But now they’re back to where they started. She can feel it in her bones.
How did her son, her beautiful boy, end up this way? She’d given him all the things she’d never had until she went to live with Elspeth, and more besides: he had love. Pure, unconditional love. Not the kind of love with rules attached, like Kathryn felt Elspeth gave – still gives – her. She’d never told Elspeth of her troubles with Jacob. She knows what she’d say. She’d point the finger, accuse Kathryn’s biological mother, and say, in her posh, judgemental voice, that the apple never fell far from the tree.
She kneels on the floor next to Harry’s bed, smoothing his dark hair away from his sleeping face. Her, as yet, untarnished son. Why can’t she keep him like this for ever? Away from the disappointments and the heartaches, from finding out your parents aren’t as perfect as you’d always thought. And then she hears the front door slam and she rushes downstairs to see Ed, Jacob trailing behind him, a newspaper tucked under his arm.
Ed is smiling and ruffling Jacob’s hair. ‘I found this one walking back from the newsagent’s. He’d just gone to get a paper.’
Kathryn smiles tightly. She wants to believe it, she really does. She glances over the top of Ed’s head and meets her elder son’s eye. He doesn’t appear to be on anything: his pupils are normal-sized. She narrows her eyes at him anyway, a warning glare. He’s the first to look away, dipping his head as though trying to hide his guilt.
Later, she goes to him while he’s in his room.
‘You gave me a scare there,’ she admits, perching on the edge of his bed where he’s sprawled out, pretending to read a textbook. The soles of his socks are dirty.
‘I told you I’m not into that stuff any more. Why won’t you believe me?’ He tilts his chin. ‘I’m not lying to you, Mum. Okay? I woke up early and was bored. I went to get a newspaper. That’s all.’
She doesn’t want to point out that he never reads newspapers. Or wakes up early at the weekend. But she wraps these thoughts into neat little packages and places them in a box in her mind with all the other things she’s trying to avoid thinking about.
She lowers her voice. ‘I know it must be eating you up. It’s messing with my head and I’m a grown-up. I’m worried for you, Jake.’
His eyes flash. ‘You promised me,’ he hisses.
‘I know. And I’ll keep my promise. I’m your mother. But you have to keep yours too.’
30
Willow
I don’t know where to start. I’m not a detective and I’ve certainly never done any amateur sleuthing before. And I do feel a bit of an idiot lurking by door jambs, hoping to hear snippets of conversation between Kathryn and Elspeth. When Kathryn is here she’s always watching me, too, with those serious hazel eyes of hers. It’s obvious she doesn’t trust me. And since I’ve known the truth, I’ve been jittery around her. I’ve tried to be normal but the other day she came into the kitchen, surprising me, and I dropped one of Elspeth’s bone-china teacups. She unnerves me with her looming presence, her height and her frosty demeanour.
Courtney texts me most days asking if I have any information. I feel bad when I have to reply that I don’t.
And then, on Thursday, something unexpected happens.
Elspeth is feeling unwell and is laid up in bed, saying she’d like to rest. It’s unlike Elspeth. She’s usually up and about, shuffling around in a pair of elegant slippers, even if we don’t always go out. But today she says she’s got a migraine. She’s lying on top of her duvet, fully clothed, when I go to check on her. I offer to help her into her nightdress but she refuses, saying she’ll feel better and will be up later.
‘Shall I call a doctor?’ I ask, as I fuss around her, plumping up her pillows and setting a glass of water on her bedside table.
She brushes away my concern, saying the only thing for it is to rest in a dark room for a few hours. ‘Would you mind walking over to the gallery in the arcade and asking Kathryn for the books?’ she says.
‘The books?’ I frown at her, imagining lugging home a bagful of paperbacks.
‘The accounts,’ she clarifies. ‘I haven’t looked at them for such a long time. I worry that Kathryn isn’t being honest with me.’
My ears prick up and I mentally file away this titbit of information to give to Courtney later. ‘In what way?’
She waves a wrinkled hand in my direction. Nearly all her fingers are encircled with jewels. ‘I think the gallery isn’t performing as well as she tries to make me believe. It was her father’s baby. And I’ve been busy with the arts foundation so haven’t kept on top of it.’
I know from Courtney that Kathryn is adopted, although Elspeth has never told me so. I wonder if she was close to her father. I was never particularly close to mine: when I was nine and Arlo was fourteen he ran off with another woman from the commune and started a new family somewhere else, never bothering to keep in touch.
I assure her I’ll go to the gallery, even though I don’t relish the thought of having to interact with Kathryn, and fetch what she needs. ‘You rest now,’ I say, patting her liver-spotted hands, which are clutched together in her lap. I leave her alone in the dark room and headdownstairs, grabbing my jacket and making my way out of the front door.
It’s a beautiful early-April morning and the sun is shining, which heightens the green of the trees and the pink of the blossom scattered on the pavements. I amble towards the gallery, deliberately taking my time, enjoying the freedom of being without Elspeth, even stopping to buy a takeaway latte from one of the cafés I pass. The mood on the streets is jovial, as though everyone appreciates the beauty of the weather after the cold winter we’ve just emerged from. Strangers smile at each other or nod a hello. I bend over to stroke a brown shaggy-haired poodle cross – I’m informed by the proud owner that it’s a Schnoodle. I want to skip. I feel happy despite everything. It’s amazing how a little sunshine can brighten your mood.
And then I realize I’m being followed.
A man with bright blond hair, wearing a mustard ski jacket, has been shadowing me from Elspeth’s house. At first I didn’t take much notice of him, but when I saw that he stopped when I stroked the dog, and hovered around a bin pretending to be on his phone while I was getting my coffee, it hit me that he was trailing me. I actually want to laugh at him. Stealthy he isn’t.
I stop at the edge of the kerb to cross the street, wondering what he’ll do next, but he forces his way through the throng of people behind me so that he’s standing by my side. He’s tall and very angular.
