Kitabı oku: «The Age of Misadventure», sayfa 3
Chapter Four
I finish a second glass of Chablis and the sound of heels makes me look up. Her voice is high, aghast, panicking.
‘Georgie, I can’t believe it.’ Bonnie rushes back into the room, waving her phone. She grasps my arm and I’m amazed at the vice-like squeeze. ‘Something’s happened. I need your advice.’ She propels me towards the huge patio doors, heaves one open and thrusts me out into the garden. ‘That was Demi.’
I shiver. The grass is damp and my boots sink into the softness of soil. There are snowdrops on the lawn, creamy white, pale orange, a patchwork of colour leading to the swimming pool complex. I imagine how nice it would be to be in their sauna – my skin is suddenly gooseflesh.
Bonnie’s eyes are wide. ‘Demi rang me.’
‘From the three-month Thailand honeymoon?’
She takes my wrist, squeezes the skin.
‘She’s phoned me to say that she’s having such a good time in Thailand, they might go on to Australia and stay for a bit. Isn’t that awful? What do you think?’
‘They’re young. They have no ties. They don’t need to rush back.’
‘Adie’ll be furious – she didn’t ask him first.’
‘There’ll be plenty of time to finish off the decorating in their extension, to paint the feature wall in the new shade of Addiction. Perhaps that’s why Demi and Kyle are extending their honeymoon. Perhaps they want to stay away from Adie.’
She wails, ‘What about me? I’ll miss her. She said they might be away for another three months. What shall I do?’
‘I think they’ve made a good decision, Bon.’
She’s staring at me.
‘Adie paid a fortune for the refurbishment of the extension for them in time for the summer. A new kitchen, a bathroom suite. He’ll be livid.’
I watch my sister and wonder why she’s so loyal to him.
‘Demi and Kyle want to be together. By themselves. They just got married. It’s a good thing, Bonnie.’
Her face crumples and she starts to snuffle. ‘My baby’s gone … All grown up and gone away. Now there’s just me.’
I hug her again. I’ll give her a few seconds and then I’ll suggest she comes to my house, moves into the spare room and starts a new life for herself. Or that she starts to think for herself; that she becomes her own person rather than a cardboard cut-out wife.
I’m about to tell her that it’ll all work out for the best, but she pushes me out of the way.
She announces, ‘I have to tell Adie,’ and her heels are tapping through the breezy patio windows; she’s sashaying through the dining room and towards the steps down to the next level, down to Adie’s lair below.
I belt after her, leaving the patio door wide and the draught swirling, the cold air wafting above the warmth of the underfloor central heating. I catch up with her at the bottom of the steps, by the big oak door, which is ajar. She’s about to knock.
Voices rattle inside. Adie’s hushed tones and another voice, a more throaty bark. My fingers close over Bonnie’s wrist, stopping her from knocking, and I hold my breath. Adie’s said something about handing over money. He won’t be able to do it for a week or two. The guttural growler tells him a deal is a deal and there’s no room for negotiation. He then raises his voice and I recognise a Scottish accent.
‘This is a big investment. You owe me – with interest, Adie.’
The reply is sycophantic, slippery as syrup.
‘I won’t let you down, Duncan.’
Bonnie’s hand has fallen from my grip. She raps softly on oak, then she pushes the door wide. I stare over her shoulder. Inside, the office is all white walls and polished wood. Adie’s standing behind his desk, his shoulders hunched. The other man is opposite, staring. He’s short but broad-shouldered, around sixty years old, in an expensive checked brown suit, pale red hair curled close to his head. His hands are in his pockets and, as he turns to us, his face hardens for a moment and then relaxes. He surveys Bonnie and beams.
‘Well, who do we have here?’
Bonnie is all breath, gushing. ‘Demi rang. She and Kyle have some news. Adie, she wants to extend the honey—’
Adie stiffens. ‘Not now, darling.’ His teeth come together. There’s no affection in the endearment. ‘I’m busy right now.’
The red-haired man opens his arms wide, palms up, taking over, his expression expansive. He turns to us and smiles. His face is broad, craggy, and his teeth are even. I notice thick eyebrows, red wiry hair, ice blue eyes as he stares from Bonnie to me and back to Bonnie.
‘So, you’re Mrs Carrick, I presume?’
She extends a hand. ‘Bonnie.’
She’s done this many times before, the practised smile, the tinkling laugh. Adie’s reliable showpiece. I frown and feel protective again.
The man chuckles, his accent strong. ‘Bonnie by name and bonnie of face.’ He holds her small hand in his large fist. ‘Charming. I’m Duncan Beddowes, by the way. I’m sure Adie’s mentioned me?’
Bonnie nods, unsure whether it’s polite to say yes or be honest and say no.
Beddowes raises his eyebrows towards Adie, who’s squirming for some reason.
‘You didn’t tell me you had such a lovely wife, Adie. You must be proud of such a treasure.’
She shakes her long curls and Adie mumbles something about Mr Beddowes being a business partner. Beddowes is staring at her wrist.
‘May I?’ He lifts her sleeve and the bracelet gleams underneath. Bonnie stands poker stiff and the man says, ‘Oh, well now. Look at this. What a lovely piece. Solid gold.’
‘A present from my husband.’ Bonnie flushes but Adie has blanched, his face the colour of the walls.
‘How very generous of you, Adie. What a wrist full of symbols.’
Adie’s about to say something.
The Scot turns to me. ‘And are you a friend of the family?’
Something makes me want to say no, just ignore me, I’m the Invisible Woman, but Bonnie’s still holding his hand and her eyes dance.
‘This is my sister, Georgie. We’re having lunch. Would you like to come up and share some smoked salmon? There’s plenty left.’
The probing blue eyes stare into her face a moment too long, then he says, ‘I’d like to stay but, unfortunately, I have to go home.’ He nods. ‘My wife’s expecting me for dinner.’
Adie’s hunched behind him, frowning, awkward. Bonnie doesn’t notice. Duncan Beddowes delves into his pocket and produces a mobile phone.
‘Would you mind if I took your photo, Bonnie, standing here with me? A selfie? And your sister, too? I know my wife would love a picture of you both. She’d be fascinated by your lovely taste in clothes, not to mention that gorgeous piece of jewellery. She’ll be very jealous. She’s always asking me where I’ve been, who I’ve met during the day, and I’ll be able to show her.’
Adie shakes his head, just a little, but Bonnie’s already posing, beaming, and the man holds his phone in place. He raises his eyebrows and I sidle behind my sister. He sticks a grin on his face and snaps away.
‘Oh, that’s a nice one. I know Jeanette’ll love to see that. Well, Adie, I’ll take my leave. It’s a long drive back. But I’ll be in touch soon. As we agreed.’
They grasp hands for a fleeting moment. Bonnie’s delighted; she fingers the charm bracelet and giggles. I bite my lip. I never heard of a man who’d want to show his wife a picture of himself flanked by two unknown women. I take a step back, my instincts shouting that I shouldn’t be there at all.
Adie’s silent on the journey home. I ask him if he enjoyed the spa hotel and he grunts. I ask about the Scottish man, if he was a regular business partner, one he’d worked with before, and Adie grunts again. For some reason, we drive through Norris Green, although it’s not on the way home, and he stops the Boxster outside a terraced house. The sky is splashed with grey, the street lights like soft haloes. It’s late now and the light has faded to a watercolour wash. The terraced houses have bay windows, closed curtains with dim lights, and the road is silent apart from a passing kid on a bike who veers too close to the car.
‘I’ll only be a minute. I need to see someone. It’s business. Keep an eye on the Porsche. Perhaps no one’ll steal it if I leave you in it.’
He lifts a small leather case from my footwell and steps outside, moving with fast strides. He rings a bell at a plastic door with no lights inside and someone opens – a tall, slim man in his twenties in a thin T-shirt and cargo pants. In the time it takes me to look at the telegraph wire running between the roofs, where someone has abandoned a battered pair of trainers, their laces tied, swinging from the line in the wind, Adie’s back. He shuts the car door with a clunk, pushes his case behind him and starts the engine. We speed away.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask.
His brow’s knotted. ‘No, not really. It was to do with my business partner, the one you met, Duncan. I was expecting a payment from the man who lives in that house. I’ll have to call back later in the week. A nuisance, that’s all.’
I glance out of the window as we turn into another side street. ‘Do you have many business partners round here?’ I offer my best smirk.
He doesn’t glance at me. His eyes are on the road and then, furtively, behind him through the mirror. I try again.
‘It’s good news about Demi extending the honeymoon and going to Australia.’
He doesn’t answer, or even acknowledge that he’s heard me. The sky’s darker now. Car headlights swerve towards us from the road and I blink. We reach Aigburth and he pulls at the handbrake sharply as we stop outside number 5, Albert Drive. I hope he won’t ask to come in, but he’s absorbed in something: he seems to be completely uncommunicative. He barely looks at me, so I slither out of the Boxster, bend towards the window from the pavement and say, ‘Thanks, Adie.’
He nods once. ‘Don’t be a stranger, Georgie,’ and he’s off, leaving me standing with exhaust fumes whirling round my ankles.
I raise my hand, but it isn’t to wave goodbye: I clutch my keys. Indoors, I climb the steps to the kitchen and put the kettle on. On my phone, there’s a text message from Amanda about a bargain cocktail dress. Nothing from Jade and nothing from Bonnie. I make a cup of tea and put my head in my hands. I’m not really sure what happened today in Adie’s office, but my instincts are buzzing like crowding bees and I’m not feeling comfortable. Adie’s clearly out of his depth.
The sink is cluttered with bowls: the one I used to make the Yorkshire pudding mix, the one I used to make gravy, plus the saucepans for potatoes and carrots and peas, which are cooked and steaming in a colander. The meat is resting and the Yorkshires have risen. I’m trying to wash the dishes before the hot water runs out.
‘There’s a lot of clanking about in my kitchen, Georgina.’
‘Yes, Nan.’
‘And it smells. And there’s steam everywhere.’
‘I know, Nan.’
‘You should’ve just bought me a dinner in a box again.’
‘I thought we could eat Sunday lunch together. I’ve made Yorkshire puddings from scratch.’
‘I’m used to the dinners in a box.’
I sigh. ‘I’m just about to bring it out, Nan. Proper gravy. You’ll love it.’
‘I liked the old food we had best, me and Wilf together. A proper pan of Scouse. I used to make mine with beef, though, not lamb. Lamb hasn’t had a life. Carrots, onions, potatoes, an Oxo cube. Lovely. This modern food doesn’t taste of anything.’
‘I’ll bring your roast.’
‘Get me a Guinness first, there’s a good girl.’
I wash the last of the saucepans in tepid water then lean over to the fridge, pull out a bottle and flip the top. I carry the glass through as I pour and deposit it, full and frothy, in front of Nan, lifting the empty one. She gazes up, her eyes glinting through thick glasses. She has a brown circle, a wide froth of beer, across her top lip.
‘Where’s this dinner you’ve been promising me for an hour?’
‘Just coming, Nan.’
‘I won’t eat it if it’s cold. I can’t stand cold dinner.’
I rattle about in the kitchen, cut meat, pile vegetables and Yorkshires, pour gravy and return with a steaming plate on a tray, settling it on her knee. She sups a noisy mouthful of beer and replaces her glass carefully.
‘I can’t eat all this.’
‘Try your best, Nan.’
‘All these Yorkshires.’
‘Two?’
‘It’s not gone cold, has it?’
‘Don’t burn your mouth, Nan.’
‘I don’t know why I couldn’t just have a dinner in a box.’
I bring my plate and a fork and sit in the other armchair. The television’s blaring. It’s a sports pundit giving his views on all the clubs in the league table. I fork a piece of Yorkshire pudding to my mouth and chew. It’s crispy on the outside and fluffy in the middle.
‘Anything good on TV, Nan?’
‘The game’s on now. London boys against the Southern Saints.’
I wrinkle my nose. ‘Will it be any good?’
She has a mouthful of potatoes, making a soft sucking sound.
‘I saw it yesterday. The Londoners win three nil. It’s a good game. One of the Saints gets sent off. The one with all the yellow hair. He kicks the goalkeeper.’
‘You’ve seen it already, then?’
She ignores me and snuggles back into the chair, chewing.
‘This meat’s a bit tough, Georgina.’
She hasn’t touched the meat yet. I roll my eyes. ‘Best beef.’
We chew quietly for a while. Nan’s half cleared her plate.
‘I’m used to the dinners in a box.’ She reaches for the pint glass, slurps and leans forwards. ‘Kick-off now, Georgina.’
Nan’s almost finished all the dinner and her glass is empty. The big clock on the mantelpiece ticks loudly. She clanks her cutlery, a sign that she’s making an effort with my substandard cooking. I close my eyes and listen to the commentator’s voice rise in pitch, speeding up, his voice cracking with excitement. I ease myself to stand, feeling bloated, and pick up Nan’s tray.
‘Nice Sunday lunch?’
She grunts. ‘I got it down me.’
I pile our plates, turn towards the kitchen. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Guinness’d be nice.’
‘I’ll make us a pot of tea.’
I take a pace forwards and she calls out, ‘Wait. This is the first goal. Watch. It’s a good one.’
I turn back to the screen and blink. A small player in a blue jersey is running alone down the pitch at full pelt, his body bent forwards. He weaves past two tall players and one falls over. He has nifty legs, an agile body, and his face is determined. His fringe is tied in a knot on the top of his head and the rest is longish, dark and straight. He has deep-set eyes, thick brows and a handsome face. Another player, the one with the yellow hair, tackles him and the little player pushes the ball behind him. He twists, leaps into the air with it on the end of his toe and, with a deft overhead scissors kick, he launches it, a crack shot into the back of the net.
‘Goal!’ yells Nanny from the chair.
The little player runs, a wide grin on his face, and blows a kiss to somewhere in the seats at the front of the stadium.
The commentator shrieks, ‘And it’s a superb goal from the Spanish striker, Luis Delgado,’ and the camera pans to the cheering throng, to glimpse for a second a burgundy-haired young woman in a smart new cream-coloured coat, smiling and blowing a kiss back, before the camera whirls back to the player running on the pitch. I almost drop the tray. It’s Jade.
Chapter Five
On Tuesday morning, our first customer arrives in reception just before nine o’clock. It’s Sue McAllister – freckled, forty, tall, always smiling – for her leg wax. Amanda breezes in and asks if she’ll follow her to the treatment room. I sign the first customer in the appointments book and hear the front door open and close. A young woman in a bright green ski jacket and leggings stands in front of me, carrying a green sports bag.
I hold out a hand. ‘I’m Georgie Turner. Can I help?’
She has a charming American accent.
‘Good morning. I have an appointment with Jade Wood. Personal training. Nine o’clock.’
I scratch my head: Jade’s not back from her weekend in Brighton yet. I texted last night as I thought she’d be home that evening and received the curt reply: Don’t fuss, Mum – back first thing. I smile at the American woman. She has long fair hair in a loose plait that loops over her shoulder. She’s in her late twenties, a smooth face, pale and earnest. I check the appointment book.
‘Heather Barrett?’
She nods.
‘Can I offer you a cup of coffee?’
The woman looks alarmed. ‘I never drink coffee. Perhaps a glass of water.’
I move over to the water dispenser and fill a cardboard cup. The young woman takes it from me, frowns and sips. I glance at the clock: 9.05. My first appointment is 9.15, an aromatherapy facial. I smile at the American woman and I’m just about to make some vague excuse, when the door clicks opens and Jade’s standing in reception, grinning, glossy hair, dark sunglasses, a cream-coloured wool coat over her workout gear.
‘Sorry I’m late. It’s Heather, isn’t it? Shall we go straight down to the gym?’
Jade turns to go, whips off the sunglasses and winks in my direction. I know she’s had a good weekend. I beam back and mime drinking a cup of coffee. She nods and mouths, ‘Later.’ I breathe out relief.
We’re busy all day, ships passing. I have an appointment with a bride-to-be and her mother, planning make-up for two hours, then I pop over to Nanny Basham’s for an hour while Jade and Amanda have lunch separately. It’s almost six o’clock by the time we lock eyes again.
‘Shall we have a cuppa?’ I wave a mug hopefully.
‘Sorry, Georgie, love. Rhys has a dose of man flu and he’s working the late shift. I want to see him off.’
Amanda shrugs on a heavy green coat and, when she leaves, a chill breeze weaves through the door, cooling the warmth of the reception area. I turn to Jade, who’s in a Lycra crop top and leggings and looks exhausted. We lock the door and go upstairs to the kitchen. I put the kettle on and inspect a couple of potatoes to bake, making an effort to keep my voice light.
‘Nice weekend, Jade?’
She rolls her eyes, grins and nods.
‘He’s a talented lad, your Luis Delgado.’
She jerks her head and I think she’s about to come back with a cutting reply, but her face breaks into a smile.
‘He is.’
‘He was on TV at Nanny’s. He scored a great goal. And he blew you a kiss.’
‘Did you see it, Mum?’
I nod. ‘You were on telly, in the crowd.’
Her face has taken on a dreamy look.
‘I’m going up again on Thursday night. I’ve only one appointment on Friday so I’ll move it. He has a big game this weekend. It’ll be lovely.’
I chew my lip and hold back all the comments about love in haste, regret at leisure, and I ask, ‘Does he have a place in London?’
‘No, I told you, Mum. Didn’t you listen? He has a beautiful flat overlooking the sea in a little village outside Brighton. He and his friend, Roque, live on different floors. The view’s spectacular. Two bedrooms, en suite: Luis has sauna facilities. He has a driver, too, for when he and Roque don’t want to use their cars or the train. It’s in his contract. We don’t need to go out, really. But there’s so much to do in Brighton, which isn’t far away, and we’re only a couple of hours from London. It’s perfect.’
‘You’ll soon want to move down there, then?’
She shoots me a guilty look. ‘He’s special, Mum. I can’t wait for you to meet him.’
I move the conversation forwards. ‘How do you get on with the language? Is his English good?’
‘Not bad. Much better than my Spanish. And we have the language of love.’
I sigh and stick a skewer through the jacket potatoes, throw them into the oven. I shift my position to stand opposite Jade, lean against the worktop and decide I should speak frankly to her, tell her to be careful and not get hurt. I pull a bag of salad leaves apart and take a breath.
‘It must be very glamorous, being a footballer’s girlfriend.’
She pulls a face. ‘He’s my boyfriend first, Mum. Luis won’t be a footballer forever but we plan on being together—’
‘Jade, this is all very sudden.’
‘It’s called love, Mum.’
‘But you’re young and carried away by the passion, the excitement …’
‘That’s what love is.’
‘No, it’s hard work and communication and coping with the tough times.’
‘You’re just talking about you and Dad. Luis and I are different.’
‘That’s what everyone says, but it always ends in the divorce courts.’
‘Don’t you dare, Mum. Dad says you were the one who wouldn’t communicate.’
‘What?’ I hold up the knife I’ve just chopped tomatoes with. ‘He said that?’
‘He said you were bad-tempered and cold – you shut him out.’
‘So he sought love elsewhere?’ Tears spring to my eyes. Of course, it’s because of the onions I’m hacking to pieces.
‘He was lonely.’
I sweep the salad into a bowl and shake it like it’s Terry’s neck. I squeeze mayonnaise on top, like I’m throttling his wife, Alison’s, throat. I wonder why I’m still bothered. It was years ago.
‘Well, I’m just saying, Jade, be careful. Take your time.’
‘Like you’re doing? No relationships at all since Dad? You’re cynical, Mum, and you’re unhappy, so you just don’t want anyone else to be happy.’
My teeth snap together. She’s right. Over the last few years, there’s been no one. I hurl the empty mayonnaise bottle towards the bin. It skims the metal top and clatters on the floor. I know I should say nothing but the words bubble out.
‘Well, don’t come to me, Jade, when you’re broken-hearted and—’
I realise I’ve gone too far. Jade’s staring, her mouth open.
‘Mum. Don’t you want me to be happy?’
I rush over and hug her. She holds her arms out away from me, as if I smell. I sigh.
‘Of course I want you to be happy, Jade. I’m sorry, love. I’m being too protective, aren’t I?’ I feel her nod. ‘Sorry. I’ll start again.’ I move away, go over to the cupboard and pull out a bottle of red wine. ‘Shall we break our no-alcohol-in-the-week rule and crack a bottle open? Toast you and Luis. To love and good times?’
She pulls a face, raises her arms, stretches lean limbs, and for a moment she looks just like Terry.
‘Okay. We need a bit of bonding time, don’t we? But, trust me, Mum. I know what I’m doing. And when you meet Luis, I know you’ll love him.’
I pour wine into two glasses and the soft liquid glug is calming me already.
‘I’m sure I will,’ I tell her, raising the glass and swallowing a huge gulp of Merlot.
The following week flies by. Jade returns on Tuesday, deals with a dozen clients midweek and on Thursday, she’s back on the train to Brighton. On Friday morning, Nanny Basham has an early doctor’s appointment for her heart check-up, so I drive her to the surgery, where she manages to upset the receptionist and antagonise a woman with a fretful baby. I apologise to everyone in the waiting room, and she nags all the way home about the slack state of modern parenting and how the child only needed a comforter to stop it screaming. I nod and concentrate on the road. Nan and Uncle Wilf never had children.
Then we’re busy all day, hardly a moment to stop for breath. Amanda leaves at six, excited about a romantic evening she has planned, and when I go to lock up at seven o’clock, I notice a hunched shape sitting on my front step. Bonnie looks up, her face in shadow, and I open the door and propel her inside. She’s quaking with cold, huddled against her handbag. I shut the front door behind us.
‘Bonnie, what’s the matter? What’s Adie done now?’
She’s shaking. Her eyes leak and her make-up is smudged; the blusher shines livid against the pallor of her face, but the worst thing is the haunted expression in her eyes.
‘He was out until three last night. He said he was at a meeting but he smelled of perfume. I asked him if he’d been with someone else and he said no, but when I kept on nagging him, he said it was just some random woman at a business party and it didn’t matter. He said I shouldn’t make a big deal of it …’
I hug her. ‘Well done for walking out, Bonnie. You’re staying here with me now. How did you get here?’
‘I got a taxi.’
‘From Frodsham?’
‘He has my car keys. He told me I couldn’t leave him. He wouldn’t let me.’
An engine roars and Adie’s car turns into the drive. There’s hardly room for him to park next to my X5, so he leaves his Porsche at a diagonal and throws the door open, marching towards us, his head down like a bull, his bald spot shining pink.
Bonnie hides behind me and he moves towards her but I bar his way.
‘No, Adie.’
It crosses my mind he could simply push me to one side and I’ve no idea why I’m standing between my cowering sister and her tall, smug husband. I put my hands on my hips, lean forwards and impersonate an orangutan. The Alpha female.
‘We can go inside to talk, but I’m telling you now, if you make a scene, I’ll call the police. We do this my way or not at all.’
The blood drains from his face and I breathe out slowly. He nods. His hand clutches a mobile phone. His knuckles are white. He looks at Bonnie.
‘Are you all right, love?’
She nods. I fumble for my keys and stare at him, then her.
‘She’s obviously not all right, Adie. You’ve cheated on her. It’s not acceptable …’ I shake my head. Not acceptable? It’s worse than that.
‘Bonnie, I’ve been so worried. I mean, all this fuss over a silly woman. It was nothing, I swear …’
He ignores me, standing with my hands on my hips, and rushes over to Bonnie, wrapping his arms around her. His fingers move to her wrist, over the gold charms on her bracelet, and back to her face. His shoulders are hunched and I can see the tension in his spine through his coat. Bonnie stands stiffly, gripping her handbag, her eyes reflecting her misery.
‘Come in, both of you.’ I sound like an ancient schoolmistress. ‘We have some things to talk about, don’t we?’
In the kitchen, we sit down. Adie takes off his coat, puts his phone next to him on the table and scans the screen, head bent. I make coffee. Bonnie sips from a mug, inhaling steam; she looks washed-out. I hand her a tissue and begin the conversation.
‘Right, Adie. What’s going on? It’d better be good.’
I bite my lip and stifle a smile. I could be a United Nations special envoy. But this is serious. Adie wipes his face with his hands. His brow furrows, sweat lodged in the deep seams.
‘Bonnie, I’m so sorry.’
I thump the table with my fist. ‘I’m sure you are, Adie. But it’s not the first time you’ve played away, is it?’
Bonnie looks from his face to mine and her expression is blank. He focuses on me.
‘I love her, Georgie. Other women don’t matter. I can’t be without her.’
I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. ‘How much did you love her when you had your arm round another woman last night?’ I notice Bonnie’s eyes start to fill up again.
He sighs. ‘There are some things happening in my life right now – things I can’t talk about.’
‘Philandering is not one of them.’ I sip coffee. ‘You have a lot of explaining to do. You won’t cheat on her again, Adie. I promise you that.’
He turns a glare on me and his eyes are bitter. ‘You’re just angry because Terry cheated on you. You don’t understand.’
I lean forwards and keep my gaze straight, my eyes boring into his. ‘Try me.’
He turns a tender gaze on Bonnie, reaches out and puts his hand over hers. Her face softens. He takes a deep breath.
‘I’m a businessman, Georgie. I make a lot of money so I can keep my wife in a plush house. We have nice things. But sometimes I have to take risks and—’
‘What does that have to do with other women?’ My voice booms like a politician, retaliating during Question Time. I’m taking no prisoners.
Bonnie’s holding his hand. He brings it to his lips. Suddenly, I’m terrified he’s winning her round.
‘It was a business party. There were all sorts of women there, you know. I had to fit in: it would have been rude not to. It’s all a bit difficult at the moment. I’m having some temporary cash flow problems. A client of mine is pressing for a deadline and I didn’t want to say no to hospitality and offend him. It’ll take me a week to sort out the funds but then it’ll be fine. It was just the once, a woman I’ll never see again. I don’t even remember her name.’
I face him, square on. ‘Bonnie’s your wife, Adie. You can’t just go with other women and pretend it doesn’t matter. It’s disrespectful to everyone. And it’s not the first time. Why do you think she left you just before Demi’s wedding?’
Bonnie winces but she’s still gazing at Adie. I look from her to his face – he’s staring at her, all apologies, pretending to be sorry, and her lip trembles as she whispers his name. Love is blind. And stupid.
He puts a thumb to her cheek, brushes the skin as if it’s delicate silk and sighs. ‘Bonnie, please forgive me. I’ll never look at another woman again. I promise.’
She sniffs and a tear rolls down her face, then another. He has her where he wants her.
He takes her face in his hands. ‘Let’s go away, you and me. Let’s take a long trip. Goa, Sri Lanka. Let’s go tomorrow, stay for three months. Georgie can keep an eye on things.’
I snort loudly. He doesn’t notice.
‘A second honeymoon. Just think – we could renew our vows. We could stay as long as we like. Away from this awful place. Just you and me. What do you say, Bonnie?’ He pauses and then goes in for the killer persuader line. ‘Bon-Bon?’
I open my eyes wide. Bon-Bon? The chair scrapes and Bonnie staggers to her feet, snuffles and runs away. I hear her gasp and sob.
Adie glances at me, his face full of loathing, and then he chases her down the steps to the reception level below.
I rub my hands across my face and through my hair. I long for a shower, a piece of toast. I squint at the clock. It’s half nine. I wonder if she’ll leave with him. I hope not. I remind myself that on Sunday I’ll go to Nanny Basham’s to make her lunch. Bonnie could stay here and we could go together.
