High Tide Read online

  Kate couldn’t summon up a response. She just hung up. She could blame the bad signal. Let Carlos sweat. He couldn’t organise the ball without her. He didn’t have an imaginative brain cell in his body. His lack of empathy to her situation was proof enough of that.

  Sam put a plate in front of her. Her mouth watered. It had been a long time since Debbie’s pizza.

  ‘Perfect,’ she told him. She picked up her knife and fork as her phone rang. Carlos again. She glared at the phone as it rang out and pressed ‘ignore’.

  The door tinged and a young girl came in with all the bounce and verve of youth, her ponytail swinging. ‘Hey, Dad!’

  The two of them hugged, and Kate smiled. She started to eat her breakfast again and began to make a list. She would need black bin liners. Some decent laundry detergent and fabric softener. Some labels – or maybe some coloured string to tie up the bags. She was going to need several piles. Trash. Charity. Recycling. Keep. Oh God …

  14

  Spencer’s funeral entourage hadn’t gone by midday, but they had gone by two.

  There had been a very awkward half hour, when Karina had broken down and begged to be allowed to take some of Spencer’s artwork to remember him by.

  ‘I never stopped loving him,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t know what happened. One moment I was the centre of his world and the next I wasn’t good enough for him.’

  ‘I don’t think I’m supposed to give you anything until the will has been read.’ Vanessa was cautious. ‘I’m seeing the solicitor on Monday.’

  ‘Just the painting over the fireplace,’ begged Karina. ‘We chose it together. We got it from a gallery after lunch at Le Caprice.’

  After seventeen glasses of wine at Le Caprice, thought Vanessa, who’d heard Spencer’s side of the story about his marriage to Karina and had no reason to disbelieve his version of events. She was histrionic and manipulative.

  ‘He said the colours reminded him of my free spirit.’

  The painting was a garish swirl of pinks and purples. Vanessa didn’t care for it one jot. She had a feeling it was worth a lot, however, and she might get into trouble for passing it over. She didn’t care, though.

  ‘Take it,’ she said. ‘Will it fit in the car?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Karina, brightening. ‘Maybe one of the men would put it in the boot for me.’

  ‘I’ll get some bubble wrap.’ Anything to see the back of her.

  Daniella appeared, pale and wan. Vanessa hugged her tight, and for a moment she felt genuine fondness for the girl. She’d lost a strong, pivotal person in her life in Spencer; Vanessa didn’t think Karina was much of a guiding force.

  ‘Come and stay, anytime,’ said Vanessa, kicking herself.

  ‘Can I?’ asked Daniella.

  Aiden was sullen and graceless and gave off a rank smell of weed. Vanessa wondered if Karina knew about his habit, but decided not to interfere. No one would thank her.

  And then everyone was off, and the house was nearly empty, except for Mary, who insisted on vacuuming before she left, and lighting a raft of scented candles to get rid of the lingering pall of cigar smoke.

  ‘It’s so rude,’ she said, ‘when they know you don’t smoke.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Vanessa. ‘We don’t have to see any of them ever again.’

  ‘Good.’ Mary gave a curt nod that expressed her disapproval.

  Mary didn’t seem herself today, thought Vanessa. She seemed distracted and anxious. Several times she had seemed to want to ask Vanessa something, but checked herself. She must be worried about what was going to happen now Spencer was gone.

  ‘Mary,’ said Vanessa. ‘I just want you to know that, whatever happens, whatever I decide, I’ll keep you on. For as long as you want to work here. I’m seeing Spencer’s solicitor on Monday, so I’ll have a better idea of where I stand, but as far as I’m concerned you are part of the furniture, and I value what you do. Hugely.’ Mary was looking embarrassed and flapping her hand as if to stop Vanessa’s eulogy. ‘No, honestly. Your support has meant the world to me. And just because Spencer’s gone, I don’t want you to worry. I know how tough things are down here, and it’s not easy to find work.’

  ‘Well, I can’t pretend I haven’t been a little bit worried,’ said Mary. ‘So I appreciate it.’

  ‘You’re a star,’ said Vanessa.

  She sent Mary home with one of the pavlovas left from the wake, because she couldn’t plough her way through all that sugar and cream on her own.

  And when the house was finally quiet, she went and sat back on the terrace. The afternoon light danced on the water, and she could see the leaves across the river were starting to turn. Before long, they would be a fiery bank of orange.

  Alone at last with her thoughts, she allowed herself to dwell on the one thing she had been keeping at bay for the past few days. She hadn’t been able to face it before now, because it was going to be an ordeal in itself. It could go either way, and she had to be prepared. Now everyone had gone, she was.

  It was time to call Squirrel.

  The redoubtable Squirrel. Vanessa’s mother. So named because she had kept her tuck squirrelled away under her bed at boarding school, and then sold off her remaining sweets when everyone else had run out. She had a keen eye for the main chance and a ruthless streak, did Squirrel.

  ‘Making money,’ she was fond of saying, ‘is all about timing.’

  Vanessa had had a tempestuous relationship with her mother, whom she found adorable and infuriating in equal measure. Vanessa’s father had drunk himself into penury and disappeared off to rural France when she was four, leaving Squirrel to bring up Vanessa and her sister on her own. She had managed to buy a small house near the river in Hammersmith by doing … Vanessa was never quite sure what. Something to do with releasing equity for people who had run up massive debts – short-term loans at huge interest rates. Vanessa had once suggested it was immoral. Squirrel had scoffed.

  ‘Darling, no one forced that cocaine up their noses, or made them buy a BMW they couldn’t afford. We aren’t talking about starving people on council estates here – we’re talking about wilful squandering. And part of my job is making sure they learn to manage their money. I’m practically a social worker.’

  Vanessa suspected that ‘managing their money’ meant redirecting their funds to the company’s advantage, but Squirrel was right. Her customers weren’t victims. They were fools.

  And whatever Squirrel’s methods, she brought up her girls in comfort and sent them to the best school she could afford. Vanessa always felt as if she was the dunce. She found school bewildering and the future opaque and terrifying. All her friends, and her sister, were galloping off to university and she’d had no idea what she wanted to do.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Squirrel. ‘You’ll be all right. You don’t have to go to university to get on in life. You’ll find your thing eventually. But you can’t sit around moping about it. You have to get a job.’

  Vanessa had eventually found a job as an assistant in a luxury homeware shop in Fulham, where the prices were inversely proportionate to the usefulness of the items. She came to love it. She learned that she had an eye for the aesthetic, and how to display things, and was quickly made head of her department. That was when Spencer had come along. And when the rift had begun. Squirrel had loathed Spencer on sight.

  ‘He wants you as a trophy wife,’ she told Vanessa.

  ‘You’re just saying that because he’s older than me.’

  ‘Older and richer. You want to be on equal terms with whoever you marry. You’re not supposed to be a bauble.’

  ‘I won’t be just a bauble.’

  ‘You’ll be at his beck and call. He’ll expect you at all his tedious dinners and parties and openings all glammed up, and he won’t let you be yourself.’

  Admittedly, Vanessa had been on her uppers when she met Spencer. She loved the shop, but she was only on shop girl’s wages. She couldn’t see how she was ever going to make
enough money to change her life, or move out of the room in the scruffy flat in Parson’s Green she shared with three other girls, or be able to afford any nice clothes. Not that she was superficial, and not that the flat wasn’t brilliant fun, but she couldn’t imagine how her life would ever change. And everybody else seemed to move on but her: get big promotions and opportunities and pay rises and make their way up in the world. The other rooms in the flat had changed inmate several times, but she remained the constant.

  So being swept off her feet by Spencer had seemed timely. He was attentive and adoring, putting her on a pedestal. She had been in awe of his energy and ingenuity. If her friends and family seemed lukewarm, she didn’t notice. Lukewarm except for Squirrel, who was glacial.

  ‘I know his type,’ she said. ‘I work with them all the time. It’s all front. Superficial charm. He’s using you.’

  Vanessa didn’t listen. She felt safe and secure with Spencer. She didn’t have to wake up wondering what on earth she was supposed to do with her life. He was clever. She was not. He made her grow up, dress and eat properly, drink decent wine instead of cheap pink plonk. He took her to places: restaurants, hotels, parties …

  ‘And what do you do in return?’ asked Squirrel. ‘Just sit there and look nice?’

  Vanessa didn’t know what to say, but she found it upsetting Squirrel found their relationship so distasteful. They got on well, she and Spencer. They never argued. Even though she had been very young, she still recalled the arguments between her mother and father: volatile and vicious.

  Spencer had comforted her. ‘Perhaps your mum is jealous?’ he suggested, and Vanessa agreed. It was what she had been thinking privately. Squirrel had never met anyone else since Vanessa’s father. And maybe her nose was out of joint because Vanessa had bagged a wealthy man and now didn’t have to work. Not that she’d set out to trap him. Far from it.

  Right up to the night before the wedding, Squirrel tried to talk her out of marrying him.

  ‘Why can’t you see what kind of man he is?’

  Vanessa took a deep breath in. She was going to say it.

  ‘Well, at least he’s not a useless drunk who abandoned his family.’

  Squirrel stood up very straight. Vanessa never knew what her mother felt about her father. For someone who was very voluble about most people, Squirrel kept quiet on the matter. She looked more upset than Vanessa thought she would be.

  ‘Did you really say that?’

  ‘You take any opportunity you can to attack Spencer. You never give him the benefit of the doubt.’

  Squirrel turned away from her daughter. She walked over to her fireplace, and fiddled with the few ornaments on the mantelpiece while she thought. When she turned, her face was grave.

  ‘I’m sorry, but as long as you’re with him, I can’t have anything to do with you both. It’s him or me.’

  Vanessa put up her hands. ‘Mum. It has to be him. What would I do without him?’

  Squirrel gave her a disapproving glare. ‘I didn’t bring you up to be dependent on a man.’

  ‘I’m not dependent. He’s my husband.’

  ‘I don’t like seeing you controlled.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what I’m used to?’

  That was a cruel barb and Vanessa knew it. Squirrel had always been bossy and organising, but she always had other people’s interests at heart.

  Squirrel shook her head sadly.

  ‘Let me know when you come to your senses. You will eventually.’

  Once she was married, Vanessa did her best to keep her relationship with her mother going, but it was easiest to keep Squirrel and Spencer apart. They had lunch once a month but, whenever they met, Spencer’s spectre hung between them and stopped any real conversation. Vanessa missed her mother, for all her infuriating and interfering ways, but their relationship could never be as it had once been for as long as she was married to Spencer.

  Now it was time to bury the hatchet. She hadn’t called her before, because she needed a clear head. She’d had to deal with the funeral, and Karina, before getting Squirrel involved. Too many strong personalities at an emotional time could be disastrous.

  Her mother answered the phone. ‘Squirrel Brown.’

  Only her mother could get away with that name sounding authoritative.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Darling.’ There was warmth in her voice. ‘Are you all right?’

  Vanessa stood by the garden wall and gazed out at the harbour beyond. Her head felt empty, but she knew it was because she was trying to keep all her thoughts at bay. How she felt about being a widow, how she felt about the future.

  And how she felt about last night …

  The only thought she allowed in was how much she wanted her mother with her. Not to have a shoulder to cry on, but just to have someone there who loved her unconditionally, and who would help to build some momentum in her life, because more than anything Vanessa felt as if she were drifting.

  Adrift.

  ‘Mum – would you come down? Now, I mean.’ She paused. ‘I need you.’

  ‘My darling, of course.’ Squirrel was never one to ignore a call to arms. ‘I just need to throw some things in a bag and I’ll drive right down. I’ll be there in time for supper.’

  Vanessa put the phone down, shutting her eyes. She felt relief wash over her. She needed someone to take charge, and there was no better person for the job than Squirrel. But she had at least four hours to wait before she arrived. There was nothing for her to do, because the house was immaculate. Mary had changed all the beds. The fridge was still full: Mary had left enough to feed an army. Time spooled in front of her, and she knew there was nothing else to think about now except—

  Him. If she shut her eyes she could feel his warmth. He was so much younger yet he’d made her feel safe.

  For heaven’s sake, she told herself. You were drunk and emotional and, frankly, any port in a storm would have done to make you feel good about yourself.

  If he was interested, he would have got in touch by now.

  He was probably in the pub with his mates, regaling them with the night’s escapade. How the posh bird hadn’t wanted to go back to the funeral tea, but had dragged him to the pub, got drunk and snogged him.

  Ugh. She was a cougar. A middle-aged woman desperate for affection.

  But there had been something, she told herself. A connection. A spark. A spark that had ignited something deep inside her.

  That was just lust, she told herself. It had been a long time. After the ectopic, sex had dwindled between her and Spencer. Neither had wanted to indulge, when it reminded them of the elephant in the room. Never mind separate rooms – they’d been in separate houses a lot of the time.

  Vanessa sighed. Nathan had been a taste of something. New possibilities. He was a sign that she was still alive. That she still had a heart, and a soul. And other things …

  Above all else, her evening with him had made her smile. It had been naughty of her, luring him away like that. Making him kiss her. Yet he hadn’t minded. He definitely hadn’t done it out of a sense of duty. It wasn’t in the job description.

  She should leave it at that. A little taste of the future and its possibilities. An amuse-bouche.

  She thought she ought to thank him, though. Good manners were ingrained in Vanessa. She couldn’t just ignore his consideration.

  At least, that’s what she told herself.

  She didn’t have his number. She’d done a runner before they’d got to the number-swapping stage. She wondered if she could get it off the barman in the Neptune. Or Sam in the café, who’d know him. But she didn’t want people talking. She knew what Pennfleet was like. They fell on gossip like a gull on a discarded sandwich: tore it apart, devoured it, regurgitated it.

  Then she had a brainwave. She went out of the garden gate and walked down to the harbour. There were quite a few late tourists milling about in the afternoon sun, eating fish and chips. She wove her way through them to a kiosk by the s
teps that led down to the water. It had piles of leaflets advertising boat trips, fishing trips, kayaking trips. She looked through them until she found the one she was looking for. Pennfleet River Picnics. And there, on the bottom, what was presumably Nathan’s number.

  She grabbed a leaflet and ran back home.

  She sat in the kitchen, staring at it. There was a picture of the Moonbeam with Nathan at the helm, and she felt her tummy turn over when she saw it. Now she had his number, she didn’t know quite what to do with it. She wanted to acknowledge his kindness of the night before, and the fact that he had jeopardised his job.

  Hell, who was she trying to kid? She wanted to hear from him again. She wanted that sweet feeling, the rush, the thrill, the warmth.

  She composed and re-composed a text. Fifteen different drafts, before finally settling on something fairly anodyne.

  Thank you for looking after me. You are a star. Vanessa x

  She thought it wasn’t too pushy or gushy. It wasn’t over-effusive. Or needy. It was, she hoped, warm and friendly, but wouldn’t freak him out, or make him think she was being predatory. He wouldn’t show it to his mates, laughing.

  She looked at it again, then removed the kiss. The kiss felt over-familiar. A step too far.

  She pressed send. They had a signal at the house, because Spencer had fitted a booster. Whether Nathan would have one, wherever he was, was another matter. All she had to do now was wait.

  15

  ‘So,’ said Sam. ‘Are you going to tell me about him?’

  It was the lull between lunch and tea, when the café went quiet for about half an hour. Daisy had cleared the tables and was rearranging the cake displays, sweeping up the stray crumbs. Sam thought this was an opportune moment to talk to her. He wanted to do it without Jim earwigging or putting in his two-pence-worth.