Beneath the Skin(65)

Helen glances at The Tardis too. It’s still the size of a bloody wardrobe. Ridiculous, she always comments to Charlie. Who could possibly need such a large freezer? Especially for only two people, one of whom eats like a bird.

She turns back to Antonia’s flushed face. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t do the catering, you’re the widow,’ she begins. Then she goes on to patiently (extremely patiently, she later tells Charlie) explain the facts. Perhaps Antonia doesn’t fully understand that David was friends with the Royal Oak’s landlord, Seamus, and his wife for years. Since he was a student at Manchester Polytechnic, in fact. That he even lodged with them at some point and they treated him like a son. So it’s entirely appropriate and expected that the wake should be there.

Watching the girl’s expression, Helen knows her careful reasoning has hit home. So she nods encouragingly and smiles, opening her mouth to say she’d be perfectly happy to sort the arrangements herself. But a voice interrupts. ‘The wake will be here. It’s Antonia’s choice and she has decided, Helen. We’ll hear no more about it.’

They all turn and stare at Mike Turner in surprise. He’s raised his voice, which isn’t really necessary, Helen later tells Charlie, and his unshaven face looks like thunder.

‘What’s up, Dad?’ Rupert asks from the bedside. ‘I mean, I know it’s awful about Uncle David, but is there something else? You seem …’ His voice trails away.

Charlie stares through Rupert with vacant eyes for a moment before answering. He’s been working out how best to deal with ‘the insurance problem’ all day, without any solution. Cooking the books is the obvious way out, but that’s too blatantly wrong. Besides, it would involve too many people, even if Tony from accounts were willing to doctor the statements, as he would be, for Charlie.

‘How does one escape when there’s no obvious way out?’ he asks, finally focusing on Rupert’s inquisitive face. It sounds like one of the riddles he posed on long journeys to St Ives when Rupert was about eleven or twelve.

‘Bribery or blackmail? And if that doesn’t work, then fall on your sword,’ Rupert immediately replies with a grin. There’s no need to mull it over for fifty miles or so on this occasion.

Charlie puts a thoughtful finger to his lips and his grey eyes focus on the too-short curtains of the hospital room before eventually looking back at his son. ‘Yes, or perhaps a mix of all three,’ he says slowly. His face brightens and he chuckles. ‘Well done, Rupe. Good thinking! Got your mother’s brains, you have.’

‘And my father’s good looks?’

The family joke. It’s nice to hear Rupert say it. It’s usually Helen’s line.

‘You can’t ignore Antonia forever,’ Sami says when he finally arrives home from seeing Jemima, feeling vaguely dissatisfied. ‘She’s been your best friend since you were a kid. David’s dead. He killed himself, Sophie. That’s really bad. She must need you. And the funeral’s coming up soon.’

Sophie is lying on the sofa in the dark, without even the television for company. He glances around the room for a wine bottle or a glass but finds none. Then he apologises for being so late, explaining that the client prattled on over a drink and that it was difficult to escape.

‘That’s fine,’ she replies. He’s surprised at her mood. It’s muted and she’s quiet. Far too quiet.

He lifts Sophie’s head and sits on the sofa, feeling the warmth she’s left there through his fine-wool suit trousers. It was a crap evening with Jemima. He wishes he hadn’t gone. The sex was perfunctory on his part and her compliments left him cold this time. He should have resisted. He should’ve come straight home.

‘She didn’t love David.’ Sophie’s husky voice interrupts his thoughts. It sounds flat, disinterested.

‘Love’s a funny thing,’ he replies, bending down to stroke back her hair and plant a soft kiss on her forehead.

‘Do you love me, Sami?’

His hand stops its rhythmic stroking for a moment before starting again. He can’t remember her ever asking him that question before.

‘Of course I do. Very, very much.’

‘Even though I’m getting fat.’

‘No you’re not, I like you just as you are. Hey, what’s all this?’

Thoughts flash through Sami’s mind. Has he been sloppy? What does she know?

Sophie shakes her head, turning it into his body so he can’t see her face. But the tears he can feel, as they slowly seep through his shirt on to his skin.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


It’s gone. The black dog has gone. At least for now, Mike thinks to himself repeatedly. He doesn’t want to tempt fate. Fate being a bad thing. Like new shoes on the table. Like ladders, magpies and cracked mirrors. Just some of Olivia’s superstitions. He laughed with surprise the first time they became apparent on a day trip to Blackpool not long after they started dating.

‘Buying heather from a gypsy, Olivia? You of all people can’t possibly believe in all that rubbish.’

‘I don’t. She needs the cash. Anyway, better safe than sorry. And stop laughing!’

‘Sorry, but, spells and bad omens. Really?’

‘Don’t look so smug! It’s not so different to your blessed religion, Mike. Remember that Old Testament God? Divine retribution and wrath?’