FOUR
Nina left the accountant’s office with the strangest feeling that she was floating. Her feet didn’t seem to be touching the ground, but she felt herself move slowly and deliberately towards the car.
We’re losing our home! WE ARE LOSING OUR HOME! Oh my God, my God, Finn! I am scared. Eight million pounds. Eight million pounds. Eight million pounds.
She started driving. Suddenly she found herself at the school, with no memory of the minutes that had elapsed.
‘Do you have an appointment?’ The Headmaster’s secretary leaned across the panelled reception desk, peering at Nina through her gold-framed glasses. Gripping her phone and car keys, she folded her arms across her chest, hoping this might stop the shaking. She was embarrassingly aware of the smell of sweat and vomit that lingered about her. She was always neat, always clean: she’d never forgotten the time when soap, scent and bubble bath were in short supply in her life. Right now her slovenly state was the least of her concerns. ‘No, I don’t have an appointment, and I would normally make one, but this is an emergency.’
The woman pursed her lips. ‘Take a seat, Mrs . . . ?’
‘McCarrick. I’m Connor and Declan’s mum,’ she added. She pictured the boys, at that very moment somewhere in this building, heads down and pens poised, without any idea of how their future rested on what might happen in the next few minutes. It made her feel sick all over again. She thought about the bag back in the car, full of vomit, from which she had extracted her wallet, keys, make-up and phone.
‘Please take a seat and let me see if the Headmaster can squeeze you in.’ She gestured towards a sofa.
Nina sank into the luxurious cream cushions.
What are you going to say to him? How can you pay? Think! I’m losing my home. Our house! Our beautiful house! Where will we go? Her thoughts were so noisy and intrusive, she feared she might have shouted them out loud. She clamped her teeth tightly just in case.
A few minutes later the woman returned. ‘The Headmaster will see you now.’
‘Thank you.’ She breathed gratitude, unsure what her next port of call might have been had he refused. Standing on wobbly legs, she stepped towards the door. Her stomach churned with a familiar fear. It still petrified her, being in this building, having to interact with the educated and wealthy individuals who taught at or attended the school, even after a decade or more of doing just that. She knew it shouldn’t; she’d met enough of the upper crust to know that, just because someone had money, it didn’t mean they were smart, and just because they were educated, it didn’t mean their opinions were any more valid than hers. She remembered George’s mum trilling, while waving her bejewelled hands, ‘George hates all things green, pacifically Brussels sprouts – it’s an ongoing battle!’ Nina had fought the desire to shout, ‘You mean specifically! That’s the right word. I know this!’ Today the memory did little to bolster her.
The Headmaster’s study was designed to reassure you that your hard-earned cash was being well spent, and that every penny you ploughed into this fine establishment was a sound investment in your child’s future. The glass-fronted cabinet was bursting with trophies and photographs of the various sports teams holding shields and looking triumphant, and on the cork noticeboard next to it, the most recent good news item cut from a newspaper was strategically pinned.
‘Mrs McCarrick, how are you?’ He shook her hand, cupping her palm inside both of his.
She breathed out. This was a loaded question. Where to begin? She reminded herself to pace her words; there was a very real danger that she might simply vent the panic swirling inside her. She knew Mr Moor would respond best to a calm, logical discussion without a trace of hysteria.
‘It’s a very difficult time,’ she managed, sitting in the chair in front of his desk, which he indicated as he took his seat.
‘Of course. We were all so very sorry to hear about Mr McCarrick. Connor and Declan’s tutors were sent a bulletin and have been keeping a close eye on them.’ He nodded, his tone respectfully low.
‘Thank you,’ she offered sincerely; it meant a lot to know someone was looking out for them in her absence. ‘They’re coping amazingly well.’ She stopped; Connor wouldn’t have thanked her for being so personal with the Headmaster. She coughed to clear her throat, feeling embarrassed.
‘I had a call from Mr Paulson,’ she began.
‘Yes . . .’ He nodded, indicating that of this he was already aware.
‘There has been a bit of a mix-up with the fees.’
Again he nodded his neatly coiffed head. ‘A mix-up? How so?’
‘He told me they haven’t been paid in full for this term.’ She sucked her cheeks in, trying to summon the spit that might aid her speech.
‘That’s right, and so far, no monies have been paid for the last term either,’ he said steadily.
She felt her pseudo-confident façade all but disappearing.
‘The thing is, Mr Moor, I am at the moment sorting my situation with the accountant and would like to ask if it’s possible that I could delay payment.’ She spoke quickly, deciding not to take a pause and give him the chance to deny her request. ‘It won’t be for long – just until we have sorted our accounts. I am sure this isn’t the first time this has happened.’ She tried out a hesitant smile for good measure.
Mr Moor sighed. ‘No, not the first time.’ He gave a knowing smile. ‘And regretfully I must say to you what I say to all who make a similar request.’ He drew breath and gave a slow blink in a most reverential manner. ‘Everybody would like to eat in Michelin-starred restaurants, but when the pockets are empty, it simply isn’t possible. Without the funds, you would be turned away at the door.’
Nina stared at the man, astonished, hating his well-practised, glib response. It felt all the more demeaning in the face of her situation.
‘And I’m afraid that even if it were within my hands to action such a deferment, it might not be advisable. I have never in my experience known a financial problem to get less knotty with more time and with more debt accruing. Quite the opposite, in fact.’ He smiled, his perfect teeth glinting at her. ‘And trust me, the only people who suffer with such a delay are those to whom the monies are owed.’
Nina sat forward in the chair. Placing her fingertips on the edge of his desk and fighting the desire to explode, she implored, ‘I don’t think you understand, Mr Moor. My boys have lost their father, things are in a state of flux, and I am just about hanging on.’ This admission caused tears to prick her eyes. ‘The one constant the boys have is their school. All I am asking is for a bit of flexibility.’
‘I think the school has already shown a lot of flexibility. The fact that the fees are unpaid in full for this current term should have instantly precluded them from returning after the Christmas break, but we gave Mr McCarrick the benefit of the doubt.’
‘You . . . you spoke to him?’ This was news to her.
‘Yes. He sat where you are now and his speech was pretty much the same as yours, give or take the odd word.’
She pushed her thighs against the seat, feeling the now familiar flash of humiliation at being kept in the dark. She swiped the beads of sweat from her forehead with her palm. ‘I didn’t know this, Mr Moor, and all I am asking is for a little bit more time.’ She had no idea where she could get the money from, but she would find a way.
‘And I am trying to tell you that you have already had more time. And that time has, sadly, run out,’ he said flatly.
Nina shook her head, feeling the anger rise. ‘I don’t believe this. Connor is about to enter his exam year. He plays his rugby here, it’s where all his friends are, and it’s all he has ever known. Declan, too – they are Kings Norton boys!’ Her voice was rising uncontrollably.
‘And we have given them the very best education during their time here, and we of course wish them every success for the future.’ He lifted his chin as if in conclusion.
‘We have paid over half a million pounds to this school – more if we consider the donations, prizes, trips, sports events . . .’ She shook her head. ‘And now, when I am most vulnerable, when I have come to you to ask for help, this is how you treat me?’
‘I can assure you it’s not personal, Mrs McCarrick. We are a business and these are the rules, and if I break the rules for you, I have to break the rules for all, and we wouldn’t last very long like that, would we?’ His condescension made it sound like he were chastising a child.
‘Not personal?’ She levelled her gaze at him. ‘You make the kids sound like any other commodity, but they are little boys with fragile natures and hearts.’ Her voice cracked. ‘We paid that huge sum of money to your school because we believed you were going to help make our sons into good people, lovely citizens of the planet, but if this is their example, if this is how you treat people in need . . .’
‘We have fourteen pupils with offers for Oxford and Cambridge this year. That’s quite something.’
She stared at him. ‘What has that got to do with anything? Are they nice people? Are those kids happy?’
‘I think we are done here, Mrs McCarrick.’ He reached for a sheet of paper and seated his glasses on his nose, as if to show he had other matters to attend to. ‘I wish your boys well, but it’s just the way it is. Kings Norton is an expensive club, and membership costs.’
Nina stood up and spoke steadily and clearly. ‘I feel angry. Not at you – at myself, for ever thinking that this was a club I wanted my boys to belong to.’
The Headmaster looked up at her with narrowed eyes, and adjusted his spectacles. ‘Now I am most confused. Only minutes ago you were asking that they be allowed to remain.’
His condescension was the final straw. Nina drew on her life before she had married, before she had been given access to wander within these esteemed walls, before she had been told the right and wrong way of behaving. Leaning on the desk, she spoke levelly. ‘Screw you, Mr Moor.’
She swept from the building, hoping that Finn’s parting shot had been similar.
Give or take the odd word.
Nina drove over to the nearby lay-by, where she sat in her usual spot. Her legs shook. She put the heater on, until she realised her tremors were due to fear and adrenaline and not the temperature.
‘Eight million pounds, Finn? I can’t believe it. It won’t sink into my head!’ She spoke to her reflection in the windscreen, alarmed by the expression of naked fear that greeted her.
She used the time waiting for the kids to come out of school to phone their lawyer.
‘I am so sorry for your loss. I liked Finn. I liked him very much.’ Mr Firth sounded choked.
‘He liked you too.’ She rubbed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. ‘I wanted to ask you about the will?’
‘It is pretty much as we discussed before. Finn stated that in the event of his death, everything is left to you, after any and all outstanding debts have been met, yada yada, the usual.’ He paused.
‘But that’s what I am concerned about, Mr Firth. There is so much debt.’
‘Yes, I am now aware of the situation.’ He spoke softly, thankfully sparing her the need to elaborate.
‘I suppose my question is, is there anything we can do to keep some money or hide something? I know how that sounds, and I don’t mean anything illegal. I’m just trying to find a way to keep my kids’ heads above water.’
His response sent a bolt of anxiety through her gut.
‘I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that kind of planning. If we had known the bankruptcy was looming, or just how bad things were, we might have been able to do something, put stuff in others’ names, that kind of thing. But we didn’t know. It all came about very quickly. I know Finn tried all he could to get the sales through quicker, but he ran out of time. I’m as shocked as you.’
He ran out of time . . . The phrase spun around her head. Didn’t he just. Nina tried to imagine his face as the car broke through the barrier and careered down the embankment. Was he afraid or calm? Shocked or resigned? Nina shook her head, refusing to believe that her husband’s death was anything other than a terrible accident.
She held the phone close to her face, feeling the last of her safety ropes sliced clean by the blade of the lawyer’s reasoning.
‘There is a life insurance policy.’
‘There is?’ For the first time since she could remember, she felt a surge of hope ripple through her. It was hard not to give in to a smile of relief.
‘Oh, that’s great news!’ She threw her head back, offering up a silent prayer of thanks.
She heard the lawyer swallow. ‘It’s not as wonderful as you might think.’ His words were a pin that deflated her bubble of happiness. ‘It pays about a million pounds, but that money will be considered part of Finn’s assets and will be taken to help settle some of the debt. I know the house is being taken, and the creditors will all be trying to grab what they can, knowing they are one of many who are owed, and if they don’t pounce first or shout loudest, they might end up with nothing.’
‘How much can the bailiffs take?’
He let out a sigh, as if reluctant to answer the question. ‘In short, anything of value that isn’t a structural fixture or is on your person, so your wedding ring and such is safe, but other than that, pretty much everything, unless an item can be proved to be of educational necessity or a disability aid, that kind of thing.’
‘Oh God, I need to go and move stuff. I need to go and hide things! I need to get boxes from the basement, and I need to act fast!’
‘Yes,’ he confirmed, with what sounded like relief.
Nina cracked the window a little, grateful for the lifting breeze in the small, safe space. She found it hard to concentrate on any one thing as a tsunami of thoughts and ideas tumbled through her mind. She pictured tearing through the house looking for what might be of most value before the bailiffs arrived – and then where would they go? Where on earth would they go? She pictured her boys’ faces as she told them they would not be coming back to school. Both ideas were too horrific to contemplate. She thought about their friends, neighbours and acquaintances who had brought casseroles to the house, written heartfelt cards of sympathy and held her tightly but briefly upon leaving. She pictured her brothers-in-law, wondering if they could help. Who did she feel comfortable asking for money from? How many of them could she confidently pick up the phone to and ask if they could all come and stay for a while . . . ? The horrible truth was that she didn’t know. She made the decision to hit the phone the moment she got home.
‘I’m so sorry, Mrs McCarrick.’ She jumped at the sound of his voice; she was so lost in her thoughts she had quite forgotten he was on the end of the line.
‘Yes.’ Everyone was sorry; it didn’t help her one jot.
‘I know it’s probably of little comfort, but we have a farm out at Saltford. There are empty barns and a lot of space. If you need storage – and you might – please let me send one of the horseboxes down to collect and keep anything you might want for you for as long as you need.’
‘Thank you. I will think about what I need to pack and how to get it done.’
‘Please do. And I can’t stress enough that time is of the essence.’
‘Right. Thank you.’ She knew she had to go home and start making calls and packing, but wished she could instead run, and keep running.
‘It’s the least I can do for Finn. He was a good man and often did me a favour. We wanted a stable block converting to holiday lets. McCarrick Construction did a magnificent job and his invoice was very fair. Anyway’ – he coughed – ‘the offer’s there.’
‘Thank you.’
Minutes later she heard the glorious, familiar sound of her son’s laughter.
She rolled her window down a sliver further, watching Connor and his friends approach through the rearview mirror.
‘No way!’ Charlie shouted, and shoved George on the arm. ‘I think you like her and this is your way of distracting us, by ribbing me.’
‘I don’t!’ George protested, ‘I like Florence, which is pointless because she thinks I’m a dick.’
‘Because you are a dick,’ Charlie added.
‘Thanks for that!’ George laughed. ‘And as for you, Connor, not only are you a dick, but you are an unpopular dick, and girls like Phoebe only go out with the popular boys. She is way out of your league.’
Connor placed his hand on his heart and feigned being wounded. She could see from his hesitant stance that he was trying to join in, trying for normal, as if he weren’t living under the wearying shadow of grief. ‘Hey, I know I’m not popular, but playing rugby for the first team can’t harm my chances.’
‘Mate, it’s your only chance!’ Charlie slapped his friend’s back.
The sound of their comical banter and easy laughter made Nina’s stomach lurch. She remembered when she had enrolled Connor into the primary school, the pride she felt at being able to drop into conversation that her boy was going to be attending. It had felt wonderful. In her mind, it elevated her, as tangible proof that she had risen above her life of hardship. She was no longer a poor girl from Portswood, Southampton: her son went to Kings Norton College, and that was really something. She wore her wealth like a suit of armour; it offered protection from all that had frightened her growing up. Marrying the newly wealthy Finn meant she didn’t have to worry about hunger, discomfort or displacement; their financial position gave her stability. Or so she had believed.
‘Smoke and mirrors,’ she whispered, ‘smoke and mirrors,’ as she watched her boy flick his long fringe from his eyes before opening the door to the passenger seat.
‘How was your day, love?’ she asked, as calmly as she could manage.
‘Okay,’ he responded as he pulled his phone from his pocket and began texting, likely someone who he had seen in person not a minute before.
‘I saw you chatting to George and Charlie. What are they up to?’
Connor shrugged. ‘Not much.’
Nina nodded and stared ahead. Today silence was welcome.
Soon Declan appeared – relatively chatty, though a little more subdued than was usual, but that was no less than she expected. She did her best to nod in the right places, but all she could think of was telling the boys of the situation they were in. So many questions spun in her mind. Would it be better to tell them right away and give them a chance to say goodbye to their teachers, their friends? Or to give them one more night of blissful, uninterrupted sleep, and let them enjoy the normality of their routine? If only she could consult with Finn. Nina pictured him again, leaving for work with a smile and a wink, sipping his coffee and kissing her on the cheek.
‘I could have helped. You could have trusted me. I would have liked that chance.’
‘What?’ Connor turned his head towards her.
‘Nothing.’ She cleared her throat, surprised that she had spoken out loud.
Nina pulled into the driveway and tried to hold the front door key steady in her shaking hand. It was hard not to consider how many more times she would perform this ritual, walking into the only proper home she and her boys had ever known. Her eyes lingered on the decadent vase of blooms and the wide, plush staircase. Suddenly she felt the flush of wonder at the magnificence of it all, just as she had when they had first moved in: when it took an age to sink in that this fine property was actually hers, it was her key that fitted the lock! She had the same feeling she got when a wonderful holiday was coming to an end. The sight of the sea in stunning moonlit iridescence, the sand that felt extra fine under the soles of her tanned feet, the clink of ice in a glass . . . The whole house was suddenly alive with the same awe she felt on the first day she saw it, because she knew that, very soon, she would be leaving it all behind. A little voice in her head spoke calmly: You didn’t really think this was your life, did you, Nina? Didn’t really think that someone like you deserved all this?
She looked at the grain of the front door and committed it to memory. Her heart lurched at the prospect of what might come next. Where might they go? It was as if the problem were too huge to consider, and she could only see the vast sum of money, as if written on a cheque in the air: Eight million pounds . . .
‘When you’re ready.’ Connor stood slightly to her right and nodded at the door, irritated by his mum’s unhurried pace.
The boys dumped their bags at the foot of the stairs and clambered up to their bedrooms. She stood frozen in the foyer. What had she done with her life, other than marry well? She had sworn when she left Portswood that she would never be poor again, that she would accomplish something, take up nursing – the profession that had called to her during her childhood, perhaps a result of losing her mum and wanting to learn, as best she could, how to fix people. But what had she actually done? Other than becoming a mum and learning how to arrange flowers? Not much. Without Finn and his money, she was helpless.
The reverie broke. Nina walked briskly into the kitchen and flicked the switch. The light reflected the diamond-like sparkle in the black granite counter-tops.
She pictured herself at eight years of age, standing with a chipped plate held to her chest, turning in a circle, looking for a place to sit or stand to eat the stew her gran had made for supper, the thick gravy of which threatened to slop from the shallow sides with every move she made. ‘Sit and eat! You’re making me dizzy,’ Gran had shouted, but that was the trouble: she couldn’t find a space. The chairs were piled high with laundry, both clean and dirty, and the drop-leaf table was crowded with all manner of clutter: a stack of newspapers, and seedlings that had taken root in the soil-filled bottoms of old cordial bottles, which had been lopped in half for this very purpose. There was a pair of boots with one sole flapping like a thirsty mouth, awaiting glue, and a fancy padded rainbow-filled box of make-up that belonged to her Aunty June. How she would have loved to stick her little hands inside and dabble in the unknown, plaster her face with the powders and preparations that her aunt was so deft with, applied liberally before she went out on the town in her short, short skirts. But she was too shy to ask.
‘For the love of God, sit down and eat your bloody tea!’ her gran had barked again. Nina jumped, her daydream of blue sparkly eyeshadow broken, and suddenly the gravy was dripping like a sludgy, dark waterfall over her white school shirt, onto her skirt, and dribbling onto the hairy carpet.
‘Sweet Jesus!’ her gran had shouted, which meant another jump of fear and the chewy blocks of stewing steak tumbling like tiny meat rocks down her front. The dog ran over, hoovering up the treat and licking at the carpet. Tiggy laughed into her hand, her grandad turned his doughy face away, as if he might be able to distance himself from the whole affair. Nina remembered looking up at her gran, her legs shaking as she waited to feel the full force of her wrath . . .
Nina shook the memory from her mind. She needed to focus. She picked up the phone and called Finn’s brother Anthony, rehearsing in her head what she might say. ‘Hi, Anthony, I know this is a little out of the blue, but we need somewhere to stay . . .’ You can’t just blurt that! She tried again. ‘Hello Anthony, I was hoping to ask you a favour . . .’ She felt a combination of relief and disappointment when the answering machine eventually kicked in. ‘Hi, Anthony, it’s Nina, erm . . . if you could give me a shout, that would be great. Thanks.’
Michael answered her call immediately. ‘Nina, it’s good to hear from you.’ She felt uncomfortable at his intonation, as if the lack of contact could be laid squarely on her shoulders, hers the responsibility to call him, and not the other way around. ‘How are you?’ He kept his tone low.
She closed her eyes, as if the words might flow better if she could hide a little. ‘Not so good actually, Michael.’
‘I’m sure. That was a daft question, of course you’re not good. I can’t believe he’s gone, so God only knows what it’s like for you and the kids.’
She felt her muscles unknot a little at his words of empathy. ‘The thing is, Michael, we are in a bit of a fix.’
‘Oh?’
Nina steadied herself against the counter-top. ‘We need to get out of the house, it’s being sold, and I was wondering if we might be able to come and stay with you and Marjorie for a bit.’
‘Come and stay with us?’ His tone made the request sound ridiculous.
‘Yes,’ she managed.
She heard him swallow. ‘For how long?’
‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t ask if we weren’t desperate.’ She pictured her dad, hands in his pockets, asking at the next shop, ‘I need a job. I need it, man. I have two kids, and things are tight . . .’ She remembered the stench of desperation that had hung around him and the way he turned to her after each rejection with a big false smile that made her tummy flip. She now knew how he felt. And it killed her.
‘Desperate?’
She ignored the humorous inflection to his question.
‘Yes. We are bankrupt. Things are pretty bad.’
‘Wow. Bankrupt, really? I’m shocked. How come?’
She paused. ‘I guess a combination of things outside of our control, one thing too many for us to cope with, and things have folded.’
‘I feel terrible, Nina, of course I want to help you out, but we are tight on space. Marjorie’s mum lives with us now and so that’s the spare room gone.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Yes, ever since her fall . . .’ His voice trailed off.
She felt her energy fade. ‘Does Anthony have the space?’ she pushed.
‘He’s just sold his house. He and Netta are downsizing to a flat in Bournemouth, but not before going on a three-month cruise. Their stuff is in storage. I don’t know what else to suggest.’
‘That’s okay, Michael,’ she lied.
‘Look, if you are really stuck, then of course you can all come and crash on the lounge floor for a night or two.’
She noted the way his volume had dropped, as if hiding this offer from Marjorie. It told her all she needed to know.
The call finished with the usual politeness and she stared out of the window, her eyes roving the covered wood store. It gave her an idea.
‘Just stepping out for a minute, boys – be right back!’ she called up the stairs. She walked out into the dark, making her way along the winding road, using her phone as a torch. Before she lost her nerve, she knocked on Mrs Appleton’s door. The neighbour had been one of the first to arrive in the wake of the news of Finn’s passing, and had brought a peach cobbler, along with a prayer card. Nina closed her eyes, thinking she might be the answer to her particular prayer.
‘Oh, Nina! Hello, dear.’ The old woman spoke with clear relief that she recognised the person rapping on the door in the dark, her gnarled hand at her chest.
‘Mrs Appleton, I am sorry to disturb you, and this is going to sound like a very odd request.’
The woman’s brow wrinkled with curiosity as she remained half hidden behind the door.
‘The boys and I need somewhere to stay for a while and I was wondering if you had ever considered having lodgers here, or whether we might stay in your guest lodge in the garden?’ The low, flat-roofed building sat at the bottom of her rambling garden.
‘A lodger?’ The old lady fingered her pearl necklace.
‘Yes. I wouldn’t ask, only we are a bit stuck.’ Nina tried out the false smile that had stood her dad in good stead for all those years. ‘We would be no trouble and only clutter up a couple of your bedrooms, or as I mentioned, we could take the guest lodge?’
‘It’s a trailer!’ Mrs Appleton pointed out.
‘Yes, it would be fine. We’d be happy out there.’
The woman shook her head. ‘It would not be fine. You would not be happy out there. It’s out of the question. It has a big hole in the roof. It’s waterlogged, ready for knocking down – no one can stay in it.’
‘I see.’ Nina took a step closer. ‘Well, then how would you feel about having lodgers in your home for a while?’ It took all her courage to be this pushy, but desperate times called for desperate measures. ‘I’d be happy to pay, Mrs Appleton. I have some money and can get more, once Finn’s affairs are settled.’
‘I don’t want your money! Good Lord!’ The woman’s lip curled in repugnance as she retreated a little further inside. ‘And lodging here is out of the question too. Mr Busby hates strangers and noise and children.’
‘Mr Busby?’
‘My cat.’
‘But . . . but we are people, and we need help, and I am asking you for that help, and he is a cat! A cat!’ She hadn’t meant to raise her voice.
The old woman pushed the door until she was speaking through a small crack. ‘You can’t come here in the dead of night and shout at me!’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout at you,’ Nina stammered. She chose not to point out that it was only teatime.
‘And the fact is, Mr Busby is my cat and this is his home.’ With that, she closed the door and the light disappeared from inside the hallway.
Nina retreated into the dark, walking along the lane with her heart hammering in her chest. Grinding her teeth, she felt the stirring of anger, even hatred, towards the man she grieved for. He had placed them in this situation and she had been swept along like flotsam on the tide. ‘What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Finn?’ she shouted into the night air. She whipped her head around to check no one was within hearing distance.
Back in the kitchen she grabbed two fat steaks from the fridge and then got to work on the onion rings and fresh garden peas. Preparing the food helped block out all the upsetting and intrusive thoughts that rattled around inside her skull. After supper she would start to pack.
She called to the boys to come and eat. Eventually both boys loped into the kitchen and took up their regular seats at the table. She hovered, sipping a glass of water. The boys ate quickly, eager to get back to their rooms where they too could drop the act and do as they pleased.
‘I need my kit for the holiday training, Mum.’ Connor swallowed a chunk of steak. ‘Coach says he wants me to bulk up a bit, so more protein, and I’m going to start lifting some weights.’
She gave a small nod. ‘Have you ever thought about joining another rugby club outside of school?’ She hoped she sounded nonchalant.
Both Connor and Declan let out loud bursts of laughter, as if she had told the funniest joke in the world.
‘Another rugby club?’ Connor stared at her. ‘There is no better place to play rugby. We have produced more England players than any other school. We are at the top of the school league for the fifth year in a row. We have pitches that professional teams come and practise on. The squad is trained by an ex-international coach. What other club could top that?’
‘I just thought it might be nice to meet other people, broaden your horizons a bit.’ Nina busied herself at the sink.
Connor returned to his supper, as if her suggestion were so crazy it didn’t even warrant a reply. When his plate was clean, he scooted his chair back from the table. ‘Thanks,’ he called as he raced up the stairs.
Declan laid his knife and fork on his plate. ‘Mum?’
‘Yes, darling?’ She looked up. ‘Oh, Dec, don’t cry.’ She rushed to him and held him close in a hug.
‘When I start laughing, I start to cry. It’s like my eyes won’t let me feel happy. They remind me that Dad died.’ He pulled away so he could see her face. ‘And today was horrible. Something keeps . . . keeps happening to me,’ he stammered.
‘What keeps happening?’
‘I was chatting to Harri and I forgot, Mum. I forgot. I forgot about Dad. And I was looking forward to telling him about my Chemistry project and was going to ask him if he had any more ideas about the holidays, and then I remembered he wasn’t here any more and I couldn’t breathe and I got a pain here’ – he touched his fingers to his breastbone – ‘and Harri got me a glass of water and told Mrs Dupré.’
‘That was kind of Harri.’ She smoothed his thick, dark hair. ‘One thing I do know is that Daddy wouldn’t want you to be sad when you thought about him. He always wanted to make us happy.’ She was aware of the slight rush to her words; the phrases felt slightly sour in her mouth. She saw Mrs Appleton closing the front door on her, pictured Mr Monroe as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, saying, ‘Things are not good . . .’ She was unsure of what his dad would say or want, unsure of the man she had been married to for all these years, the man who had consigned them all to live in a downward spiral over which she had no control. It was awful to feel the cracks appear in the love she had for him, knowing there was no chance of seeing him, of making it right.
‘I can’t feel happy, Mum. I miss him so much.’
Her son’s tears fell anew and it was all she could do not to sink to her knees and cry with him.
After the boys were tucked up in their beds, Nina crept into Finn’s study and switched on the desk lamp and the computer. She let her fingers trail the bookshelves and wondered where to start, unsure of what she was looking for. The computer blinked at her, requesting a password. She went through all of their names, and then tried the places they had visited and loved, all to no avail; Finn had clearly gone for something less obvious. She then entered the same all over again, but added their ages or the dates they had made the trips, anything she could think of, hoping to get lucky.
She didn’t.
‘You bloody fool, Nina!’
Frustration made her slap the desktop, which only served to sting her palm. She flexed and splayed her fingers, trying to ease the sharp pain. She pulled open the deep bottom drawer of the desk and found a black leather folder. It was empty, but inside the metal rings had pressed into the soft contours of the calf leather, suggesting that it had once been full of weighty documents.
‘Why would you empty your folders? How long were you hiding things from me?’ she whispered, running her hands through her hair and feeling the anger grow in her gut. ‘How could you do this to me, Finn?’
In the middle drawer under a stack of boating magazines was a bundle of letters, only about half of which had been opened, from a company called Mackintosh and Vooght. They had all been addressed to the business premises in Bradford-on-Avon, and each one was branded with ugly red letters ‘URGENT’ and ‘DO NOT IGNORE’. She could only imagine how it must have felt to receive these daily, and again pictured the mask he wore, his jovial tone, kidding her that all was well, letting her pore over swatches of fabric for the new curtains in the spare room – and all the while he was edging backwards, each step taking him closer to the cliff edge . . . His subterfuge hit her again and filled her with rage.
‘Pay now in full or we will have no choice but to commence proceedings to recover,’ she read aloud. ‘Each missed payment is incurring an added penalty of five per cent over and above your original debt . . .’ Nina couldn’t bear to look at any more. She returned them to the drawer and closed it. As she moved the keyboard of the computer, the desk jotter shifted and she saw something underneath. She picked up the keyboard and found a white envelope underneath.
‘Nina,’ she read in her husband’s instantly recognisable hand.
Her heart jumped. He had written to her? Her fingers shook as she balanced the slim envelope on her palm and brought it to her nose, inhaling the faintest scent of his smoky cologne. Slowly, carefully, she turned it over in the lamplight, finding it was open. The letter inside was just three lines long. She knew her husband’s script well and could tell instantly that it had been written hurriedly.
Her heart felt like it might leap from her chest as she scanned the words.
My Nina,
Things are hard for me – I feel like I am living in a world made of glass & with every day comes a new pressure that is pushing down down down & I don’t know what will break first, me or my world . . .
That was all.
She held the paper to her chest, then looked at it again. She turned it over and scanned it a second time, a third, ridiculously hoping that under closer scrutiny new words or vital information might suddenly appear. She was thankful that she was sitting, fearing she might faint otherwise. She pictured his face on the morning he left the house for the last time. There had been no clue that anything was amiss. She was sure that if he had been in an altered state of mind she would have seen it, sensed it. The little voice echoed in her mind again.
Would you really, Nina? He kept all of this from you! You were clueless, in the dark.
Tears dripped from her chin as she scanned the lines again. She thought of Mr Monroe’s words: ‘And I hate to think that I am the one who might be shedding light on Finn’s untimely death . . .’
Nina began to shake. She reread the note, feeling fairly certain that this was the beginning of her husband’s goodbye.
She folded the letter, placed it in her pocket and ran out of the room, across the soft carpet of the landing and down the stairs, grabbing her car keys from the hall table en route. Creeping from the house, she locked the front door and ran to the car.
She carefully, slowly, turned the car around despite her shaking hands, and drove through the gates. When she cleared the gravel drive she put her foot down. Hard. Her heart thumped as she increased her speed, racing through streets slick with the residue of rainfall.
The note seemed to pulse in her pocket. She saw the words vividly imprinted in her mind. Her knuckles twisted against the leather of the steering wheel, gripping it so hard her fingers turned white. Every muscle was coiled, tense, expectant. She screeched around bends, head down, ignoring the speedometer and racing up and down the gears. Let the police try to stop her; she was in the mood for a fight. Suddenly there she was: on the top ridge in Alexandra Park.
She parked under a large tree and cut the engine. She balled her fists and punched the steering wheel as hard as she could, over and over, thumping her head back on the headrest repeatedly.
‘What have you done? What have you done to us, Finn? Eight million pounds! Eight million pounds!’ she screamed. ‘How did you manage that? You have destroyed us! Destroyed our lives and now it seems there is the chance that you took yourself out of the bloody equation, just jumped and left us to cope without you . . . How could you do that to me, to the kids? How could you? Did you do that? Did you leave me on purpose?’ Tears of anger, frustration and sadness choked her.
She jumped out of the car and paced back and forth, before kicking the wheel with all her might. ‘How could you? You bastard!’ she screamed at the top of her voice. An owl hooted its response. Under any other circumstances this might have made her laugh, but not tonight. ‘Sod off!’ she shouted at the poor creature as it fled.
She slunk back to the car and climbed inside, where she laid her head on the steering wheel, feeling all of her energy seep out of her. She stared over the hills and down the ridge towards the city she loved, then closed her eyes for a moment.
When she tried to open them, they were stuck together with a thick paste of mascara and tears.
‘The thing is, if you left me by choice, then I didn’t know you, and if you felt you couldn’t tell me about our situation, then you didn’t know me. And if that is the case then what did we have, Finn? I feel like I have been living a lie and I don’t know how much more I can take.’
She stared at the twinkling lights of the city, muted in the haze of rain; they looked like amber-coloured stars. She had come up here with Finn when they first met, both intent on getting the kissing business out of the way, both nervous, shy. In his newly acquired flashy car, they had sat awkwardly until she suggested they best go home. ‘My dad’ll be waiting for me . . .’ she had offered, knowing that even the confident Finn wouldn’t want to upset Big Joe.
She felt her face collapse, thinking of everyone she loved who had gone: her mamma, dad, gran, grandad, aunts, uncles and her Finn. She looked up through the window and wondered how many of them were trying to offer comfort and support from a place so out of reach. She pressed her head to the glass and whispered, hoping her words would rise up and reach them, ‘You need to try harder. I need more help. I feel like I am falling apart and I don’t know how much longer I can hang on.’
Slowly she drove up to the house and cut the engine. Every sound seemed magnified. Once safely inside, she peeped in on the boys; both slept soundly. Padding across the landing, Nina walked straight to the bedroom, where she teetered past her dressing room and bathroom, shunning her usual bedtime routine of make-up removal and teeth cleaning. She threw herself down onto the bed, where she buried her face in her husband’s sweatshirt and cried until she ran out of tears. She hated that her memory of him was changing, distorting the last solid foundation on which her life was built. She looked around the bedroom. It made her sad and reflective to be placing her marriage under a microscope in a way that she knew she never would have done had Finn not been killed. This only confused her even more. She felt bereft and lonely and despite her muddle of thoughts would have given anything to feel his arms around her.
Eventually she sat up and held the covered pillow to her chest. She rested against the headboard of their wide bed. A fresh wave of tears found their way to the surface; Nina scooted them away with her sleeve and wished they would stop, beyond exhausted by her sadness. She stared into the darkness of the night. The only light came from the walkway to the terrace where muted beams illuminated the path to the house. She had not changed the bed linen since his death, unable to think that the essence of him would be laundered away, preferring to sleep with his scent on the softened sheets and the feel of him around her, cocooning her in the night, soothing away the nightmares.
Only this wasn’t a nightmare, it was her real, waking life and she didn’t know how she was going to survive it.