Girl Unknown(62)

Leaving my bags of groceries by the door, I began to climb the stairs towards the attic.

‘You can’t be serious?’ I heard Robbie say, his voice querulous and shrill.

Zo?, sounding more controlled, said: ‘Please, Robbie. Don’t be like this.’

‘I think it’s disgusting.’

‘Don’t be so dramatic!’

‘He’s old enough to be your dad!’

‘So what?’

‘That beer belly. How can you let him touch you?’

‘What’s going on?’ I asked.

Robbie stood with his arms folded over his chest, while Zo? turned back to the bed. I saw the open suitcase, clothes flung inside. The drawers of her bureau lay open and empty. She began zipping her laptop into its cover.

‘Are you leaving?’

‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ she replied, a little petulantly.

I didn’t deny it and she put the laptop into her bag, squashing down the clothes, and zipped up the suitcase.

‘Where are you going?’ I asked.

When she didn’t answer, Robbie spoke up. ‘She’s moving in with him.’

‘Who?’

‘Tell her,’ he said to Zo?.

‘Tell me what?’

She stood at the other side of the bed, her eyes trained on her bag. There was something shifty in her manner. At last, she straightened up and looked at me, her gaze growing more defensive. ‘I’m moving in with Chris.’

‘Chris?’ I asked, momentarily confused, scanning my memory for some recollection of a Chris in her conversation. ‘You don’t mean our Chris?’

‘It’s a joke,’ Robbie said.

‘It’s not a joke,’ she countered, her forehead creasing with annoyance. ‘We care about each other.’

‘Oh, please,’ he said. ‘I’m going to throw up.’

I couldn’t explain the feeling of betrayal that arose. The thought of Zo? and Chris together. It was not just shock that I felt, but something with a harder burn: she was creeping into every area of our lives.

‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ Robbie asked me.

‘How long has this been going on?’

She shrugged. ‘A couple of months.’

‘The night Chris called over,’ I murmured. ‘You both went for a drink.’ The pieces fitting together in my head. All those nights she hadn’t come home, her withdrawal from the household. Of course someone else was involved. It made perfect sense.

‘He was really kind to me that night, when I was upset. He made me laugh.’

‘He’s, like, Dad’s best friend!’

‘So what? He’s fun. He understands things.’ She lifted the bag from the bed and it occurred to me how young she was – the bag, a monstrous thing, seemed more than she could handle.

‘Are you going now? Right this minute?’

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Do you want me to stick around for a long, slow farewell?’

I ignored that. My mind was leaping all over the place. Yes, I wanted her gone, but not like this. Not to him. ‘Have you thought this thing through properly? Don’t you have some friend your own age whose couch you can crash on for a while?’

‘What do you care, Caroline?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, Zo?. I love Chris dearly. He’s a kind, funny, caring man. But he’s a lot older than you. And his marriage has just broken down – his emotions are all over the place.’

‘So?’

‘Aren’t there boys in college you’d be more interested in dating? Boys your own age? A girl like you – you could have your pick.’

She rolled her eyes, a strand of hair falling across her face, which she made no attempt to push back. ‘I like Chris. He’s fun,’ she said. I saw the mischief come into her eye, a hard gleam of trouble. ‘And he’s great in bed.’

Robbie looked at her in amazement.

I rubbed my hand along my brow, the throb of a headache starting in my temples. ‘Does David know about this?’ I asked.

She shrugged. ‘I haven’t told him.’

‘I’m not sure this is a good idea. It’s a big step.’

‘I know what I’m doing. It’s best for everyone if I go. You’ll be happier without me.’

On a rising note of exasperation, I said: ‘Is this a permanent thing? Are you moving in together or are you just going to stay with him until you get something else sorted?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll see how it goes.’

Lowering my voice, I said: ‘Zo?, please. This is serious. You might get hurt.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said.

All those weeks of her being in the house, the dread that announced itself every time I walked through my front door. All those meals sitting across from her, the careful way she ate, pulling her hair into a twist over one shoulder. Those nights listening for her voice on the phone upstairs, or for the sound of her key turning in the lock. All the time, I had been waiting for her to leave, willing it to happen so that we could be free of her constant presence. Now that it came to it, I found no sense of satisfaction or relief.

‘Please just stay until David gets home.’