Copycat: The unputdownable new thriller from the bestselling author of After Anna. Alex Lake
said. He unfolded two beach chairs and passed one to Sarah. ‘Can I offer anyone a seat? I’m happy to sit on the sand.’
‘I’m fine,’ Jean said. ‘But thank you for asking.’ She looked at Sarah. ‘The perfect English gentleman.’
‘We’re brought up that way,’ Ben said. ‘Manners beaten into us at every turn by cold, unfeeling matriarchs.’
There was truth in his joking. He didn’t see his parents often, and when he did they had a very formal relationship. Sarah sensed that he and his father, Roger, were – in a reserved, English way – pretty close, but he and his mom – Diana – were distant. He didn’t often talk about his childhood, and his mom rarely figured in the stories. When she did, her appearances were limited to the fringes – She dropped me off at boarding school or She didn’t approve of me and Dad going fishing; she thought it was a waste of time or Pubs were for drunks and commoners, so on the few occasions we went out for dinner at one it was just me, Dad and my brother, Sam. Diana didn’t seem part of his life; it was as though he didn’t particularly know her. Which was in part because Diana Havenant was almost unknowable. She didn’t say a great deal – the longest one-on-one conversation Sarah had ever had with her probably ran to no more than three minutes of polite small talk – and it was invariably critical or damning with faint praise. Barrow, she had said, on her one trip to visit them in Maine, was very nice. Sarah had been surprised to hear such unqualified praise, but then she had added:
… for those who like that kind of thing.
Sarah, who normally resisted the temptation to argue with her mother-in-law, had risen to the bait. She felt she had to: Barrow was her hometown, the place she was raising her family. If Diana thought there was a problem with it, them, it was, in her mind, a direct comment on her parenting.
What do you mean, ‘that kind of thing’? she’d said, struggling to keep her tone light. Next to her, Ben stiffened.
It’s hardly London, is it? Diana replied.
No, Sarah said. But I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at. Lots of places aren’t London. Paris, for example, isn’t London. Neither is Buenos Aires.
Quite, Diana replied. What was it Johnson said? When a man is tired of London he is tired of life?
Was he a Londoner, by any chance? Sarah asked.
I think he was pointing out how London offers such broad horizons. Which is a good thing. Other places – by which she clearly meant Barrow – are a little less stimulating for young minds.
It was clear she felt her son had made a mistake in leaving the cultured shores of the UK for the barbarian wastes of Maine. She probably felt he had made a mistake in marrying Sarah, too. For years Sarah had worried that at some point Diana would convince Ben to move them all back to the UK – or Ben and the kids, at any rate. She doubted Diana would have been bothered if he left his wife behind – but Ben had reassured her his mother would never attempt such a thing, and if she did, it wouldn’t work.
Over time, Sarah had come to believe him, but the lurking fear that Diana might one day try to win her son back never fully left her.
Sarah sat down beside him, her feet sinking into the hot sand. She took a deep breath, reveling in the briny tang of the ocean.
‘I’m not sure those matriarchs did such a good job with you,’ she said. ‘My perfect English gentleman who wants to buy a convertible which only half the family can fit into.’
‘Four-fifths of the family,’ Ben said. ‘I was planning on getting a four-seater. I suppose I could get a two-seater, which would only be two-fifths of the family. But not half.’
‘Sounds fun,’ Jean said. ‘I can see you, top down, wind rushing through your hair— ’
‘More over my scalp,’ Ben said, rubbing his thinning hair. ‘But I get what you mean.’
‘You’ll have to take me for a spin,’ Jean said. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever been in a convertible.’
‘Thanks, Jean,’ Sarah said. ‘I was hoping you might discourage him!’
‘Oh,’ Jean said. ‘Seemed like a good idea to me.’
Miles detached himself from the group of hole-diggers and walked over.
‘Do we have any snacks?’ he said.
Sarah put on an expression of shocked disbelief, although it was only partly put on. Her kids’ capacity for asking for food was a constant source of amazement for her. ‘We’ve hardly been here five minutes,’ she said. ‘You had breakfast an hour ago.’
‘I know,’ Miles said. ‘But I’m hungry.’
‘You can’t be,’ Sarah said. ‘Go and dig a hole. Work up an appetite.’
‘I already have an appetite.’
‘No,’ Sarah said. ‘It’s too early for lunch.’
‘Just a snack.’
‘No, Miles.’
His face hardened and she saw he was not going to back down. Well, neither was she. He didn’t need to eat again.
‘Mom,’ Miles said. ‘You can’t starve me.’
‘I’m not starving you.’
‘I want some food!’
Ben stood up. ‘I tell you what,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to the rock pools. You have a quick snack before we go and then when we get back we can have some lunch. Off you go and see if anyone else wants to come.’
Miles paused, then nodded. He ran over to the rest of the kids.
‘Ben,’ Sarah said. ‘I told him no. And now you’re giving him a snack.’
‘I haven’t given him anything,’ Ben replied. ‘Not yet. And he’ll forget. He needed diverting, that’s all. He eats when he’s bored.’
Ben was good at avoiding conflict; he had the ability to sidestep it. Perhaps he had learned it during a life with Diana.
It turned out all five kids wanted to go.
‘Right,’ Ben said. ‘Let’s get moving.’
‘What about my snack?’ Miles asked.
‘I’ll bring it with me. Everyone get water shoes on.’
‘Are you OK taking them all?’ Jean said. ‘That’s a lot of kids.’
‘I think so,’ Ben said. ‘Hopefully I won’t lose any.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ Rachel said. ‘Keep you company. I love rock pools.’ She stood up. She was wearing a dark red bikini, and she had not put on any weight since high school. She pulled on a T-shirt. ‘OK, kids. Let’s go.’
Ben looked at Sarah. ‘Want to come?’
‘Or sit here for an hour in the sun with Jean and have no kids to worry about?’ Sarah furrowed her brow, pretending to think hard. ‘Maybe I’ll stay.’
She watched as the kids sprinted along the beach, Ben and Rachel walking behind them. When they were about thirty yards away Rachel turned to Ben, nodding with laughter, which carried on the breeze to Sarah. It was a full, you’re-a-really-funny-guy laugh; whatever Ben had said had really amused Rachel, or at least, Rachel wanted him to think it had. Some dry, sardonic comment about the convertible, maybe. She’d ask Ben when he got back.
Jean had noticed too. ‘Must have said something funny,’ she said.
‘Yeah. Not like Ben.’
‘He’s amusing enough, in his goofy way.’ She reached into her cooler and took out