‘I’ll see you to the door,’ said Natasha. ‘There’s a light on my phone.’
As they approached the house, Isabel’s confidence appeared to falter. For the past few hours she had relived her years as Darcy Black. Natasha could sense that the role of Isabel Goddard might be much harder to play. The woman was a curious mixture of confidence and vagary. Natasha held her arm as they negotiated the narrow path to the front door and there was momentary panic as Isabel tried to locate her key in the bottom of her handbag. Natasha decided that if she got to know her better she would suggest tying the key to one of the zips with a long piece of string. It was such a simple tip she was surprised Mel hadn’t suggested it. At the sudden thought of Mel, she felt a surge of rage. Not only had this cheating woman gone out of her way to make trouble for Natasha, she clearly neglected her mother. She hadn’t even bothered to come to her show. As for Jacob, he obviously couldn’t care less.
The key was found. The door pushed open. It was time to say goodbye, always a difficult moment. Natasha was thinking about the possible costume exhibition. Might she offer to help? Just as she was wondering what to say, she felt the touch of Isabel’s hand on her arm. The long thin fingers felt cold. Two lovely rings glittered in the hard, artificial light of Natasha’s mobile phone.
‘Come and see me. Any time,’ Isabel’s voice was breathy, a stage whisper.
‘Oh thank you. That would be lovely.’
‘You might like to look at the rest of the costumes.’
‘Please. And I could help you sort them out. When should I come?’ Work was busy but she could always find an afternoon or evening.
‘Whenever you like, dear. I’m always here.’
Natasha wondered about a phone number, but it wasn’t offered. Isabel was of a generation when people simply called at the front door. Well, she would do just that.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Mel
The trial went well. To Mel’s amazement and her solicitor’s delight, her client was acquitted. Her advocacy had never been better, and she strode out of Canterbury Court Centre at 5:30 p.m. with a light heart. If she took the fast train she might make it in time for Isabel’s performance. But on reaching the station, the platform indicator informed her there would be delays on all London trains. Her train, when it arrived, was more than twenty minutes late and when they pulled into Clapham Junction it was already half an hour past the show’s start time. Mel could visualise her mother’s sour expression as her unreliable daughter walked in. It was not what she needed after a brutally early start and a long and draining session in court.
What she did need was to be home with Jacob. Preferably on the sofa with a large glass of red. They needed to talk. She remained on the train until they reached Victoria and jumped on the tube.
Music thrummed out from the kitchen as she entered the flat. Jacob was sitting at the kitchen table staring at his laptop, a packet of biscuits on the side. The room was filled with the sticky aroma of supermarket pizza.
‘Hi, Mum. I’ve been waiting for you.’ A wave of appreciation washed over her. He had bothered to read her texts about the train delays, had taken the initiative and put the pizza in the oven himself, even remembering to lower the temperature to stop it burning.
‘You’re a star,’ she said. At the word ‘star’ she realised she had forgotten to tell him about Gran’s comeback. When she told him now, he laughed and said he reckoned Gran would slay any audience. He promised to go and visit her soon. There was a lightness in his tone, but as Mel caught his eye he looked quickly away.
He stood up and put cutlery and plates on a tray, still not looking at her. Yet he was here, he was safe, and he had thought of her. That was enough. Usually Mel would insist on salad or at least something green on the side, but tonight she wouldn’t criticise. She opened the tap on the wine box. So much cheaper than bottles and no waste. Jacob was still hooked on Coca Cola. No amount of sugar seemed to add an extra pound to his long thin body. But as she filled her glass he opened the fridge and took out a can of beer. She couldn’t remember buying it. Did his pocket money stretch to alcohol? He had mentioned a couple of older friends. Might they have bought it for him? She decided not to say anything. The last thing she wanted now was an argument about underage drinking. If he wanted alcohol he would get it somehow. At least he was home. A can of beer wouldn’t kill him.
Not bothering with a glass, he yanked off the tab and took a swig, picked up a tea towel and removed the pizza from the oven, dividing it into quarters and carrying the tray into the sitting room without a word. It was an unspoken understanding. They would eat in front of the telly, watching the drama together at nine.
But he didn’t join her on the sofa as usual. And as the dark tale unfolded and she began to unwind, she never lost the uneasy consciousness of her son’s silent presence on a separate chair. At ten o’clock, without commenting on the thriller, he stood up and carried the tray to the kitchen. Mel had wanted to ask again about Lola but she’d missed the moment. Why was it so hard to say what you wanted to say to the person you most loved? Jacob said nothing about Paul.
As she sat watching the news, barely hearing what was said, he came back in and told her he was going to his dad’s tomorrow night and would stay for a week. He was earning holiday money painting their spare bedroom and newly extended basement. The announcement came like a punch in the stomach.
‘I didn’t know you could paint,’ she said. It sounded pathetic. Ridiculous. A caricature of a needy mother. Like her own, she thought.
‘I’m teaching myself.’ He grinned broadly. ‘New skill. Like you always recommend.’
‘What about your bail?’
‘Dad reckons they’ll drop the case.’
If Dad said it, Jacob would believe it. He had a touching faith in his father’s wisdom. Despite her pain, she attempted to tell herself how lucky she was. Claude may have abandoned her, but he would never abandon Jacob. All sons needed to separate from their mothers. At least hers had somewhere safe to go and something constructive to do. He interrupted her thoughts.
‘Goodnight, Mum.’
‘Goodnight, Jacob.’ This was the moment. But she couldn’t speak.
‘You’re not cross, are you?’ he asked.
‘No. I’m not cross,’ she said. Then she asked, ‘Are you all right, Jacob?’
‘About what?’
‘About everything. The charge. The Lola business.’
‘I told you Dad said they’ll drop it.’
‘And Lola?’
‘I told you about that too. And yes, I’m all right. I’m not a kid.’
He was clamming up now. But he had not moved from the door and she stood up, walked across the room, opened her arms and hugged him. He stood very still, neither pulling away nor moving towards her.
‘If you ever want to speak, darling,’ she said.
‘I know, Mum.’
She let her arms drop. This was not the time for him. Would there ever be time? He turned towards his room. And now it was as if an unknown hand was reaching deep inside her and was tugging at her guts. Jacob had sought a promise from her. But he had not told her everything. And she hadn’t felt able to give it. Even so, confronting Natasha would feel like a betrayal.