‘Courtney told me about your new job. Fancy,’ he says.
‘It is. The house is amazing.’ I don’t want to antagonize him so I play along.
‘Maybe I could come over sometime.’
I grimace. What planet is he on? ‘I don’t think my boss would like that very much,’ I say, trying to keep my voice calm.
He shrugs and lights a cigarette. He doesn’t offer me one. I gave up as soon as Mum became ill. After watching her dying of lung cancer at the age of forty-nine, I’ll never smoke again.
He doesn’t say anything else and we walk along in silence. The streets are slick with recent rain, and the light from the lampposts is refracted in the puddles.
‘You shouldn’t walk home alone late at night,’ he says suddenly, breaking the silence.
‘I’m not alone. You’re with me.’
‘You know what I mean. It’s not safe.’
I roll my eyes. ‘What do you want, Vince? Why are you walking with me?’
He flicks his cigarette to the kerb. ‘I still love you.’
‘Vince …’
‘I know. I know. We can’t go back. But … well, I just wanted you to know that.’
I sigh. How can I tell him that I’ll never forgive him or trust him again? What if he turns on me, like he did the night we finished?
‘Love isn’t enough sometimes, though, is it?’ I say, as we turn onto Sion Hill. The suspension bridge is lit up in the distance and a fine rain is illuminated by the old-fashioned lampposts. ‘This is me,’ I say, halting outside Elspeth’s house and he gives a low, appreciative whistle.
‘Wow. The old lady must be loaded.’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I think she’s had the house a long time.’
‘Still. This is worth a couple of mil.’
Vince is obsessed with money. I turn to look at him as he stares at the house, no doubt imagining that’s the sort of place he’ll buy when he’s ‘made it’。 And then I feel a stab of guilt mixed with pity. Why not have those dreams? Who am I to judge? After all, I have dreams too. Vince has had a shit time: a dad who beat him up, a mother who turned a blind eye. Music was an escape for him. He must see me assessing him as he bends over and touches my cheek. I wince, and hurt flashes in his eyes. ‘I wish I could take it all back. Be the man you needed me to be. I would never hurt you. I’m not my dad.’
‘It’s in the past …’
His eyes glisten and he looks as though he’s about to cry. ‘It’s not, though, is it?’
I hang my head in answer.
He lights another cigarette. Then he leans towards me and his lips brush mine. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers.
I watch as he walks down the street, his collar up against the cold, his familiar lumbering gait, the tip of his cigarette glowing amber in the dark.
As I push open the gate, I glance up at the house and freeze. Someone is standing at the window of my bedroom, watching me.
9
Kathryn
Has she seen me? Kathryn darts away from the window. What was she thinking? Stupid, stupid. She needs to be more careful. The visit from the police today has unnerved her, sent her into a bit of a spin. When Una went out she couldn’t resist coming up here, to what was once her bedroom, long before it was Matilde’s or Jemima’s or Una’s. Long before those other girls came and took away her mother’s attention. This room was different then, of course, not as plush as it is now, no en-suite bathroom or varnished floorboards or tastefully painted walls. Just two interconnecting rooms that had once held the things nobody wanted, which had been hurriedly thrown away when she’d moved up here. Funny how she’d ended up in this room, another thing nobody wanted. She remembers how excited she’d been when Elspeth said she could decorate it however she liked. Elspeth had taken her shopping, revelling in showing her all the lovely expensive wallpapers, vetoing anything she considered cheap and tacky, so in the end the turquoise paper dotted with pink hummingbirds that had adorned the walls – now stripped and painted a tasteful dove grey – hadn’t been Kathryn’s choice. But it had been a big improvement on what she’d had before so she’d been grateful.
The sound of the front door banging reverberates through the house. Una can’t seem to do anything quietly. She’d better get out of here before Una catches her. How would she explain this?
Kathryn lets herself out of the bedroom, then takes the key out of the pocket of her cardigan and re-locks the room, just how Una left it. Then she slips down the stairs onto the landing that leads to the spare room where she sleeps for two nights a week. The room she wasn’t allowed to have as a kid. It’s a double, like the other three bedrooms on this floor, with sash windows that look out onto the garden and pretty rambling-rose wallpaper, a four-poster bed and mahogany bedside cabinets. Every room here is done in a chintzy style. Kathryn’s house is the opposite, all clean lines and minimalist furniture.