17

~ Tomato ketchup will lift rust from garden furniture and copper pans – dab it on, rub off, try not to think what it's doing to your insides.

T he image of Terry collapsed on the hall floor hovered just on the edge of my waking mind for the next few days.

Cleo informed us that he was stable, but I flinched whenever my phone rang, in case it was the hospital or, worse, his family calling to ‘establish a timeline' of his fall. At night, when my brain couldn't be slowed down with cleaning, I lay awake, examining every tiny one of my shortcomings like a forensic scientist.

I didn't tell anyone, because I had no one to tell. Mitch was away on business, and it wasn't something I wanted to discuss with him over the phone. I thought about what Jim had said about taking responsibility, and as penance I went back to Terry's flat after work to collect my bag, and cleaned on my own until the place was immaculate. I got the tea stains out of the cups, and put a shine on the windows. While I was hoovering, I tried not to meet the eyes of the children and grandchildren on the wall.

That said, I did feel better as I let myself out, replacing the spare key in Jayne's lockbox.

My brain was in such a mess that when Anna Hastings called me at the end of the week, it took me a second to remember who she was.

‘Hi, Robyn! Is this a good time?' she asked.

‘Um, yes.' I'd been cleaning a mirror at the Corrigans', trying to avoid looking at myself as I polished, but now I stared at my reflection; I looked miserable. Not the sort of upbeat professional you'd buy a house from. Bad roots, dark circles under my eyes. And spots. I hadn't had spots in years .

From the sofa, Ivor the corgi regarded me with his ever-judgemental side eye.

My lack of enthusiasm seemed to wrong-foot Anna. ‘Good! Well, Robyn, I'm ringing with some good news – we'd like to invite you to join the Hastings Laidlaw team!'

I forced a huge smile onto my face. ‘That's … tremendous.' The smile was making my cheeks sting. It didn't reach my eyes.

I turned away from the mirror. ‘That's brilliant news!'

Better. Just.

Ivor tilted his head, intrigued.

‘So that's a yes?'

I nodded. ‘Yes. It's a yes.'

‘Great! We've just had the go-ahead to bring a couple of new projects to market, so it's all hands on deck,' Anna went on. ‘When could you start, ideally?'

I almost said tomorrow but then I caught sight of Jim down in the hallway, finishing off a perfectly straight hoover line.

If I bailed it would mean shuffling the timetables around and Cleo was running low on emergency cleaners. I'd seen what they were like, and I didn't think Jim's blood pressure would stand it.

‘Next Monday?' I suggested.

A week. One more week of cleaning.

‘I think we can just about cover till then. Tremendous!' Anna sounded relieved. ‘I'll email the paperwork to you now and if you have any questions in the meantime, you've got my number. Call me any time.'

‘Thank you,' I said. ‘I will.'

We said goodbye, and I let my smile fall. My cheeks really did ache with the effort of sounding upbeat for that long.

I stared at Ivor, who stared back. Come on, Robyn, I told myself. This is what you were praying for! A job! With a new agency! A chance to get back to your real life!

It was good, wasn't it? I'd been chosen ahead of other candidates, I'd been approved . I fanned the flame of enthusiasm with the thought of some shopping. I'd treat myself to something new to wear for my first day. I'd rebook the haircut I'd cancelled, and – I looked down at my ragged, unpolished nails – definitely restore my hands to their former glory.

Jim came in with the hoover, ready to create stripes in the sitting-room carpet.

‘What was that?' he asked.

‘I got the job,' I said.

‘What job? Have you had another interview? You didn't say.'

Oops. I kept forgetting I hadn't told anyone I'd been at an interview on Tuesday morning and now I spoke carefully, as if picking my way across broken glass, stepping on the tiny squares of safe truth.

‘I had an interview with another agency in town.' There was a pause for him to ask, ‘When?' but he didn't.

He knows, wailed a voice in my head. He's not stupid.

‘Which one?'

I swallowed. This was the moment to tell him. Should I tell him?

My mouth refused to move.

‘Well, that's good news,' he said, mildly. ‘An estate agency? Or have you been poached by a cleaning agency?'

‘No, no, definitely an estate agency. Hastings Laidlaw. It's new, on the High Street.'

‘Uh-huh.' He nodded as if he had a mental top ten of estate agents and Hastings Laidlaw was at least in the top three. ‘So when do they want you to start?'

‘Next week.'

‘So soon!'

I nodded and he smiled. ‘Congratulations.'

‘Thanks!'

‘I mean, this job's definitely happening,' I gabbled, to fill the silence. ‘I told them about the TikTok and Emma Rossiter and they were very understanding, so thanks for the advice on that.'

Jim nodded. ‘Good for you.'

‘So, you know, if you ever need to buy a house, you know where to come, ha ha!' I didn't know where Jim lived. I wished I knew where Jim lived.

‘I'll bear that in mind.'

And I'll miss you.

The clarity of that thought startled me. Particularly since only that morning Mitch had forwarded me a link to some hotels in Paris and asked how I felt about oysters.

I had to stop myself blurting out something emotionally incontinent and embarrassing us both. ‘Not too late for you to teach me the secret to hoover lines, though! And everything else you know about stain removal.'

He shook his head. ‘You've only got a week left. Stains are a complex field.'

‘I've still got two visits to the Armstrongs left,' I pointed out.

Jim smiled, the tentative smile that made his eyes crinkle. It couldn't possibly be because of my lame joke.

In the kitchen there was a sound of a water bowl being tipped over my freshly mopped floor, followed by a yap of delight, and I realised I hadn't even noticed Ivor sneaking out.

I rang Mitch on my way to collect Orson from his junior league football match. My call went to voicemail, which I'd half-expected it to, as he'd told me he had a full day of planning meetings, but he called back just as I was getting out of the car.

‘Amazing news!' he said. ‘They're lucky to have you on board. We need to celebrate!'

From the background noise, it sounded as if he was somewhere celebrating already. ‘Where are you?' I put my finger in my other ear to see if I'd hear him better. It didn't help much. ‘I thought you were away somewhere?'

‘Finished early,' he shouted over the sound of cheering. ‘We've got the green light from the planning, at bloody last, which means we can start focusing on Lark Manor.'

‘I thought you had planning?'

‘No, different project. Listen, where are you now? We've got a table booked at the Ledbury for eight. Join us!'

I didn't know who ‘us' was; Allen and Nihal? I wanted to see Mitch, but not in a crowd. I couldn't yell, ‘… and I was sure he was dead!' across a pub table.

‘I can't,' I said. ‘Why don't you give me a call when you get home?'

The noise increased, and I couldn't hear his reply, so I hung up and trudged over to the pitch where a 0-0 match was in its final turgid stages.

Football, for me, ranked somewhere between ironing and watching paint dry, but I dutifully summoned up my enthusiastic face for Orson, who often seemed to fall through the gap between Alfie's teenage dramas and Wes's baby-of-the-family indulgence. There were a few parents on the side line, some bellowing ‘encouragement', some disguising AirPods with unseasonable bobble hats.

As I got nearer, I spotted a familiar figure, standing alone by a corner flag. It was Elliot sporting a team hoodie, and he was clapping and shouting loudly enough to be heard from the footpath.

‘Good touch, Orson! And again!' he shouted and as he turned to follow Orson's courageous but short-lived break, he spotted me.

I decided I wasn't going to make this difficult for either of us, since Cleo wasn't around to give me a hard time, and I raised my hand in a friendly greeting.

‘Didn't expect to see you here,' I said. ‘It is my turn to collect him, isn't it?'

Elliot nodded. ‘Yeah. But I come to his home games anyway. I remember how much better I played when my old man was there to watch.'

‘Does Cleo know?' She made out Elliot missed nearly everything: football matches, parents' evenings, concerts.

He shrugged. ‘Orson's probably mentioned it, it's not a secret. I suppose she told you different?'

I could hardly deny it.

He sighed. ‘I know she's your sister, Robyn, but Cleo always rewrites history to suit herself. I'm not saying I'm the world's best dad, but I haven't missed a football match in a few years. Even before we split up. I do my best with Wes and Alfie too.'

‘She's in a funny place,' I said, unwilling to badmouth my own sister, but at the same time, wondering what else Cleo hadn't told me and Mum. It hadn't made sense to me that Elliot would go from busy but engaged dad to absent father so quickly. Anyone who willingly stood through a game of football this tedious had to be driven by that very undiscriminating parental love.

‘A funny place? You can say that again.' He shook his head. ‘I don't know what's going on with Cleo, Robyn. I don't even know if it was me. I mean, yes, I work long hours. But I've always worked long hours! She never had a problem with it before. One minute she was, you know, standard Cleo …' We both knew what that shorthand meant: a broadly benevolent whirlwind. ‘And the next she was angry all the time . With everyone, about everything. I did wonder if it was something to do with …' Elliot raised his eyebrows meaningfully. ‘Her, you know … time of life.'

‘Jesus, Elliot, she's only thirty eight!'

‘Yeah, well, she put me straight on that. Good job, Orson!'

‘Yes!' I waved a fist as Orson hoofed a ball straight to an opposing player. ‘Good job! So what do you think she's angry about?'

Elliot frowned. ‘All I can think of is that it's something to do with our holiday to Mauritius. She was in a mood the whole time, and the fights really started once we came back. Went downhill from there.'

‘Bikini shopping will do that to anyone.'

He turned to me, bewildered. ‘She's the same size now as she was when we first met.'

That was true. Had Cleo met someone while they were out there, someone who made her feel she was more than a mum? Had she had an existential moment on the beach with the turtles? I couldn't see Cleo having an existential moment, but stranger things had happened.

Another, sadder, thought struck me.

‘I'm so sorry about Rhiannon,' I said, and the pain on poor Elliot's face made me want to hug him. He'd been my brother-in-law for nearly half my life.

So I did hug him. And then the whistle blew for full time, and we were all released from the football misery.

Cleo had instructed me to deliver Orson to Mum's, from where she would collect both him and Wes, who Mum was taking swimming. Wes had recently moved up to Newts. Or Water Rats. There didn't seem to be a logical progression.

Orson headed straight to what had been my old room to rehash the football match with his mates online while I went into the kitchen in search of cake.

Dad went to Cake Club once a month and practised the showstopper at least once before the big night. The mixer was roaring away and Dad looked to be in the middle of something involving a tonne of icing sugar, going by the unusually Georgian appearance of his hair. Mum and Wes still weren't home.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?' he shouted over the sound of whisking buttercream. ‘Put your feet up next door, you can tell me what you think about this red velvet. I can't get the crumb right.'

I didn't need asking twice. Mum's sofa was the sort you can sink into, and she had the full Sky package. I immersed myself in a large slice of red velvet cake and a terrible show called Train Wreck Cleaners , and the first thing I knew about Cleo's arrival was the abrupt smell of her perfume and the swift removal of my half-finished cake.

‘Hello Cleo,' I said.

‘Hey.' She stared at the women on the screen, entering a hoarder's house wearing full Hazmat suits. Cats were perched on anything that wasn't swaying. ‘I think I'd just set fire to that and start again. How was football?'

‘OK, I think. You'll have to ask Orson.' I glanced over cautiously, trying to gauge her mood. Might this be a good time to put in a word for Elliot? ‘Guess who I saw there?'

‘If you're going to say Elliot, don't,' she said, without moving her eyes from the screen.

‘But he was—'

‘Don't. Please. I've had the day from hell. It turns out those missing hamsters in Jellicoe Road aren't under the floorboards, they're in next-door's snake. And we've had a VAT inspection. Thank your lucky stars you'll never need to understand VAT.'

There was always something Cleo had to worry about, and I didn't. Boyfriends, VAT, children, pension plans. I think she intended to be reassuring rather than belittling, but still.

Since she'd brought up the topic of work, and we were in the safe space of Mum and Dad's house, I thought I'd tell Cleo about my new job and get it over with. She might be less furious about the short notice, sitting underneath a collage of photos of us in Brownie uniforms.

‘I've got some good news,' I said. ‘I've been offered a job with an estate agency in town, so I guess I'm handing in my notice.'

‘Congratulations. When do they want you to start?'

‘Ideally now. But I said next Monday. To give you time to rearrange the rotas.'

‘Thoughtful,' said Cleo. ‘Who is it?'

‘Hastings Laidlaw.'

She raised an eyebrow, which I think indicated approval. ‘Anna Hastings?'

‘Yes, she's very nice. Do you know her?'

‘Mum and I were on her table at the Women in Business Awards.' Cleo pressed her finger on the remaining cake crumbs and tidied them up. ‘She's very involved in local animal charities. Likes to tell people she's got five rescue donkeys in her back garden which, if you ask me, is just a subtle way of telling everyone how big her garden is.' She got up. ‘Do you want another cup of tea?'

‘Please. Listen, while we're both here, if you wanted to talk to Mum about this Gwen Thomas woman, we could do it together? United front? Dad could show Wes how to ice a cupcake and turn the mixer up really loud.'

Cleo paused at the door. She considered it, then shook her head. ‘Maybe at the weekend. I've had enough for tonight. But, thanks.'

‘You're right, though, we need to talk to her,' I said. ‘Together.'

She gave me a smile that made me glad I'd mentioned it. ‘Yeah. And it's good news about Hastings Laidlaw, honestly. I'm happy for you. But they've messed you about, haven't they? You need to keep an eye on that.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘Well, last week you told me you hadn't got the job. Now you have. What happened? Did their first choice drop out?'

‘No, this is a different place. They've been pretty quick, actually,' I said, without thinking. ‘I only went in for the interview on Tuesday and Anna called me today …'

‘Tuesday?'

I blinked. ‘Um …'

‘When on Tuesday?'

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. I didn't want to speak. Whatever I said was going to land me in trouble.

Cleo's confusion cleared, as if she'd answered her own question. ‘Well, that's even more impressive, Robyn. To do an interview after you'd been through that drama with poor Terry – wow. I guess an interview must have felt like a doddle after that.'

I stared at her, frozen with panic. Don't say anything, Robyn. Don't say anything.

But my silence began to speak for itself. Slowly, Cleo's friendly expression changed. I didn't need to see the cogs in her brain turning; she didn't have cogs, she had microprocessors.

‘Oh, wait,' she said. ‘You had the interview in the morning, didn't you?' Her voice was crisp, every word articulated as the truth unrolled in front of her. ‘ That was why you didn't answer my calls. You were with Anna Hastings.'

‘I specifically arranged the interview before work!' Which I had.

‘What time did you get to Terry's, Robyn?' Cleo pointed at me. ‘And don't lie to me.'

‘I …' I stopped, unable to lie or tell the truth.

She hit her forehead with her palm. ‘Oh my god. I spent nearly an hour this afternoon talking to Terry's family about how grateful they were to us, the way we'd looked after him over the years. You know they wanted your address, so they could send you flowers? For saving his life?'

‘But …'

Cleo stopped my words with her jabbing finger again. ‘Terry called me to let me know he was feeling ill, and I called you to tell you to get there early in case he needed some help. And you ignored me because you were in the process of trying to get a better job. What time did you get there?'

‘Ten past ten,' I whispered.

It had been ten past ten. I'd convinced myself it was quarter to, because that was when I'd last checked my watch. Walking down the high street, desperately trying to manifest a taxi.

Cleo glared at me with disgust. ‘So that call Terry made, when he couldn't even speak, was at ten past nine. When you were supposed to be there. He lay there, alone, for an hour .'

I shrank back in my chair, hugging my knees. She didn't need to spell it out.

‘Why do you do this, Robyn?'

‘Do what?'

‘Bend the truth as if no one will notice.'

I wasn't prepared for a row with Cleo. ‘I'm not …'

‘You've always done it. You just say whatever suits you. What's wrong with you?'

‘That's not fair,' I protested, and immediately we were back in our childhood bedroom, Cleo towering over me, even though she was two inches shorter, me struggling to keep up with the relentless torrent of her words.

‘Don't give me that!' Cleo spat dismissively. ‘You've only been working for me for a few weeks and I've caught you doing it so many times!'

‘Not so many times …'

‘Adam Doherty's shower! You wouldn't have told me about that, would you? And before you say it, lying by omission is just as bad. It's deception, either way. It makes you untrustworthy.'

‘I …'

‘You're completely untrustworthy!'

‘You can't talk!' Finally the words shot out of me. ‘You haven't been honest about what's going on with Elliot, have you? You don't want us talking to him, because you don't want to deal with the fact that you've treated him—'

‘How dare you talk to me about Elliot?' Cleo took a step towards me, her eyes blazing, and I took a step back, scared.

Why didn't Dad come in? How loud did that mixer need to be?

I heard the front door open, and Mum's voice sang out. ‘Here we are! Sorry we're late, we might have stopped at the milkshake machine …' Her voice trailed away as she entered the sitting room. The fury on Cleo's face and the tears on mine told its own story. ‘What's going on?'

‘Nothing,' snapped Cleo.

I saw Wes mouth ‘nothing' to himself. His eyes were round, and as Cleo spoke he shrank behind Mum.

Cleo held her hand out towards him. It wasn't the reassuring maternal gesture she hoped it was. It was more like Mary Poppins at her most petrifyingly militant. The light glittered on her diamond rings, bought by Cleo for Cleo, and her immaculate red nails gleamed. I'd always envied Cleo's ability to defy chips. ‘Come on, Wes, time to go home.'

‘Grandma got us milkshakes,' he said in a small voice. ‘She said we could froth up the chocolate one and put marshmallows on it.'

‘No, we need to get back,' said Cleo. She shot out her Mary Poppins hand again, and Wes took it, even though I hadn't seen him hold her hand for a while.

‘Cleo!' I didn't want us to part like this. I hated confrontation, but arguing with Cleo was like fighting with myself; she knew every terrible thing I secretly thought about myself and wasn't afraid to give them a voice. A loud, mean voice that still wasn't quite as mean as the small one in my own head.

‘What?' She turned, her eyebrow raised.

I just needed to hear her say she hadn't meant the cruel things she'd said about me.

‘You can't make me feel worse about this than I already do,' I said, pathetically. ‘About Terry.'

She shot a quick glance at Wes, then at Mum.

‘It's not just Terry, it's the lack of trust.' Her voice was icy. ‘I expect to be lied to at work. And I expect to be lied to by my …' She was obviously about to say Elliot, but since Wes was only one arm-length away, she managed to correct it to, ‘… by people who only ever have their own interests at heart. But if I can't trust my own family, then I can't trust anyone. And that is …' Again, she struggled not to swear in front of Wes. ‘ Very sad .'

‘Cleo!' Mum let out a moan.

‘Come on, Wes,' said Cleo. ‘Let's say goodbye to Grandpa.'

When she left the room I half-expected the door to slam behind her – as it had done for most of our teenage years – but she had evidently grown classier in her adulthood. All she left in her wake was a painful silence.

I slumped in my chair, adrenalin pumping through my veins. I wanted to cry, from shock, not sadness.

It had been years since anyone had shouted at me like that. Maybe never. My skill at avoiding confrontation meant that situations with even a whiff of awkwardness – break-ups, bad holidays – had either happened via text or were left to fade away. It was shameful, I knew, but being criticised made me hyper anxious, to the point where I felt like a balloon being inflated too fast, too much.

Mum too seemed shaken by the force of Cleo's fury. She sank onto the arm of Dad's leather armchair, winded.

‘Mum?'

She looked up at me. ‘What was that about? What have you done?'

I noted it was me who had done something, not Cleo.

‘I was late for a client.'

There you go again, observed the voice in my head, minimising.

Mum nodded, as if it wasn't anything new. ‘Oh, Robyn. You know what you're like about timekeeping. You need to set an alarm.'

Be honest. ‘And it was … Well, there was a bit of a situation.'

The penny dropped. ‘Not that poor man who went to hospital?'

‘Mum, please don't. I've been beating myself up about it since it happened.'

‘So what did she mean about lying?'

‘I was late because …' I swallowed. ‘Because I was at an interview. I hadn't told Cleo because she gave me such a hard time about the other one.'

‘Oh …' Mum sighed, as if she didn't know whether to be reproachful or not.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?' I offered.

Mum nodded. ‘Go on.'

In the kitchen I heard the mixer slow down, as if the operator was trying to gauge whether conversation had returned to safer waters.

‘It's fine, Dad,' I shouted. ‘We're all done.'