‘Stephen’s autoerotic games again. He just can’t get enough,’ I say with an ironic raise of the eyebrows. It’s an awkward enough statement that people shy away from further comment, but Aisha’s expression tells me I’ve been inappropriate.
‘Is there anything you can salvage?’ says Sophie.
Cait’s little head moves from side to side. ‘I’m not even allowed near it. It’s unstable.’
Aisha says how fortunate it was that Cait and the girls weren’t at home when it happened, and Cait bursts into fresh tears andhas to retreat to the loo to wipe the black smudges from her face.
‘Do you think Owen did it?’ says Tor, as soon as she’s gone. ‘Come on, I know you’re all thinking it.’
‘More likely to be the boiler,’ I say, nodding towards Aisha, who nods back. Sensible people think sensible things.
‘But he was in her house,’ says Sophie. ‘She said so at Nathan’s party. And she wouldn’t give him the money he wanted.’
‘If it’s Owen, Cait could be in real danger now,’ says Aisha. I want to dispute this but choose to keep silent.
‘More importantly,’ I say, ‘Cait’s homeless situation is now permanent, and she’s got no belongings. We all need to help.’
Everyone agrees solemnly. In order to suggest these kind of things, I just ask myself what Mother Abbess would say.
Cait returns from the toilet looking only slightly more presentable. She sits and puts both hands flat on the table to steady herself.
‘The house will probably have to be demolished,’ she says, clearly still wanting to dwell on the fire. This touches a nerve or two, and Sophie sheds another tear, although she’s lost nothing at all.
‘Surely buildings insurance will cover it,’ says Tor, which is what she once said when we were discussing people losing their homes in the floods in Sudan.
‘Yes,’ says Cait. ‘Owen did all that. I’m sure it’s just on direct debit.’
‘Hisdirect debit?’ asks Aisha. ‘I thought he was in desperate need of money.’
Cait freezes, and for a moment it seems like the whole of the café holds its breath.
‘Fuck,’ she says, loudly.
To-do list
Buy concealer for bruises
Find old clothes and toys for Cait
Book meeting with Adams headmistress
Check buildings insurance
Chapter29Ponchos
Monday, 25 November
I receive a deeply insulting letter from Adams in this morning’s post and feel a desperate need for a murderous visit to the head, which would probably help neither of us. What really stings is the false tone of the letter with its smug, throwaway empathy and insults veiled as compliments. I feel volcanic urges bubbling beneath my skin and know that only one thing will calm my rage – a nourishing marine body-wrap followed by an energy of the glaciers facial at the Dorchester spa.
I am not wrong. I drive home from Highgate station in a better state of mind, but when I turn into our road, any residual calmness from my spa treatments evaporates. I spot DS Birch and DC Mattoo speaking to number 61.
I make a cup of mint tea and try to rationalize, but with our neighbours telling the police all the comings and goings of Ennerdale Avenue, and the Adams letter sitting there on the kitchen island, I smash my favourite mug, sending tea across the floor, and find myself sitting on the floor and holding my head.
Aimée appears in the midst of this meltdown and looks down at me. I peer up through my ruffled hair and she lets out a longsigh of disgust, steps over me, takes an avocado, steps back over me and walks out.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ I shout after her.
‘I didn’t ask,’ she shouts back.
