One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [139]
‘Oh, I don’t think—’
‘You don’t think? You don’t think? Well, you’re not a parent, Hal. You don’t think they’ll be snogging away down there? Getting to first base? I can’t believe you’ve been so stupid!’ I was out of control. Unsafe in every way. Didn’t recognize my horrible, rasping voice.
‘They’ll be getting down to it, Hal, you mark my words. Oh, you stupid, stupid man!’
I swung about wildly, casting around for my car keys – my bag, where was my bag? On the chair – no. Oh, on the dresser.
‘Unlikely, don’t you think?’
‘Unlikely? Oh, no, most, most likely, you have no idea.’ I was rummaging for my keys, frantic fingers fumbling. Not in my bag. Where then – in my coat? I was in a race against time, and I couldn’t find the wherewithal to get there, to stop him. Where were my sodding keys?
Hal cleared his throat. ‘No, I meant, unlikely, seeing as she’s his sister.’
My hands froze on the pile of papers I’d been upending in my search: a pile of Laura’s bills – milk, newspapers. Odd, how, in that moment, I remembered she owed the milkman £40. The whole world seemed to stop on its axis, like a Ferris wheel. And I was at the top, left hanging: swinging in my cart.
27
I stayed staring at the pile of papers. Felt the blood drain from my face. Slowly, I turned. ‘What did you say?’
‘You heard.’ Hal’s eyes were steady. Not aggressive, but focused.
I found a stool; reached out and dragged it to me. The earth had tipped beneath me and my legs wouldn’t carry me. I was aware of his gaze, but felt oddly detached from it. No, Hal couldn’t have said that. Couldn’t know that. This couldn’t be happening. If it were happening, if my world were unravelling like this, full tilt, at breakneck speed, life wouldn’t be going on like this. The gardener, for instance, outside the window, wouldn’t be raking the gravel in those slow, languid strokes. The sun wouldn’t be dancing and dappling those yellow and green leaves in such a frivolous fashion. If Hal knew Cassie was Seffy’s sister, the radio, on low in the corner, certainly wouldn’t be reminding me to get down to DFS now, for yet more slashed prices, more sensational bargains.
‘And that’s not all!’ went on the excitable voice. ‘Any threepiece suite you buy before the end of the month comes with a free, Scotch Guarded cover, and a five-year guarantee!’
I turned my head to face my informer, feeling robotic in my movements. My mouth was sticky, but my voice seemed about to engage, to make a break for it.
‘You know?’ I heard it say.
‘Yes, I know.’
I stared at Hal. Almost challenged him. Very nearly didn’t believe him. But his eyes told me it was true. That he could see right through me, right around me, right inside me: knew everything about me. Could see my heart, soul, mind and spirit. It was as if, with all the thoroughness of the drugs squad, I’d been strip-searched, and all my dirty little secrets were now on display, spread about for all to see.
My voice became the only animate thing in the room.
‘How did you know?’ It came out in a whisper.
‘Seffy told me. Or at least, told me he suspected.’
I clutched my mouth. ‘Seffy!’
Hal gave me a moment. But a million moments would never have been enough. Eventually he went on, slowly, methodically; as one would to a patient coming round from an anaesthetic.
‘Said he suspected Dominic might be his father and you his real mother.’
‘But – but no. I mean how…? That simply isn’t possible. How can he have?’ I was frozen with terror.
‘He came to see me. Tracked me down. Rang first, of course, leaving a polite message at my law firm, informing me that he was Hattie Carrington’s son, asking if we could possibly meet. He left his email address. I answered, and the following day he was downstairs in reception. We went for a drink. He asked me if you and my brother had ever had a relationship. I had to say quite possibly, you’d been caught in his office. OK, he said, when? When would it have been?