‘I think I should come with you. Hang on, let me get my bag.’
‘No!’ She says it a little too forcefully. ‘Sorry, I just want to be on my own for an hour or so.’
‘You’ve been on your own in your room for days. Why don’t you call one of your friends to go with you?’
‘I’ll be fine. I’ll be back soon.’ She makes her escape and jogs quickly away from the house before her mother has the chance to come after her.
Once she’s a couple of streets away, she slows to a walk and tries to catch her breath. Her body feels sluggish and weak. The jog has made her a little light-headed. She comes to the bus stop and sits on the empty bench for a moment, closing her eyes as the sun warms her face and the breeze ruffles her hair. She should get up and head down to the lake, but she doesn’t want to move. It feels nice to just sit here for a while.
‘Liar!’
Snapping open her eyes, her heart sinks as she sees a group of five or six teens walking down the street towards her. They’re chewing gum, their mouths working furiously. She recognises one of them as being a couple of years above her at school – Sally something or other. But she’s guessing that the one who called out is the girl with the dark hair who’s swaggering up to her now with an accusing scowl.
‘You know he’s been suspended, right?’ The dark-haired girl’s eyes bore into her own. ‘Because of you.’
‘I…’
‘It’s in theGazette. Mr Lawson’s the best teacher in the whole school. I’ve got my exams next year and you’ve screwed my future up by being a lying bitch. You need to go to the police station and own up. My mum says he would never have done what you said. She says you’re an attention seeker.’
‘I…’ But she doesn’t know what to say. Tears prickle at the back of her eyes, but she can’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. It’s what they want. Some of the boys are nudging each other and laughing. She doesn’t know what to say. What to do.
‘Well?’ The dark-haired girl raises an eyebrow.
‘I wasn’t lying.’ Her voice is weak and shaky. She wishes she sounded more certain.
‘Come on,’ one of the boys says impatiently, ‘let’s go, we’re gonna be late.’ The group slowly moves on down the road, an amorphous mass of hate, but not before the dark-haired girl throws her another sneering glare and calls her a whore.
She lowers her head, scared to look after them in case they see her staring and come back. Her body is numb. Does everyone think she made it up? Does everybody hate her now?
Twenty-Two
Saturday
FIONA
I stand on the deck beneath the shade of the pergola, sipping my double espresso and staring out across the water. For now, the lake is empty, just a few silver ripples disturbing its silent depths. By contrast, up by the boathouse the shore crackles and pops with excitement and activity, the morning air shot through with scattered laughter and coloured bunting flapping in the warm breeze. Later, the surface of the water will be teeming with launches and sailboats, but for now the view ahead is calm and serene.
Today is regatta day and, quite honestly, I can’t wait until it’s over. It’s already hot as hell, and the thought of having to be happy and sociable with everyone is making my head hurt. If it wasn’t for Nathan racing later, I would cry off, cite a migraine or too much work. But my husband is really looking forward to his race, and he needs my support.
Right now, he’s upstairs getting ready, changing into his sailing gear. He woke up in a really good mood, kissed me, slid his hands all over my body and acted as though last night never happened. But it did happen. His cold fury frightened me, so I stayed at the showroom going through receipts and invoices until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer – which ended up being somewhere around 2.30 a.m. I eventually crept home, terrified of waking Nathan. Wondering whether he would even allow me back into the house. I debated whether to even come home at all. But then, what if he grew angry because I’d stayed out all night?
No matter how many times I go through the paperwork at the office, there’s nothing I can do to change what I’ve done. The auditors are either going to pull me up on it, or they’re not. The transactions are already there in black and white on my bank statements.
In the end, Nathan didn’t even stir as I slid into bed beside him, and this morning he’s been so focused on the race that he hasn’t mentioned the tax audit or my late night. I’d like to think that’s the last I’ll hear of it, but that’s highly unlikely. Nathan is nothing if not unpredictable. He’ll wait until I’ve been lulled into a false sense of security before bringing it up again. I find myself praying that he wins his race today. That everything goes well. That nothing happens to put him in a bad mood.
Even with my late night, I got up super early to prepare our picnic. Which meant I only managed about three hours’ sleep last night. It’ll be fine though; hopefully I’ll be able to have a nice early night tonight.
‘You ready?’ Nathan’s voice is so soft I barely hear him.
I turn to see him step out onto the deck, appraising my outfit. I’m wearing a floral shift dress with high wedge heels and Jackie-O sunglasses to hide the dark circles beneath my eyes – there’s only so much an illuminating highlighter pen can do. I’d rather have worn flip-flops or deck shoes than heels, but I didn’t dare risk wearing anything that wouldn’t have made it into the pages of an editorial fashion shoot; not to such a public event. ‘Ready when you are,’ I breathe, draining the last of my espresso.
‘You look beautiful, Fi.’
I glow under his praise. ‘You don’t look half bad yourself, Mr Salinger.’ He’s wearing his blue-and-black Ashridge Falls kit, which consists of shorts, a rash vest and wraparound sunglasses. It all fits his toned physique perfectly. His firm partially sponsored the regatta this year, so the name Black Sky Financial is emblazoned across everything.
‘I’ll grab the cool box and then we’ll go, yeah?’ He kisses me and then pulls back and grimaces. ‘You better do something about that coffee breath.’
I flush. ‘Give me two secs, I’ll run up and brush my teeth.’
