‘I fancy that new place in Clifton. I’ve been meaning to go for a while. Paul can drop us in town.’
‘That would be great. Thanks, Jo. Give me half an hour to get changed.’
I race upstairs and have a quick shower, then throw on a fresh pale pink maxi dress. The air is so still and humid that I can’t face drying my hair so I gather it up in a topknot instead. While I’m waiting for Jo and Paul I head into Rufus’s room, something I’ve ended up doing a lot recently when he’s with his dad. It has that typical teenage-boy smell of balled-up old socks, fabric softener, Lynx deodorant and sweat.
I pull my cotton dress over my knees, the fabric brushing my ankles and the tops of my feet, which are now cold. I sit watching the shadows dancing on Rufus’s ink-coloured walls, remembering when I painted them four years ago. He’d just turned thirteen and wanted something more fitting to his new teenage self. Charlie and I had spent the day decorating it together, Radiohead playing in the background, while reminiscing about the first time we’d painted our son’s bedroom, not long after we’d bought the house. He’d been a toddler then, with his cot bed, his array of dinosaurs and trains with smiley faces. Charlie alwayslaughed at me when we decorated because by the end of it I had paint everywhere, including in my hair and between my eyebrows, while he didn’t have a spot on him. If only I’d known then how our lives would turn out. That I’d be facing up to living here without either of them.
If I squint I can almost see those sky-blue walls and the rubbery triceratops and diplodocus that used to line his shelves, and his bed with theThomas the Tank Engineduvet. I can almost see Charlie as he was then, his unlined face tipped back in laughter, a roller in his hand. I can almost feel the love we had for each other. Now the walls are full of posters from Rufus’s favourite movies: Tippi Hedren cowering from a flock of birds takes up half of one wall and there’s another of Cary Grant and Joan Fontaine inSuspicionby the window. Above the bed he’s stuck modern posters of films likeNightcrawlerandShutter Island.
My mobile buzzes to say Jo is outside. She lives a few streets away from me, at the Gloucester Road end of Redland. I say goodbye to Phoenix, grab my bag and leave the house. As I reach the gate I see Marielle getting something out of the boot of their Jaguar. She’s alone and I hope she’s okay. Whatever she and Henry were talking about had sounded heated and she had seemed upset.
When she notices me she stops and smiles. ‘You look lovely,’ she says. ‘Off somewhere nice?’
‘Thank you.’ I blush at the compliment. ‘Going to a new bar with my friend.’
‘Oh, what happened to your movie night with your son?’ She lifts a leather tote bag from the boot. I catch a glimpse of a syringe and a medical kit.
Their conversation flitters through my mind again and I briefly wonder if they were talking about drugs.
‘It’s too risky. We could get caught, Mari.’
‘We didn’t last time.’
But I discount this straight away. They don’t look like the drug-pushing type. Maybe one of them is ill. I try to concentrate on answering Marielle’s question. ‘Rufus had to go and help out his dad. He’s in a band.’
She closes the boot with a smile. There is no hint of distress in her expression. No sign that an hour ago she was having a heated discussion with her husband. ‘Oh, well, at least you get the night off.’ The night off.This niggles me. Rufus isn’t a chore. He’s not work. I love spending time with him. Then I remember she’s a new grandmother and looking after a baby is different. I’m being overly sensitive because my time with Rufus is running out.
‘Anyway, I’d better go. My friend’s waiting …’
‘Of course. Have a lovely time.’ She smiles again and walks back into the house, clutching the tote bag tightly.
The bar is surprisingly quiet for a Thursday evening. Most people are sitting on the large terrace outside, but Jo and I choose a spot inside in the corner. We haven’t caught up properly all week. Jo has a big case on that is taking up quite a lot of her time. I only work three days a week and my job doesn’t have the same kind of pressures as Jo’s, even though they both involve people and their problems. The strain from the last week is evident in the creases and dark circles under her eyes. She won’t talk about work, though. She never does. I get the sense that some of hercases are particularly harrowing as she works in family law, plus she’s bound by confidentiality.
She’s wearing a bright orange sundress that clashes with her dyed burgundy hair, and she lights up the dull room. She once told me that she can’t help a small act of rebellion in most aspects of her life. Dyeing her hair and wearing bright clothes is her way of going against people’s expectations of how a barrister should dress. It’s one of the many things I love about her.
We spend a good hour or so catching up on what’s been going on in our lives: our kids, our parents. She knows all about my complicated relationship with my mum and how much I miss my dad and, likewise, I listen when she pours her heart out to me about her parents’ declining health.
And then I tell her about the Morgans and the conversation I overheard.
Her eyes light up with interest. ‘Juicy!’ she exclaims, when I’ve finished.
‘Maybe … or they could have been talking about something boring, like taking driving penalty points for each other.’
‘Which is illegal …’
I laugh and hold up my hands. Sometimes Jo can become a bit head-girlish. ‘I know. But not exactly juicy.’
She downs the rest of her wine. ‘Did you manage to record any of their conversation?’
‘Only the first bit.’
‘Ooh, can I listen? Why don’t I come back to yours?’
I’m relieved. The wine here is expensive and I’ve got a bottle in the fridge that we could be drinking.
‘Good idea.’
Jo gets out her phone to book an Uber while I finish my drink. Just as we’re about to leave I notice a group of men walk in and recognize some as Charlie’s bandmates. The gig must have just finished. I’d forgotten they were playing around the corner. I haven’t seen them since we split up. Charlie must have gone straight back to his flat with Rufus and Freddie. They don’t notice me as they head for the bar, and I nudge Jo, who has spotted them too. I’d instigated our break-up, and if I hadn’t we would probably still be together, but only because Charlie prefers the easy route in life. I’d pushed it in the hope that he’d decide what we had was worth fighting for. Well, that backfired! They are Charlie’s friends, and they would have heard only his side of the story. I don’t want to be seeing them now for the first time.
