A dream of a thought thrust its way into her head:Was it enough money for her and Annabel to run away? Could she finally be free of this exasperating life?
It bounced around her mind like a restless fly as she wavered in and out of the notion. Surely it was too bold a move – there had to be something wrong that she’d missed. They’d be found, Annabel taken away from her, or the money would run out. It was just a dream, wasn’t it? Just a flighty, flimsy fantasy that would never happen.
Glaring at the cheque, she was aware of Annabel’s eyes, pinned on hers. Were they also searching for something? A sign that she, too, might have understood the possibilities, the escape?
‘Oh, Mum!’ Annabel whispered. ‘That’s enough to buy a hundred trips to the beach – more than that, even!’
A laugh tumbled out of Caroline, alive and chaotic, her body light and uncontrolled, as if a chain holding her down had just evaporated into thin air. ‘This could mean, well, so much more than that!’ Excitedly, she grabbed her daughter’s arm, pulling her tightly before whirling her around. ‘This, my dearest Annabel, will buy us a trip, some new clothes, and maybe even a bit of freedom.’
Annabel danced around her as Caroline’s mind spun with the sheer headiness of the word. ‘Freedom,’ she repeated, as if it were a whisp of an idea that she could barely clasp between her fingers.
‘Yes, freedom, Mum,’ Annabel joined in. ‘Maybe we could buy a house by the beach, live there forever.’
Laughing, her mother stopped. ‘We can’t move I’m afraid, darling. I’m the queen’s dresser now. What will she do without me?’
Cocking her head to one side, Annabel said, ‘She can find another dresser. Just think of it, Mum, we would have every day to do what we wanted. And you know how much you love the countryside.’
Caroline patted her daughter, laughing as if it were a joke. ‘What about Dad? His job’s here in London, and this is his family home. He hates the countryside.’
The girl leaned forward to whisper, ‘We can leave Dad here, come to visit him every so often. He won’t mind.’
There was some truth in what Annabel said. Although Frank was keen to parade Annabel around as his offspring, he’d never taken to her. Their characters were at odds. His life was tangled in schemes, while hers was academic and astute, on a perpetual quest for truth.
But Frank would never let Caroline leave. He needed her to cook and clean, to earn the income that kept them going. In any case, after all he’d done, for their years together, it felt disloyal to up and go. He’d be furious, stop her and hold it against her – she could imagine the daily retributions, the added misery to her already dismal existence.
Her mind reeled.
So much so that she didn’t hear the step in the corridor.
Nor did she sense the waft of cigarette smoke, the faint rustle of theRacing Times,the movement of someone behind her.
Frozen in front of her, Annabel’s eyes widened in panic, her face trying to tell her something – something urgent.
But not before the cheque was snatched out from between her fingers.
Grappling, she desperately tried to cling hold of it, but it was tugged clean from her hands.
‘What’s this?’ Frank wheeled away from her as he read the amount. ‘How marvellous, my love! What a kind old soul your uncle was!’
Caroline stepped forward. ‘It has my name on it. I’ll have to take it to the bank.’
She went to take it back, but he held it higher, quickly folding it and sliding it into his pocket.
‘That won’t be a problem,’ he told her with a smile. ‘As you’re my wife, the bank will have no problem putting it into my bank account.’
‘B-but it’s her money!’ Annabel fumed. ‘Mum works long hours, and all you do is boss her around – and me, too.’ It was outspoken, even for Annabel, and Caroline winced as her daughter went on to say, ‘Some of my friends have real fathers, ones who are nice to them.’
Frank recoiled at the words ‘real father’. The girl had unwittingly hit the nail on the head. He glared at Caroline, hurt and angry, the question burning into her:Had she told Annabel that Frank wasn’t her real father?
Briskly, Caroline stepped between them. ‘Come on, you two. Enough of that,’ she said in a light, pacifying voice. ‘Annabel, could you put the kettle on for your father’s coffee, and I’ll make us some eggs.’
Unsure, he let her lead him to the table, where she fussed around him, bringing his ashtray and turning on the radio.
But as she scrambled the eggs, a dull ache lurked in the back of her mind.
The cheque – her cheque – was now in his wallet. Would she ever see any of that money, or would it go the same way as every other penny she earned?
As if reading her thoughts, he turned to her warmly and said, ‘Remember when I told you “I do”? I meant it, through good and bad, and we both know how much that meant to you at the time, don’t we?’ Again, that unspoken reference to Frank’s saving her.
