Beneath the Skin(28)

David lugs his football kit from the boot of his old Land Rover and stops to admire the new paving on the drive of White Gables. No sign of moss at all. As usual Antonia has done a fantastic job of organising it, he thinks automatically. But he’s suddenly caught by a thought. Paving half an acre is expensive. Has it been paid for? He has no idea. He merely glances at the bank statement when it arrives to check that it’s in credit. That it doesn’t need topping up. That’s all he’s ever needed to know.

‘Can we afford it?’ Antonia asked every step of the way through the year-long renovation.

‘Of course we can,’ he always replied. ‘And don’t worry about the price, darling. You get what you pay for and you’re absolutely worth it.’

Antonia pays the workmen by debit or credit card. But it’s his account, the statements come addressed to him, private and confidential. He’s always topped up when he’s needed to. But what now? What now if extra money is needed? He takes a deep breath, reminding himself that it’s only the snagging which remains outstanding and that’s already been paid for, in theory at least. And Antonia doesn’t pry, thank God she doesn’t pry.

He shakes off the thought of money, trying to rekindle the warm glow of the football match. But as he heads towards the steps he notices the steam of his breath in the cold air and there’s that familiar clasp of apprehension in his chest, the one he’s had since boyhood. He hopes Antonia has driven carefully, it’s a long way to Stoke and he worries about the weather.

‘Afternoon, David. I’ve got something for you,’ a voice calls, interrupting his thoughts.

His neighbour, Naomi, disappears from the fence which separates the land their houses are built on, and then returns a moment later waving his brown wallet in the air. She’s wearing her dressing gown, he notices. But then she’s always wearing her dressing gown. He and Antonia have a laugh when they speculate why.

‘Someone dropped it off this morning, but Antonia was out, so he left it with me.’

David strides to the end of the drive and hops over the long damp grass. He looked for the wallet yesterday but couldn’t find it. There was a small flash of concern that there might be something in it that shouldn’t be there when he realised it was missing. But as he focuses on Naomi’s long painted nails, he remembers that he paid for the last round in the pub on Friday, so he must have lost it there. Of course. Charlie! It was strange to see Charlie out of place in the Royal Oak. Surprisingly pissed too. He must’ve picked it up at the bar and forgotten to hand it back.

The football spark dulls just a little more. It was another missed opportunity to speak to Charlie alone.

‘Who was that then?’ he asks Naomi with a smile. ‘Charlie Proctor, I assume.’

‘No, not Charlie, that other friend of yours. He was here in the week.’ Naomi’s cheeks flush. ‘Do you know, I can never remember his name? He’s … well, he’s tall, rather good looking, drives a sports car?’

David nods, feeling the cold.

Naomi tightens her belt. ‘He’s very charming, isn’t he? And good of him to bring it round so quickly. I hate it when anything goes missing.’

‘Very good.’ David nods again, feeling rooted to the spot despite his dampening feet, wanting to ask questions, but not knowing what to ask or how to begin.

The house is in darkness when Antonia arrives home from Stoke. She flicks on the lights of the hallway and the kitchen, then walks into the dim lounge, wondering idly where David might be.

‘You’re home.’

‘David! You made me jump. Why are you sitting in the dark?’

She bends to turn on a small table lamp next to the sofa. ‘You look sad. Are you OK?’

‘I was worried about the ice, that’s all,’ he says, holding out his arm.

She takes his large hand for a moment and then places it against her cheek as she kneels by the side of his armchair. ‘There wasn’t any ice.’

‘There might have been black ice,’ David says. ‘It’s there but you can’t see it.’

Antonia nods, bringing David’s hand to her mouth and kissing it gently. Once long ago, in a moment of frivolity, she gave Charlie a clumsy hug. ‘Thank you for always looking out for us. You’re the best dad anyone could have!’ She’d turned to David. ‘Don’t you agree, David? Charlie’s a brilliant dad?’ Charlie didn’t return the hug. He frowned and Antonia immediately regretted her words. She’d meant them affectionately, with love. Of course Charlie wasn’t nearly as old as anyone’s dad, he just looked it. She’d obviously offended him. It was only later, when they were alone, that he explained in a gruff voice how David had suffered when his parents died. Of course she knew they were dead, but David had never said when it had happened or how.

‘He was twelve. Still a boy. A car crash on the ice,’ Charlie told her. ‘On a country road, just turning a corner. Losing both parents in the blink of an eye. Tragic. Very tragic.’

David now breaks the silence. ‘How’s your mum?’ he asks. ‘You know I’d come too, if you wanted me to.’

‘I know, love.’ Then after a moment. ‘She’s fine, thanks,’ she says, her automatic reply which needs no further detail. ‘Look at the time. I’ll put the lasagne in the oven, shall I?’