The Forgetting(72)

Livvy kept her voice steady. ‘I didn’t bring him. I thought it would be easier for us to talk alone.’

Something flitted across Imogen’s face, and Livvy watched her swallow her disappointment, rearrange her expectations.

Imogen reached behind her, fished inside the tote bag, pulled out a package wrapped in Beatrix Potter paper. ‘I bought Leo a little something. I hope that’s okay. It’s just a toy bunny. Nothing ostentatious. Dominic always loved bunnies when he was little.’ She opened her mouth as if to say more, then closed it again.

Livvy looked down at the package, felt herself hesitate.

‘It’s just something little. A token, really. You don’t have to tell anyone who it’s from. I thought he might like it, that’s all.’ Imogen held out the package, and Livvy, as if on autopilot, reached out and took it from her.

‘I wanted to ask—’

‘You said you had—’

Their voices collided and they each took a verbal step back.

‘You first.’

‘No, you please.’

Livvy tried to collate her thoughts, remind herself why she’d phoned Imogen in the first place.

She thought about her row with Bea, about Bea’s meeting with Daisy, about the relationship with a woman half his age that Dominic had kept secret. She thought about her fight with Dominic last Saturday, the bruises on her wrist fading but still visible. She thought about her phone call with Imogen a few weeks ago: There are things I think we should talk about . . . I can’t say. Not over the phone. They’re too delicate.

‘The last time you came to the house, you asked if Dominic was good to me. Why?’

Imogen studied Livvy’s face through narrowed eyes. ‘What makes you ask?’

‘It just seems like an odd question.’

Imogen looked down at her hands, and Livvy’s eyes followed: the manicured nails, neat cuticles, slim gold band on her fourth finger. ‘As I said before, we didn’t know Dominic had got married or that he had a child. I just wanted to understand what kind of a husband and father he is.’ There was something incomplete in Imogen’s explanation, like a piece of music from which the last page of the score had been lost.

Livvy thought about last Saturday’s argument with Dominic, reminded herself that it was out of character, a one-off. It had been a perfect storm of emotional upheaval, unlikely ever to be repeated. ‘He’s a fantastic father and a great husband.’

There was a small, fractional nodding of Imogen’s head, as though she were just going through the motions of agreement. ‘That’s good to hear. So he’s kind to you both?’

Livvy baulked at the invasiveness of the question. ‘He’s incredibly kind.’

Imogen nodded vaguely, as though still only half listening. ‘So do you think . . . is there any chance he might want to see me? Or that he’ll let me see Leo?’ A light flush crept into Imogen’s cheeks.

‘I honestly don’t know. He’s still pretty damaged by everything that happened in his childhood.’

Imogen squinted. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I honestly don’t want to rake it all up—’

‘But Dominic had a perfectly normal childhood.’

Livvy stared at her mother-in-law. Dominic had told her how delusional Imogen could be, but it was still discombobulating witnessing it first-hand. ‘I know it must be difficult for you to talk about and I don’t want to cause you any unnecessary upset, especially after the past few weeks.’ She reminded herself that Imogen’s husband had died less than two months ago. Whatever Livvy’s feelings about her, Imogen was still a woman in her seventies, grieving. ‘When you phoned a few weeks ago, you said there were things I ought to know. Delicate things. I wanted to understand what you meant.’

Livvy reached up, scratched a mosquito bite on her neck that had been bothering her for days. Too late, she saw Imogen’s eyes hone in on the marks around her wrist like a bird of prey spying its next victim. Livvy dropped her hand into her lap, pulled her sleeve down towards her knuckles.

‘How did you get those bruises?’

Livvy clasped her hands together. ‘It’s nothing.’

‘How did you get them?’ Imogen’s voice was quietly insistent.

A wave of heat swept up through Livvy’s chest, around her neck and into her cheeks, and she could imagine it, pulsing, like an ocean bloom. ‘Carrying heavy shopping bags over my wrist. I bruise really easily.’ The lie slipped out effortlessly, as if it had been waiting in the wings, ready for its moment in the spotlight.

Imogen’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, Livvy could see Dominic in them: a particular kind of scrutiny that made her feel as though Imogen were looking straight into her soul.

Imogen laid a hand on Livvy’s knee, the gesture so unexpected that Livvy was too shocked to remove it. ‘I hate to say this, but a man never hurts a woman only once. There’s always a second time.’

There was a moment’s stillness, as if time itself were holding its breath.

Livvy looked away, could no longer bear the intensity of Imogen’s gaze. Imogen’s hand was still on her knee, and there was something gentle in it – maternal almost – so out of kilter with everything she knew about her mother-in-law. With a stab of guilt, she wondered whether her parents had been right: whether Dominic hadn’t been the only victim of his father’s cruelty. Perhaps Dominic had never witnessed his father doling out the same punishments to Imogen. Perhaps he had been too young to notice. But as Livvy looked up and saw the distress in Imogen’s expression, she felt certain that John’s attacks had not stopped with his son.