‘He’s too wrapped up in Claire?’ Sally spoke lightly, tried to make a joke of it. Marilyn smiled dutifully.
‘No. He’s too wrapped up in himself. But that’s men for you, isn’t it? They’re all the same.’
Sally wondered who had passed on that particular piece of wisdom.
‘What did you do the evening your mother disappeared?’ Sally thought she might get extra points for asking.
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘It’s my boss. He thinks it’s possible your mother died later than we originally thought.’
Marilyn said nothing. She seemed lost in thought.
‘So what did you do that night?’ Sally persisted gently.
‘Nothing.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I stayed in. Dad said it was so someone should be there if Mummy came home. He and Claire went off together. To search, they said.’ She smiled wryly. ‘An excuse, I suppose. Sick, isn’t it?’
A waitress in a red and white checked dress collected their cups. At the counter the lads had finished their chips and were getting rowdy. Marilyn had not even looked in their direction, which was odd, Sally thought. At sixteen raging hormones had given her a radar system which could pick up an adolescent boy at a distance of a hundred yards.
‘Got a boyfriend?’ she asked.
‘No one special.’
‘I suppose you’re too picky.’
‘Yeah,’ Marilyn said. ‘You could say that.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Claire was just leaving work for the evening when the phone went in the Coastguard House. She heard it ringing as she shut the kitchen door behind her but she didn’t go back to answer it. She had a meal to cook.
Emma heard the phone but she let it ring. She was bathing Helen in the children’s bathroom at the top of the house. A red net filled with plastic toys was strung round the taps and the shower curtain had pictures of the Little Mermaid. A clockwork turtle swam towards Helen, who splashed the water with her feet and chortled. The phone stopped. The answering machine would have clicked on. It would probably be for Brian. Business. Or rugby.
Owen answered the phone before the answering machine was activated. They’d recently bought a cordless receiver – a toy for Brian – and Owen arrived at the bathroom door with it in his hand, proud of himself, expecting congratulations.
‘It’s Uncle Mark.’
Jesus, she thought. What’s he done now?
She lifted Helen out of the bath and wrapped her in a towel. She dried her hands and took the phone. Owen hovered in the doorway.
‘Thanks, pet,’ she said, trying not to sound too impatient. ‘You can go back and play with David now.’ She locked the bathroom door behind them then sat on the closed toilet seat with the baby on her knee.
‘Yes?’ She didn’t want to be too encouraging.
‘Emma. I’ve got to see you.’
She took a deep breath. Sometimes Mark reminded her of one of the boys. She had to try hard not to snap at him.
‘I’m not sure that would be a good idea.’
‘Please,’ he said. ‘ We’ve got to talk.’
‘We’re talking now.’
‘Come on, Em. You know what I mean.’
‘You can’t come here.’
There was a silence and she realized she had hurt him, so she added, ‘I’m sorry. Not the way things are.’
‘No,’ he said bitterly. ‘ I see that.’ He paused. ‘Could Claire have the kids one evening? When Brian’s working?’
Emma gave a little laugh. ‘You must be joking. Claire doesn’t stay five minutes longer than she needs to these days and overtime’s out of the question. She’s playing mummies and daddies with Bernard Howe.’
‘That’s not very kind.’ It was the old Mark, disapproving, self-righteous.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Well I don’t feel very kind.’
She thought for a moment. She knew he wouldn’t give up. ‘I suppose I could see you Saturday lunchtime. Brian’s working and Claire doesn’t mind coming up during the day. Where shall we meet?’
‘You could always come here. To the house.’
She thought of the Otterbridge house full of Sheena’s books and Sheena’s pictures, still smelling somehow of Sheena and always cold. She shuddered.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Not there. A pub. Somewhere halfway between here and Otterbridge so it won’t take me too long to get home.’
‘The Lamb in Puddywell,’ he said. He hadn’t had to think about it and it surprised her that Mark, who hardly ever went into pubs could come up with a name so easily. ‘Twelve o’clock. I’ll see you there.’
Before she could answer he rang off. She pushed the button on the phone and set it on the floor. She wished she’d had the courage to stand up to him. She shouldn’t have said that she’d see him.
The bathroom door rattled. The noise startled her and she realized her hands were shaking. Brian shouted.
‘What are you doing in there?’ He sounded amused, not irritated, which made a nice change.
‘Bathing Helen.’ What do you think I’m doing? she thought.
‘Why the locked door? Teaching her modesty at an early age?’
She smiled despite herself. ‘No. Habit I suppose.’
She stood up, holding the shrouded baby against her shoulder and let him in. He kissed her lightly on the lips. He’d been making more effort lately and she was aware of a sudden and surprising surge of affection. They stood together in the steamy room, the baby between them. The smell of talcum powder and the heat made her feel quite faint.
He began to undress. Carefully, as he always did. He hung his jacket on a hook on the door with the children’s dressing gowns, threw his shirt into the wicker laundry basket and folded up his trousers. He turned on the taps. He took Helen from Emma, pulled away the towel and held her in the air, so he could press his lips on her stomach to make the farting noise which always sent the boys into hysterics. Then he said, in the gurgly voice he saved for babies, ‘You don’t mind, do you, Sweetie? You don’t mind if Daddy uses your bathroom?’ To Emma he said, ‘Why don’t you stay here? We can talk while you dress her. Before he climbed into the bath he locked the door again. ‘Mark hasn’t been round lately.’ He was lying right back so she couldn’t see his face. The words seemed to come from nowhere.
Helen was on the changing mat on the floor and Emma was bending over her, fixing the sticky tapes on the disposable nappy. She kept her eyes on the baby as she answered.
‘No. I suppose it’s a while.’
‘Not since David’s birthday,’ he persisted. ‘Why don’t we invite him round for lunch on Sunday?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I suppose we could.’
He sat up, sending a tidal wave into the toys strung from the taps and continued enthusiastically.
‘There’s a new place just opened round the corner from the office. It’s brilliant. A real old-fashioned toy shop. I bought some presents for the boys. Kites. Not those dreadful plastic ones that tear as soon as you look at them, but the sort we used to have when I was a kid. Canvas and bamboo. You put them together yourself. If there’s any sort of wind on Sunday we could fly them. Mark would enjoy that.’
‘Brian!’ Emma had to interrupt him. ‘Listen. There’s something you should know about Mark.’
Brian had been soaping his back. He stopped. ‘No,’ he said.
She kneeled up. They stared at each other.
‘I don’t need to know anything about Mark. He’s my friend. He’s been through a rough time. I want him to be happy. In the same way I want you to be happy.’
He reached out and put an arm covered with bubbles around her shoulder and pulled her towards him. When he kissed her she smelled the baby shampoo he’d used on his hair.
‘I don’t care what Mark’s been up to. You have to understand that, I don’t mind. As long as he’s happy I don’t mind.’
It was as if he expected her, absolutely, to know what he meant.