Page 19 of None of This is True

Alix sees a sour look pass across Pat’s face. ‘Well,’ she says. ‘Nice if you can plan it that way, I guess.’

Alix blinks. She wants to ask Pat why she didn’t plan it that way. She was clever and had ambitions. Why did she get pregnant at twenty? Why didn’t she go back to university afterwards? But she doesn’t. Instead, she slides the photo back into her handbag and says, ‘Is it OK if we take a look around the estate? You can show me where Josie was brought up, memories, et cetera.’

‘Finish your tea first,’ says Pat, and there’s an edge to her intonation that makes it sound more like a command than a suggestion. Alix drinks the tea and gets to her feet. For half an hour Pat guides them around the estate and the entire half-hour is a running commentary from Pat about her achievements: what she did, when she did it, how hard it was for her to do it, and how grateful other people were to her for doing it. And it is impressive, the sort of life’s work that could ultimately lead to an honour from the Queen, and Alix can picture Pat in a smart two-piece suit and a slightly eccentric hat, bobbing on one knee in front of the monarch, a haughty smile on her face.

But it is clear to Alix that Pat is actually a raging narcissist, and that no child of a narcissist ever makes it out into the world unscathed. This knowledge adds nuance to her view of Josie, helps make more sense of her.

Pat leads them to her flat, where Josie lived when she was a child. It’s on the ground floor, with a flower bed outside. Pat lets them in.

‘Here,’ says Josie, opening the door into a room that is painted pink and dressed for a young girl. ‘This was my room. And this was where I first saw Walter, through the window.’

Alix stands for a moment and absorbs the energy of the room, pictures a young Josie peering through the slats in the wooden Venetian blinds that had once covered this window. Back in the kitchen she touches the top of the dining table. ‘Is this where you were sitting? When Walter ate your birthday cake?’

Josie smiles. ‘Yes. Not this table, this one is new, but yes, right here.’

Alix turns to Pat. ‘Did you know?’ she asks. ‘That day. Josie’s fourteenth birthday. Did you know what was going to happen?’

‘You mean with Josie and Walter? No, of course not. I mean, come on. He was older than me! How could I have thought? How could I have known?’

‘And what did you think? When you found out? You must have felt quite shocked?’

‘Well, what do you think?’ Pat issues this with a note of dark fury.

Alix looks at Josie. Her face is pinched, and Alix takes a breath and stops herself from asking her next question.

8 p.m.

Nathan has been extra nice since the events of Thursday night. Not that Nathan isn’t always nice. It’s his default setting. But he’s been getting back from work early enough to enjoy time in the garden with the kids, to help make dinner, to watch a show and look at homework and chat and be part of the family. He had no explanation for Thursday night, other than that he ‘lost control’. He has promised that he won’t do it again, and for now, bathed in the warm waters of marital harmony, Alix is choosing to believe him.

Now, as they clear the kitchen together, he says, ‘Oh, by the way, I’ll be working from home tomorrow.’

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘How come?’

‘Just have a ton of paperwork to catch up on and no appointments in the diary, thought I’d make the most of it. Maybe I can take you out for a cheeky lunch?’

She pauses. She hasn’t yet told him about her new podcast project with Josie. But she will be here tomorrow morning at nine thirty and Alix will need to explain her to him. She says, ‘I’ve got an interviewee coming in the morning.’

‘Oh, OK. I thought you’d finished your series. Is this something new?’

‘It is … It’s, well, it’s a kind of experiment, I guess. It’s the woman from the pub the other night, the one who was my birthday twin. I’m doing a thing about, erm, birthday twins, you know, the randomness of life, the otherness of strangers, nature/nurture, that sort of thing.’ Her face flushes with the white lie and she turns away from Nathan so that he can’t see it.

Nathan looks at her sceptically. ‘Sounds … different.’

‘Yes. Exactly. Different.’

‘Difficult to pull off?’

‘Maybe. But actually, there’re a couple of compelling things going on with her already.’

‘What sort of compelling things?’

She draws in her breath: A husband who groomed her as a fourteen-year-old child; a narcissistic mother; two problematic children; and brushes with social services. But the compelling things feel precious somehow, half-formed and delicate, not yet ready for the judgement of her husband. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘you’ll have to listen to the podcast to find out.’

Nathan raises an eyebrow humorously. ‘Fair enough,’ he says. ‘Fair enough.’

Alix pulls a full bag out of the bin, ties a knot in it and takes it to the front garden. She stops after she’s dropped the bag in the wheelie bin and stares into the inky summer sky, waiting for some time to pass. She doesn’t want to talk about this with Nathan. Not right now. He doesn’t deserve her confidences. He doesn’t deserve to know every last thing she does.

Nathan has his own priorities, his own secrets. She should have some too.

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