Never Close Your Eyes (31 page)

Evie guessed that their thighs must be rubbing against each other but Nic didn't seem aware of it. Jonathan tended to lean against you, practically falling into your lap, if you sat next to him in the church hall, too.

‘Nah, usual run-of-the-mill stuff,' Russell said, running his fingers round the rim of his beer glass. ‘Well, I did feel a bit sorry for one young man who came in today, but patient confidentiality means I can't really talk about it.' He looked at Nic mischievously. She swayed to her left and dug him in the ribs.

‘You can't say that and then not tell,' she whined. ‘Go on, spill the beans.'

‘The poor lad was only eighteen,' Russell continued. ‘It must have taken a lot of courage to make an appointment.'

‘So what was his problem?' Nic persisted.

Russell sipped his beer. They were all agog. ‘Well, he had this girlfriend, right, but the problem was, he could get going all right but he couldn't, you know, finish the job.'

Nic spluttered. ‘What, he couldn't – you know?'

Russell nodded mournfully.

‘I'd have thought his girlfriend would be delighted,' Nic said. ‘I mean, most young men seem to have the opposite problem, don't they?' She looked around. No one replied but Jonathan opened his eyes wide as if to say that had never been an issue for
him
.

‘No,' said Russell. ‘She's worn out from all the trying. They're at it all night sometimes. He's worried she's going to chuck him.'

Jonathan twiddled his blond moustache. ‘At it all night?' he mused, half talking to himself. ‘Marvellous.'

There was a general sniggering. Nic flashed her turquoise train tracks.

‘I don't think that's funny at all,' Carol interrupted in a loud voice. Everyone stared. She looked really cross. She leaned across the table towards Russell and practically put her face in his. ‘What are you going to do to help him?'

‘It's tricky,' Russell said, suddenly serious. ‘There was no obvious medical cause so I had to refer him to a sex therapist. Could take years of counselling, I'm afraid.'

There was silence for a moment while they ruminated on the young man's misfortune.

Evie straightened up. ‘Changing the subject,' she said, cheerily, ‘I've got some news.'

They all looked at her.

‘Becca and Nic know already, but I feel like I want to tell the whole world. There's a new man in my life!'

Russell beamed. ‘Well done!' he said. ‘What's he like? Where did you meet him? Go on, tell all.'

‘He's an old friend of Nic's called Steve and I met him at her party.' Evie grinned. ‘And he's completely gorgeous. A celebrity journalist. Divorced. It's early days but' – she lowered her eyes – ‘I think he's The One.'

‘Oh no, dear.'

They all stared at Carol, who had risen to her feet and was looking wildly at Evie. She had a red, sweaty face, which could be due to the alcohol or the fact that she was still wearing her Afghan coat. But there was no denying the agitation in her voice.

‘What do you mean?' Evie asked. She was confused.

‘I mean, dear,' Carol said, wagging her finger, ‘that it's far too soon to be saying that. After all, how long have you known this man? A week, a month?'

‘Er, about ten days,' Evie admitted.

Carol slammed her fist on the table. ‘Ten days isn't nearly long enough to get to know someone properly!' She looked around for support. ‘And what about the children? They've had such a lot to cope with recently, what with your husband leaving and all that. I hope you haven't foisted this new person on them?'

Evie's face felt hot. ‘I really don't think . . .' She started to rise herself. But Carol had picked up her bag and was already heading for the door.

Becca put a hand on Evie's arm. ‘Leave it,' she said gently. ‘She's just a bit batty. She doesn't know what she's talking about.'

Evie sat back down again. ‘You're right,' she sighed. ‘But it's a bloody cheek. I'm really angry with her. I mean, what business is it of hers who I see and who I choose to introduce my children to?'

‘Quite right, man,' Jonathan agreed, twiddling his blond moustache again. He said ‘man' a lot, too. ‘That was way out of order.'

‘It's no business of hers at all,' Nic said, reaching for her tan Mulberry under the table and pulling it clumsily on to her lap. ‘Don't give it a second thought. Now, who's for another drink? I reckon we all need one after that.'

Chapter Twenty-Eight

‘Hello, my darlings.'

Victoria and Albert snaked around Carol's legs, rubbing their sides against the furry bottom of her Afghan coat. She stooped down to stroke them, leaving the front door open behind her.

‘Have you missed me?' she said. Victoria started purring loudly.

Albert, the black and white one, darted off towards the kitchen, glancing behind to see if Carol was following. When he realised that she wasn't, he pranced back and rubbed himself against her again.

‘I know, I know, you're hungry,' she said, taking off her coat and hanging it on a peg on the wall, ‘but you'll just have to be patient. I need to bring in my bike.'

She went outside to fetch the bike and wheeled it down the hall into the little sitting room at the back of the house. The harsh, overhead light made her blink; it had been so dark outside. She propped the bike against the table.

‘I expect you want your supper?' she said, catching her breath. She'd pedalled home as fast as she could from the meeting, shot through lights and everything. She'd been so cross. She felt a bit better now, calmer. She couldn't have stayed in that pub a minute longer, though, listening to that stupid prattling. What was Evie thinking of, behaving like a silly schoolgirl? Especially when there were the children to think of, poor little things.

Carol shuddered. What was
she
thinking of? She didn't know what had come over her. She was normally so discreet. Had been all these years. She hoped she hadn't blown it. She wouldn't have, though. Evie would never guess, none of them would; they just thought she was barmy.

Carol fed the cats, made a mug of tea and set it on the table. Then she stooped over and pulled a fat white book from the bottom shelf of the bookcase. She scanned the room. ‘Bother, where are my specs?'

She spotted them on top of the pile of newspaper cuttings near the fridge and put them on. Then she sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and opened the book.

Carol peered at the little girl with fair hair and chubby arms and legs in the photo. The picture was a bit blurred, but you could see that she was in a swing being pushed by someone with her back to the camera. The little girl, who was about two, was waving her arms in the air, happy as anything.

Carol chuckled. ‘Ah,' she said, ‘dear little thing.'

That was the first one that she had of Evie, not counting the hospital picture on the fridge, of course. Just as well she'd managed to get a peek at the social worker's notes when her back was turned, otherwise she might never have tracked her down on the other side of London. It hadn't been easy, with just a surname and his occupation to go on. Good detective work, that's what it was. She should have been a journalist instead of stuck in an insurance office all those years.

Still, she'd done all right in the job. Built up a nice little nest egg. She rubbed her hands. My! Evie would be pleased with her unexpected windfall when the time came.

Carol continued flicking through the album. There was Evie learning to ride a bike, feeding the ducks, playing with her friends in the park. All outside, of course, and usually from a long way off. Carol had no zoom in those days, nothing like that. Just a basic Kodak, the best she could afford.

She'd got the train to south-west London every single Sunday to take a peep. ‘Where are you going?' her mother would ask. ‘Just out, with friends,' she'd reply.

‘What friends?' Mother was so nosy.

‘Some girls from the office. No one you know. We're going to the park. For an ice cream.'

Mother didn't like that, but she couldn't say much. Carol was earning her own wage now, she was grown-up, even if she was still living at home, saving madly for her own place. Mother didn't know that, either.

Some Sundays Evie was nowhere to be seen and then Carol had to go home disappointed. She could still feel that ache, that longing, even now. She sighed. The journey home had seemed interminable when she hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of her darling. She'd feel down all week, until Saturday came and she knew there was just one more day to go.

But in summer especially, Evie was often out and about with that woman who called herself her mother. Carol stopped and peered at the one of Evie in her school uniform. She'd taken the day off work especially to get that one. Well, it was a milestone after all. She wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Evie was walking along on the other side of the road, holding her mother's hand. The grey tunic dress was much too long for her; it reached well below her knees. Carol tutted. They should never have sent her to that Catholic primary school. She didn't have a Catholic bone in her body. She'd have been better off in the Church of England school round the corner. Still, it had turned out all right.

She flipped over another page of the album. Now you could see how much bigger Evie was getting. She had long, skinny legs outside the supermarket. And there, she looked almost like a teenager in that mini-skirt in the bowling alley, but she was only eleven. Carol shook her head. She'd never have let her wear a mini-skirt like that. Far too revealing. Carol wasn't keen on the bowling alley either. Dark and noisy. She'd only popped in because she'd happened to spot Evie queuing outside with her friends. They were on their own. She had to make sure they were OK.

It was a stroke of luck, really, that she'd managed to get the job in Richmond. It was a good company in a very desirable area. They said lots of people had gone for it. Not that Carol cared about the area. She just wanted to be close to Evie, to keep an eye on things. The flat was such a good price, too – and it had soared in value. She couldn't believe it when the estate agent told her how much it was worth. She'd got the full asking price. She'd never have been able to buy her little house otherwise. Things hadn't turned out all bad, by any means.

Carol looked at the bowling-alley photo again. Everything was so murky, even with the flash. That place wasn't Carol's cup of tea, with all that loud music. You wouldn't catch her in there again. But there didn't seem to be any harm in it.

She didn't have so many snaps of Evie as she got older. It was harder to take photos without being seen. There were a couple of hazy shots of her outside school, surrounded by friends, often as not draped around some young man or other. Carol shook her head. She did go through a rebellious phase, with that terrible purple hair and everything. It was quite a worry.

Victoria leaped up on Carol's lap and turned a few times. Then she stood, kneading Carol's jumper fiercely, before settling down.

‘Not surprising, with those stupid, narrow-minded old parents, is it?' Carol said, tickling the cat under the chin. ‘She's a creative girl, artistic, she's got so much talent. She needed to be nurtured and encouraged, not crushed.' She wiped away a tear with her sleeve. ‘I've done what I could, you know. It wasn't for me to poke my nose in. She'll be glad of the money when I die.‘

She turned to the wedding photo. It was the only one that she'd managed to get. Evie was in the car beside Neil, waiting to drive to the reception. Carol had sidled up to a group of guests who were taking photos at the same time. No one had noticed. Evie looked so happy and radiant. Carol touched her daughter's face, tracing the pretty veil drawn back off her shiny fair hair.

She flipped on to the next page quickly. ‘I can't believe he did that to her,' she said, stroking the cat again rather brutally. It miaowed in protest but she didn't notice. ‘Not to my lovely girl. If I could get my hands on him . . .'

She paused for a moment, then laughed out loud. Victoria jumped. ‘Just look at Freya-chops!'

A big, A4-sized colour photo of a beaming baby Freya stared back. She was wearing nothing but a white frilly hat and a nappy and was clutching an ice cream, most of which was smeared around her mouth and cheeks. Carol had sneaked right up close this time when Evie's back was turned as she rootled around in her bag; looking for something to clean the baby's face with, no doubt.

It was risky all right, but how could Carol resist? Freya looked scrumptious. It had been almost all she could do to stop herself picking her up and having a cuddle. Carol closed her eyes. She'd never cuddled Freya or Michael. Not ever. She'd only cuddled her own baby the once. What did Evie feel like, smell like? Why couldn't she remember?