The Things You Didn't See(85)

‘Monica? I’m Cassandra Hawke.’

Now her face alters, the eyes soften slightly. ‘Oh, did Dawn forget something?’ She looks behind me, expecting her daughter to appear.

‘No, Daniel’s driving her back to Kenley. I’m here alone.’

The flint returns, though I also see she’s puzzled. ‘Well, I’m due out in twenty minutes.’ She’s wondering what I’m doing here, but she’s not panicked. I have my first flutter of doubt: if she’s his mistress, why is she so calm at my turning up?

‘That’s plenty of time. Can I come in?’

Monica holds the door a little wider and I cross the threshold.

There’s no emotion in the house: scuffed pink walls, a dark green carpet belonging to another decade. There are no pictures or photos hanging on the walls. It feels temporary, like a place you’d stay because you needed a roof, but it’s not a home.

Monica leads me through to the front room and I perch on a sofa I recognise from the Ikea catalogue, but from several years ago. It sags under me, and to the side is a bare shelving unit that must have been bought at the same time as the sofa.

‘So when Dawn’s at school, you live here alone?’

‘I mainly live in hotels,’ says Monica, sitting at the far end of the sofa, adjusting her other earring and fluffing her hair. She’s dressed for work, in navy trousers and a cream fitted jumper, simple clothes that you’d have found in the high street a few seasons ago. ‘I sell office equipment so I travel a lot. This place is just somewhere for me to shower and change my clothes.’ She pauses. I can see it’s an effort for her to be civil – she’s really irritated I’m here. ‘I appreciate you having Dawn to stay. It’s a big help.’

‘My pleasure.’ Which was true, but how can it be now, if she’s Daniel’s daughter? If she’s a secret he’s kept from me for fourteen years?

‘I was surprised you still wanted her to stay, what with all you’ve got going on, but Daniel said it would help Tori. I’m sorry about your mum.’ Monica says this casually, as if your death is an inconvenience rather than a tragedy. There’s a coldness about her that makes me wonder why Daniel chose her, beautiful though she is. His ex, the Olympian athlete, was vivacious and passionate, but Monica is an ice queen. His tastes must have changed.

‘Thank you.’

‘Do you want a drink?’ It’s an offer made in the hope I’ll refuse. Monica’s going through the motions of civility, but really I’m an inconvenience.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

There’s a hesitation, then she looks at her watch again. ‘I’m sorry, but – what do you want?’

I can imagine this woman in her business meetings. I bet the men she works with describe her as a ball-breaker. I bet she doesn’t have much time for the women.

‘Are you having an affair with Daniel?’

To my utter surprise, she lets out a massive snort. ‘What? Are you crazy?’ She starts to laugh – loudly, as if the very idea is preposterous.

Now it’s my turn to be confused. ‘But you did then? Fourteen years ago?’

She looks at me like I’m something the cat dragged in. ‘I wouldn’t touch that man with a bargepole, not now or anytime. What has that wanker been telling you?’

‘Nothing! He has no idea I know that Dawn is his daughter.’

Her reaction hits a new low – she looks as though she’s bitten something unpleasant. ‘You must be mad saying something like that.’

I feel exhausted by this. ‘Please, Monica, just tell me the truth. I know he’s paying for Dawn to be at Oakfield.’ I bring the crumpled envelope out of my handbag, because I can’t bear her lying to me.

‘You stole this from my letterbox?’ Monica snatches the envelope from me, reads the letter and grimaces. ‘Fuck. So, as you see, he’s not paying. That is exactly the problem.’

‘But why would he pay for Dawn’s education, if she’s not his?’

Something happens then, her haughty face clears and I see a realisation dawning. ‘That bastard never told you then? I assumed you knew, but Alfie always said you didn’t. Like he said, The Samphire Master’s a sneaky fucker.’

I’m now completely in the dark – what has Alfie Avon got to do with this? One thing is obvious, Monica isn’t a woman in love. She clearly despises Daniel and she’s warming to her theme.

‘I used to be one of Daniel’s clients, did you know that?’ I shake my head. ‘Breast cancer. God, I was such a fucking idiot – so vain that when the doctors said they needed to cut the tumour out, I was easy meat for Daniel. I’d heard him on the radio, of course. It was your mum’s case that convinced me.’

She glares at me, and I feel guilty, though it was never anything to do with me. After Daniel cured you, it was your decision to be so vocal, crowing on the radio about the miracle of his healing. It was then that you agreed to give us the farm.

Monica doesn’t care about my reminiscing, she’s got memories of her own: bad ones.

‘So Daniel prescribed a regime of juices, reiki, meditation. I was a zealot: I didn’t deviate from anything he suggested, I just wanted to keep my tits. He warned me how the medical profession would try to sabotage the programme, explained how his treatments were older than time itself or some such crap. And because I wanted to believe him, I did. Alfie warned me I was vulnerable, but I thought he was just being bitter because he’d lost his radio show . . . It cost me my marriage.’