My Husband's Wife(85)

Our son?

‘I’ve already told you,’ I say, pulling away. ‘He’s not yours.’

Then I’m off. Walking as fast as I can in my heels. Down the street. Past the supermarket and the cinema where ordinary lives are being lived. Putting as much distance between Joe Thomas and me as possible. Before I do something stupid.

Again.





36


Carla




OBITUARIES


Barrister Tony Gordon passed away on 22 November after a long brave fight. Loyal and doting father and husband.

Darling Mamma,

There is something I have to tell you.



No, that wasn’t right.

Dearest Mamma,

I need to tell you that I found Larry …



No. That might raise her hopes.

Dearest Mamma,

I have some news that you might find distressing.



At least that might warn her gently.

Tony Gordon – whom we knew as Larry – has died. I went to see him before he passed away and gave him your message. He was not worthy of you, Mamma. God has made him pay through an early death. Now we can put him out of our lives.



Tucking the obituary clip from the newspaper inside the envelope and sealing it hastily, Carla dropped it into the post box on the way to the church.

‘The funeral is next Wednesday if you would like to come,’ Lily had said when she’d called.

‘Thank you, but no,’ she’d replied, and she’d meant it. But at the last moment, her lecture on tort had been cancelled. There was just time to get to the service and back for her next tutorial. It had seemed almost like fate.

As Carla stood at the back of the church (there weren’t any seats left), the priest’s words boomed out around them on the microphone.

‘Wonderful family man … respected pillar of the community … unwavering in his fight for justice …’

What a hypocrite! To think that all she’d have to do was run through these crowds, jump up into the pulpit and tell the congregation all about Tony.

‘Makes you sick, doesn’t it?’ said a tall man, squeezing in next to her. He had very short hair and a clipped way of speaking. ‘If only they really knew.’

Carla started with surprise. But although he appeared to be talking to her, his eyes were fixed on a figure further forward in the congregation. A woman wearing a beautifully cut suit that set off her blonde hair and slim figure perfectly.

Lily! Did this man know her? Or was she merely a symbol of everything that he clearly despised?

‘What do you mean?’ she whispered.

Those dark eyes now turned their focus to her. ‘I think you understand perfectly.’

He was speaking as if they were old acquaintances.

‘But –’ she began, mystified.

‘Shh,’ hissed someone.

And before she could say any more, the man with the short haircut slipped out of the church door behind them, as silently as he had come in.

‘What are you doing for Christmas, Carla?’

It was the phrase on everyone’s lips, from the auburn-haired boy with the floppy fringe who had started following her around at law school, to Lily when Carla – frustrated at not having heard from her old ‘friend’ since the call about Tony Gordon’s funeral – had called to check on her postcode ‘so I can send you and Ed a Christmas card’. With any luck, it would prompt another invitation.

‘What am I doing for Christmas?’ she repeated for effect. ‘I was hoping to go back to Italy, but my mother is visiting a widowed aunt in Naples and says it would be better if I stayed here.’

Carla didn’t have to fake the note of sadness in her voice. Indeed, she had felt a pain in her chest when Mamma had written to outline her plans. Never before had they spent Christmas apart! Her mother’s loopy writing made her feel homesick. She so desperately wanted to feel Mamma’s soft cheek against hers. To speak her own language every day. To eat Nonna’s bread which she baked herself. Not only that but she was broke! Studying abroad was so expensive and the small allowance from her grandfather was running out. If it hadn’t been for Lily and Ed’s ￡ 1,000, she wouldn’t have been able to pay the hostel fees or even eat. What would happen when she’d got through their money?

‘Then you must come with us to my parents’ home in Devon.’

Yes! Yet there had been something in Lily’s tone which made Carla feel that the invitation was slightly reluctant, made out of politeness. Ed, she was sure, would have been warmer. She’d noticed last time that out of the two, he had seemed the friendlier.

‘There’s just one thing,’ Lily added. ‘Tom, our son. He’s … different, as I said before. We never quite know how he’s going to behave in front of strangers. So be prepared.’

Different? Carla understood ‘different’. Had she not felt different for most of her life at school in England, even when she had tried so hard to be the same?

And now here she was, on a train heading out of London along with lots of other passengers, who were, unusually for English people, chattering away. Asking her where she was going for Christmas, and didn’t she think the lights in Oxford Street were beautiful?

In her bag, she had some small presents. An embroidered purse for Lily, an artist’s notebook for Ed and a plane kit for Tom. All clever buys from a charity shop in King’s Cross. She was particularly pleased with the plane kit. It had been hard finding a present for a boy. Besides, she couldn’t remember exactly how old he was. Still, even if he didn’t like it, it was a gesture. Meanwhile, Carla sat back in her seat and watched the green fields roll past. ‘We are by the sea,’ Lily had said. ‘You will love it.’