The Half Sister, page 22
‘Kate, that’s enough,’ says Lauren.
‘So you’re denying any knowledge of it,’ Kate presses on, ignoring her sister. ‘You don’t remember the box, any of its contents, throwing it in the bin . . . nothing at all.’
‘No darling, I don’t,’ says Rose, reaching for Kate’s hand. She pulls it away and sits down on the sofa next to Lauren.
Kate considers telling her about the hospital tags bearing the same date – the strongest proof yet that, one way or another, Rose knows exactly who Jess is. But she decides to hold back, fearing that she won’t be able to offer a justifiable explanation as to how she came about the information. It’s going to be pretty irrelevant anyway, once the DNA results come in. Rose won’t be able to wriggle her way out of that one.
‘So you’re going to carry on with this charade?’ says Kate. ‘How could you do this to Dad? I thought you loved him.’
‘Oh darling, I did,’ says Rose. ‘Sometimes I think I loved him too much. I would have done anything for him.’
‘Having a sordid liaison in the office was not the man he was,’ says Kate, resolutely.
‘That’s not the man you wanted him to be,’ says Rose. ‘There’s a difference.’
Lauren puts a hand on Kate’s back. ‘You had a very special relationship – we could all see that, but ultimately you weren’t in a relationship with him, Kate. Mum was his wife, the person who saw what was going on.’
‘That’s not the man he was,’ Kate repeats. ‘And I’m going to prove it.’
34
Lauren
As the day wears on, Lauren has discovered that being a faithful wife and mummy to three children doesn’t sit comfortably alongside knowing you may be about to do something that could throw a grenade into your life.
She tries to convince herself, as she burns the kids’ fish fingers – even the most perfunctory tasks are proving impossible – that it’s all this business with Kate that’s messing with her head. She tries to pretend that it’s not the thought of seeing Justin tonight that’s made her put Noah’s red onesie in with Jude’s white sleepsuits. Why would it? The only reason she’s going to see him is for closure – to wrap up the unfinished business that stands between them, so they can both move on with their lives. She’ll not go into his flat – there’s no need to – they can say their goodbyes on the threshold. That’s all they need to do. So why, then, does she put on matching underwear?
As she stands in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom, adjusting her pose in an effort to turn herself into something she’s not, she wonders when time had caught up with her. When she was last with Justin, all she’d wanted was to look like a real woman, instead of the teenager that she was. But now, as she lifts her bra strap up so her breast sits where it used to, and runs her fingers over the creped skin on her stomach, she yearns for the taut skin of her youth. It seems we’re never happy.
‘Are you going out, Mummy?’ asks Noah from the doorway.
‘Hey,’ she says, rushing to him and picking him up. ‘You’re supposed to be asleep by now.’ She carries him to his bed and gently lays him down.
‘But if you’re going out, who’s going to look after me?’ he asks, rubbing the blanket he’s had since he was born against his cheek.
She weighs up the pros and cons of telling him the truth, but coupled with not having told Simon she’s going out, she opts for the path of least resistance.
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she says, hating herself. ‘Now snuggle back down.’
He offers an angelic smile as Lauren kisses him and it feels as if her heart is about to break. She can’t do whatever this is; it’s madness. Even leaving Jess in charge of the kids – regardless of who she is – goes against the grain. Lauren has never left the children with anyone other than her parents since Noah was born. She’d baulked at babysitters – no matter how highly recommended they were – because she could never truly trust a stranger. But isn’t that ultimately who Jess is? she asks herself. She doesn’t know what life she’s led, the people she’s in with, the bad habits she’s picked up along the way.
She might take drugs. She might have been in trouble with the police. What if this guy she’s seeing at work is a thief or a con artist on the side? Jess had mentioned he might pop in later – she’d sounded so excited that Lauren hadn’t wanted to burst her bubble and say no, despite how uncomfortable she felt. But what if he was a criminal who just happened to hold down a day job as well? What if he and Jess were both professional scammers who attach themselves to a mark by pretending to be related to them? Suppose they wheedle their way into people’s lives by preying on their vulnerability and strip them of everything they’ve got. The admission that she’s questioning Jess’s motives for the first time shames her. How can she leave her children with her now?
Going back into her bedroom, she calls Jess as she ruefully picks up the black jumpsuit that she’d laid on the bed. She’s just about to put it back in the wardrobe when the doorbell rings. Jess’s phone goes to voicemail and being the nearest thing to hand, Lauren hastily pulls the outfit from the hanger and steps into it. She’s still doing up the buttons as she opens the door.
‘Jess!’
‘Sorry I’m a bit early – the trains were running on time for once.’
‘Oh, I was just about to . . .’ says Lauren, staring at the phone in her hand, knowing that it’s too late to call her off now.
‘You look gorgeous,’ says Jess, looking Lauren up and down.
I look awful, Lauren says to herself, before remembering what Kate told her. ‘Thank you,’ she says out loud.
‘So, what do I need to know?’ asks Jess, as she steps into the hall.
‘Mmm, do you know what?’ says Lauren. ‘I’m not in the mood to go out so I think I’m just going to cancel. You should stay though – we can open a bottle of wine.’
‘You can’t stay in when you look like that!’ exclaims Jess with a smile. ‘People need to see you.’
Lauren laughs awkwardly.
‘I hope Simon knows how lucky he is,’ says Jess. ‘He should be very proud to have you on his arm tonight. Now go and get your shoes!’
Guilt engulfs Lauren as she goes back up the stairs, her fingers trailing the chipped paint as she goes. Whilst Simon’s out there, working through the night, she’s getting ready to go and meet another man. Yes, he’s chauvinistic, moody and sometimes loses his temper, but is it any surprise? She’s on his case 24/7; asking him to fix the shower, put the kitchen door on, paint the staircase. Why isn’t she painting the staircase instead of nagging her husband, who’s busy trying to earn enough money to look after his family?
She’s doing her utmost to convince herself that Simon deserves better, but for every reason that goes in his favour, she can think of two that don’t. Whilst they struggle to pay the bills, he could make it a lot easier if he didn’t go down the pub most nights and visit the bookies every Saturday. And on the rare occasion he takes her out, it would be nice if he talked to her, instead of looking at his phone or accusing her of flirting with the waiter.
Her only heeled shoes sit next to her slippers at the bottom of her wardrobe, seemingly offering Lauren a symbolic choice between doing what’s right or what’s wrong. It doesn’t take her long to pick the pair she wants to wear.
‘Okay, so Noah and Emmy are in bed and should be asleep,’ she says, as she carefully makes her way back down the narrow stairs in feet adorned with black patent. ‘It’s unlikely they’ll wake up, but if they do it will only be for the toilet or a drink.’
Jess nods confidently. ‘And Jude?’
Lauren looks at him, gurgling away contentedly in front of a colourful mobile on the living room floor. ‘There’s a bottle in the fridge, which he’s due to have at ten, but I’m sure I’ll be home by then.’
Jess looks at her watch. ‘It’s almost eight now,’ she says. ‘At this rate you’ll be coming home before you’ve even gone out.’
Lauren smiles as she walks away from Jess and into the kitchen, surreptitiously sweeping up the mug that holds the paltry housekeeping money that Simon deems to give her every week. She puts the forty pounds into her pocket and tucks the laptop she shares with Simon under her arm. She’d rather take it with her than run the risk of Jess and her boyfriend using it to their advantage.
‘Are you sure you’re okay to do this?’ asks Lauren as she walks back into the living room.
‘I’m actually incredibly flattered that you’ve asked,’ says Jess. ‘And anyways –’ she scuffs the floor with her feet whilst Lauren looks at her expectantly – ‘This is what sisters are for.’
The words slice through Lauren’s psyche, an image of Kate infiltrating her brain. Jess is right, this is what sisters are for, so why isn’t hers here for her now? Lauren should be able to call on Kate to help with the children, but ever since little Noah came along, she feels that her relationship with Kate has paid the price. With every child that Lauren has been blessed with, she’s felt that Kate has removed herself step by step, and now with Jess turning up, Lauren wonders if they’ll ever be how they used to be again.
Lauren pulls Jess into her, hugging her tight. ‘I’m so pleased I’ve got you,’ she says, her eyes shining.
‘And I’m pleased I’ve got you,’ says Jess.
‘Ring me if you need me,’ calls out Lauren as she gets in the car.
‘Will do,’ smiles Jess. ‘Have a good time.’
Lauren watches the front door close with conflicted emotions. How had she deemed it necessary to safeguard her laptop by bringing it with her, whilst leaving the children – her most treasured possessions – there?
She shudders involuntarily as she pulls away, still thinking about Kate and how they might possibly begin to repair their fractured relationship. If she ever finds out about what she’s doing now, she’ll never be forgiven. There’s no love lost between her husband and her sister, but Kate believes in the sanctity of marriage, and is happy to call out anyone who dares to cross the holy line. You only have to look at the headlines attached to her byline every day to know that she doesn’t suffer cheaters gladly.
‘But I’m not going to cheat,’ says Lauren to herself, as she pulls up in a road parallel to where Justin lives.
You’ll not be able to park in Butler’s Wharf itself, so just get as close to it as you can and walk the rest, Justin’s last text had read. Lauren chooses not to recall his sign-off: I can’t wait to see you x
Her heels don’t lend themselves to the cobbled passageways of Shad Thames and she almost loses her footing as she passes under the arches of the old spice mills. She stops momentarily to lean on a wall, though she’s not sure if it’s a bid to slow down her feet or her heart. By the time she reaches Justin’s door, with its twenty or so shiny intercom buttons, her mouth is dry and she’s wishing she hadn’t come. No part of this seems like a good idea right now. Her finger shakes as she trails the numbers, looking for number twelve.
‘Hi, it’s me,’ she says.
‘Come on up,’ says Justin. ‘It’s the top floor.’
Okay, so you just knock on his door, she says to herself as the lift travels up. And you say, ‘It was lovely to bump into you again, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to see each other anymore.’
She smooths down the front of her jumpsuit and swallows the lump in her throat. Got it? she asks herself, just to double-check. Got it, comes the convincing reply.
‘Hi,’ says Justin as the lift doors open, and her legs immediately turn to jelly. His dancing eyes meet hers and the jolt sends a quiver through her. He brushes her cheek lightly with a kiss and her knees threaten to give way, reminding her how it’s supposed to feel when you’re with someone you want to be with. The last time she’d felt like this was with . . . well, Justin. God, this is going to be harder than she thought.
‘Hi, listen,’ she says, aware of his hands lingering on her waist. ‘I should have called, but I thought I owed you the respect of coming here and . . .’
His lips are on hers and his hands are entwined in her hair before she can even finish the sentence. He kisses her softly, as if testing the waters. She desperately wants him to continue, but her brain is screaming at her to stop this whilst she can. But how can she when she doesn’t want to? She bites down on his lip, playing for time. ‘I need to tell you something,’ she whispers.
He pulls back to look at her, concern etched on his face. ‘Okay,’ he says, taking her by the hand and walking her towards the open door of his apartment. Her legs don’t feel like her own, and her chest is heavy, but strangely light at the same time, as if there are a hundred butterflies preparing to take flight.
‘Oh my goodness,’ she exclaims as she walks into the vast open-plan living area, with floor-to-ceiling windows perfectly framing Tower Bridge. It’s so close that she can see the expression on pedestrians faces as they cross it. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘Wait until the lights come on,’ says Justin.
‘Look . . .’ she starts, knowing that every second she drags this out will just make it harder. She turns around, to where he’s holding out a chair at a perfectly laid table for two. This isn’t what she wanted. It’s exactly what you wanted, says another voice in her head.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you,’ says Justin. ‘But why don’t we sit down and talk? You’ve clearly got something on your mind and I’m all ears. Just as soon as I get the dinner out of the oven.’
Lauren smiles, grateful to him for injecting some much-needed humour into the situation, but hating him for it at the same time because it makes her love him all the more.
She watches as he pours her a glass of red. ‘Or would you prefer white?’ he asks halfway through. ‘I assume you’re driving?’
She nods. ‘Red’s fine – just the one though.’
He fills the glass and, with a flourish of a tea towel, retreats into the adjoining kitchen. Lauren smiles after him. ‘So do you own this place?’ she calls out as she takes a sip. It would be polite to wait, but she needs all the Dutch courage she can get.
‘No, I’m just renting at the moment,’ he says, before adding, ‘Shit!’
‘You okay?’ Lauren asks. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘Just dropped a potato on the floor, but it’s yours so it’s okay.’
Lauren laughs.
‘So, yeah, I’m just renting it until I sort out what I’m doing. I’ve only been back a few months and this suits me for now, but going forward, what with the kids and all . . .’
Lauren breathes in sharply, waiting for him to carry on, not sure that she wants to hear what he’s going to say.
‘I’m hoping that they’ll want to spend some time over here, so . . .’
‘You’ll probably want a garden then,’ says Lauren, finishing the sentence for him.
‘Garden?’ he says laughing. ‘That’s not my sixteen-year-old’s main priority anymore. I’m more concerned with him having too much of what London’s got to offer by living so close.’
‘Sixteen?’ says Lauren, feeling a little winded, but she doesn’t know why. ‘And how old’s your other child?’
‘He’s just turned eighteen,’ says Justin, as he comes in carrying two plates laden with a traditional roast dinner.
‘Oh,’ stutters Lauren.
‘What, you don’t like it? Don’t tell me you’ve gone vegetarian.’
‘Erm, no . . . no it’s lovely,’ says Lauren. ‘So you had your children quite quickly after . . .’
‘Yes,’ he says.
Lauren doesn’t know if that surprises her in a good way or bad.
‘Of course, I don’t regret having them, but I wished I’d waited a while.’
‘Why?’ she asks.
He sits down heavily opposite her. ‘I think I should have taken more time to . . . to get over you and us . . .’
Lauren looks down at the plate of food on the table.
‘And, selfishly, I suppose if I’d had them later, they’d be younger now and I’d still have little nippers running around instead of ninety-kilo man mountains. I miss those times.’
Lauren smiles uncomfortably as a slow grip snakes its way around her chest. ‘So, two boys then?’
Justin nods. ‘And you? Why didn’t you have children? Or is that too personal a question?’
A potato lodges in Lauren’s throat as she formulates an answer. This is it. This is her chance to be honest. If she tells the truth now, he might just forgive her. If she lets this opportunity slide, there’ll be no coming back from it.
She clears her throat and puts her knife and fork down. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
He sits up and mirrors her actions, dabbing his mouth with a napkin.
‘I do have children,’ she says, looking past him and out the window onto Tower Bridge.
‘But I thought—’
‘I don’t know why I said I didn’t,’ she goes on, still unable to look at him for fear of seeing what’s behind his eyes. ‘When I saw you . . . I just . . . I just panicked, and everything came out wrong . . .’
‘But why didn’t you just tell me?’ he says, sounding as confused by her actions as she is.
‘I just . . . ’ she murmurs. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t tell you the truth.’ She forces herself to look at him, expecting to see loathing, but is surprised to see a softness there. Buoyed by the glimmer of hope, she presses on. ‘I have three children: Noah, Emmy and Jude.’
Justin sits back in his chair. If he feels anything like Lauren, he’ll have lost his appetite.
‘And may I . . .’ he chokes. ‘May I ask how old they are?’
She reaches across the table to take hold of his hand, knowing what he must be thinking.
‘Noah’s five, Emmy is eighteen months and Jude is five months.’
Justin lets out a long breath and pinches the bridge of his nose.
‘So you have a partner?’
Lauren nods.
Justin gets up from the table and walks over to the window, looking out onto the River Thames.
