His stock answer to the favourite-film question was Goodfellas, but his actual favourite film was Moonstruck, and his desert-island album would be Diamond Dogs. He liked reading, he said, and he loved cooking. ‘And my one wish is for world peace.’ He said this in falsetto, with a terrible cod-American accent.
‘Sorry. I’m being nosy.’
‘Me too. It’s good. This is like speed-dating.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’ She heard the flirtation in her own voice and, once again, was surprised by it.
‘I did it once. A mate dragged me along. It was horrendous.’
‘And this is like that?’ But she was teasing.
‘Correction. This couldn’t be less like that.’
She felt herself glowing at the compliment.
‘What about you? Same questions? Two minutes to answer.’
She laughed, flustered. ‘Um. Um.’
‘I’ll have to hurry you.’
‘Okay, okay. Big family. All staying in the house. Read English at uni. Should’ve read history. Or politics. Big crush on Norman What’s-his-name on the BBC.’
‘Really?’
‘Really! Favourite film Jack and Sarah.’
‘Never seen it.’
‘It’s lovely. Triple-hanky job. Richard E. Grant too.’
‘Another crush?’
‘You know it.’
‘Music?’
‘Radio. All sorts. Abba.’
‘No one’s perfect.’
‘Oy!’ She hit his arm playfully. ‘Oh, and Peaky Blinders.’
‘Cillian Murphy?’
‘Tom Hardy.’
‘You’re incorrigible.’ Joe laughed easily.
‘You have to have a crush.’
‘Jeanne Tripplehorn,’ he answered. I look nothing like her, Laura thought. ‘You.’ He was looking ahead, at the road. ‘Well, until I heard about Abba.’
‘Ever been married?’
‘Once.’ He paused, and she wondered if she’d gone too far. ‘To a woman named Rachel. We were married for three years. We’ve been divorced for seven or so.’
‘I’m separated.’ She had hardly ever said it out loud, and he hadn’t asked.
‘I figured.’
She stared at her hands on her knees.
‘Are you okay?’
She turned to look at him, but he was gazing at the road ahead. She was touched by the simplicity of the question, and the tone in which he’d asked it. ‘I think I’m going to be.’
She hadn’t been home for supper, like she’d said she would be. They’d stopped at a pub with a big beer garden where they had wood-fired pizzas, carried on talking, and laughing. It was almost dark when he pulled into the driveway. He’d offered to drop her at the house, but she’d said she’d rather walk through the garden, not really ready for everyone to see who she’d been with, so she came in through the back, dawdling in the moonlight, puzzled, as she approached, by how still and dark the house seemed at barely nine o’clock.
‘I had a lovely time. Thank you.’ It was an oddly formal thing to say.
‘Me too.’ He took her hand, leant forward and kissed her cheek, very slowly and very softly, lingering so she could smell him.
She kissed his in return, quicker because she was suddenly nervous. ‘Night.’
Scott was sitting alone in the kitchen in the quiet, with a glass of whisky. It was just getting dark but he’d only put on one sidelight. Laura could read the immediate change of energy in the house. No one else was around. Scott explained briefly. Nick and Heather had come back from the hospital an hour or so before she’d come in, and Nick had taken Arthur straight up, he said. Bea and Delilah were already asleep.
‘Poor Nick. Poor Arthur. How the hell did that happen?’
Scott made no bones. ‘Ethan left the cover off.’
‘Fuck.’ She’d had a sixth sense, the second Scott had said Arthur had fallen into the pool.
‘It was just for a minute – he went upstairs to get his trunks.’
‘Oh, my God. Where is he now?’
‘In his room.’
‘I’ll go up.’
‘Up to you, but I’d maybe leave him.’
A sharp remark about parenting advice bubbled into her throat but she didn’t voice it.
‘Everyone else seems to have retreated to their own space,’ he explained. ‘There were quite a few recriminations, quite a lot of shouting.’
‘Of course.’ She could imagine. The glow of a gorgeous afternoon was fading rapidly. All-too-familiar guilt flooded into its space. She should have been there, instead of gallivanting around like an irresponsible teenager. She felt old again.
‘Hospital?’ She was still struggling to understand what had happened. ‘Was it bad? Is he okay?’
Scott patted her shoulder. ‘He’s fine. Heather thought they should just make sure – get him checked out. They had a longish wait in A and E, and he was tired and a bit overwrought. But he’s physically perfectly fine. Don’t worry. It’s over.’
‘Thank God.’
‘Where’ve you been, Sis?’ But his tone wasn’t accusatory.
She sank into a kitchen chair and he poured Laura her own small tumbler of whisky. She drank it in one. ‘Just out.’ She hadn’t the energy, suddenly, to explain. Hadn’t Dad told them she’d sent a message? She’d come in high as a kite, as happy as she could remember feeling in ages, but the news had slammed her back down to earth. She was furious with Ethan, and sorry too. Maternal guilt seeped through her, irrational as it might be. If she’d been there, it wouldn’t have happened. Ethan had needed her.
‘Ethan.’
He wasn’t asleep, but he lay still, kept his eyes closed.
‘Ethan?’ The whisper was a little louder, but he still ignored her. He didn’t want to talk. Not now. He’d wanted her, badly, earlier, but she hadn’t been there. And now he didn’t. Didn’t want her. Didn’t want to speak.
She came into the room, leaving the door ajar so she could still see in the light from the landing. She sat very briefly on the foot of his bed, and put her hand across his ankle under the sheets. For a moment she just sat there, then she gently patted it, and stood up. She bent over and kissed his face. If she knew he was faking sleep, she didn’t let on. She hovered for a moment, then sighed gently. ‘I love you. It’s going to be okay.’
And then she left him.
The next morning, when she deemed he’d slept long enough and might be ready to talk, she made them each a mug of tea, and carried it to the top of the house.
And Ethan wasn’t there.
His bed was unmade, the floor was still strewn with his stuff. The rucksack he’d brought with him was there, spilling its crumpled contents onto the spare bed. His phone, of course, was gone, and she couldn’t see his wallet. He was gone.
42
It would be hot later, but so early there was a chill in the air. Ethan pulled his hoody over his head, and yanked his sleeves over his hands, walking faster, until he was almost breathless but warmer.
It was just after six in the morning when he left, the rest of the house still asleep as he closed the front door quietly behind him, then walked into the town. He had his phone, fully charged, with headphones, a cap, a hoody and his wallet, which contained about thirty quid and some change, his rail and Oyster cards, and the emergency credit card Dad had given him. He was going to buy the ticket on that. Despite the stern talk Dad had had with him when he’d presented Ethan with the card, he either didn’t check the statement that often or he had a different definition of what constituted an emergency. This definitely did. He bought a cup of coffee and a Chelsea bun from the café, ate it sitting in a bus shelter and got on the first bus that stopped. He had paid next to no attention on the journey there, and he didn’t know the name of the town until he read it on the sign outside the library. He might have been predicted a good grade in geography, although he was far from sanguine about achieving it, but he had to put the name into Google on his phone to work out which way he was going.