Just My Luck(31)

‘Jennifer,’ he states.

‘Jennifer?’ I’m surprised. I glance at the kids who are sitting facing us; Jake’s gaze follows mine. Emily and Logan are wide-eyed, pale, worry pours from them. They’ve been anxious since the press conference blew up. Naturally. One minute they are at school moaning about the lunches and homework, the next in New Bond Street hell-bent on a shopping spree to end all shopping sprees and then they are witnessing their father on the wrong end of a punch. It’s a roller-coaster ride.

Jake throws out a smile. ‘Hey, it’s going to be fine, right. There’s nothing to be concerned about.’ Emily rolls her eyes, Logan shrugs. They both turn their heads and look out of opposite windows. Unconvinced. It was easier when they were babies.

‘Why do you need to get to Jennifer?’ I ask quietly.

‘She’s on the fence. Her testimony was ambiguous.’

‘Ambiguous how?’

‘She said she was out of the room when it was discussed. I guess she could fall either way.’

‘But she wasn’t.’

‘No.’

‘Why would she say that, rather than stick to her story? Doesn’t that weaken their case?’

Whispering, aware of the children, ‘It does, which suggests to me that she’s open to some sort of deal.’

I fight a surge of anger that is simmering and threatens to boil. ‘And Fred?’

‘That’s the strangest thing of all, Fred has admitted that they pulled out.’

‘He did!’

‘Yes, isn’t that odd?’

‘I can understand it. Did he say he heard Carla and Patrick pull out too?’

‘Maybe. Yes, I think so. I don’t know. I need to talk to Jennifer.’

‘Do you though?’ I ask.

Jake doesn’t acknowledge my comment; he pulls out his phone and sends a text. Presumably to Jennifer. I glower. We haven’t been in touch since the thirteenth of April. She was once one of my best friends. It’s unbelievably sad. Jake must see the grief skitter across my face. ‘Look, don’t worry about it. Leave it to me.’ He stares purposefully at the kids; I know he’s trying to remind me of what we are in danger of losing. He’s reminding me of my loyalties and duty.

It is frustrating that neither of them has their earbuds in. Usually it is virtually impossible to get their attention, but I know that whilst they are pretending to be focused on the cars and tarmac whizzing by, they are no doubt acutely tuned in to what we are saying. Maybe this is why rich people have to drive around in such big cars, so they can whisper about deals, wins, pacts and treaties. ‘What a mess. It’s all so grubby,’ I mutter.

Jake plays with the cufflinks on his shirt. They are new (Deakin and Francis). His suit is new too (Tom Ford), as is his shirt (Brioni), and tie (Steffano Ricci); even his socks and underwear are new (Calvin Klein). He looks crisp, sharp, expensive. ‘I’m a whole new man,’ he said gleefully as he got dressed this morning. I had to root through the discarded receipts in order to establish how much this new man had cost. Unbelievably, over ten grand. I guess that is far from grubby. ‘Surely we should just leave this alone now. Let it all die down. The lottery company will believe us as Fred has backed up our story.’

‘That’s not going to happen. The Pearsons are still going to fight us. We need Jennifer on side. I have to talk to her. You can’t just hope for the best, Lexi. You also have to plan for the worst. There are millions at stake here.’ Jake reaches across and squeezes my leg. The squeeze sends a thrill and a throb through my body. It’s weird, even after all these years, I’m still basically putty in his hands. Carla and Jennifer used to say I was really lucky that my husband could still make me feel that way. Sometimes I’m not sure. For a few moments neither of us can trust ourselves to speak. Eventually he says, ‘I’ll drop you and the kids off at home first and then go straight to Jennifer’s.’

‘Without me?’

‘Yes. This will be better if I handle it.’

We drive home in silence. The thick soupy miserable sort that floods homes with grief and regret.

When we get back to the house the kids go to their separate rooms. Close the doors behind them. I guess Logan will be playing Fortnite and Emily will probably be indulging in another round of online shopping. I sigh. I know I need to get them back to school and into a routine but I’m getting no support from Jake on that, and obviously they are reluctant. I haven’t got the energy to fight them all.

Whilst Jake is out, I text Fred and thank him for his statement. He texts straight back and we swap a few messages. I pick up a magazine and try to read it. I find my mind wandering and I read the same three lines of the same article about twenty times. I hunt about for my old copy of Mansfield Park by Jane Austen. I studied this text for A level and have reread it about ten times since. It’s reassuring, civilized, orderly. I’ve always liked the message Austen advocated: decency prevails. This novel is comfort food for the brain, and I need to get out of my own world. Odd, when I’m living the dream.

When Jake finally returns, he’s carrying a number of cardboard bags, the fancy sort that are fastened with ribbons and have rope handles. The driver helps him unload the car. Clearly, he’s found time to indulge in another shopping fest. The kids dash down the stairs to see what goodies he’s bought. I can’t talk freely in front of them but am desperate to know what’s gone on. ‘Did you talk with Jennifer?’ I whisper.