Tilly scowls, but Paula continues, undeterred. ‘I am serious, Sebby. Of course, it’ll take a bit of time. You’ll have to find the right place and then it’ll be a few months for the purchase to go through, but you could be out of the shed by Christmas.’ She pauses. ‘And of course there’ll be a budget. I’m not offering to buy you each a five-bedroom mansion. I think a two- or three-bed should suffice.’
‘Mum!’ Tilly’s voice cracks. ‘It doesn’t feel like you’re listening to me! I don’t need a house. I just want my mum back.’ She breaks now and hot tears spill out onto hot cheeks. ‘I want you to be honest and tell us what you’re hiding!’ Paula says nothing and Tilly’s voice gets even louder. ‘I’m starting to think . . . I don’t know. It feels like you . . .’ She breaks off, pursing her lips shut like she’s decided against saying whatever it is. But then she changes her mind, spitting the horrible words that come next. ‘It feels like you’re happier without Dad.’
Paula stares at her, saying nothing.
‘Well?’ Tilly says, her voice now raised, her face getting redder. ‘Because it seems like you might be! You’re suddenly this whole other person I know nothing about, with all theseweird new friends and a weird new car. It’s like you’re . . .’ Her eyes flash and it’s clear she is finally saying the things she’s wanted to say for goodness knows how long. ‘I haven’t seen youoncecry about him. You’re not sad about Dad’s death at all, are you?’
Paula mutters a protest, ‘Tilly, grief has tentacles . . .’ she begins and her daughter makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a scream. There are more tears, her face wet, as she continues. ‘Just admit it! Admit you’re happier without him! Mum, tell me the truth. Are you happy he’s dead?’
Paula feels like she’s been slapped. Her mouth gapes open as her children stare at her, waiting for an answer. An answer she can’t give them. Everyone in the room stays frozen, holding their breath, waiting.
Paula opens her mouth, ‘I—’
The doorbell cuts her off. Tilly stares at her, still waiting. Seb is stock still, a haunted look on his face.
Paula turns for the hallway and her daughter calls after her, ‘For God’s sake, Mum, please just leave it. Come back and talk to me about this!’
She ignores her, reaching for the front door and opening it wide.
It’s Craig and his friend. The sight of them makes Paula’s head spin. Quickly, she steps outside, pulling the door shut behind her.
‘My children are in there,’ she says and her voice comes out all strangled and terrified. Craig smiles wolfishly.
‘Well, that’s OK, we can do this out here.’ He turns to nod at the empty road in front of the house. ‘Look at that, Paula, the photographers are gone.’ He pauses and adds in a menacing tone, ‘At last.’ He smiles again. ‘We’ve been morethan patient. And very generous in waiting for the money, Paula, but it’s time. John owed us.Youowe us.’
Paula shakes her head. ‘I have . . . I have some of it! I didn’t know how . . . I couldn’t just go into a bank!’ Craig’s face hardens into a scowl, and she quickly adds, ‘But I do have some! I have nearly ten thousand pounds, I think.’ She shakes her head. ‘But it’s in the drawer inside. I can’t go back in right now . . .’ She trails off, wondering whether it would be better to face Tilly’s wrath or Craig’s.
He sighs. ‘Believe it or not, I’m actually a nice guy, Paula. So here’s what I’m going to do.’ He inhales a long breath. ‘You have one more week. And I don’t give a shit if you have to go into the bank with a gun and hold the place up – maybe shoot a cashier or two. You’re going to be paying up at that point. Otherwise, we’re coming back here with sledgehammers.’ He holds up his hands. ‘I don’t like saying that, for the record, but it’s the job. And it’s not even your knees we’re going to break, Paula. It’ll be your kids in there.’ He pauses, smiling that Cheshire Cat grin again. ‘Seb and Tilly, isn’t it? Tilly and her wife Misha have a nice flat they rent, don’t they? Although I don’t know how they manage with all those stairs.’ His grin gets wider. ‘They certainly won’t be able to manage them anymore, if we don’t get this money.’ He leans closer. ‘Now go back inside, Paula, bring me that ten thousand pounds and then I’ll see you in a week for the rest.’
Paula slowly nods, her mouth dry, her whole body trembling. She reaches for the door, barely able to turn the handle. Her hands don’t feel like her own. She makes her way inside quickly, heading into the kitchen, where Tilly and Seb are still sitting, waiting. Tilly’s head is on the table, resting on her arms.
‘Mum?’ Her daughter looks up, her eyes red and watery. Paula walks calmly over to her junk drawer in the corner of the kitchen. Calmly, she retrieves the fat brown envelope stowed away in there. Then, after thinking for a second, she also picks up her passport, slipping it into her handbag.
‘What are you doing, Mum?’ Seb asks and she turns back to her children.
‘I’m sorry I’m not acting the way you want me to, Tilly,’ she says, her voice calm. ‘I know I’m getting it all wrong, but how is anyone supposed to get it right in a situation like this? Why do you get to decide what the right reaction is?’
Tilly stands up, she looks angry now. ‘That’s not what I’m saying,’ she says gruffly. ‘But my life is in ruins and you seem totally fine. Better than fine.’
Paula stares at her for a long moment. ‘I’m not fine,’ she says after another second. ‘But I don’t need you to keep analysing my every move – my every utterance! – and dissecting what’s right or wrong. I’m finished.’ With that, Paula turns away, walking back out into the hallway and away from her children without another look. She wants to be away. Away from all of it. Away from all the accusations and fear and suspicion. Away from Craig and his horrible, horrible threats. Away from John’s ghost in this cold, broken-down house.
It turns out, she is going on holiday after all.
27
Paula can’t remember the last time she was this sweaty. She’s not really a sweaty sort of person. She said this to Seb recently and he made a joke she didn’t understand about Prince Andrew and Pizza Express.
But the sweating has been worth it – as was the horrifyingly expensive taxi – because Paula’s made it to the airport just in time. And, after much joyful and excited shouting, she, Audrey, Teddy and Ivy are about to board an actual private jet!
Except . . . who knew private jets could be so . . . so . . . well,underwhelming.
‘Here we are!’ Connie, the aggressively happy air steward, announces. She waves across the concourse, across the blackened tarmac, to where the small, unimpressive plane sits. It is very . . . It’s . . . hmm, it is verynewlooking, Paula concedes, taking it in. And it is a very shiny metallic. In a sort-of sensible black colour. But otherwise, it is not terriblyunlike every other plane she’s seen before on the telly.
Connie gesticulates some more, waiting for applause from the group, like she’s done a magic trick. Audrey coos politely and nods excitedly, but Paula can tell she’s not entirely buying Connie’s enthusiasm either.
They move towards the small boarding steps, Paula trailing behind Teddy and Ivy as Connie pauses, smiling some more. ‘Can I just re-check your passports?’ she asks and Audrey gathers everyone’s documents, passing them to Connie, who looks them over. Still smiling.
Smiling is clearly a big part of her job description.
