Me and Mr Jones (26 page)

She would have to do it later, when Hugh got home, she decided, glancing over at a tear-streaked Willow, still immobile on the sofa, and at Hazel, who was weeping into a cushion at the other end, shoulders shaking. A trip to buy Lilian’s stuff wasn’t exactly top of anyone’s cheer-up list. Besides, she couldn’t wedge all five children in the car even if she wanted to, she realized, unless she asked a neighbour to have the boys maybe, or . . .

Oh, sod it. Lilian would have to wait. Hugh should be back soon, and she’d pop out then.

‘Anyone want a glass of juice?’ she tried brightly. ‘Squash?’ No answer came. Matilda, she noticed through the window, had given up on the Allerton girls and was now outside with her brothers. ‘Well, let me know if you change your minds.’

Sighing, she retreated to the kitchen just as her phone pinged with a new text. Sandra.
So how’s Gay Paree? Done anything naughty yet?!

She made a low growling noise in frustration and despair. How’s Paris? How the hell would she know? She wasn’t bloody there, was she?

Oh, if only she
was
there and none of this was happening!

She didn’t bother replying. How Sandra would gloat! She wouldn’t be able to resist sticking the knife in, either, when Alicia told her of the recent dramas that had burst, unasked-for, into her life.
Hold on a minute, sis
, she imagined Sandra drawling, barely able to contain her triumph
. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought you
wanted
life to be more interesting and challenging. Don’t tell me you’re wishing you could go back to your boring old routine now. Make your mind up!

Putting the kettle on, she seethed at the thought.
Be careful what you wish for
, her mum had always (pessimistically) warned. And hadn’t she been moping about only a month or so ago, pining for something to happen? Well, now it had happened, and guess what? It turned out she wasn’t up to the challenge, not remotely.

And meanwhile, she raged, catching sight of Lilian’s shopping order, she was more of a mug than ever, when it came to falling over herself to help other people. What a bloody doormat. Nobody else she knew let things pile on top of them like this; nobody else was so flaming acquiescent and willing when it came to helping others. Was it some pathetic need she had to be useful, a pitiful attempt to make herself liked by others?

Well, no more. She’d reached her limit. Any minute now she would explode or have a nervous breakdown, and then they’d all be sorry. Except they probably wouldn’t even notice until they needed more shopping or laundry or dinner . . .

‘Alicia?’ It was Willow, nervously tapping her arm.

Alicia took a deep breath.
Do not explode, Alicia.
‘Yes, honey?’

‘Maybe we could bake a cake. For Mummy, I mean.’

Baking! The perfect solution. Her black mood evaporated immediately, as if Willow had undone an enchantment. Shame on you for complaining so selfishly, she reprimanded herself. When the poor girls have gone through so much. When they’ve lost their father!

She knelt down and put her arms around Willow. ‘What a kind idea,’ she said. ‘A cake would really cheer her up, I’m sure. Hazel, would you like to help?’ she called. ‘I bet you two are brilliant at baking. Now, what flavour would she like best, do you think?’

Hugh didn’t return until hours later, looking odd. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Alicia hissed coldly, hurrying to greet him in the hall. ‘What have you been
doing
?’

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I lost track of time.’

‘You lost track of time,’ she repeated, hands curling into fists by her sides. In other words, he’d seen a mate at the sports bar and had stopped for a pint. Oh, and the football would have been on, she could picture it now. The thought of him taking it easy, while she’d had the most emotionally exhausting day for months, tipped her over the edge. ‘For heaven’s sake, Hugh, did it not occur to you that I might need a hand?’ she snapped. ‘I . . . Hold it!’ she commanded shrilly, as he started taking his shoes off. ‘You can leave those
on
. You’re going straight off out again – your mum wants some shopping picking up.’

‘But . . .’

‘Don’t argue. I’d have done it myself, if you’d bothered to get back sooner, but it’s too late now. Here.’ She thrust the list into his hand before he could say another word and stalked off, shaking with anger. Honestly! Talk about thoughtless. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so furious with him. Was this his way of punishing her, of making her feel even worse about Paris?
You’ve made your bed, Alicia, now lie in it.
Was that was he was trying to say?

Fuming, she went to start dinner. Having baked the most fabulous chocolate cake with whipped cream and fresh strawberries earlier (which had done wonders for the girls’ spirits – full marks to Willow for the idea), the kitchen was now a complete bombsite, with chocolatey mixing bowls, wooden spoons and the whisk needing attention. The children, thankfully, were all playing a rowdy game of football in the garden, though, and Alicia turned a blind eye to her trampled flowers and mud-churned lawn for the sake of peace and harmony. Now for the washing up and then dinner. Oh, the end of this day could not come soon enough! Once the children were in bed, she was definitely going straight back to her list of treats to plan something new for herself.

Just as she was rolling out pastry for tuna puffs, there was a knock at the front door. Charlie.

‘Hello,’ she said in surprise, wiping her floury hands on her apron. ‘Come in. Hugh’s out shopping for your mum, but he should be back before long. Are you all right?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ he said. ‘I’ve just been in to visit Izzy, actually. Listen, is this a bad time? Only I’ve been thinking . . .’

‘You haven’t!’ She pantomimed shock and ushered him in.

‘Ha-ha,’ he said politely, following her down the hall, almost tripping over Hugh’s gym bag in his haste. ‘Anyway, the thing is, I’ve had an idea. About Izzy. Have you got a minute?’

Alicia had patiently sat and listened to many of Charlie’s ideas before. There had been his brainwave to rig up an icecream van and tour the Dorset coastline during the summer some years ago, making a fortune in Mr Whippys. (Or not, as it had turned out.) Then he’d come up with a plan to start his own mechanic business, if he could just use their garage as a base. (No.) His painting and decorating business had hit a brick wall pretty fast, leaving him with a terrible reputation and mounting debts, whereas his idea to rent out the recently closed cinema for private screenings had suffered a similar premature death. (A mercy killing, Alicia thought in secret.)

Still, he kept trying, you had to give him that. He always bounced back, beaming and full of a brand-new idea that would solve everything. And, to be fair, once in a while one of his mad schemes did work. He and a friend had imported a load of trinkets from India following a trip there, and had made a small fortune on them some years earlier. He’d actually got a flat and a nice holiday out of that masterplan, although this meant he’d blown all his profits and couldn’t afford to reinvest. That was Charlie all over.

She made them both coffee – the tuna puffs could wait, and actually she could do with the caffeine – then, after a quick glance outside to make sure the children were still okay (Hazel seemed to be bossing everyone around, despite being the youngest; Alicia took that as a Good Sign that she was feeling better), sat down at the table. ‘How was Izzy?’ she asked, not in any great hurry to hear the latest incredible Charlie Jones brainwave.

He sipped his coffee. ‘She was doing okay, actually,’ he replied. ‘Toughing it out, you know how she is.’ He put his mug down and drummed his fingers on the table. ‘I want to help her, Lissa. I want to be able to do something for her.’

Ah. Of course. She should have guessed: his chance to play the knight in shining armour and rescue the damsel in distress. Well, Izzy might well be in distress right now, but Alicia wasn’t so convinced Charlie was the perfect rescuer. Knight in patched-up, second-hand armour he’d wangled from a mate in a used car was more his style.

‘Right . . .’ she replied doubtfully, not even sure if Izzy would
want
to be rescued by Charlie.

‘And I was thinking – well, why don’t we see if she wants to move into the holiday chalet at Mum’s for a while, just until she’s better? It makes perfect sense.’

Alicia stared. She hadn’t been expecting such a normal, practical suggestion to come from her brother-in-law’s lips. ‘I’ve said they can stay here,’ she replied. ‘She’ll need some help doing day-to-day stuff, you see, getting the girls to school and—’

‘I can do that.’ He was beaming. ‘I can drive them. Think about it. I know you’ve got a lovely house here, but, you know, three extra people, for however long . . . it’s a big ask. If they’re in the chalet, then she’s still got some independence, plus we – me, David, Mum and Dad – are all on hand to help out.’

‘I don’t think she and your mum really hit it off,’ Alicia pointed out.
Understatement of the flipping year
, she thought.

‘Well, I reckon it could work,’ Charlie said, shrugging off this minor obstacle. ‘We could even make out she’d be doing us a favour, having someone in the chalet to road-test it, like. There’s everything there that she needs, it’s all been freshly decorated. Maybe I’ll just ask Dad for now, see what he thinks. Bypass Mum, for the time being.’

Alicia snorted. It was very difficult, she had learned, to keep the smallest crumb of knowledge from Lilian. The woman could sniff out a bypass attempt like a Jack Russell after a rodent. ‘Good luck with that,’ she said mildly.

He nodded. ‘Cheers,’ he said. He got up, draining his coffee. ‘Anyway, I just thought I’d run it past you, sound you out. Hugh won’t mind, will he? No skin off his nose. Now to get Dad onside.’

Oh, right. So he’d assumed she was ‘onside’, had he? She could picture it now, him marching in to Izzy and saying, ‘Alicia and I think . . .’ and then Izzy might wonder if Alicia was getting cold feet about having her to stay.

‘Hang on, Charlie,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m not sure that—’

‘Relax. I’m on the case,’ he said airily. He grinned that confident Charlie grin, one that had sent countless women (Alicia excluded) soft in the head before now. ‘I’ll just say hello to the kids, then I’ll be on my way.’

Charlie was ‘on the case’, eh? Alicia sighed. She should give him the benefit of the doubt, she supposed but . . . Well, they’d been here before. Several times. At least he hadn’t asked to borrow a vast sum of money this time, though.

Out in the garden Uncle Charlie was greeted like a homecoming hero. He hugged all the girls, ruffled the boys’ hair and tried to get them both in a headlock simultaneously, then scored a goal that smashed the last red petals from her tulips. Then came an energetic victory lap around the garden, punching the air and cheering. The children fell in behind him forming a mad conga, whooping and dancing as they went, even Willow and Hazel.

Alicia couldn’t help but smile at such exuberance. He was a good guy, Charlie, she reminded herself. He always meant well. It was just that his latest brainwave involved the lives of three very fragile people, who needed security and stability like they’d never needed it before. Hand on heart, she really wasn’t convinced he’d be up to the job.

But anyway she’d been forewarned, so that was something. She could oversee the whole thing with a beady eye, make sure that Izzy knew she had a choice, and pitch in if need be. It would be okay.

On with the cooking then. And she should probably pick up Hugh’s gym bag before it caused anyone an injury. The last thing they needed was another person in hospital right now.

Snatching it up, she unzipped it, meaning to stuff the contents straight into the washing machine. Then she paused as her fingers touched a bone-dry towel. Strange. Had he not showered?

She pulled the bag open suspiciously. Hugh was a sweaty kind of person; he’d soak through a T-shirt and shorts pretty quickly during a session on the rowing machine or treadmill. Not today, it seemed. His kit was daisy-fresh, still neatly folded. She stared at it for a few moments, not comprehending. How . . . ?

He hadn’t used it, she realized, with a thud of shock. And so, unless he’d completed his routine stark-naked, she could only conclude that he hadn’t actually been to the gym at all. In which case, where had he been?

Alicia fully intended to get to the bottom of the matter that evening. ‘Where exactly
were
you today?’ she would bark, lips pursed. Maybe she’d even put her hands on her hips in a show of attitude. ‘Because you sure as hell didn’t go to the gym.’

That sounded good. Tough and to the point, no punches pulled. He would be caught off-guard; he would probably blink and stutter in surprise, but he’d have to be honest in reply. And he’d say . . .

That was the bit where her nerve failed: trying to imagine what he could possibly say that would make his lies acceptable. She didn’t think Hugh was the lying sort. He
wasn’t
the lying sort! That was what she loved about him: the fact that he was so good, so solid, so decent. He didn’t deceive people or sneak around, pretending to be somewhere he wasn’t. Did he?

Somehow she managed to navigate through the evening meal on automatic pilot. The girls were less tearful, thank heavens, and now just looked shattered, in need of a hot bath and an early night. Hugh seemed to be tiptoeing around her, but she remained tight-lipped, unable to look him in the eye. Oh, Hugh! How could he have let her down? Not only that, but he’d made it so obvious, leaving his unused gym stuff there, knowing she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from putting it in the wash. Did he
want
her to find out?

The thought shook her. Maybe he was building up to telling her something awful. Maybe he was seeing someone else. What if he had been playing away all this time, cheating on her, weaselling out behind her back to meet some temptress under the pretence of being at the gym, week after week after week? He had been there a lot recently, even by his standards. Something else struck her. Was that why he’d sneakily roped in Lilian to look after the children while she was meant to be in Paris? Was he planning a little trip of his own, with this woman? Talk about a tangled web!