Confessions Page 7

  Wes raised his voice. ‘I’m not turning a blind eye, Nat. Don’t fucking insult me by saying so. I’m perfectly aware of what she did. I’m just being a realist. She exists, she’s their mum. She will always be a part of their lives and therefore a part of mine. It’s not how I want it, but there it is.’

  Nat tried to keep her voice even. ‘She’s on remand, Wes. You’ll be a witness for the prosecution. I’m sure they won’t be happy about you having a tête-à-tête with the woman who set you up for a–’

  ‘What? You’re my bloody lawyer now?’ His jaw set, he moved back and glared. ‘It would hardly be a tête-à-tête, Nat.’

  ‘And what do the boys think about this?’

  ‘It’s–’

  ‘None of my business. I know. You’ve already told me. Well, that’s fine by me. Perfectly fine.’ The sheer anger made her calm. ‘Let’s leave everything there. No doubt I’ll run into you at the office from time to time.’ She gestured around the cluttered room. ‘As you can see, I’m busy covering for a good friend whose life really is complicated right now.’

  Wes stalked to the door, opened it, then closed it again. He turned and sighed. ‘I haven’t even decided what to do. Don’t let her do this.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Split us up.’

  ‘What’s to split, Wes? Your sons and your brother don’t know about me, neither did your dad. Your mum only knew because she forced it out of you. No one at Goldman Law knows–’

  ‘Your decision too.’

  ‘One you were particularly keen on, as I recall. I guess that’s the norm when you work your way around the office, sleeping with the staff.’

  ‘Catherine was–’ he started, before dropping his hands to his side.

  Nat took a deep breath. She wanted to cry, she wanted to say, ‘What about the promises you made on my birthday, the house, the garden, the apple tree. And the baby? You promised me a baby.’ But she held back the tears. Instead she looked at him coldly. ‘To be honest, I think we’ve run our course, Wes. The sex was nice, but I’m sure I can find that elsewhere.’

  She glanced down at the paperwork on the desk, needing him to stay but wanting him gone.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said eventually, and left.

  At home, Anna’s eyes were watchful all evening. They ate dinner in silence, then sat together on the sofa to watch an episode of a crime drama, which seemed tame in comparison to life at Savage Solicitors.

  ‘I’ll tell you when I’m ready, Mum,’ Nat said at the break.

  ‘I know, love,’ she replied. Then after a moment. ‘Have you phoned Isabella?’

  ‘Not yet, but I suppose I should.’

  Knowing the call had to be made at some point, Nat picked up the notepad and stared at her mum’s handwriting. Tiny print, as though it would diminish the trauma. She sighed. If it was a demand to fly to Mallorca, so be it; other than covering for Gavin, there was no longer anything holding her here. She scooped up her mobile and punched in the numbers. About to press the green icon, it rang.

  Holding her breath, Nat accepted the call. ‘Gavin? Everything okay?’

  ‘Heather went home for a few hours today. She had a shower and a kip, saw the boys.’

  ‘So that’s good.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Nat tensed. ‘And Ruthie? How’s she doing?’

  ‘More hours asleep than awake, but that’s to be expected, so…’

  ‘Awake some of the time sounds great.’ A pulse of time and then, ‘What about you, Gav?’

  There was no reply, so Nat tried for humour. ‘You must be stinking something rotten by now.’

  She heard a faint laugh before silence again.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, Gavin. No one could have anticipated–’

  ‘It was, Nat. Heather says the same as you, but it was.’

  Understanding he needed to own it, she didn’t protest. Instead she changed the subject. ‘I bought something for Ruthie and the boys. I thought when they’re ready, we could do the park and a cheeky Big Mac.’

  ‘That would be brilliant. I’ll ask Heather to text you. Everything ticking over at work?’

  ‘I’ve bagged you two murders.’ The words were out before she could stop them. She paused for a moment, hoping she hadn’t been indelicate. ‘Though I can’t take all the credit. Santa Claus and your Smart Alec paralegal helped.’

  ‘I’d better reclaim my chair before you’ve changed the nameplate. Good work, Bach. I’ll make a criminal solicitor of you yet.’

  He was trying for humour, but she could feel his sadness.

  ‘Oh, Gav. I’d like to give you a hug.’

  ‘I’d like that too. Better go. Night, Nat.’

  Putting the phone to her chest, Nat inhaled deeply. Tears were stabbing her eyes, brimming at the surface for Ruthie and Heather and Gavin, but also for herself. Something irrevocable had happened with Wes today. She’d forced it, of course, but in truth it had already been there, hadn’t it? The End. Though there had never been a beginning, not really. Neither the Cling-on nor her ghost would ever let it happen. That old tenuous triangle of Andrea, Wesley and Natalie would always be there; insidious, destructive, malignant.

  Feeling her mum’s anxious gaze, she sniffed and lifted her chin. Ruthie was improving inch by inch. Such positive news should be her focus. And in the meantime there was Issa Harrow. There was no point procrastinating.

  She rang the number and listened to the flat ringtone for several moments.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi. Issa? It’s Natalie. You left a message with my mum?’

  ‘Yes. I–’

  ‘Sorry for the delay in getting back to you. Long story, but I’ve had to cover at work for a friend, so… How can I help?’

  There was noise in the background, then Issa’s lowered voice. ‘Now isn’t a great time to talk. And to be honest, I think it would be better to speak face to face. I could drive over on Sunday afternoon if that suits you. You live in the same house in Cheadle, I assume? Would that be okay?’

  Nat closed her eyes. ‘Sure, of course, no problem. I’ll see you then.’

  10

  Scraps

  Nat had napped at some point during the night; it just didn’t feel like it. Her reflection in the bathroom mirror agreed as she yawned repeatedly. There had been so many things to worry about, her mind was spoilt for choice. She’d found herself seeing Brian Selby’s empty face; smelling Gavin Savage’s funky office; hearing Issa’s troubled voice. And touching; touching Wesley Hughes, being touched by him. But that was only when she dreamt.

  She shuffled back to her bedroom and threw on her dressing gown. Today it was Saturday, so that was something. A lie-in, crumpets and tea in bed, persuading her mum that it was safe to venture outdoors, then drive Gavin’s kids to the playground, followed by McDonald’s, had been the plan. Unfortunately, the lie-in hadn’t worked; she’d woken at seven and though she’d tried to get back into dream world, her mind had nagged about Issa Harrow. She’d been so busy seeing Gavin’s clients back-to-back yesterday, then she’d had a mini reprieve, but the anxiety had now returned big time. What was going on? Nat was very fond of Issa and Jose’s genial, larger-than-life father, but their mother had always been cold. She had a horrible feeling Issa was acting at her behest. What did the strange woman want?

  Of course Nat had known the Harrow family pretty well over the years, first as Jose’s ‘friend’, though what he’d told them about their on-off relationship she didn’t know, then later as his girlfriend. She supposed the description had extended to ‘partner’ in Mallorca, not only romantically, but in terms of business. Jose had bought ‘Havana’ with a substantial financial contribution from her. When her mum had the stroke, she’d boarded the first aeroplane to Manchester, expecting him to follow. It was confusing, a surprise, when he didn’t, but worse shortly followed. She was to stay in the UK; he didn’t want her back. It was a kick in the teeth, a blow to the stomach, a stab in the heart, and ever
y other possible hurt and wounded idiom there was, finally delivered in one single I don’t love you any more text.

  A dreadful, dreadful shock. He’d pursued her since law college; she’d been certain of his adoration. The sudden change from what she absolutely knew and understood had tilted her world; it had made everything move, sliding and uncertain. The muteness made it worse. Jose changed his number and cut her off completely; there was no explanation, no contact, no closure, a limbo which had lasted for months. Even lovely Hugo, their bar manager, was silent.

  To find out what had become of Nat’s investment, Jack instructed an enquiry agent behind her back. Outrageous interference, of course, but the report had finally given her some answers. Perhaps Jose had stopped loving her, she still didn’t know the answer to that, but she discovered he’d been admitted to a psychiatric hospital in Palma after a violent psychotic episode. As far as she knew he was still there.

  Trying to shake off the general feeling of gloom, Nat now padded down her narrow staircase. Flipping heck, the house was hot. Her mum had taken to having the central heating on twenty-four-seven, or so it felt, which was all the more reason to get her out of the house. Nat had offered to drive Anna to the hospital to visit her friend Barbara, but she’d firmly declined.

  She shook her head. It was definitely odd; the two Polish women were very close. Was it the idea of being in a hospital again? On reflection, that wouldn’t be surprising; Anna had been an inpatient for several weeks after her stroke; she’d progressed from near death to an amazing recovery. Flaming Bach willpower, or what? But that was precisely why her mum’s current timidity was all the more worrying.

  The kitchen door was open, the tea in the pot, the crumpets in the toaster. Anna had beaten her to it.

  ‘Oh, Mum. I thought I’d be first down and bring you breakfast for a change.’

  Anna kissed Nat’s cheek. ‘You’re the worker, Skarbie.’ She nodded to the table. ‘Here or in bed?’

  ‘Here,’ Nat replied, not wanting to dwell on lazy, tender meals with Wes in the sack. She pulled out a chair and smeared a lump of butter on her crumpet. Then after a moment, surprising herself, ‘Talk to me about Dad.’

  Her mum sat opposite and folded her hands. ‘What do you want to know?’

  Nat took a breath. She didn’t fully understand her need for information, but whenever she visited an old probate client in Didsbury village, it occurred to her that she knew more about his eventful life, from birth to old age, than she did her own father.

  ‘Well, the camp in Poland for starters…’

  ‘I don’t know that much myself–’

  ‘You must know something, Mum.’

  Lifting her shoulders, Anna smiled sadly. ‘All I learned came from his brother. Scraps here and there from chatting. Your dad… Well, apparently even as a youth, Tatuś was an idealist and too opinionated…’

  ‘It was a labour camp?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, it was.’

  Nat raised her eyebrows. Both her parents had been practising Catholics, but she’d often wondered if her father had Jewish blood like Jack Goldman. This made more sense. She could picture her dad, ranting at the television: the news, Question Time, anything political. ‘Dad was a dissident? A communist?’

  Her mum wiped some crumbs from the table. ‘I’m not sure. Socialist, certainly. His brother once mentioned he’d been involved with a trade union.’ She looked up at Nat. ‘I’m sorry I don’t know more, love. I feel that I should, but he never wanted to talk about it, so I respected his wishes and didn’t ask.’

  Feeling a mix of pride and sadness, she reached for Anna’s hand. ‘Thanks, Mum. That’s really helpful.’ She wondered whether to say more, but what would be the point? It was good to hear her dad had firm beliefs and ideals, but it didn’t change the fact he’d been a crap father.

  ‘Fancy another crumpet?’ she asked instead.

  Anna patted her stomach. ‘No thank you. Need to keep an eye on my waistline.’

  Nat chuckled to herself. Yes, her mum had willpower, most certainly. There was no way on earth she would have respected her dad’s wishes if she’d been his wife. She’d have prodded and poked until she had the full, unedited story. Like Wes’s mother, Kath? What had she said about her sons? That information had to be squeezed out like a tube of toothpaste.

  Suddenly sweaty, she sighed. Oh hell. Squeezing was fairly gentle, wasn’t it? Her approach with Wes had been more sledgehammer. Perhaps she shouldn’t have demanded answers; maybe she shouldn’t have made her opinion so clear. But that was Natalie Bach; he knew that. And wasn’t she entitled to know, to be part of his life? That’s what hurt: the pushing away, the exclusion.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he’d said when he left Gavin’s office on Thursday. No argument, no fight, just acceptance. The bastard could fuck off.

  She glanced at her mum. She felt guilty about using a profanity, even if it was in her head, but at least it had reminded her to text Joshim Khan. Joshim dealt with any romantic angst in his life, usually flighty men, by using his ‘fuck-off’ theory. Did it work? She had no idea, but the mental Tourette’s was fun.

  She pulled out her mobile. Thanks for being a star, she typed.

  Anything for the big man. How’s his kid? he replied.

  Nat smiled sadly before composing an answer. Joshim’s name for Gavin was usually derogatory, ‘Rabid Scot’ being one of his kinder versions. And of course Gavin gave what he got. With interest.

  Out of danger, I think, she replied. God, she hoped she wasn’t tempting fate by mentioning it.

  A drink to celebrate tonight? Metropolitan? Nine o’clock?

  That sounded a grand idea. She usually got together with Wes on a Saturday. But he could fuck off. Or perhaps he already had.

  Anna declined Nat’s invitation to stroll into the village to buy a newspaper, but surprised her after lunch by appearing in a bobble hat, anorak and wellies.

  ‘Oh, Mum, look at you. Where are you off to?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m coming with you to the park.’

  ‘Great. I’ll–’

  ‘Now you have five seat belts.’

  ‘Right.’

  As usual her mum had said nothing at the time, but was now making the point that Nat had regularly transported five bodies in a car made for four. She tried to shrug the small irritation away. On the day of Wes’s arrest, it had been a question of ‘needs must’. And after that, what should she have done? Left one of Gavin’s kids at home with a ‘Sorry, I can only afford to use my mum’s crappy four-person car’? Of course she now had the Mercedes and little Ruthie was missing, so everything was just fine.

  By the time they reached Gatley, Nat felt rotten for her tetchiness. Her mum meant well and she had finally left the house of her own volition. She turned to the passenger seat. ‘Thanks for coming, Mum. I’ll grab the boys and be back in two ticks.’

  Anna nodded. ‘Take your time, love.’

  Catching Cameron’s red hair at the window, Nat knocked on the porch door; it was answered by Gavin’s ex herself.

  ‘Hi, Natalie. Thanks for coming.’

  ‘A pleasure. Really; your children are brilliant.’ She handed over the gift bag. ‘A little something for Ruthie, sent with lots of love.’

  Heather gazed for a moment. ‘Do you want to pop in for a minute?’ she asked from the shadows.

  ‘Sure,’ Nat replied, glancing over at her mum in the car. She was pleased to be asked, but it felt a little strange. Though they had exchanged texts, she’d never had a face-to-face conversation with her. They had waved at a distance and through Ruthie’s grown-up comments and unintentional imitations, she felt she knew her quite well.

  Following the woman’s slim frame, Nat stepped into the lounge.

  ‘I love the colour of…’ she began before clocking the woman’s pallid, drawn features. She pulled her into an impulsive hug. ‘Oh, Heather, I’m so sorry about Ruthie. I have no idea how you must be feeling, but if there’s anything I ca
n do, please say, any time.’

  Heather turned to her sons, lined up on the green velvet sofa. They were already in their coats, the two older boys clutching footballs and little Cameron a rucksack. ‘You’re doing it right now. Thank you. They’ve been excited all morning.’ She paused for a second, her face thin behind the host of pretty freckles. ‘There is something, though.’ She turned at an angle and lowered her voice. ‘Gavin – he’s taken this so hard. I think he needs to talk but…’ She spread her hands. ‘You know what men are like; whatever’s going on, he isn’t sharing it with me. But he thinks so highly of you, so if you get a chance to draw him out…’

  ‘Of course I will,’ Nat replied, blinking away the sharp burn behind her eyes. She met Heather’s desolate gaze. ‘And you too, Heather. I’m not an expert at anything, but I can listen. Please do call me. Any time.’

  11

  Ammo

  Nat stepped off the tram and looked down at her stupidly high heels. Why she’d put them on, she had no idea. If she slipped and broke her neck, it would be her own flaming fault and her mum would have the satisfaction of saying, ‘I said this weather was dangerous’.

  Not that Anna would. Though she’d had a trillion opportunities over the years, she’d never said ‘I told you so’. It was one of her mum’s many lovely qualities. As well as patience and kindness; compassion, understanding and attentiveness.

  Nat flicked open her umbrella. God, she hoped she’d inherited some of her mum’s attributes. Attentiveness, surely? She was a good listener, she hoped, which was why her rendezvous for deux had turned into trois.

  Max’s surprise text had come through at the park. To ring the changes, Nat had taken Gavin’s boys to Etherow Country Park to feed the ducks and have a snack in the café. At that point she’d been carrying little Cameron for over an hour. Though he’d briefly stopped crying when a goose gave chase, he was astonishingly heavy, so it had been a relief to pass him over to her mum for two minutes while she had a look at the message.