The Mother-in-Law(69)

“She was going to tell you.”

He looks over at me. “What?”

“I mean . . . she must have been. Surely Diana would tell you something like that.”

Ollie shrugs. “I honestly have no idea.”A frown touches his forehead. “I saw Eamon while I was there. He was being questioned too.”

“About your mother’s death?”

“I guess so. Who knows?” Ollie sinks back against the couch, defeated. “Lucy, can I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think I killed Mum?”

I look at him, every part of him so achingly familiar—at the angles of his face, his devoted brown eyes, the curve of his chest. “No. But I do think you are lying about something. And I want you to tell me what it is.”





45: LUCY


THE PAST . . .

I’ve never been one to believe in fate, or “having a feeling,” but as I drive along Beach Road, I have a sudden urge to call in on Diana. In fact, I make the decision so quickly I nearly take out a cyclist on the inside lane and end up waving profusely as he shakes his fist at me.

“Sorry,” I mouth, and he gives me the finger.

I turn into Diana’s driveway. She won’t like me turning up unannounced like this, but ever since Tom’s funeral I can’t seem to get her out of my mind. She must be lonely in this big house, all alone. I’d asked Ollie to call her a couple of times, and he had. “She sounded all right,” he’d reported each time. “A bit flat, maybe, but that’s to be expected.”

And it was to be expected. That didn’t mean she couldn’t use a friend. If that was even what I was.

I press the doorbell. When there’s no movement inside I try the door and find it open. “Hello?” I call out. “Diana? It’s Lucy.”

I find her in the den, horizontal on the couch.

“Diana?” I say, but she doesn’t so much as lift her head from the pillow.

And that’s when I realize. Something is very, very wrong.

Diana stares out the passenger window of my car, trance-like. She’s wearing her normal “uniform,” navy slacks, white blouse, pearls—but her clothes look rumpled, like she wore them yesterday and left them on the floor before putting them on again. She’s also wearing black sneakers instead of nude pumps or ballet flats, and her hair is flat on one side (presumably the side she slept on) and she hasn’t bothered to so much as fluff it up. She hasn’t said a word since she got in, not even to comment on the biscuit crumbs that I wiped off the seat before she sat down.

“Are you okay, Diana?” I ask, when we stop at the traffic light. She’s staring at the beach side of the road, at the kite surfers zipping along the horizon at Brighton beach, but I get the feeling she isn’t seeing any of it.

“I’m fine,” she says when enough time has passed that I’m about to repeat myself. I’d offered to call Ollie (“No, he’ll be too busy at work”) and Nettie (“All she’s worried about lately is babies!”) but it appears she’s happy enough for me to be around. She says she’s not ill, but she’s clearly not well. And so I’m taking her to see her family doctor, Dr. Paisley.

But when I pull into the parking lot, Diana still doesn’t move.

“All right,” I say in a faux jovial voice that makes me cringe at myself. “Here we are.”

Finally she moves, but slowly, like a much older woman. She goes straight to the waiting room and sits down, leaving me to report to the desk. This is not the Diana I know. She’s been sad since Tom died, but today she seems almost childlike. She’s much easier to deal with this way, admittedly. But I don’t want to ‘deal’ with her. It’s a shock seeing someone so in control become so . . . helpless.

I go to the desk to report in and then I sit beside her and wait. Diana takes the magazine I offer her but doesn’t open it. I don’t open mine either. When her name is called, a few minutes later, I turn to her. “Would you like me to come in with you?”

She shrugs, which I take as a yes.

Dr. Paisley appears to be in her midfifties, plump and smiley, dressed in a brightly colored kaftan. Apparently Diana has been seeing her for years.

“Hello,” she says, sitting at her desk. She swivels her seat to face us and stretches her hand out to me. “I’m Rosie. Nice to meet you.” She looks back at Diana. “I heard about Tom, Diana. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“What can I do for you today?”

I look at Diana who looks at me. Finally she sighs. “Well, I haven’t been feeling myself since Tom died. Which, I imagine, is to be expected. But Lucy wanted me to come and see you.”

Dr. Paisley’s eyes touch mine for a second. “You’re right, no one feels themselves for a while after losing a partner. Sometimes a long while. But we need to be keeping an eye on your health through this period, so Lucy was right to bring you in.”

Diana shrugs. “Good then.”

“How has your sleep been?”

“Broken.”

“Have you been doing things you normally do? Catching up with friends, seeing your grandchildren?”

“I had drinks with the girls at the Baths last week.”