Back in the crisp, cold night, Chloe made her way home, thankful that the shopping trip hadn’t turned out to be too arduous. She was sharing a poky flat with two friends, both of whom had one of their numerous Christmas events on that night, so Chloe would have the television to herself. She smiled, thought briefly about the paperwork in her bag, and dismissed it. She was determined to relax this evening.
At the flat she fiddled with the awkward lock, and finally fell through the door as it gave way with a jerk. She shook her head; she’d been living there for three months and it still happened every time she tried to unlock the door. They really needed to ask someone who knew about DIY.
In the hallway Post-it notes adorned the small telephone table. She glanced over them. Most were old ones that no one had got around to throwing away, but there was a new message in Sandra’s handwriting. ‘Mark phoned, says call him about tonight. Keen or what?!’
Chloe sighed. She liked that Mark was calling her, but she had tonight planned. She was about to get changed out of her suit, when there was a knock at the door.
Her heart sank. She really wished Mark would wait for the invitation before actually coming around. Wearily, she went to the front door and pulled it open.
‘Anthony!’
‘Sis!’ Her brother gave her a hug, his bristle of close-clipped hair shining in the hallway light.
It was a nice surprise to see him but Chloe was still thinking a little wistfully of her alone-time.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Well, I’m going to a party tomorrow night, and it’s so much cheaper to get the train down on a Thursday, so I made a last-minute decision to see if I could bunk with you.’
Chloe folded her arms and smiled. ‘And if you can’t?’
‘Then I’m on the streets, sis,’ Anthony said, strolling past her and throwing his bag into her room. ‘But I know you’d never do that to your little brother. Mum would kill you!’ He walked into the lounge and sat down on a sofa. ‘Have you got a takeaway near here? I’m starving. Unless you haven’t made dinner yet, of course?’ He grinned cheekily.
Chloe gave him a sarcastic smile back, went over to the table and chucked a sheaf of takeout menus at him. ‘Be my guest.’
They munched on pizza while half paying attention to the television. Despite her thwarted plans, Chloe was enjoying this rare time with her brother. It was strange getting used to one another as independent adults after living in close proximity for all those years – knowing someone inside out and yet hardly at all.
‘I think I’m full,’ Anthony announced, throwing down a chewed crust and sitting back in his chair.
‘Me too,’ Chloe agreed.
Anthony was watching her, an indiscernible expression making his features more intense than usual. ‘Chlo?’
Something in his voice made her senses become alert. ‘Yes?’
He paused for a moment, then said, ‘I’m going to tell Mum I want to find Dad.’
Chloe closed her eyes for a second as tension rippled through her body. She sat up.
‘Ant, I really don’t know…’
Anthony leaned forward. ‘Chlo, I don’t feel this is a choice any more. It’s eating me up. It’s on my mind all the time – if not in the forefront then always at the back. I have to know.’
‘But what makes you think Mum will react any differently this time?’ Chloe asked, thinking back to the arguments Anthony had had with their mother while he was a teenager, when he was disillusioned with Charlie’s lack of get up and go, and desperate to believe that his real father was an action hero of some sort. She had thought that Anthony was past all that.
Margaret had always been elusive about their dad. They hadn’t even been sure of his name until Anthony had found it written on some old photos. Chloe vaguely remembered Charlie coming into their lives, but for a while when he was quite young Anthony had thought Charlie was his father. When they had approached their mother, Margaret had told them, ‘You have to trust me – we’re all better off without him.’ The high level of mystery only intrigued them both further, until in the aftermath of one particularly virulent row sixteen-year-old Chloe had overheard Charlie comforting Margaret, saying, ‘Wouldn’t it be better to tell them than to have them blaming you like this?’ And Margaret had replied, ‘Oh god, Charlie, how can you say that? Absolutely not. You know they’re better off this way.’
The conviction and desperation in her mother’s voice had sent a tremble through Chloe. What if her father were a criminal? Or a wife-beater? Perhaps he was in prison. She was glad to be sheltered from the truth. But even though she had repeated the conversation to Anthony, he had not taken the same view. Perhaps it was because he was that much younger, or because he needed to keep the myth of his father alive more than she did. All these years later he still couldn’t let it drop.
‘Look, Chloe,’ Anthony began, his hands working frantically as he tried to explain. ‘She doesn’t need to even talk about it. All she needs to do is to write down the facts she knows on a piece of paper, and I can take it from there.’
‘I don’t know,’ Chloe said, as the phone started ringing. She got up to answer it.
‘You didn’t call me back?’ Mark said without preamble.
‘I know, sorry,’ Chloe answered. ‘My brother turned up unannounced.’
‘Oh. Well, I was going to see if you were up to anything but I guess that means you are?’
‘You can come over,’ Chloe offered half-heartedly, not relishing the thought of introducing Mark and Anthony right then.
‘No, it’s okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well,’ Mark said, and hung up.
Chloe returned to the lounge feeling disgruntled at how the evening was turning out. While she’d been gone Anthony had switched chairs, found football on another channel and turned the sound up. She thought about starting another difficult conversation, then decided against it, and went to run a hot bath instead, thinking that surely there she would get some time to herself.
33
As Mark threaded his way through the logjammed traffic towards work, he felt the same vaguely churning stomach and dizziness that he’d had for weeks. He’d contemplated seeing a doctor, but his symptoms were too vague, and besides, he had an uncomfortable suspicion about them.
It had come to him last night as he had lain in bed and tried to stop thinking about her. Could he be in love?
The prospect didn’t excite him much, particularly if this was how it made him feel. Love was awkward, vulnerable and emotional, and Mark felt he was the antithesis of all those things. And yet when he thought of Chloe, well, maybe he was more of a suppliant fool than he cared to admit.
He reached the kerb just as the cars and buses began their slow crawl forward, and tried to gain control of his feelings before he reached the office.
Chloe’s personality was what Mark thought of as understated, and that in itself spoke volumes to him. Every one seemed to like her; she was working on cases without antagonising people, yet was unafraid to assert her opinion, because she had the knack of making it sound like a point of view rather than the imposing assertion of fact that Mark went for, and it seemed to serve her just as well.
And she was very pretty, no one could deny that. He couldn’t wait to see the glamorous side of her at the ball tomorrow night. It would make a change from an array of suits in dull navy, black and grey, however well they fitted her slim frame.
He reached the double doors of the office building and tried to compose his thoughts into sharp focus on what lay ahead of him at work. No contact with Chloe, that was for sure. She’d been taken under the wing of one of the senior solicitors who worked in the family-law area that Chloe was keen on, whereas Mark was learning fast about the genteel cut and thrust of the English litigation system.