Am I Guilty?. Jackie Kabler
a showbiz type, who flitted between London and Gloucestershire, she often attended events I’d organized, launches and celebrations and parties thrown by writers, actors, local celebrities. She’d even been to a do at my own house once, a couple of years back, I remembered now – probably the garden party I’d held to mark three years of Big Day Event Planning.
She was quite loud, the sort of person who some would describe as ‘fun’, I suppose. A bit over the top for me, and I’d sensed that Rupert – he and Thea had been at the same party – found her slightly irritating too. But, by all accounts, she’d stuck by Thea, after what had happened, and that had to be admired, I supposed. I was pretty sure I couldn’t have done it. My chest tightened slightly, as it always did when I thought about Thea, and what she’d done, but I swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away, pulled on my wellies and followed Flora out into the damp garden.
‘What time is Daddy coming, Mummy?’
I looked up from my laptop – I’d just been ordering some stunning little brocade jackets from a designer in Iran, which I intended to team on the website with a recently arrived selection of embroidered dresses from Moscow, a modern twist on the traditional sarafan style – and glanced at my watch.
‘He said he’d be here about five thirty, darling. So any minute now.’
It was Wednesday, one of Rupert’s nights to have Nell. The days varied every week, depending on his work schedule – Rupert worked in field support for an IT company, and often had to travel to repair or install systems – but we aimed for Wednesdays if we could, hoping a regular routine would be better for our daughter. He had her every weekend too, picking her up from school each Friday and returning her on Monday evening, so he had four nights a week with her and I got three. It didn’t sound like a lot, but it was more than I deserved, way more, and I was deeply grateful for it.
‘Have you got everything? Did you remember your PE gear for school tomorrow as well as your other stuff?’
I got slowly up from the table, trying not to jar my throbbing head. I’d fallen off the wagon again the night before, despite my good intentions for the week, opening a bottle of red, and then another, waking stiff and cold on the sofa at 2 a.m. before dragging myself to bed to toss and turn restlessly until dawn. The nausea had eased now but the headache remained, a dull pounding in my skull. Trying to act normally, I crossed the room to check Nell’s overnight bag, rummaging through it. She had a spare toothbrush, other toiletries, books and toys at Rupert’s place, so it was really only clothes and school things she needed to bring, and she seemed to have everything she needed. Plenty of packing practice by now, I supposed.
‘All present and correct by the look of it, well done!’
I kept my voice bright, but I was already missing her, already dreading the quiet when the front door closed behind her and she was gone from me for another twenty-four hours.
‘Of course, what do you expect?’ she replied, with a cheeky grin. She was in a good mood today, and I smiled back and reached out a hand to stroke her dark curls.
‘Oi, stop it, mum! I’ve just brushed it!’
She batted my hand away, then squealed as the doorbell rang.
‘Daddy! I’ll get it!’
She turned and ran out into the hallway. Moments later Rupert was in the doorway of the dining room, tall and broad-shouldered, his head freshly shaven, a hint of dark stubble at his jawline. He was wearing a dark suit with a pale pink shirt, tie loosened at the neck.
‘Thea.’ His voice was cool, polite.
‘Hi Rupert.’
He glanced around the room, eyes resting for a few seconds on Zander’s pram, which was sitting next to the window. He shook his head slightly, then looked down at Nell who was bouncing up and down on her heels.
‘Ready to go, sweetheart? Thought we could stop for a takeaway pizza on the way home, eat it in front of the telly, that sound OK?’
‘Awesome!’ she said.
‘Great. Well, say goodbye to your mum and we’ll be off.’
Nell launched herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist and tilting her head back for a kiss. I dropped one onto her forehead then held on tightly, making ‘grrrrr’ noises until she yelled at me to get off her and wriggled free.
‘Bye, Mummy! See you tomorrow evening!’
She skipped out into the hall, and I turned to Rupert.
‘You’ll pick her up from school tomorrow, as usual? Or arrange to have her picked up, I should say?’ he said.
The hint of ice was there in his voice, as always, but I had become immune to it.
‘Of course. Oh, and don’t let her forget her PE stuff in the morning. It’s in a separate bag and you know what she’s like.’
He nodded.
‘I know. OK, well, see you Friday then.’
He turned and left the room, and moments later I heard the front door slam. He hadn’t mentioned Zander, of course. He never did. It had upset me terribly at first, in the early days after he’d left me. Now, I was used to it – his coldness, his lack of emotion. The revulsion in his eyes when he looked at me. My husband, this man who’d been by my side for over a decade, the man I’d married in a beautiful country church on a glorious spring day in Oxfordshire, and thought I’d love and be loved by forever. The man I’d built a home with, a life with, raised children with.
Our marriage wasn’t perfect – how many were? – but it had been good, great even, for so many years. And … well, he despised me these days, I knew that. I was even getting used to it, knowing it was only what I deserved. I never got used to Nell being away, though, hated the house without her in it at night, and although I tried to settle back down to some work I couldn’t concentrate.
Restless, I pushed my laptop to one side, wishing it was Friday when Isla would be here, when the house would be filled with her, her loud voice, her gorgeous if ridiculously high shoes, her expensive perfume. And, more importantly, her friendship, her love, her hugs. The lights seemed brighter, my home actually physically warmer, when Isla was around, especially now, in these dark cold days.
Rupert had never really understood it, the bond between us – ‘obsessive, you two. It’s a bit weird, Thea,’ he’d said once, in the early days – and he’d been right when he complained too, back then, that Isla resented him, that she’d been reluctant for me to get serious about him. She’d cried, actually cried, when he proposed. She didn’t really have many other friends, not in those days, not now really either, if I thought about it. Work colleagues, people she socialized with, had fun with, but not friend friends, nobody she was as close to as me. I’d never really been able to work out why, but I supposed some people were just like that, weren’t they? After all, how many close friends do you need? And although I’d made other friends over the years, many of whom I’d grown really fond of, it was never like it was with Isla. We were Thea and Isla, Isla and Thea. Thila, we’d joked once, at the height of the Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes ‘Tomcat’ thing. It was just the way it was.
The nausea was back, and realizing I’d barely eaten today I wandered through to the kitchen and opened the fridge, wondering what to cook for dinner. I had some pasta in the cupboard, but nothing to make a sauce with. Deciding the fresh air would do me good, I manoeuvred the pram out into the hallway, pulled on my coat and walked briskly up to Bath Road, past the bank on the corner and the wine bar with the little front courtyard where, even now, in the dark and the chill of the January evening, people were sitting outside, smoking and nursing pints of beer, huddling