The Second Wife aka Wives Behaving Badly

‘But you,’ I pushed it further, ‘did you…’

Rose moved towards the door. ‘I’ve done you a favour today, Minty. Let’s leave it at that.’ She placed a hand on the catch. ‘For the record Nathan, having done it once, would never have left the twins. And he would never have regretted having them. Ever.’

‘That wasn’t my question.’

‘But it’s my answer,’ she said gently. She tugged at the door latch.

‘Here, let me,’ I pulled the handle. ‘The lock’s tricky.’

‘Oh, I know that,’ said Rose. ‘It always was.’

21

Before twenty-four hours had elapsed Poppy was on the phone. ‘Minty, I don’t think it’s a good idea to use my mother as a fall-back nanny.’

As it happened, I agreed with her. ‘Did Rose put it that way?’

‘Not exactly, but she told me you rang up at the last minute and begged her to step in.’ She added, ‘I object.’

‘I had to find someone to look after the boys.’

‘You’re their mother. Don’t you understand how it would have upset her?’

I reminded myself that Poppy had no children so she didn’t have the faintest idea. Poppy had not lain naked and trussed and given birth amid what resembled a cocktail party. She did not lie awake at night entertaining that special brand of parental imagining: Lucas might run out into the road when a lorry just happens to be coming down it at full speed. She didn’t understand that adaptation was survival. Furthermore, Poppy had no idea how a pair of fair, tousled heads had a way of sneaking past every defence. ‘Your mother could have said no.’

An impatient noise sped down the line. ‘Don’t you know by now that Mum puts up with everything?’

‘I’m not sure I agree, Poppy.’

‘She has some crazy idea that Dad would want her to look out for them. I’ve told her she shouldn’t stand for it. Richard says you should make your own arrangements.’

Despite my best intentions, I was stung by the last. Our occasional rueful exchanges had seemed to indicate that Richard and I understood each other. ‘Did he really?’

‘Um. Well, we both agree.’

It was a fair bet that Richard had said nothing of the sort. ‘Poppy,’ I said, ‘I’m doing the best I can, but things are difficult at the moment, and the boys are more important than anything else.’

‘And?’

‘I was afraid I might lose my job if I didn’t turn up.’ Even to say the words caused sweat to break out on my top lip.

‘Can’t you negotiate? There’s legislation for this kind of contingency.’ Pause. ‘I wouldn’t stand for it, Minty.’

‘I expect you would if you had to.’ My knees were shaky now. ‘There’s theory and then there’s practice.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’

I glanced round the kitchen. Without Eve, it was showing signs of neglect. There was dust on the windowsill, spilt coffee grounds by the rubbish bin and a couple of dirty saucepans waiting for attention beside the sink.

‘By the way, two things, Poppy. I don’t think it would do any good if I intervened in the Jilly-Sam situation. I got a polite brush-off from Sam.’

‘I bet you didn’t try hard enough.’

‘Actually I did. I put feelers out, and it was clear that I wouldn’t get anywhere. I’m afraid the ball’s back in your court. You’ll have to deal.’

‘Hmm. You sound like Sam. All bossy and older sibling. And the second thing?’

‘I’ve spoken to Theo. I’m afraid the money won’t be forthcoming just yet. He couldn’t say when it would be.’

‘Oh, my God,’ Poppy said. A note of desperation had crept into her voice. Are you absolutely sure?’

I didn’t have time, or the inclination, to take on Poppy’s woes. This was the girl who had dressed up in black for my wedding, called her father – and, by extension, me – an old goat and deliberately mucked up family Christmases. She and I didn’t have a relationship where if one was in trouble the other said, ‘Hang on, I’m coming at once.’

Against all reason, I said, ‘Poppy. I suspect you’ve got yourself into trouble over the poker. Am I right?’

There was a choking sob. ‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Actually, you can.’

It took a little more urging and probing but eventually Poppy confessed: ‘Poker got a grip on me. I don’t how – it’s a mystery how quickly I became wrapped up in it. I lie awake at night, and ask myself, “How?” Then I borrowed money because I didn’t win, and I can’t afford to pay it back. I couldn’t pay off my credit card, so I borrowed it from one of those firms that promise the world and forget to tell you that the interest is unbelievable. A career in candles isn’t big beans – well, it’s a career in candles. Need I say more? I can’t tell Richard, who would be horrified, I can’t tell Mum, and the bailiffs will come and I’ll get credit blacklisted if I don’t do something soon -’

At this point, I interrupted: ‘Poppy, listen to me. Have you stopped playing? That’s the first step.’

‘Of course I have.’ Poppy was a hopeless liar.

‘I don’t believe you.’

The situation was still too delicate for the direct approach and I had been clumsy: she turned savage. ‘It’s none of your business. I can deal with it. If you can just arrange for the money, it’ll be sorted.’

A lifetime of self-help manuals came to my rescue. ‘Why don’t you go and talk to someone?’ I lowered my voice. ‘Poppy, I can find out who.’

There was more choking. ‘I miss Dad. It’s like having a hole in the head. Why did he have to die?’ Silence, and then her bleak, disembodied voice at the other end of the line: ‘I wish I was dead.’

I glanced at the clock. I had one hour precisely in hand, but I could put it to better use than pressing the jacket that was next on the list. ‘Hang on, Poppy’ I felt the thrill of stepping into untrodden territory. ‘I can come over.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t.’

Eve was lying in the furthest bed from the entrance to the ward, which, I imagined, gave her a modicum of peace. The traffic in and out was staggering – trolleys, visitors, doctors in white coats.

She was propped up on pillows and her colour matched the linen. ‘Hallo, Minty.’

‘Eve, are you feeling better?’ I placed a basket of fruit on her bedside table and drew up a chair. She was too exhausted to talk much so I held her hand and stroked her fingers. The gesture seemed to please her for she smiled faintly and closed her eyes. After a while, I went in search of information.

The staff nurse was ensconced at the nurses’ station. She was neat, careworn and so small she barely crowned the pile of paper in front of her. ‘Who?’ she asked. It took her a couple of minutes to sift through the notes and get a fix on Eve. Then she informed me that Eve could leave hospital the following day, but required dedicated nursing and would not be properly on her feet for at least six weeks. She outlined a programme of light meals, bedbaths and pill-taking. A chill trickled down my spine.

I tackled the live-in agency stand-in, who had arrived for the week, and gave a run-down of Eve’s nursing care. The girl – Australian, blonde, smiling – shook her head and said politely, ‘I’m afraid the agency rules say I can’t do anything except look after the kids.’

The telephone odyssey began again. ‘If you could pop in once,’ I pleaded with Tessa/Kate/Paige, ‘just to check up on Eve and make sure she’s taken her pills and eaten something.’

Tessa said, ‘If she’s really ill, you’d better get in an agency nurse.’

‘I already have an agency nanny, and she’s costing the earth.’

Kate was more sympathetic and less helpful: ‘You’d better stay at home, Minty. How would you feel if something happened to Eve?’

Paige said, ‘I’m not talking to you, Minty. Not only do you lecture me, but I’ve discovered you’re on Martin’s