Haven't They Grown(34)

‘Did he ever hit Dad?’

‘No. Of course not.’

‘Why “of course”? People hit people all the time. How did you get to be friends with a maniac? Unwise life choice.’

‘Flora was my best friend at university. She was younger than me, but we met through rowing and clicked straight away. Lewis was her boyfriend, and I just accepted him, like she accepted Dad. We became a foursome.’

‘You rowed?’ Zannah looks horrified. ‘In a boat? On a cold, wet river?’

‘Yeah, for my college.’

‘Oxbridge shit is so weird. I’m not going there.’

‘What, you mean because you’re never going to do any revision?’

‘Straight savage there from Mum. Nice one, Mum. You really got the crowd roaring with that one.’

‘Wanna know something I haven’t even told Dad yet?’

‘Obviously.’

‘The photograph Jeanette Cater showed me of her so-called children was a fake. It was a picture of a boy and a girl, around five and three. Kevin Cater probably printed it off the internet. The picture didn’t fit the frame. At all. There were big black margins of backing card at the top and bottom. If you’d seen the Caters’ house … bland, grand, magazine-photo-ready, if you know what I mean—’

‘You mean, not a tip like our house?’

‘—but perfect, everything fitting exactly right, no expense spared. I don’t believe people who live in a house like that would frame a picture of their two children so … badly. Yes, our house isn’t the tidiest, but even I wouldn’t frame a photo in such a slapdash way. Notice, all the photos of you and Ben all over the house are properly framed.’

‘Why haven’t you said this to Dad?’

‘I will. I just …’ I break off with a sigh. ‘I think he’ll tell me that I can’t possibly know how two strangers would frame a photograph. And he’d be right.’

‘Okay, here’s my theory.’ Zan tucks her hair behind her ears. ‘Lewis – the maniac – used to hit Flora, like maniacs do. She eventually left him, and he let her – maybe he was bored of her and fancied getting a new wife – but he had one condition: she mustn’t ever tell anyone that he was a violent abuser. She agreed to keep quiet, in exchange for getting to keep the house. She married Kevin Cater – someone she knew from when they worked together. Lewis moved out of the Hemingford Abbots house and Kevin moved in.’

‘So Flora Braid is now Mrs Kevin Cater? Then who’s the woman I met, who told me and Dad she was Kevin’s wife?’

‘The woman with a foreign accent?’ Zan rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t people with huge mansions usually have foreign servants? Like, Polish nannies, Romanian cleaners? Jeanette sounds more like a French name, to be honest.’

‘It’s not her real name. She said—’ I stop, gasp and grab Zannah’s arm. ‘Zan. Zan, you’re brilliant.’

‘Why, thank you. What did I do?’

‘I can’t believe this has only just occurred to me. Oh, my God.’

‘What?’

‘Do you have a different name for French lessons at school? A French name?’

She laughs. ‘Er … no. Mum, no one calls us anything or teaches us anything at Bankside Park. We don’t learn shit.’ Normally this sort of statement would send me into a spiral of panic.

‘My French teacher gave us all French names. I was élisabeth. I told Flora that, soon after we met. It came up when we were comparing notes about the schools we’d gone to, and she said, “We did that too.” I didn’t remember until now. Why didn’t I think of it as soon as Marilyn Oxley—’

‘Mum, slow down. You’re making no sense. So what if you and Flora both had … Oh.’ Zan’s eyes widen. ‘You mean …?’

‘Yes. Flora’s French name at school was Jeanette.’





9


‘Great. We’re here,’ says Zannah, as we pull up on the street outside Kimbolton Prep School. ‘Now are you going to tell me why we’re here?’

Three nights – mainly sleepless, for me – have passed since I realised that of course Flora would change her name to Jeanette if she were going to change it at all. I’ve forced myself to do a full two days of massages, so as not to let clients down, and to prove to myself that I’m still an ordinary person with an ordinary life.

It’s ten in the morning. I’ve timed this trip, unlike my last visit to a school, to ensure that I won’t bump into any parents dropping off or picking up their children. I don’t want to see Flora, or Kevin Cater – or the woman who called herself Jeanette because, for some reason, I’m not allowed to know that Flora still lives in that house.

Today I’m not here to try and catch a glimpse of any of them; I’m here to find out about the people who live at 16 Wyddial Lane – as much as I can, which will be easier if they’re not here. I’m telling myself that if I approach the task ahead with the resolve of Lewis Braid on that day at the Corfu Hotel …

‘You can do it, Beth,’ I hear Lewis’s voice in my mind. He was brilliant at motivating people. Once, when I had a deadline at work that was nearly driving me to a nervous breakdown, he said, ‘Have you tried telling yourself that it’s the best fun ever and you’re loving every second of it? You’d be amazed how much that’ll change your attitude and the outcome.’