The Love of My Life(79)

My last hope had been Charlie’s eighteenth birthday, when he could have got in touch even if Janice and Jeremy had hitherto concealed my identity, but – nothing.

And then, suddenly, he was here. In a flat in Wembley on a windy July day. My DNA curling in chains inside him, my parents’, Granny’s, the relatives and ancestors I never thought to ask about before Dad died. All there in the armchair for thirty beautiful minutes.

Jill’s being unbearably kind, and has batted off my apologies for my earlier rudeness. ‘I’d have found it strange too,’ she said. ‘But if I’d told you what was about to happen you’d have gone into a panic. As it was, you were totally natural. If I was Charlie I’d want to see you again.’

She listened to the entire thing through the bathroom door; eating her way through most of the pastries, by the looks of the pastry bag. She’s adamant that I conducted myself impeccably, even allowing for the tears at the beginning.

The brandy is already muting the excess of my feelings. I feel tired, now, confused but euphoric.

‘Listen,’ Jill says. ‘Stay as long as you need to. Let’s have wine and watch awful films this afternoon. Get slowly drunk and make a night of it. You can stay over if you like – sounds like it would be a bad idea to go home right now.’

I close my eyes. Of course I want to stay, here in this flat where I met my adult son. Where there’s possibility and hope.

But Leo. Ruby.

‘I’ll have to talk to Leo,’ I say, eventually. ‘I get it – he doesn’t want to talk to me yet – but I’ve got to tell him he’s Ruby’s father. I was going to tell him face to face this morning. Besides, if I’m staying here I need to check he can pick her up from nursery. And drop her off tomorrow.’

Jill nods. ‘Agreed,’ she says. ‘He does need to know he’s Ruby’s dad. Of course he does. But, Emma, he picks Ruby up from nursery every day. You never do! Can you not just give yourself a few hours to calm down?’

I think about this. Jill holds out her phone. ‘You can call him right now if you want,’ she says. ‘I only tried to delay you from calling him earlier because I didn’t want you to be a wreck when Charlie arrived.’

She looks tired; hot and dehydrated. I’ve watched her put a steady stream of carbs and sugar into her mouth since I arrived: something isn’t right with my old friend, and it’s about time I was actually present for her. Too much, lately, the insanities of my own life have taken centre stage.

‘I’m just saying, you’ve been through something huge this morning. Do you not think you deserve a couple of hours to decompress?’

Reluctantly, because I know she’s right, I nod. She wants to spend today with me, Leo does not. I’ll have the wine. The food, the film, the tired laughs. I’ll call after Ruby’s dinner and hope Leo’s willing to suggest a day we can meet.

That is my plan. I tell Jill, and she smiles. ‘Well done, Limpet,’ she says. ‘Well done.’





Chapter Fifty-Five


Now


As the lift carries me up to Jill’s flat it occurs to me for the first time that Jill might actually be a lunatic. That I might find my wife butchered in her friend’s neat little kitchen, each part clearly labelled in a Ziploc bag.

The lift doors slide silently open and my feet pad along the carpeted floor of Level Six. I check my watch: 10.41 p.m. I want to be in bed. I want to be slowly drifting off while Emma reads her brainy magazines, fidgeting and driving me mad. I want Ruby asleep next door with Duck, and John asleep downstairs with jungle on whisper-soft volume.

Jill’s face, when she opens the door, is a picture. I tailgated someone to get in the building; she had no idea. She has a wine glass in her hand. She’s put on a lot of weight since I saw her last, but instead of softening her features it’s somehow made her seem even less accessible, as if she’s buried herself.

‘Oh. Hey,’ she whispers, as if there’s a sleeping baby inside.

‘Hi. Is Emma here?’

She hesitates, but I can see it in her face. I walk right past her and into the sitting room, where I find Emma on the sofa, drinking wine and eating toast.

We stare at each other for a few seconds. Then: ‘Leo?’ She looks surprised, as if it’s strange for me to have turned up here after spending thirteen hours looking for her.

I look at the open wine bottle. They’re halfway down it. A second, empty bottle, sits on a console table.

‘What are you doing?’ I ask. ‘What are you doing?’

Emma’s eyes flit over to Jill. ‘Er – what?’

Then, suddenly, she claps a hand to her chest. ‘Oh my God. I was going to call after Ruby’s dinner. I did, but Jill’s phone was out of battery so she put it on charge and then . . . I am so sorry, I—’

‘You were going to call after Ruby’s dinner? She eats dinner at six p.m.!’

Emma’s looking at me like I’m talking a foreign language. Is she drunk?

‘Leo . . . ?’

‘What about calling me at nine thirty this morning? When we were meant to meet? Or maybe ten a.m., when you were already half an hour late? How about calling me at any time today?’ My voice is too loud for this comfortable room, with its neatly ordered cushions and spotless surfaces. ‘Do you give any sort of a shit about me, Emma? Does our marriage mean anything to you?’