And since when had her daughter not spoken up in class? Mack had been speaking up ever since she’d learned how to put two words together. “And then there was that incident a month ago—”
He glanced up. “That was a one-off.”
“She was drunk, Ed! Our daughter was drunk and Tanya’s mother had to drive her home.” And Mack had refused to offer any explanation. She’d shut them out. That had disturbed Lauren more than anything. Was that when Mack had changed?
“Teenagers experiment. Tanya’s mother should have kept a closer eye on the vodka bottle.”
“It wasn’t a one-off. What about the time she took money from my purse? Our child stole, Ed.” What if Mack was experimenting with drugs? The more she thought about the list of possible horrors, the more surprising it seemed that today’s teenagers ever made it to adulthood. “I think she’s keeping something from us.” She recognized the signs, and it made her uneasy. A secret, she knew, could eat away at you slowly. It created a barrier between you and the people you loved.
“Since when do teenagers tell their parents everything? You need to chill. Mack is doing okay. She’s not the problem.”
Lauren stared at him, wrong-footed.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
“You said, ‘She’s not the problem,’ which means something else is.”
“Forget it.” His attention was back on his phone. “I might be late tonight.”
“You’re kidding. Tonight is the party.”
“The—what?” He looked confused and then closed his eyes briefly and muttered something under his breath.
“Your party. Had you forgotten?”
The pause was infinitesimal, but it was there.
“No.”
He was lying, and he never lied.
Who forgot their own fortieth birthday party?
What was on his mind?
“We have thirty people coming, Ed. Friends, colleagues, your mother—” She managed not to wince and Ed nodded.
“I’ll be there. See you later.” He grabbed a bottle of chilled water from the fridge they kept in the gym, and Lauren studied him from the back and wondered if tight Lycra cycling shorts on a man of forty was still a good look.
He slammed the fridge door shut and straightened.
“Thanks for the rain forest. It was a sweet thought and I’m sorry I overreacted.” He kissed her cheek. It was a dry, asexual gesture. “I love you. You’re a good woman, Lauren.”
A good woman? What did that mean?
“Maybe you should take time off. Mackenzie has three weeks at Easter. We could go away.”
“Let’s talk about it tomorrow.”
Lauren watched him leave.
She’s not the problem.
By the time she left the house to meet her friends, she’d persuaded herself that Ed was having an off day and she was having a massive attack of overthinking. She felt invigorated after her workout, happy that everything was on track for the party, and reassured by the fact that Mackenzie had spoken at least eight words before leaving for school. Fortunately the school they’d chosen was close by. One of Mack’s friends lived a few doors away and they walked together.
Most days Lauren managed to resist the temptation to track Mack’s phone to check her daughter was safe.
She buttoned her coat against the cold and walked briskly along tree-lined residential streets.
As someone who had lived her life on an island until the age of eighteen, the prospect of city living had daunted her, but she’d fallen in love with this area of London from the first moment Ed had brought her here. She loved the secret communal gardens, the elegance of the stucco-fronted houses and the candy-colored charm of Portobello Road. She enjoyed browsing in the market for secret treasures and discovering restaurants down hidden side streets. In those early years she’d explored the city with the baby tucked in her stroller, loitered in galleries and strolled through London’s many parks. She’d spent hours in the Tate Modern and the Royal Academy, but her favorite place without a doubt was the Victoria and Albert Museum, which had been a source of inspiration for designers and artists for over one hundred and fifty years.
Lauren could happily have moved in there.
She reached the coffee shop at the same time as her friends.
She went to the counter to order while Ruth and Helen grabbed their usual table in the window. They’d started meeting for coffee when their children had moved to the same girls’ school and conversations at the school gate had become impossible.
She ordered coffees and a couple of pastries for her friends and pushed her credit card into the machine. It was promptly declined.
With a murmur of apology, Lauren tried again and the card was declined a second time.
“I’ll pay cash.” She slipped the card back into her purse and scrabbled around for money. Red-cheeked, she carried the tray over to the table and set it down.
“Thanks.” Ruth lifted a cappuccino from the tray. “My turn next time. It’s freezing out there. They’re saying we could still have snow.”
Lauren sank into the vacant chair and unwrapped her scarf from her neck.
The British preoccupation with the weather was one of the things that had fascinated Lauren when she’d first arrived in London. Entire conversations were devoted to the weather, which, as far as Lauren could see, was rarely newsworthy. On Martha’s Vineyard bad weather frequently meant being cut off from the mainland. She wondered what her British friends would have had to say about a hurricane. It would have kept the conversation going for months.
“Did you want to share this croissant?” Helen broke it in half and Lauren shook her head.
“Just coffee for me.” She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Ed.
Credit card not working. Problem?
Maybe the bank had seen a transaction that was out of the ordinary and frozen it. She probably ought to call them later.
“I wish I had your willpower.” Ruth ate the other half of Helen’s croissant. “Don’t you ever give in to your impulses?”
Lauren dropped her phone into her bag. “Giving in to impulses can lead to disaster.”
Both her friends stared at her in surprise, and she wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
“Disaster?” Ruth blinked. “You mean like not fitting into your jeans?”
“No.
