Little White Lies (69 page)

She woke with a start. The silence around her had intensified into something that was louder than sound. For a split second, she lost her sense of where she was. The distant roar of the sea hummed and shimmered all round her. The children. Where were the children? The thought clutched at her in terror. She scrambled to her feet. How long had she been asleep? She looked wildly one way and then the next . . . there was no one. She opened her mouth to shout their names but fear blocked her throat. She stumbled up the rough, tussocky incline of the dune behind her. Tiny dragonflies hovered, stopped on the air as she approached, then darted away again, blazing like matches where the sun caught their glassy wings. She stumbled forward, aware only of the blood drumming in her veins. Then she saw them – clustered around something, heads tightly bowed together – and the relief was so great she fell to her knees.

Back at the house, she found herself shrinking away from the excited chatter as the children fought with one another to show Clea and Adriana what they’d found, shout excitedly about what they’d seen. ‘There was a man with a fishing rod – he gave Didi one of his fish . . . see?’

‘And then we found this! Look!’

‘It’s
mine
, not yours, Josh!’

‘But I saw it first!’

‘No you didn’t! You just picked it up, that’s all!’

She turned away from the cacophony and yanked open the fridge door, avoiding Clea’s concerned glance. She pulled out a bottle of white wine and shut the door with her knee.

‘Will you have some lunch, Mrs B?’ Clea asked. ‘I can bring it up on a tray.’

‘No, no . . . I’m fine.’ She held up the bottle. ‘This’ll do me. I’m just going up to my room. Give me a shout if an emergency occurs.’

‘Will do. All under control, Mrs B, don’t you worry.’

Tash escaped before anything further could be said. The children didn’t even notice her going; they were absorbed in the all-important task of determining what belonged to whom, who’d seen it first, whose turn it was to tell Clea what they’d seen. She closed the door behind her and fairly galloped up the stairs.

It hadn’t gone too badly, she thought to herself as she switched on the television, poured herself a glass and lay back against the enormous white linen pillows. She’d spent four hours – four! – on the beach alone with her godchildren and, aside from that one dreadful moment at the end, it had all gone off smoothly. She wasn’t
quite
as bad at the whole looking-after-children thing as she’d feared.

TASH

She woke very early the following morning, soft, pale light filtering in through the curtains at the far end of the bedroom. Something had pulled her from sleep; she lay still for a moment, collecting her scattered, dream-like thoughts. A sound? A voice? Whatever it was, it had disappeared. There was nothing save the slow, even ticking of an unfamiliar clock on the dressing table and the even more unfamiliar sounds of birds as they swooped from the clump of trees bordering the gardens to the pool and back. The windows were open and the damp, sweet scent of flowers she didn’t recognise drifted in. She yawned and stretched luxuriously; another day of holiday, her last day on her own before Rebecca and Annick came back and the house filled up once more. Adam was due back first, then Rebecca and Julian and finally, in the late afternoon, Annick and Yves. She’d gone over all the arrangements for flights and pick-ups half a dozen times with Janine, who had given over the use of her personal assistant almost entirely to Tash. No glitches, no hitches. A holiday they would never forget, remember? She grinned to herself. So far, so good. Even the little blip yesterday afternoon on the beach hadn’t ruined things.

She got up, stretching her arms as far above her head as they could go. She pulled back the curtains and looked down at the trembling blue pool. A cool, early-morning breeze had sprung up, lightly stroking the surface of the water. It was too cold to swim at that hour but suddenly, the thought of a drink down there at the water’s edge, before the rest of the house awoke, appealed to her. She belted her dressing gown, pulled out a pair of Birkenstocks from the vast cupboard and opened the door. The house was completely still and quiet; she ought to just peep in on the children whilst they were still asleep. She crept up the one short flight of stairs and paused, then pushed open the door as quietly as she could. The room was full of their breathing: David and Joshua slept spread-eagled in the centre of their beds; Didi was laid out straight with his toes pointing to the ceiling and the sheet tucked firmly under his chin. In a slightly smaller cot beside the window, Maryam lay on her side, one soft, lightly tanned arm dangling from the bed. The long, slow outpourings of their breath seemed to come together as one. She stood in the doorway, tracking the sound to each individual child so that she held each one in her mind’s eye. Joshua muttered something in his sleep, his sleepy voice puncturing the silence, but no one stirred. She stood for a further minute or two, then turned and carefully made her way downstairs.

She walked into the kitchen and stood for a moment, eyeing the fridge. A scene suddenly flashed in front of her eyes before she could stop it – something coming up to her from the depths of her own memory. She was in the kitchen in the tiny flat in Kensington. She’d wandered in, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She was six. Lyudmila was standing in front of the fridge in much the same way Tash now was, her hand reaching for a bottle when Tash’s voice interrupted her. ‘Mama?’ Lyudmila spun round, almost dropping the bottle in her hand. She grabbed it by the neck. For a second, mother and daughter stared at each other. Tash could still remember the hairs standing up on the back of her neck as she surveyed the scene, realising there was something wrong with it. ‘I’m thirsty,’ Tash remembered saying. ‘I want a drink.’

‘In a minute,’ Lyudmila said. ‘
Mama zanyat
. Mummy’s busy.’

But she wasn’t. She was just standing there, gripping the bottle of whatever it was, a strange look of determined anticipation on her face. It was a look Tash hadn’t seen before and it was connected in some awful, terrible way to the bottle Lyudmila held tightly in her hand. Even as she was part of it, she knew there was something strange, even horrible about the picture they formed, drunk mother and six-year-old daughter, both looking for a drink but of a different kind.

The image came back to her now. She was only thankful there was no six-year-old present to see it the way she had back then. She yanked open the fridge door and grasped the first bottle that came to hand. Stolichnaya. Vodka. It would do. And a carton of orange juice. She poured herself a generous measure into a glass, splashed in enough orange juice to render its appearance harmless and unlocked the back door. Something moved somewhere behind the pool house – a shadow of something that caught her eye. She stood, frowning into the distance. A bird flew out from the darkened mass of trees but there was nothing, no sound, no movement . . . nothing. She took a sip of her drink; it was bright and deliciously sharp. She took another, waiting for the momentary warming glow as the vodka hit her empty stomach. Ahh, that was better. She looked around at the debris of yesterday’s games still lying scattered around the decking: bicycles, three-wheelers, rubber toys of all shapes and sizes – she’d sent Clea into Edgartown to buy whatever she thought the children might need or like; the rest had been helpfully delivered by the very nice man from FedEx who’d been bringing parcels to the house for weeks prior to everyone’s arrival.

She slipped out of her Birkenstocks and squatted down by the side of the pool, trailing her fingers to test the temperature. It was warm enough to swim after all, despite the early-morning chill. She sat down properly, letting her toes, then her feet, dangle in the water. She took another sip of her drink. Nothing like a vodka and orange juice to get the day started, she thought to herself with a smile. Suddenly a flock of birds burst out of the woods, as though they’d been startled. She looked up again with a frown. Something was out there. She stood up, dripping water onto the decking and walked towards the cabaña. Her heart was beating fast. The sun had come up properly now, and a long line of fiery light danced on the surface of the water, throwing watery shapes up against the cool white of the cabaña walls. She stood there for a moment; the only sound in her ears the steady thud of her own heart and the drumming thrum of her blood in her ears. Cicadas, crickets, the usual chorus of wooded wildlife . . . nothing out of the ordinary. No snap of twigs or the sound of human voices . . . nothing. She gave a little embarrassed laugh and drained the rest of her drink. She turned and walked quickly back into the house, arms wrapped around her although it wasn’t cold. She ought to get a dog, she thought to herself, for those weeks when she might come to Martha’s Vineyard alone. She brightened at the thought. Yes, one of those lovely sandy-haired, floppy-eared dogs that she could take for long walks on the beach and cuddle up to at night. She shook her head quickly. Why did she assume she’d be here on her own?

Clea was already up and about in the kitchen when she walked in. ‘Morning, Mrs B,’ she called out brightly, already organising the day’s meals. She had the children’s breakfasts all lined up – different coloured bowls, boxes of cereals, bright plastic tumblers, and cartoon-character plates. Where had all this stuff come from? Tash wondered. ‘Coffee?’

‘Oh, no thanks, Clea. I’m fine . . . just had some orange juice,’ she stammered. Tash slipped onto one of the high bar stools to watch Clea’s breakfast preparations. There was something soothing about watching her deft, neat movements. She moved briskly from fridge to counter top and back again, opening a jam jar, quickly scooping out its contents into a pretty white bowl, creamy yellow pats of butter placed just so in a glass dish, a small bowl of golden honey. In five minutes, everything was ready.

‘Adriana’ll get the kids up. They’ll be down in a minute,’ she said, looking up to see Tash watching her. ‘What are your plans for the day, Mrs B?’

Tash pulled a face. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Got some admin to take care of. Got to make a few calls to London . . . that sort of thing.’

‘It’s a Sunday!’ Clea laughed. ‘Don’t you ever take a day off?’

Tash made a surprised face. ‘Sunday? So it is. The others’ll be back tomorrow.’

‘You work too hard, Mrs B. You ought to have a day off. Do nothing.’

‘I’m not terribly good at doing nothing,’ Tash smiled. She looked around the kitchen. ‘But what about you? Don’t you find all this a bit . . . much?’

Clea laughed. ‘I’ve got five little brothers, Mrs B. This lot are angels compared to them. No, I’m grand. It’s great having Adriana here, though. We’ll have a day off in Edgartown when you’re all gone. Probably spend all our wages, too,’ she giggled.

‘How old are you, Clea?’

‘Twenty-one, Mrs B. This is my first proper job, you know.’

‘You’re very good at it. What d’you want to do when you go back? To Ireland, I mean?’

‘Oh, I won’t be going back. My cousin’s in London. I’m going to stay with her for a bit . . . see what the big city has to offer.’

‘Well, if you’re ever in need of a job, even a part-time one, let me know,’ Tash said, getting off the stool. ‘And it doesn’t have to be looking after children either. I haven’t got any.’

‘Did you not want any? If that’s not too personal,’ Clea asked curiously.

Tash smiled. ‘No. Just never happened.’ She pursed her lips with a small gesture of regret. Funny how everyone talked about it in the past tense, as though the possibility was over. ‘Anyhow, I’ve got four godchildren. That’s enough to be going on with.’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Look, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you and Adriana go into Edgartown for the afternoon?
I’ll
look after the kids. Go and see a film or something. You’ll have a pretty full week next week . . . why not?’

Clea hesitated. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Course I’m sure. I’ll be fine with them for a few hours. It was fun yesterday,’ she added, not altogether truthfully.

‘Really?’ Clea looked at her dubiously.

Tash nodded firmly. ‘If you get them breakfast, get them dressed and so on, I’ll get the driver to run you down to town around eleven thirty. How does that sound?’

‘Thanks, Mrs B . . . you’re sure you won’t need us? I could go on Sunday—’

‘I’m sure,’ Tash said firmly. ‘They’re my godchildren. I’ve got to get to know them better. You finish up here and I’ll head off and have a bath. I’ll get the driver to pick you up in an hour or so.’

‘Well, just if you’re sure?’ Clea was still hesitant.

‘I’m sure.’

Tash was still smiling to herself as she climbed the stairs to her room.

The outing along the beach must have accustomed the children to the absurd idea that their godmother would be looking after them for at least part of the day: no one batted an eyelid. Maryam was too young to understand, of course; she lay back in her swing chair, gurgling happily at her brothers as Clea and Adriana made their excited preparations for an afternoon off.

‘Go on, enjoy yourselves,’ Tash said, her fingers curled possessively around the front door as Clea and Adriana got into the waiting taxi. ‘We’ll all be here when you get back. We’re not going anywhere. I’ll just have them out by the pool for the afternoon.’ She shut the door and walked quickly back to the kitchen where the children were waiting expectantly. She felt a momentary twinge of panic, then rallied herself. They were only children! She who ran a multi-million-pound business was intimidated by four children under the age of five!

‘Can Cliff and Dean come?’ Joshua asked as soon as they’d collected all the paraphernalia they seemed to think necessary for a quick pre-lunch paddle in the pool. Tash had never seen quite so much ‘stuff’.

‘Yes, of course. They’re coming after lunch, darling.’ Tash tried to remember what Clea had told her. Betty Lowenstein had insisted on having her grandchildren around whilst a friend from Boston paid them a visit. She hadn’t seen them all week, or so their au pair had told Clea.

‘Are
you
coming in?’ David stood in the shallow end, waving some kind of plastic stick at her.