Accidents Happen (30 page)

‘Hmm?’

Kate looked up at the sky. ‘Your chances of both your chutes not opening. Well, actually one in ten thousand of each chute not opening, so one in a million of both chutes not opening. And knowing my luck, Mrs Seven Times Hit by Lightning. Well, it has to be someone, doesn’t it. . .?’

Jago sighed. ‘Your luck is more or less the same as anyone else’s, Kate, I keep telling you. The same as that old guy on his canal boat right now, thinking, “Why me? Why my rowing boat and no one else’s?” You and I both know that our decision was random. It wasn’t about him, in particular. But tonight you fucked with the crime statistics. Thefts in Oxford have just gone up, reported or not. It’s that simple.’

Jago lay back.

Kate realized she didn’t want to talk any more.

They lay there for a while, side by side, as they had done in the secret garden a week ago, but this time touching. Gradually, she became aware of a small patch of warmth on her skin. Glancing down, she saw that Jago’s hand, which was resting on her stomach, was located just where her jumper had ridden up, exposing an inch of skin.

She shut her eyes, listening to the distant sounds of traffic and chatter in the nearby High Street, savouring the sensation.

Willing his finger to move.

She wasn’t even sure how it happened, when it did. Whether he moved his finger or she breathed deeply, pushing it slightly with the motion.

But there was friction.

A tiny movement of skin on skin.

Kate heard her own breathing deepen into the warm night.

And this time, when his finger moved, there was no confusion about its intention. Kate kept her eyes closed as Jago, slowly and quietly, trailed the edge of his nail across her side. She heard his weight shift. Knew he was now watching her.

His finger moved further, tracing tiny distances back and forward under her jumper, his own breathing becoming louder close to her ear. This is strange for him, too, she reminded herself. His first time, possibly, with someone new since Marla. Tracing new maps on a new body. Exploring.

Either way, he wasn’t in a hurry. As if he sensed her self-consciousness at being touched after so long, he trailed his fingernail lightly and slowly across her stomach, giving her a chance to stop him at each border, his breathing gentle beside her ear. Higher and higher his finger moved, circling her belly button, tracing across the mild stretch marks left by Jack, up the sides of her torso, making her shiver, till she felt it find its way across the bottom of her bra strap and wait there a while.

He kept her gaze, watching, as he slowly lifted the cup of her new bra with his finger, pulled it down. He waited for her to stop him. When she didn’t, it moved inside.

Where his fingertip came, gently, to rest.

Kate inhaled deeply and lifted her head, seeking out his lips with hers. His lips met hers and . . .

Suddenly, a guitar began to play right beside them. They both opened their eyes and looked at each other confused.

‘Phone.’ Jago sat up, scrabbling around, letting Kate go.

‘Quick, in case that bloke hears it,’ Kate whispered, looking behind her into the meadow.

‘Shit. Fuck,’ Jago swore, pressing buttons in the dark.

The screen went bright. ‘Fuck,’ he mouthed at Kate, holding up a hand. Jago jumped to his feet.

‘Hello?’ There was a pause. ‘Oh, hi. How are you? . . .’

Kate sat up, straightening up her bra and jumper. He rolled his eyes at her. ‘No, I did get it. I’m just . . . busy . . .’

Kate felt her heart sink. Marla.

‘Well, what do you mean, you’re going to . . .?’ Jago’s voice took on a stern tone. ‘That’s not what we said . . . I mean. Look. Marla. Can I call you back in half an hour? I’m in the . . . library.’

He shrugged a ‘sorry’ at Kate.

‘OK. Ring me then.’

He put the phone down and sighed.

‘Shit, shit, shit. Sorry!’ he groaned. ‘I didn’t mean to answer it. I pressed the wrong button.’ He looked at Kate apologetically, leaned down with a small groan and hugged her tightly in her arms. He looked around at the bikes. ‘I’m going to have to go and sort this out. She’s a bit . . .’

Kate waved a hand. ‘Look. Don’t worry. It sounds complicated.’

‘Trust me, it was. We spent last year flying back and forwards across the Atlantic for the weekends to sort it out, then just arguing when we got there. But, listen, I do need to sort this out, Kate.’ He dropped his hand onto her cheek. ‘She wants to come to London tomorrow. There’s no rush here, is there? We have plenty of time, yes?’

Tomorrow? Kate tried not to show her disquiet at the news.

Instead, she made herself nod and he pulled her up, and hugged her again. ‘She’s not going to let this go, so I need to sort it, so you and I can get on with what we’re doing, OK?’ She nodded against his chest, realizing she was becoming more familiar with the shape, the wide, neat boxer’s shoulders, the flat muscular wall of his chest.

She had to trust him.

Both their lives were complicated. Jago’s eyes drifted. ‘Hey, look,’ he murmured, jerking his head.

The rowing boat was drifting in the current.

‘We can still take it back. Do you want to?’

She thought of the poor man with his wet dreadlocks, and the truth was that she really did want to take it back. But this exercise was about making a leap of faith. And Jago had taken a risk himself to help her, however mad it might seem, by stealing the boat. The least she could do was to try to let him help her.

So she shook her head, realizing she didn’t want to laugh any more.

‘OK, then, well done,’ Jago said, packing up quickly and climbing on his bike. She followed. He leaned over and looked at her intently.

‘You have amazing eyes, you know?’ he said. ‘I know it sounds cheesy, but I have to say it. I was trying to think what they remind me of. It was this lake I saw in India once in a sunset. Looked like the water was made of liquid gold.’

He hugged her again. Kate stayed in his embrace for a second, her anxiety about lifejackets and being arrested and drowning and lorries and sleepovers all put away for a little while. Replaced by one single thought.

Marla.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Saskia switched Kate’s dishwasher on, turned out the light and shut the kitchen door into the hallway, checking the clock as she went.

Kate was late tonight.

Had she gone out with this Jago character after her therapy?

Pausing in the hall to check there was no sound coming from Jack’s bedroom upstairs, she walked into the sitting room and put her cup down. Turning on a late-night arts panel programme for company, she sat on the sofa and pulled Kate’s laptop onto her lap.

Her face was burning with embarrassment.

Images of what had happened after work in town tonight kept coming back to her, turning her cheeks as pink as Mum’s.

If she’d walked out of the office five seconds later it wouldn’t have happened.

But she hadn’t. And there, in front of her, on the High Street, was her old flatmate from Oxford Brookes, Marianne, carrying a dry-cleaning bag, her brunette bob gleaming in the sunlight. Probably, Saskia thought bitterly, containing her dress from the thirtieth birthday party that Saskia had not been invited to on Saturday night in Charlbury.

‘Oh,’ they both uttered awkwardly. ‘Hi.’

Marianne glanced about nervously, as if seeking an escape route. ‘How are you, Sass?’ There was a chill to her voice.

‘Good, thanks. How was your, um, birthday?’ Saskia asked, before she could help it. Back at college, it would’ve been unthinkable that they would not have been present at each other’s thirtieth.

‘Good,’ Marianne replied quietly. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t . . . it’s just, with Jonathan and Christian being friends, and . . .’

Saskia couldn’t help herself. ‘It’s OK, Marianne. How is he?’

Marianne pulled a face. ‘Um, OK, considering.’

Saskia felt a flush of hope. ‘Considering? You mean, considering the divorce?’ she asked. Was it possible Jonathan was having second thoughts?

Marianne shook her head sharply. A shadow of anger passed across her face. ‘No, Sass – considering what you did to him.’

Their eyes met for a second. Then Marianne glanced up the road. ‘Listen, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get the six o’clock train back.’ She lifted an arm awkwardly. ‘I’d better go.’

‘Bye.’

Saskia nodded, stunned. Jonathan had
told
Marianne? He’d sworn he’d never tell anyone! What, now the divorce papers were signed and the money was amicably divided – including the deposit Richard had given them for their house – he was breaking his side of the promise?

Saskia watched Marianne marching down the road, terror creeping over her. Marianne and her husband Christian used the same contractors as Dad. If they knew what she’d done, it wouldn’t be long before Dad did, too.

Saskia took a sip of tea, and sat back on Kate’s sofa, blinking even harder than normal. Her eyes felt dry and sore. She imagined Richard’s face when he received the news. Jonathan had been a coup for him. Bright, well-connected and successful on his own terms, yet never a threat to Dad. Everything Richard had wanted in a son-in-law. A perfect marriage to boast about at the golf club. Divorce had most certainly not been in Dad’s plans.

Saskia glanced at the laptop. If ever she needed to get away from Richard, it was now. Pulling up an application form, she read through what would be required of her.

Hugo had escaped. Now it was her turn.

It took Saskia half an hour to complete the first part of the application. As she stood up to fetch more tea, she heard a movement above her.

‘Where’s my mum?’ a voice said.

She looked up. Jack was leaning over the banister in his pyjamas.

‘Snores – you’ve got to get to sleep! It’s half ten on a school night. Your mum will be cross with me if she finds you up.’

‘Why’s she so late, though?’

Saskia sighed. Why did Kate always have to lie to him? ‘She’s just out with some friends.’

He gave her a look that said they both knew that wasn’t true.

‘Or one friend. I’m not sure, really. Maybe someone she works with.’

‘Mum works at home. By herself.’

Saskia exhaled and sat on the bottom step. Bloody Kate. Leaving this to her again. She tried to keep her voice reassuring.

‘Listen, Snores. Don’t worry too much about it. If you want to know where she is, just ask her. Going out is a normal thing for an adult to do. You’re just not used to her doing it, that’s all.’

He shrugged.

‘What’s that you’re reading?’ she said, trying to distract him.

‘Found it in the shed. It’s about maths and stuff.’

‘Is it, now, smartybum? Your dad was good at maths too. You get it from him. Well, it’s time for lights out, so see you later.’

But he stood there stubbornly.

‘Jack, what’s the matter? Are you hearing noises again? Want me to check in your wardrobe’

He shook his head. ‘But who’s she gone out with?’

Saskia stood up, tired of being the go-between. Kate needed to sort this out. ‘Listen, your mum will be back soon. Ask her tomorrow, OK? Now, listen, I have work to do. I’ll come and check you in a minute.’

She waited till he disappeared, then went to switch the kettle back on. She checked the oven clock, irritated with Kate. Nearly 10.45 p.m.

Where was her sister-in-law?

Magnus sat on the other side of the wall, upstairs, reading through Saskia’s application on his link to Kate’s laptop.

Interesting.

With luck, she’d come back soon. He liked this blonde one. Liked watching her close up on the screen. Those big green eyes and that little worried face that you just wanted to squeeze into a smile.

He stopped and picked up Jack’s football from the floor of his bedroom and twirled it on his finger.

‘Brr, brr, brr,’ he sang.

Next, he flicked on to Jack’s Facebook page, and then onto Jack’s friends’ pages.

His pale eyes widened behind his glasses as he looked at one belonging to ‘Gabe’. What was this? Sleeping on a trampoline on Saturday night. Out in the garden?

Magnus whooped loudly. The whoop of a man driving huskies across ice.

A bedroom door slammed down the hallway from his.

He made a face at the wall. These students weren’t being very friendly to him. One of them kept asking him suspiciously which course he was doing at Oxford Brookes because they never saw him there. He’d made up something that sounded real: integrated visual computer studies. ‘The smell comes right into my room,’ he heard the bony one whine in the kitchen last night.

Never mind. This would all be over soon.

The child burst out of the bedroom, ran down to the front door and exited, racing to the side of the house.

Father was emerging from the basement door. His face was the colour of dried clay. Dust had turned his hair grey.

‘Go there!’ he yelled, pointing far from the house.

But the child froze on the spot, looking up.

There were more snakes on the wall. They were everywhere. They were writhing and spitting and squeezing the house to death. Large chunks of brick were starting to crumble off the wall as their tails smashed into it. They were not even chunks, like pieces of cake, but like what was left when you pulled a Lego tower apart, no discernible shape, just oblongs sticking out of squares, rectangles with sloped ends, where they’d taken the trim of the next brick with them.

Father ran back, and picked up and spun the child away onto the grass. He stood there, his hands by his sides, making strange sobbing noises.

The child watched, transfixed. The chunks, coated with white plaster, were smashing into the path below. Mortar dust puffed into the air like smoke signals.

Then, as the child realized that life would never be the same again, a whole block of wall cracked, then slipped downwards, before picking up speed and landing with an enormous crash.

Eyes wide, the child watched the rocking horse come into view through the hole.