‘I’m sorry to hear about Naomi. Please send her my warmest regards,’ she said, fighting the crumble in her voice.
‘I can see myself out,’ said Meredith, stinging from Laurie’s grace, but Laurie followed her out of the kitchen all the same, in the wake of her cold silence.
‘Take care, all of you,’ said Laurie. It wasn’t returned. Then as Laurie was about to close the door on her, Meredith turned and said, ‘I have to say, Laurie, that we find it very difficult to believe that Alex was going to propose to you on the night he died. We have thought long and hard on this and we know he would have told us first, out of respect. On that I have absolutely not one single doubt. I’m sorry.’
She didn’t sound sorry at all.
Chapter 37
9 October
There was something not right with Griff and Lucy, Pete felt it as soon as he got into the car on the day of Nigel’s party. It was as if they had been replaced by aliens who looked exactly the same, talked and walked like them but who couldn’t replicate the souls within their skins.
‘Of course I’m all right, stop asking will you,’ snapped Griff.
Lucy turned in the passenger seat to address Pete. ‘He’s just stressed about being in Cora’s company, as am I. But tonight it’s about your dad and not her and not us, so let’s put on our party faces.’
Pete sat quietly in the back next to the box containing the cake. A three-tier three-flavour extravaganza covered in 65s. Lucy had put a lot of work into it, but that was Lucy all over.
Two miles down the road, Pete noticed Lucy looking at him in the vanity mirror on the turned-down flap.
‘What are you smiling at?’ she asked.
‘Nothing,’ he fibbed. The truth was, he hadn’t stopped smiling since Sunday night. Sal at work had asked him the same question and he’d given her the same lie, as if he didn’t want to tempt fate by talking about it. About them. Laurie had been constantly on his mind – either as a presence hovering in the background when he was busy at work, or fully in the forefront when he was free to dwell on her. She had sent him a text that day hoping that his dad had a lovely party and she was glad the rain had stayed off. He’d replied immediately, like a teenager, telling her thank you and asking if she wouldn’t mind giving Molly his apologies that he wouldn’t be there, and to save up any stories of Maurice and Yvonne’s outings and Sharon’s new dog for the next time they met. His bed had felt extra lonely for the past two nights.
Griff’s driving indicated his mood, snappy, with last-minute braking. Pete noticed Lucy’s grip on her seat suggesting she had spotted it too but didn’t want to mention it.
Ordinarily Griff would have been wearing something totally unsuitable and jolly; badges bearing the number 65, banners stapled across him as if he were in a beauty queen pageant, but today he just looked flat and angry. Pete was glad that Lucy was there, ready to pour oil on his troubled waters. He could feel disquiet emanating from his brother in waves, as he were a mini power station generating them on max.
There were more cars than usual on Northwood Avenue, which indicated they weren’t the first to arrive by any means. It didn’t help Griff’s mood that everyone seemed to have left large gaps between cars which were still too small to parallel park his Passat into. The side gate was open for a change, which rescued them from the indignity of knocking and having to be admitted by Cora, after a delay long enough to prove a point.
Luck was on their side, weather-wise. There was no rain, no wind, only the still chill that often comes with October, but two giant fire pits in the garden – and ready supplies of blood-warming alcohol – were working hard to reduce guest-shivering to a minimum. The skies were dark and clear, the moon just a little fuller than it had been on Sunday night. Sunday night. All roads, for Pete, led back there. A new moon, a new phase.
The garden was bustling with friends, neighbours, old work mates. Young people in black and white livery were circulating with trays of drinks and canapés; the summerhouse doors were thrown open and Pete could see a buffet set up in there. Nigel, it seemed, had catered for the five thousand. Lucy bobbed into the kitchen to put some presents and her cake down on the work surface. Pete stood with Griff, who was scanning the guests.
‘I’m looking for Cora so I can avoid her,’ said Griff. ‘In case you’re wondering.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Pete pretended not to have noticed.
‘My boys.’ Nigel broke loose from a huddle of two couples and headed towards them, fizzing as much as the contents of the glass he was holding.
‘Hellooo,’ he said, enclosing them in a clumsy hug, sloshing his champagne all over Pete’s arm in the process. ‘Where’s my gorgeous girl?’
‘If you mean me I’m here, Nigel,’ said Lucy, appearing on cue. Nigel abandoned his sons to cuddle her. ‘Oh, I do love you three,’ he said. ‘You’re my whole world.’
Pete expected Griff to say something on the lines of ‘It’s a good job Elsa didn’t overhear that’, but he surprised him by saying nothing.
‘Happy Birthday, Dad,’ said Pete and handed over a bag of presents. A silver engraved snooker chalk holder, chocolates, a bottle of his favourite brandy and a book about being an old fart. The decoy presents. They’d tell him about the snooker table tomorrow.
‘I’ve put ours in the kitchen,’ said Lucy. ‘Do you want to come and look at your cake?’
‘I do,’ said Nigel and took her arm. At Pete’s side, Griff stiffened, assumed the stance of the human equivalent of a Pointer and Pete traced his eyes to Mr and Mrs Moore, the rose bush.
‘She’s fucking cut it back even further,’ the words ground out between his teeth.
‘Griff, have a drink, relax and forget about it for tonight,’ said Pete. ‘We can leave the car here and get a taxi home. You’ve both got tomorrow off, I’ve booked tomorrow off, so what’s stopping you?’
‘I’m not drinking, I’m driving.’ Griff was resolute.
Pete whipped a glass of champagne and one of orange from a circulating waitress’s tray and pressed the latter into his brother’s fingers. He spotted Cora in the summer house talking to a couple. Her head rotated in their direction, as if she knew she was being discussed, but without the slightest acknowledgement of them.
‘Nigel loves the cake,’ said Lucy, newly returned. ‘We’ll bring it out later with the candles lit so everyone can sing Happy Birthday to him.’
Griff didn’t respond, just strolled off to take a closer look at Mr and Mrs Moore.
‘What’s wrong with him, Lucy?’ asked Pete. ‘Because something is.’
‘Just stuff, playing on his mind,’ she answered. She sounded worn out and Pete was reminded that she had hospital appointments looming to sort out her fallopian tubes. Griff, he knew, would be worried sick about her.
‘I’ll go and talk to him,’ said Pete and wandered over to his brother. Griff was facing away from everyone and when Pete got near to him, he realised the reason for that was because Griff was standing with tears falling from his eyes. The rose bush represented something else to Griff, that was clear, but Pete knew that his brother didn’t respond to pushing.