The Mistake I Made (18 page)

‘Do you want me to go and check on Clara?’ I asked.

‘Vince is out there.’

‘Yes, but she’s still crying pretty hard.’

‘She’ll live.’

Rinsing her hands beneath the hot tap, she told me that last night hadn’t exactly been a success. Their dinner with Scott and Nadine had come to a close rather early,
rather abruptly, actually
, after Scott made an excuse about a work problem that needed dealing with, and the brittleness to her tone told me she felt snubbed.

Before I could respond in a suitably soothing manner, as was my way when Petra was pissed off with someone, suggesting they probably didn’t mean to be thoughtless, probably had a lot on, she changed the subject, telling me that even though I’d not
technically
suffered a true migraine attack, I did look very tired, and not at all well.

‘Is something worrying you?’ she asked.

I feigned surprise. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Nothing that I can think of, anyway.’ I didn’t sound at all convincing, but then who does when asked such a question? ‘Do I really look that bad?’ I asked. ‘I thought I was looking rather perky today. That’s a lot of bacon.’

‘There are six of us. Mind you, Clara will only pick at it. She raided the cupboards before we were up and found the doughnuts Liz left last night.’

‘Six?’ I asked. ‘Who are the six?’

Petra frowned. ‘The four of us … and Scott and Nadine. I told you they were coming for brunch.’

My forehead prickled with heat. ‘You didn’t.’

Petra cracked eggs into a bowl, pausing to count up on her fingers. ‘Two for Vince,’ she said out loud. ‘Two for Scott … will you have one egg or two?’

Without really realizing what I was doing, I slid off the stool and went to reach for my bag.

‘Where are you going?’ Petra said. ‘You’re not leaving, surely?’

Of course I’m leaving
, I wanted to say.
You don’t actually expect me to stay.

‘Just clearing a space,’ I replied weakly. ‘I wish you’d told me they were coming, Petra. I’m not really up to making polite conversation this morning. My head hurts, and—’

‘I
did
tell you.’

She didn’t. If she had, I wouldn’t have come. I couldn’t say that, though, obviously, so I had to let it rest.

‘I look like shit,’ I said after a moment.

Petra stopped what she was doing and turned to face me. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. ‘You just said you were looking quite perky. You’re not bothered about what Scott thinks of you, are you? Because I can tell you right now he won’t even look at you. He’s that kind of guy. Doesn’t notice women. You could be naked in front of him and he’d be more bothered about—’

‘I was meaning Nadine,’ I replied quickly. ‘She’s always so well groomed.’

‘Go and wash your face and put on some of my lipstick, if it makes you feel better. They’ll be here in five minutes. Though I don’t know why you’re fussing, I keep telling you, they’re not what you think. They’re really not as …’

Petra rambled on, but I’d stopped listening. Inside, I was flapping. I was looking around for an escape, an excuse, so I failed to notice right away that she had also taken on a high colour. Her neck, the tops of her arms, had gone a deep, blotchy red. Angry red, like patches of psoriasis.

At first I thought it was because her crush on the couple had waned. Petra threw herself into these new friendships with such energy, such gusto, that when the time came for the other party to cool things a little, perhaps by accepting another invitation rather than her own, she would behave like a jilted bride. Well, maybe that’s a little harsh, but she did feel the hurt extraordinarily deeply.

I watched Petra move about the kitchen. Watched her staccato actions, her breath catching in her throat, and knew right then that there was something more at play.

Dread poured through me.

Petra was attracted to Scott.

Then Vince appeared at the French windows. ‘Morning, Roz,’ he said brightly.

‘Morning.’

‘How long till brunch?’ he asked.

Petra regarded him, and her jaw tightened. ‘Fifteen minutes. And you’ll need to change those shorts.’

‘Right-o,’ he said, and shot me a quick smile. ‘George okay?’

‘Great.’

‘Think he’ll be up for a spot of fishing Thursday evening?’

‘He’d love it.’

‘Six thirty, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll pick him up after his tea.’

Vince disappeared upstairs. Petra watched him go, giving the impression of being unreasonably irritated by him. There was nothing unusual in her bossing him around. That was how they functioned. But the look in her eyes – the scorn – as he shuffled past in his shorts and flip-flops, that was something entirely new. The shorts, incidentally, were pretty bad. They were fawn in colour and a shade too short for a rotund figure like Vince. The type worn by out-of-shape American spectators at golf tournaments.

‘Have you two had a row?’ I asked Petra, hopeful her behaviour was caused by something other than Scott.

‘A row?’ she said, distracted. ‘We never row. I ignore him when I’m angry, you know that.’

‘Are you angry then?’

Her shoulders heaved visibly as she exhaled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s just … it’s just sometimes he can be so’ – she paused before saying – ‘disappointing.’ Then she looked at me guiltily, like she knew she was out of line but she couldn’t help it.

The doorbell rang.

‘Christ,’ she said, peering at the bacon. ‘I need to turn these over now. Would you mind getting that?’

Long story short, Scott was able to disguise his look of shock upon seeing me answer the door. And what could have been a period of supreme awkwardness turned out not to be when everyone’s attention was taken by Clara, who threw the most splendid tantrum. I love watching a good tantrum. It brings out such odd behaviour in the surrounding adults, none more so than Petra, who had a torrent of excuses as to why Clara was conducting herself in this manner. And also from Nadine, who did her best to reassure Petra (on some subliminal level, anyway) that
she was not a bad parent, and in no way at fault.

In the midst of all this, Scott shot me a look across the kitchen that said,
Shit! This is unexpected!
but then followed it quickly with a shrug and warm smile as though to convey:
It is what it is. Let’s not fuck up.

So we didn’t.

We each stuck to the harmless conversation of one’s own offspring. Listening to Nadine and Petra cluck away was dull but safe, and I was about to make my excuses and leave when Nadine threw a spanner in the works.

‘You know, Roz, I’ve been thinking. I’m sure you would get along with my brother.’

‘Oh?’ I said.

‘Yes, he’s been single for a long time. I’ve no idea why. He’s got such a lot going for him.’

‘Wonder why I’ve not come across him,’ I said vaguely, and glanced at Petra, who was absolutely beaming. You would think by her expression that Nadine had mentioned royalty. She gazed towards Nadine, eager for her to go on.

But Scott said, rather bluntly, ‘Your brother’s no use to Roz.’ And Nadine turned to him, her expression calm but masking deep offence.

‘Why?’ she said. ‘Why is he no use?’

Scott shrugged. ‘He’s’ – he paused, choosing his words carefully – ‘he’s not what you’d call properly employed, is he?’

I glanced at Petra, and her smile fell. She looked as though all the air had been sucked out of her. Reluctant to upset Nadine, but feeling as though she must say something, she uttered, ‘Roz is looking for someone stable. Financial stability is the key, more than anything else, really.’

This might have come across as pompous if you didn’t know the history. But Petra was protecting herself here as much as me. As it was, Nadine didn’t appear concerned with what Petra had to say, she was clearly fuming about Scott’s assessment of her brother, and the rest of us looked at one another, helpless, waiting for her to blow.

‘My brother,’ she said through her teeth, ‘is a perfectly decent human being, who has no financial burdens. He is kind to women, incredibly loyal and, just because he doesn’t have
your ambition, Scott
, it does not make him a loser.’

Scott sat back in his chair. ‘I didn’t call him a loser. I just don’t think he’s right for Roz, that’s all.’

Nadine did a double take. ‘And you would know this how?’

‘Because’ – and he looked at me as he said this – ‘Roz seems like she would want a guy with something about them. Your brother’s a drifter. He’s a nice guy, but he’s not going anywhere. He’ll still be living week to week when he’s sixty.’

Nadine shook her head. ‘I can’t believe you come out with this stuff.’

‘To be honest,’ I interrupted weakly, ‘it would be impossible at the moment, anyway. George isn’t staying with his dad for another couple of weeks, so I’m stuck at home. Not that I mind, it’s just—’

‘You could go on Thursday,’ Vince piped up, the first words he’d uttered since we’d sat down. ‘You could go out with him on Thursday.’ He’d fashioned himself a bacon-and-egg sandwich, and as he bit down a little of the yolk spurted. Petra looked away. ‘I’m taking him fishing. He could spend the night here, or I don’t mind dropping him back late, give you a chance to have a couple of drinks with this guy. If that’s what you want.’

Nadine turned back to me, her head angled to one side. She was waiting for a response.

‘Okay’ came out of my mouth without my realizing I’d actually spoken.

And it was only when I glanced at Scott that I saw what I had done.

He was angry.

He didn’t want me to meet Nadine’s brother at all.

Winston dropped George back at home just after seven.

‘You need to have a talk with him,’ he said, as George walked past me, glum and silent, and went straight upstairs to his bedroom.

Celia was in her front garden watering the hanging baskets with a pump-action watering can specifically designed for the task. She appeared fully focused, even frowning slightly as she adjusted the spout, but she was clearly eavesdropping.

I tilted my head in Celia’s direction and asked Winston if he wanted to come in, indicating that I’d rather not discuss George on the front step. But he declined.

‘Got a hot date,’ he said.

‘Oh yes?’

‘Mickey Tallis. We’re kite surfing on Morecombe Sands.’

‘Try not to kill yourself.’

Winston had known Mickey Tallis for years and knocked about with him when he couldn’t find anyone better. He was the last of the unmarrieds. I tended to avoid Mickey (particularly when he’d had a drink) as he always managed to bring the conversation back around to Ultravox. And what an absolute travesty it was that ‘Vienna’ was denied the number-one spot on account of Joe Dolce’s ridiculous novelty record, ‘Shaddap You Face’.

None of which was relevant now, but it popped into my head.

Winston remained with his weight against the doorframe, not quite ready to leave. He glanced towards Celia, nodded hello, and then turned back to me. ‘He’s still pretty cut up about the incident at school.’

‘George is? What did you say to him?’

‘I told him he couldn’t take money and other people’s stuff, because they make a massive deal out of it. But it didn’t mean he was a bad person or anything.’

Silently, I mouthed,
Shhhhh
, to get him to lower his voice. ‘What did he say?’

‘Says he wants to go back to his old school. He reckons he hasn’t got any friends here and he wants to go back to Windermere.’

‘I’ll talk to him,’ I said.

‘Okey-doke.’

Then a pause.

‘Roz?’

‘What is it, Winston?’

‘You look tired.’

I shrugged. ‘It’s been a rough weekend.’

‘Are you okay?’ he asked tenderly. ‘I mean, are you managing okay?’

‘I’m fine, Winston. Go fly your kite.’

Upstairs, George sat on the new beanbag I’d picked up for him from Poundstretcher. It was cheap. It would probably last about five minutes. George had his back to the door and was wriggling his small body, trying to envelop as much of himself in the thing as possible, as though trying to disappear.

‘Hey,’ I said softly.

‘Hey,’ he replied.

‘Do you like the beanbag?’

‘Yeah.’

I sat down on his bed. Gesturing to his duvet cover, I said, ‘I gave this a wash for you. It’ll smell nice and clean when you climb in later.’

‘Thanks,’ he replied, and I felt silly. What did he care?

For a time that afternoon, while making up his bed with fresh linen, smoothing out the creases, fluffing his pillows, rearranging his Pokémon figures on the windowsill, I’d had the short-lived sensation of feeling like a good mother.

‘Your dad says you’re worried about school.’

‘I want to
move
schools.’

‘Okay,’ I said carefully, ‘but where would you go? There’s only one school in Hawkshead. That makes things kind of difficult.’

He turned to face me. ‘We could move back.’

‘We can’t, honey. Not straight away, anyhow. And, besides, you’d still have to go to school tomorrow, whether we move house again or not.’

‘I could go to my old school and you could take me there on your way to work. Ollie Mundine goes to Windermere each day because his mum works at the post office.’

So he’d really put some thought into this.

‘Okay, I see where you’re going, and yes, it would be doable. You could move schools, and yes, I could drop you there on my way to and from work, but I’m not going to do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because the only reason you want to leave is because you’re ashamed of what you’ve done. And you can’t run away from things, George. What happens if you get into trouble at your next school? Then what? We move again? And again? Every time you don’t like something, you can’t just pack it in or run away.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you run out of options, honey. And sooner or later you have to face up to stuff.’

21

AT WORK THE
following morning there was no sign of Wayne. It was now ten fifteen, I was on my third patient of the day and the other clinicians were speculating as to the reason for his absence.