Just My Luck(41)

‘I’m not resigning on Monday then,’ laughed Fred.

‘No, darling, you’re not,’ said Jennifer, playfully nudging her husband in the ribs. ‘So, make yourself useful and open another bottle of wine.’

The babies all slept through until it was time to carefully carry them home. The parents drank five bottles between them. More than they’d had for a while but not as much as they once used to put away. Luckily, they all lived close to one another, no one had far to walk, just a few minutes up the road. Lexi and Jake stood at the door waving their friends off, the couples excitedly whispered plans for the next meet-up and tried to smother the drunken laughter that erupted from one or the other of them. They all felt light-headed. Light-hearted. Lucky. As they closed the door behind them, Jake pulled his wife into a hug. He kissed the top of her head. He didn’t try to kiss her lips because he was aware that sleep was a higher priority to her than sex at the moment; if he’d kissed her lips, she might have thought sex was what he was hoping for.

‘Who needs the lottery millions when we have everything already?’ he asked, sleepily. ‘Great friends, loads of booze, a beautiful baby and each other.’

Lexi lifted her head, met her husband’s slightly unfocused gaze and whispered, ‘Shag me.’

Their life was perfect.





20


Lexi


When I’m certain Emily is fast asleep, I pick up my phone and hit Carla’s number. I know I gave Emily the impression that I’d follow her wishes, that I wouldn’t say anything, wouldn’t ‘make things worse’, but you know what – I’m the adult. I’m the parent. I get to decide what a suitable response to a beating is.

Carla picks up after just three rings. I imagine her in her immaculate Nicholas Anthony kitchen. The tobacco-dark wood units that beautifully contrast with the luminously pale, high-gloss lacquer surfaces. The ultimate in minimalist chic. Her cleaner comes in twice a week. She’ll be holding a glass of wine, perhaps. Red. There will be a bowl of fruit, all ripe and ready to be munched, nothing browning or past its best. I don’t bother with any sort of greeting, I launch straight in.

‘In case your lawyers are just thinking about their retainer and not keeping you fully briefed, I thought you should know Jennifer and Fred have changed their stories. Initially he maintained he and you had recommitted to the lottery. She double-crossed you from the off, said she was in the loo at the pertinent moment. Anyway, now they are both saying that they were present and correct and that they do remember pulling out the lottery.’ I have to be honest, delivering this news gives me a certain amount of satisfaction.

‘I see.’

‘So, you have no case. They’ve let you down.’

‘What did you offer them?’ she asks, coolly.

‘None of your business. I just want you to know, they are not your friends.’

‘What happened, Lexi? When did you become this person?’

I ignore her comment. Don’t rise to it. ‘I had been planning on giving you three million.’

‘Patrick and I are due six.’

‘Why are you keeping up this pretence?’ I ask. ‘Do you think I’m recording this call?’

‘Do you think I am?’ she counters. She’s good, I’ll give her that. I sigh.

‘Well, I’m not recording it, don’t worry. I just wanted you to know I have been planning on giving you three million for old time’s sake. Jake doesn’t agree, of course, but I thought you were owed it.’

She’s quiet, so quiet I can hear her breathing down the line. It’s crazy to think you can interpret breathing, but I can. I know her that well. I’ve heard her breathless after a hard run, then her breathing is raspy, laboured. I’ve heard her breath catch in chortles because she’s laughed so wildly, often at something I’ve said or done. We’d roll around the floor, our stomachs cramping in hysteria, unable to spit out words because we were laughing that hard. I’ve heard her breathing become ragged with shock when she took the call to say her brother had had a stroke. I’ve heard her fall asleep next to me on aeroplanes and in cars, after late nights out: gigs, parties, childminding. She doesn’t snore exactly, but she breathes heavily. I know how Carla breathes.

Her breath right now is expectant, hopeful. I continue. ‘With that sort of money, you could do a lot of things, Carla. You could move to a new house, go back to London.’ I know she’s secretly hankered after the bright lights of the metropolis for a while now. She’s become bored of the countryside and misses the hit of being at the heart. ‘You could start up your own business, buy that beauty salon you’ve often talked about.’ Carla once put together a really impressive business plan to buy a high-street salon (which she insisted on calling a spa). For a time, she was extremely excited about the prospect of working, being her own boss. Patrick vetoed the idea. Wouldn’t even let her petition the bank. He said salons were common. I think he likes having a little wife at home, being the big ‘I am’. I pause, ‘You could leave your husband. Take the kids and go somewhere very far away.’

She gasps. Shock? Excitement?

‘But I’m not going to give you a penny now. Not one. Go and ask your daughter why.’

Then I put the phone down before she can respond.