When I go inside the house, I find Connie and Simon snuggled up on the sofa in the lounge with the lights off. They’re watching Queen on Top of the Pops on Connie’s laptop.
‘Hi Lizzie,’ Connie says, not bothering to budge. Simon, I realise, is asleep. ‘Where’s your bloke?’
‘On his way home.’ I realise how lame and futile the words must sound. I prepare for a lecture.
But instead, Connie just shrugs. ‘It was a good start. For when the right one comes along. You mind if we finish the show?’
‘Go ahead.’ I’m not sure whether to feel annoyed over her smug assuredness that Theo is not ‘the right one’, or relieved to have escaped a lecture about how I need to move on. I go to the kitchen and make myself a cup of tea. I take it up to my room, eager to check on Katie and Jack. In a world where I feel uncertain about the future, and uncertain about myself, I’m grateful that at least I have my children.
Jack is fast asleep in the Pack-n-Play travel cot with Spiderman’s arm in his mouth. When I stroke the hair off his face, he makes a sucking motion with his cheeks, like he did when he was a baby. A few feet away, Katie is asleep in the guest bed. Her brown hair is spread out on the pillow like a fairy-tale princess, and the book she was reading has slid down beside her. Jammie, sprawled across the foot of her bed, lifts her head when I come in and gives a single thump of her tail, before going back to doggy dreamland. I lean over Katie and kiss her on the forehead, my eyes swimming with tears. As I switch off the reading light, she groans.
‘Mum, leave it on.’
I do as she says. ‘Go back to sleep, darling. I love you.’
‘Did you have a good night?’
I smile. ‘It was nice, and I appreciate you “waiting up” for me.’
‘Umm.’ Her brown eyes flutter and close, and she drifts back to sleep.
I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror. My lips have been kissed bare and my mascara has smeared a little, making my eyes look dark and sultry. I wash it off my face, wondering if I made the right decision in sending Theo on his way. The two futures present themselves in my mind – the one where I’m carried upstairs and ravaged in my bed, and damn the set rules and the morning after; and the one I’ve chosen – kissing my children goodnight, taking off my rose-coloured dress, folding it, and sticking it in a drawer. Putting on a long T-shirt and crawling into bed alone with the light on.
As I sip my cup of tea, I stare at the unfamiliar room – the heavy wooden beams on the ceiling, the brass wall lights, a miniature wattle-and-daub house that I made with Katie when she was studying the Great Fire of London in Year 2. The bed is smaller than the huge bed in the master bedroom, but for some reason, it feels cavernous. The dreamcatcher is a few feet away from me, tied to one of the light fittings.
I open my e-reader and switch off the light. I read about Victoria Easterbrook feeling awkward and guilty the next morning after her so-called romantic encounter with William Clarke, and the disappointment tinged with relief she feels when she discovers that he rode off on his horse at the crack of dawn. She’s told that he’s gone to London, and that there’s a rich society woman that he’s been courting there.
Typical. I’m reminded of Edward Rochester, courting Blanche Ingram after leading on Jane Eyre, and, more personally, of Dave entertaining women in his London flat, and my boss Harry hitting on his subordinates. Phillipa King’s plot isn’t very original, but it is universal.
I read on some more. With William Clarke now gone to London, the plot shifts to something bordering on suspense. Victoria worries that her secret may be revealed – that she’s already married, and that Tom or one of his servants, will come to seek her out and bring her home to a loveless marriage. Most of all, she senses a dark, malevolent presence that seems to be watching her:
There was no moon. The water was black and dead far below beneath the window. A perfect night for the boats, and yet, she knew that tonight there would be no boats. He was gone. Her body ached with the cold, her heart with loneliness.
As she was about to close the window, the gravel crunched beneath her window. She leaned out, her hair tumbling over the sill. Was it possible that he had returned? Her soul leapt with hope. She waited, but the sound was not repeated. She leaned out further. Could it have been an animal? She caught a flash of something by the lake shore. A figure emerged from behind the giant plane tree. Swathed in a cloak of black, all she could make out were a pair of glittering eyes. Eyes that searched for hers and burned into her flesh, angry and accusing. She drew back and slammed the window shut, her heart galloping in her chest. The watcher slipped away into the shadows by the shore of the lake.
As I read, I feel a chill in the room despite the warmth of the duvet around me. I wonder again about Phillipa King, and what it’s like for a romance writer who must always be thinking about the next bad thing that’s going to happen to her heroine. Part of me wishes that Victoria and William would just get on with the inevitable – their big love scene, and their happily ever after. But I suppose it would be a pretty boring story if they didn’t encounter a few bumps in the road along the way. What was it Shakespeare said – something about the course of true love never running smooth? How – unfortunately – true.
I’m tempted to skip ahead in the book, but instead I close the e-reader and put it aside. As I’m trying to coax myself into dropping off to sleep, I try to think of Theo, and the good moments we shared talking about his novel; and then the kiss, before it started getting out of hand. But try as I might, my mind keeps wandering. To the earlier encounter in the garden, and a pair of green eyes that are judgemental and accusing.
*
‘Mum? Mum?’
Katie’s voice jars me out of sleep. Beside me, the alarm is beeping. My daughter is standing next to the bed with Jack beside her, clinging to Spiderman and sucking his thumb.
‘What time is it?’ I sit up, suddenly panicked. I hit the button on the alarm clock, horrified to see that it’s already half-seven. Today’s a ‘big day’, and I can’t even manage to wake up. I close my eyes for a brief second, longing to sink back into the shifting pool of images just below consciousness. Walking along a moonlit corridor. Knocking on the door… would he open it? And who the heck is he?
‘Mummy.’ Jack’s thumb has popped out of his mouth. ‘I want a cuggle.’
‘Of course, darling.’ The dream sinks away to nothingness. I scoop him up, expecting to feel him wet with wee. But to my surprise, he’s all dry, and I calculate that it’s actually been at least a week since he’s last had an accident. Maybe with all the excitement going on, he’s turned a corner.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ I say, giving him a kiss on the forehead. I hold my other arm out to Katie. I’m expecting that she’ll turn up her nose and walk away, but to my surprise, she comes over and allows me to hug her. Her body feels thin and fragile in my arms – so vulnerable…
‘No. My mummy!’ Jack gives Katie a push to get her off my lap.
‘Come on Jack,’ I say, ‘I love both of you.’
‘Mine.’ He scrambles off my lap and hits Katie. Thus begins five minutes of ‘playful’ mayhem – Katie hitting Jack back, Jack screaming, me yelling that ‘there’s no hitting in this house’, Katie and Jack wrestling with each other, the dog coming into the room and leaping on top of them, me trying and failing to send one or both kids to time-out and grab the dog’s collar, all of them totally ignoring me, and me finally giving up as they collapse into a heap on the bed giggling and laughing, and Jammie licking their faces.
Eventually I get them dressed, and everyone downstairs. We’re running late for school as usual, but seeing the kids laughing and happy, I don’t really mind. I eat a piece of toast while Jack and Katie eat their Weetabix and Jammie has her food. I put on a pot of coffee for the crew. The first members of the set-building team are already there when we come downstairs. The location manager’s name is John C – I’d dubbed him Bobble Hat when he came to the house that first day – and I’ve met at least two other Johns on the crew. I can’t remember any of the other names, so I’m planning to call them all John.
John C tells me that they’ll finish the painting today, and then the designers can get on with ‘dressing the set’ – bringing in and putting in place all the furniture and props that they’ll need for the shoot. The electrical equipment is due to arrive the following day. They’re also due to start constructing a dock at the lake shore behind the house where the smuggling boats will moor up. It’s all heating up. But despite everything that’s going on, the only thing I can really focus on is the fact that, today, Phillipa King is coming to Tanglewild.
I drop the kids off at school and drive back to the house. It’s my day to work at home, so I’m planning to closet myself upstairs in the guest bedroom and stay out of the way. Maybe I’ll be able to avoid seeing Luke Thornton entirely. And Phillipa King. I’ve built her up in my mind so much that I’m now quite nervous about meeting her.
When I reach the house, it’s a small slice of mayhem as the site workers are trying to manoeuvre two huge trailers of Portaloos through the gates and round the side of the garage to the field beyond. I pull up into a queue of several cars and vans. Immediately in front of me is a silver Audi. I feel a surge of annoyance as Luke Thornton gets out of the car and goes up to the man in charge of the lorries. There’s some gesturing and discussion. Luke shakes his head. I can just imagine that the narrow gates and small access road are more strikes against Tanglewild, and – by implication – me.
While they’re talking, I crane my neck to see if there’s anyone else in the car with Luke. He and Phillipa both have a past history here. They must at least be acquaintances. Maybe they’re more than that – who knows? But I can’t see anyone in the passenger seat. She’ll probably be coming down with Theo later. I wait for the stab of jealousy that doesn’t come.
The men finally get the Portaloo trailer through the bottleneck, and the cars in front of Luke move on. He walks back towards his car, tall and self-assured, wearing jeans and a blue button-down shirt. He rakes his dark blond hair back from his face and, instead of going to his own car, comes up to me. If he wasn’t blocking me, I’d keep the window up and drive around him, but the road is too narrow. With a sigh, I put the window down.
‘Sorry about that,’ he says. ‘They’re trying not to damage the garage – it’s quite narrow.’
I stare at him with distaste. Maybe he’s making an effort to be polite, but somehow, he still manages to sound critical.
‘John C will speak to you later, but they may need to take down the fence to the orchard. There’s an even bigger lorry due tomorrow with the electrical equipment.’
‘I’ll speak to John C, then – no need to trouble yourself.’ I press the button to roll up the window, ending the conversation. He looks at me for a long moment as the pane of glass comes up between us. There’s something I can’t quite read in those green eyes of his, but I get the sense that he can see right through me.