The Other People(70)
“There’s more than one?”
“The south wing is pretty much self-contained. Sleeping quarters for the nurses on shift, a kitchen, bathrooms. Charlotte had the extension specially built when she brought her daughter home from hospital, not that you’d know it was a later addition to the house.”
“I can’t believe the hospital let her remove her daughter from their care. I mean, I’ve read about court cases where parents have been stopped from doing that.”
Gabe inserted his key in the side door and it swung open.
“The hospital couldn’t do anything more for her. And money lets you do a lot of things most people can’t.”
They stepped inside and Gabe flicked on the lights. He heard Katie let out a small gasp.
The kitchen was huge. Gleaming chrome appliances, smooth granite worktops and a shiny tiled floor that reflected the spotlights set into the ceiling. A large American-style fridge-freezer faced them. An island stood in the middle that was the size of, well, most people’s kitchens.
“The original kitchen was getting a bit old,” Gabe explained. “Miriam asked if she could put a new one in.”
Katie gazed around. “Miriam has expensive tastes.”
“She works hard. This is her home.”
“Wait? You don’t live here?”
“No,” he said shortly, throwing the keys onto the massive island.
“Never?”
“No.”
“How long have you owned it?”
“Nine years.”
He crossed the kitchen to a door which led out to a short corridor and then to a large oval hallway. Off this was the living room, dining room and a winding staircase which led to the second floor, the master bedroom and three guest bedrooms.
Miriam would probably be working on the other side of the house, or asleep if she wasn’t on duty tonight, in which case she would be in the nurses’ quarters, close to Isabella. He didn’t want to wake or alarm her or have her calling the police because she thought there were burglars in the house. He took out his phone and quickly typed a text: “Miriam, just stopping at the house tonight. Will explain later. Gabe xx”
She was bound to realize something was wrong, of course. He had missed a visit, and he had only ever stopped at Seashells once before, a couple of weeks after Jenny and Izzy.
He had been aimlessly driving, not wanting to go back to the house which would never again feel like a home, not knowing where to go, and he had ended up here. Miriam found him weeping at Isabella’s bedside and she had taken him into the main house, forced him to eat something and made up a bed. She hadn’t asked questions, although she must have seen the news. She had simply looked after him. Gabe supposed that was her job. But whether it was duty or compassion, he had gratefully accepted it.
Gabe looked back at the small, bedraggled group: his long-lost daughter, a waitress he barely knew and her two children, thinking that he could do with some of Miriam’s no-nonsense care right now. What was he supposed to do with them?
He felt someone touch his arm. Katie. “It was a long journey. We’re all pretty worn out and hungry. Why don’t I make something to eat and we can talk after the children are in bed?”
“Right. Okay.”
Of course. He realized it had been a long time since he had had to consider anyone’s needs but his own. He was out of practice at being a parent. Or a partner. The warm imprint of Katie’s fingers lingered as she walked away toward the fridge.
She pulled open the doors and peered inside, wrinkling her nose. “A lot of ready meals, but not much else.”
She started opening cupboards. Gabe joined her and found several multipacks of baked beans. Katie smiled and brandished a loaf of bread.
“No finer feast.”
* * *
—
THEY ATE AROUND the breakfast bar. Gabe turned on the flat screen on the wall and CITV played in the background in a way that was both vaguely irritating and immensely comforting. Funny the things you forget you miss, he thought. Like the sound of kids’ TV, or tripping over children’s shoes, or their lack of tact and subtlety.
“So your real name is Izzy?” Sam asked.
Izzy nodded.
“And you’re her real dad?” he said to Gabe.
“Yes.”
“Our dad left to live with stoopid Amanda,” Gracie said.
“Right.”
“She stinks of perfume,” Sam added.
“And she won’t push me on the swings in case she breaks a nail,” Gracie said. “Then she goes like this.”
The pair pulled weirdly contorted faces.
Izzy giggled. Gabe felt something strange happen. A surge of warmth in his stomach. A desire to giggle with her. It felt strange, but nice. Happiness, he thought. This is what happiness feels like. It had been so long, he had forgotten the sensation.
He found himself staring at Izzy again. She was alive. This was real. On the way here, he had felt as though he was burning up with questions. How? Where? Why? But right now, he didn’t care about the answers. He didn’t care how this had come to be. He just wanted to enjoy sitting eating beans on toast with his daughter. Something most parents wouldn’t think twice about, but a moment of banal ordinary life he had thought he would never experience again.
After the plates had been scraped clean Gabe found a family packet of biscuits in another cupboard. They managed to maintain the sheen of normality as they munched on them, keeping the conversation generic. It helped, Gabe thought, that children have a shorter attention span and a much greater adaptability to new situations than adults. They just accept stuff for what it is. Sam was more fascinated with the house than how they came to be here. He wanted to know how big it was, how many bedrooms it had, did it have a swimming pool, was there a butler?