone! If only he hadn’t had some kind of mid-life crisis of conscience and invited his abandoned daughter into his life! He’d wrecked Cassie’s life all those years ago and now he’d done it all again with his second wife and little boy, and Emily.
Reining in her emotions, and knowing that she wasn’t being entirely rational, Cassie focused on her precious daughter who was far too young to have to deal with all this. But was Emily right, should Cassie have hated Drew less and done more to make him a proper father to his daughter?
But how? How could she have done more when Drew had been the one to make it so clear he hadn’t wanted to play any part in his daughter’s life until recently? How was it always the woman’s fault?
‘Mum!Are you even listening to me?’
Cassie snapped to attention. ‘Sorry, sweetheart, the connection went a bit fuzzy then,’ she improvised. ‘What were you saying?’
‘I have to help Rosalyn repatriate Dad’s body back to the UK. The laws here are a bloody nightmare and because she doesn’t work and can’t support herself, they’ll kick her out.’
‘Not immediately, surely?’
‘No, but she knows she’ll have to leave when the authorities say time’s up. But she has nowhere to go. She’s frantic with worry.’
Knowing that Drew’s parents were long since dead and were therefore not a source of help, Cassie said, ‘Rosalyn must have friends and other members of family here in the UK who she can turn to?’
‘I told you before, she hasn’t had any contact with her parents in years.’
‘Then this might be the moment to resolve whatever issues there are. In times of crisis that’s usually when families put their differences aside and come together to help.’
Minutes later and, as unbelievable as it was, Cassie realised the trap she’d walked into. She realised too, that if she said no, then it would damn her for evermore in her daughter’s mind.
Chapter Twenty-One
Keith woke to the thoroughly annoying sound of wood pigeons flapping their wings noisily in the lilac tree just yards from the open window of the spare room. He’d been sleeping in here ever since the awful day of Tigs and Fabian’s wedding.
He’d driven home to Madingley that night unable to bring himself to speak to Hilary as she sat grim-faced and silent in the passenger seat beside him. He’d told her that he thought it best that he slept in the spare room. She didn’t try to dissuade him. At breakfast the next morning, they had sat like strangers at the table, neither willing to break the silence that lay heavily between them. For his part he didn’t trust himself to be civil and as for her, he couldn’t begin to fathom what delusional web she was spinning inside her head. He didn’t much care. She could stew in whatever sanctimonious self-deception she wanted to wrap herself in.
Two very long and very miserable weeks had passed since then with Keith doing his best to avoid spending any time with his wife. When they were in the same room together there was a large elephant there too, its ominous presence reminding him of the moment when Hilary had lost control. What she did that night was unforgivable and whenever he so much as attempted to raise the subject, when he trusted himself not to lose histemper, she shut him down by accusing him of not caring about Hugh and his memory.
Rather than confront her and unleash God knew what, he escaped to the golf course as often as he could or went for long brooding walks and twice he met up with Diane in Ely. He’d also been to see Nina to apologise for what had happened, not at the gallery, but at her apartment. He had phoned her in advance to check that he was welcome, and she’d said it would probably do them both good to clear the air between them. She’d been right, and he’d taken comfort in being with her while strolling around the beautiful and serene grounds of Hope Hall. He could quite understand why she had moved from the centre of town to live there; it was a soothing balm to the soul, an answer to a mad world.
Outside the window of the spare room, the wood pigeons continued to make their irritating noise in the lilac tree, cooing and flapping their wings – it was like Chinese water torture, waiting for the next coo or the next flap. Suddenly he could bear it no more and he threw aside the duvet and went to the window, banging it shut loudly, scaring the wretched birds out of the tree.
Opening the window again, he stood there looking at the garden, knowing that after today no more would he enjoy the view. They had moved here nearly forty years ago when Hugh had been a small boy. Keith could remember the day as though it were yesterday, when he’d climbed the beech tree at the far end of the garden and fixed a rope swing to one of the lower branches. The rope had rotted years ago but just as Hilary had hoped for a grandchild, he too had wanted one and had pictured a smiling child playing on a newly installed swing. But instead of Keith climbing the tree, Hugh would probably have done the job of fixing a rope to the branch. At the thought of Hugh and whatmight have been, he felt the familiar ache of wishing his son was still alive.
What in hell’s name would Hugh make of what his mother had done and what Keith was about to set in motion? With a heartfelt sigh, he supposed he should be grateful, if it didn’t sound too illogical, that his son wasn’t here to witness the aftermath his death had caused.
Today was August Bank Holiday Monday and he’d chosen the day to do what he had been putting off for far too long. If he didn’t do it now, when would he?
His marriage had been failing for so many years he couldn’t recall when he’d last felt anything remotely like love for his wife. He had been on the verge of leaving her when Hugh was diagnosed with a brain tumour. He’d been shattered by the news and would have willingly traded his own life for that of his son’s. So, he did the next best thing, and he made a pact with whatever god he futilely hoped might exist. He vowed to stay with Hilary and do his best to support and love her in exchange for Hugh surviving the diagnosis he’d been given. For that, he would do whatever it took.
But then Hugh had died, and he knew he couldn’t abandon Hilary to her grief alone, she needed him like never before. He’d help her over the worst of it, he told himself, and then he’d go when she was strong enough to handle the divorce. Part of his decision to delay leaving her was rooted in the disagreeable knowledge that he didn’t want the family and their circle of friends to think badly of him for being so cruelly selfish. They might have publicly made excuses for him, blamed his out-of-character behaviour on grief, but privately they would have been disgusted by his actions. If he were honest, he was disgusted with himself for not having the guts to do what he knew he had to do before now. By not being stronger he’d been complicit in allowing Hilary to take out her grief in ways thatshould have been checked ages ago. He was a coward. And a liar and a cheat.
He hadn’t physically cheated on his wife, but the relationship he had with Diane was a heartbeat away from becoming more than just companionship grounded in the emotional support they gave each other.
