Twenty-one
MONDAY, AUGUST 19, 2019
Six days earlier
Dee
Cal and his dad have gone down to the beach early to watch the surfers—Cal wanted me to go too but I said I had to go to work and Liam went all moody. He’s still sulking about me going to London on my own. Honestly, it’s like having another child sometimes.
He was so sweet when I told him about Phil dying—he’d never met my brother but he hugged me tight and said how sorry he was. He tried to get me to talk about Phil, asking me about when we were kids, but I couldn’t go there. How would I stop once I started? It would be like pulling at a thread that could unravel me.
I pushed him away and told him it was something I had to deal with myself.
“Why are you shutting me out?” he said. “I feel like you’re keeping stuff from me.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” I said, and he went all quiet.
* * *
—
When I let myself into the Lobster Shack, the owner, Toby Greene, is standing barefoot on the cold tiles in the bar; his face is all slack and lost. I don’t think he even knows I’m here. He’s spooning coffee beans into the grinder but his hand is shaking and sending them skittering like black beetles across the counter.
He doesn’t respond when I say hello and jumps when I open the dishwasher. “Dee! I didn’t hear you arrive. I wish you wouldn’t creep about like that,” he mutters to himself as he walks away.
I’m rubbing up the stainless steel fittings with some baby oil when he reappears and picks up the forgotten espresso. He sits at one of the tables with his head in his hands. He’s taking a lot of those homeopathic things for anxiety. I see new ones all the time in the bathroom. But they—and the empty red wine bottles in the bin—don’t seem to be doing him any good.
His husband, Saul, is singing upstairs. Then comes down in a new outfit: tight trousers showing off his thighs and a shirt covered in palm trees. “What do you think? Nice for the holiday?” he says to Toby. Nothing.
“Hey! I’m talking to you,” Saul snaps.
“Great,” Toby says, and shuffles off upstairs.
Saul raises his eyebrows for my benefit. “He’s throwing another strop today. What do you think, Dee?”
“You look great,” I say. “When do you go?”
“End of the month. I’m so excited.”
I know Saul and Toby’s trip isn’t really a holiday but I don’t say anything. They’re going to have a surrogate baby in America. I saw the brochures in Saul’s bedside cabinet months ago and now there are sleep suits behind the towels in the airing cupboard. Six of them in different colors and patterns, still on their little padded hangers. I found Saul on the landing the other day, looking guilty and stuffing them back in. And there’s a cloud mobile in its box under the spare bed. It’s a shame Saul has to keep the baby things secret but I don’t think Toby’s ready to play daddies in front of people.
He got all snippy the other day while I was doing the kitchen sinks. He’d caught Saul looking at cots online and hissed at him, “What are you doing? It isn’t going to happen overnight—it could take up to eighteen months. The agency said so.”
“Not necessarily. Could be much sooner.” Saul had kissed him on the cheek. “Come on, Mr. Grumpy.” It normally works—Toby adores Saul—but he didn’t kiss him back like usual.
“Look, they check these women out for fertility levels,” Saul laughed. “This isn’t ovary lotto.”
* * *
—
“Tobes,” Saul has just called through from the storeroom.
“He’s gone out,” I call back. “He came down fifteen minutes ago and picked up the car keys.”
“Did he say where he was going? We need to move tables together for the birthday booking tonight.”
“Er, no, but I’ll help you. I’ve finished the floors.”
Saul has his phone to his ear when he appears. “Toby! Where are you? Ring me!”
He’s doing it a lot lately. Disappearing without a word. And they’re having rows when they never did before. I wonder if it’s another man. . . . I don’t think Toby’s the type. Saul’s another matter—he’s a terrible flirt—but he’s not the one doing a disappearing act.
* * *
—
My boys are still out when I get home and I sit at the kitchen table. I just need a moment to get myself together before Liam starts asking more questions.