Girl Unknown(74)

‘I haven’t told her yet …’

‘Chris,’ Caroline interjected.

‘And I’d thank you not to tell her either,’ he added.

She was nonplussed. ‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘On the one hand, you’re all lovey-dovey, buying rings, making your big announcement, and yet you’re trying to hush it up.’

‘I want to tell Susannah to her face, not over the phone.’

It was a cop-out and he knew it. I said: ‘Your divorce could take years to come through. Why couldn’t you have waited? Getting engaged while you are still married, it’s not right.’

Before he could answer, Caroline said: ‘She’s not pregnant, is she?’

It hadn’t occurred to me, but now that she said it, it seemed so startling and obvious, I was almost breathless.

Chris stared at her, injury settling on his face. ‘No, Caroline, she’s not.’

She put a hand to her chest, her relief instantaneous, then reached out to touch his shoulder. ‘Sorry. No, really, I am sorry – that was crass. I don’t know why I said it.’

‘Is that really what you think? That the only possible reason Zo? and I might want to marry each other is because of an unplanned pregnancy?’

Neither of us said anything. The truth was that their relationship confounded us both. For my part, I believed he was in the throes of a midlife crisis. There was something sordid and desperate about the way he had latched on to Zo?. Caroline’s thoughts, when she voiced them, tended towards conspiracy theory. She believed Zo? was using Chris as part of some game she was playing, that the girl was getting her tentacles into every area of our lives and that not even our friends are safe from her. I dismissed her theory, but I knew she hadn’t let it go. The suspicion was written all over her face. If Chris saw it too, he didn’t say.

‘For years I’ve been sleepwalking through my life,’ he told us. ‘But with Zo? I can feel the blood rushing through my veins. The divorce might take a while. It’s Ireland after all, but once it’s done, Zo? has agreed to marry me.’

I couldn’t listen to any more of it. Standing up, I announced I was going to find Holly. As I left the kitchen, passing through the hall towards the patio doors, I heard Caroline say in a low voice: ‘You see how upset he is? You guys being here is the last thing he needs. His mother just died, for God’s sake.’

I don’t know how Chris responded, whether he nodded sheepishly or mumbled a reply. All I heard was Caroline’s voice, her instructional no-nonsense tone: ‘As soon as the bridge reopens, both of you need to leave.’

It was mid-morning and sunlight was making progress across the back wall of the garden, throwing long shadows from the yew tree on to the terrace below. The pool was half in shade. I stood at one end where Holly’s towel was neatly folded on the ground, her glasses sitting on top, and waited for her to finish her lap. She stroked evenly through the water, touching the end and squinting up at me.

‘Hey there, Birthday Buddy,’ I said, smiling down at her.

‘Hi, Dad.’

She made no move to get out, just stayed there swishing around.

‘What’s it feel like to be twelve?’

‘It’s okay,’ she said, impervious to my attempts at good humour. ‘Did Mum tell you about the bridge?’

‘She did.’

‘It means we can’t go to La Rochelle.’

‘I know, sweetheart. We’ll do something else instead.’

‘Okay.’

Her heart had been set on a day in the city. Caroline had promised to take her shopping and we were going to have lunch, the four of us, in a swanky restaurant. In the wake of such disappointment, Holly was entitled to have a little sulk, I supposed.

‘Your mum’s been to the market. She’s bought all manner of things. We’re going to have quite the birthday feast.’

Taking her glasses from her towel, she put them on and said: ‘I suppose she’ll be there.’

She, meaning Zo?.

‘I expect she will be,’ I said gently, ‘and Chris.’ I wanted to be sensitive to her mood but had to be firm too. It wasn’t as if I was thrilled at the prospect either.

‘Mum hates her,’ she told me.

The word struck me like a physical object. ‘That’s a bit strong, Holly.’

‘It’s true,’ she said. ‘I do too.’

The blankness of her voice, the way she said the words so tonelessly, with such sincerity, was chilling.

I didn’t say anything, just watched as she put her palms down on the poolside terrace and pulled herself out of the water. She reached for her towel and shook it out. She was still my little girl. I opened out my arms to her. ‘Birthday hug?’

‘I’m all wet, Dad,’ she told me, turning away so she could dry herself.

The sun was hitting the water behind her, the shimmering light blinding. Her body was silhouetted against it and I saw, with sad surprise, the buds of new breasts beneath her swimsuit that I hadn’t noticed until now. This change in her, coupled with her dismissal of my embrace, tugged sharply at my emotions, and I felt the shock of imminent tears. This was my first birthday without my mother. Somehow Holly’s coldness and the understanding that she was shutting down the physical affection between us – a natural side-effect of adolescence, I knew, but still – drew out my grief in a new and unexpected way. The light bouncing off the pool made my head hurt. The heaviness I had felt in the air when I first awoke no longer seemed atmospheric. Rather, it had moved inside my head – an inner pressure pushing outward against the boundary of my skull.