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Chapter 19

Liv

Brandon and the kids are in the snug when I return home. They’re huddled under decorative sofa throws and ensconced in a Hey Duggee and Bluey marathon on BBC iPlayer.

‘Mummy!’ shouts Rupert, the first to spot me.

He scrambles towards me, hugging my thighs. Ingrid follows and I pretend to fall on to the sofa. God I love these kids. Even Cat Face sidles up to me, burying her face in my neck.

‘How are we all?’ I ask as they throw themselves back on the sofa and in front of the television.

‘We missed you, Mummy,’ says Ingrid. ‘We’re having pizza for tea.’

‘Are we now?’ I say, raising a playful eyebrow in my husband’s direction.

He replies with a ‘sorry, not sorry’ smile, and I’m reminded of the rule we have that when we’re flying solo, anything goes to get through it unscathed.

I lean across the sofa to kiss him. I’ll never tire of his lips.

‘There’s some kale in the steamer to put on your half,’ he says.

He knows me too well.

‘Well, this house looks a lot better than I thought it might,’ I say as I look around me. There’s the usual detritus of semi-complete Lego sculptures and half-coloured-in pictures.

‘How was the spa?’

‘Sooooo relaxing.’

‘And Margot and Anna? Have you found yourself a new coven yet?’

My smartwatch vibrates. It’s another message from Jamal. I need to read it but I don’t want to. Not yet.

‘I did something that perhaps I shouldn’t,’ I begin. ‘I didn’t use all my vouchers, so Margot had to pay her own way.’

‘Why?’

‘Nicu and the kids had some sickness bug and she left them to fend for themselves while she came to the spa. She hung up on him every time he called. She was so dismissive of it, it really pissed me off.’

He chuckles. ‘And how did she react to footing her own bill?’

‘She tried to style it out, but it’s hard when you’re spreading payments across several credit cards.’

‘Sounds like she deserved it.’

My phone vibrates again. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but I need to make a few calls.’

‘It’s Sunday afternoon,’ he protests. ‘Can’t it wait?’

‘It won’t take long.’ I lean over to kiss him again. ‘I’ll be down by the time the pizza arrives.’

I read Jamal’s messages on the way to the office upstairs. He’s also left me two voicemails about the underfloor studio heating. It’s the worst-case scenario. And now I need to find an extra ￡20,000. I clench my fists and hold back from screaming at the top of my voice.

I haven’t wanted to admit it, but I have totally overstretched us. I’ve always been in charge of our finances and I thought we could have it all – the home I dreamed of as a child and a job I love. But I’ve tried to run before I can walk and now I’m in a mess. I shuffle figures from one column to the next in the hope I can make the numbers work. I’m sure Alan Turing took less time to crack the Enigma Code.

Eventually I step away to find a bottle of eyedrops and a packet of herbal headache tablets in the medicine cabinet. But as I emerge from the office, the kids scamper from different directions like a family of excited meerkats, having relayed the message to one another that Mummy has left her office and is fair game. They tug at my sweatshirt and want me to play with jigsaws and dinosaurs. Guilt tears chunks from me with each ‘I can’t’, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘not at the moment darling’. Nothing spears your heart deeper than the disappointed face of your child.

Then comes a knock at the front door. I answer it to a harassed-looking Anna.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ she says, ‘but have you or Brandon taken in a box for me? It should’ve been delivered while we were away?’

‘No, sorry, we haven’t. What’s in it?’

‘Gemstones. None of the other neighbours have seen it, and as far as the couriers are concerned, it’s no longer in transit so it must’ve been delivered. If it’s been stolen from the garage because Drew forgot to close the door again, I’ll kill him.’

She leaves soon after and I return to my office. There’s only so long I can keep moving money around like a circus juggler spinning plates. Every person under this roof is counting on me to succeed.

I take a deep breath, scroll through my phone and search for a mobile number. The last thing I want to do is go back to him , cap in hand, begging for more money. He’ll have no choice but to say yes, even though he despises me. And I understand why.

Because if I were him, I’d hate being blackmailed too.