The Adulterer's Daughter: A Novel Page 6
“Don’t you mind it being so rushed?”
“Not at all. It suits both of us. We’ve got such busy lives.”
“Tell me about it,” said Fiona. “What about you, Serena?”
“I’m feeling reassured, to be honest. I thought there must be something wrong with me. Lately, I’ve been using my vibrator practically every day. Eric seems to have lost interest completely.”
“You don’t think …?” Fiona stopped herself.
“Think what?”
“Well, you don’t think he’s having an affair, do you?”
“It had crossed my mind, actually, but I’ve been doing a bit of snooping, and I can’t find any incriminating evidence.”
“What kind of snooping?”
“His mobile phone, his emails, his trouser pockets, his bank statements, his phone records, his post, his study and his shed. Oh, and I’ve followed his car once or twice, too, to make sure he’s actually going to the hospital.”
“You call that a bit of snooping! I’m surprised you haven’t hired a private detective as well; an expert who can hack into his computer and his phone and see everything.”
“Do you think I should? I’m pretty sure I’ve been able to access all his documents except one locked folder on his laptop labelled ‘Miscellaneous’.”
Fiona said, “I wouldn’t. Why rock the boat? As long as he comes home every day and keeps buying you flashy sports cars, it’s better not to know.”
“But we never make love anymore. I miss it. I miss the closeness and the affection that comes with it. If I don’t do something, we’re just going to drift further and further apart.”
“Don’t worry, Serena. We’ll work on him in Cornwall. Fiona and I will keep pointing out all your wonderful qualities until he realises what a lucky man he is.”
“What wonderful qualities?”
Mia’s eyes dropped to Serena’s chest. “Those two for a start.”
Serena laughed. “I can’t believe we’re being so forthright about our sex lives.”
“It’s probably the heat and the alcohol.”
“Well, long may it continue. This is the most interesting conversation we’ve had in months. Now, which of you two has tried anal?”
Chapter 14
Thursday 14 August, 2003
The beach, Cornwall, 1:35 p.m.
It was day four of the summer vacation to Cornwall, and the heatwave was holding. Serena was as brown as a berry. Steve’s sunburn was beginning to fade. Fiona was slightly tanned from her knees down and her neck up, but no other part of her body had seen the light of day. Mia, Ollie and Barney were bronzing steadily and carefully, thanks to the protection of factor twenty sun cream. The skin tone of Jemima and Ava, however, remained stubbornly unchanged thanks to regular slathering with factor gazillion. Ava didn’t really need it, but acquiesced to her mother’s nagging in solidarity with her friend.
They were having an idyllic time: walking the coastal path in the morning, lazing on the beach in the afternoon, barbecuing in the evening.
“I’m going for a dip. Anyone coming?” said Serena, leaping to her feet.
Fiona was appalled. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to swim for at least an hour after eating lunch?”
“Who says?”
“My mother.”
“Mine too,” said Ollie.
“Yeah, and mine,” woofed Stumpy.
“Don’t worry. I won’t go out of my depth.” Serena sashayed seaward like a swarthy supermodel.
“Wow! You’re so lucky, Eric,” said Mia. “Your wife has the best figure on the whole beach. That bikini doesn’t leave much to the imagination, does it?”
Steve and Ollie watched her go until the water was up to her waist, then lost interest. But Eric didn’t even raise his eyes from the book he was reading.
◆◆◆
Stumpy and Lord were exploring near the rock pools.
“Come and see what I’ve found, old chap.”
“What is it, mate?”
“A dead crab. It smells bloody awful. I’ve been rolling in it for ages. Have a go.”
“Don’t mind if I do. Strewth, that’s rank. I love it.”
◆◆◆
Chilled and salty, Serena emerged from the sea and walked back up the beach, accompanied by the admiring glances of dozens of eyes, both male and female. When she reached her friends, Eric was on his feet, rummaging through the rucksack until he located his binoculars and camera. He stepped into his flip-flops.
“Where are you off to, babe?” Serena asked.
“Just hunting for local wildlife. I thought I might take some photos of birds and seals and anything else interesting.”
“Want some company?” Serena vigorously rubbed her hair with a sandy towel.
“No, you’d only be bored. I won’t be long.”
“Any birds in particular?”
“I’m hoping to see three. Puffinus puffinus …”
“Don’t tell me,” said Ollie. “A puffin?”
“Nope. A Manx shearwater. Fratercula arctica …”
“I’ve got this one,” said Steve. “An arctic tern?”
“Nope. That one is a puffin.”
“Ridiculous.”
“And a Phalacrocorax aristotelis.”
“That could be anything. A red-necked phalarope?”
“Nope. A shag.”
“Chance would be a fine thing,” muttered Serena.
“I’ve never seen such a long zoom lens,” Ollie chuckled. “Are you overcompensating for something?”
“The birds I’m after are painfully shy. I doubt I’ll be able to get very close, hence the need for large magnification.”
“I see.”
“Would you girls like me to bring you back an ice-cream?” Eric called as he set off.
“Hey, me too,” said Barney.
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Steve lay back for a nap. Fiona made herself comfortable to do some people-watching. Ollie took the pencil from behind his ear and resumed his cryptic crossword. Mia got back to reading her bodice-ripper, trying to conceal the front cover with her hand. Jemima, Ava and Barney set off with their buckets and spades to build a dam. Stumpy and Lord went in search of more interesting smells to roll about in. And Serena watched her husband disappear into the distance.
◆◆◆
Barney soon got bored and sleepy, abandoned the girls, and fell asleep with his head on his mother’s lap, leaving Jemima and Ava free to talk.
Jemima had interesting news.
“I heard my mum and dad having sex last night.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
“Gross!”
“They thought they were being quiet, but I could hear every giggle, sigh, moan and squelch.”
“Squelch? Oh, that’s disgusting. I didn’t think old people had sex.”
“Nor did I. Perhaps they’re trying to have another baby.”
“Isn’t your mum past it? She’s got grey hair.”
“Who knows? I’ve heard her say many times that she’s tempted to get pregnant just for the maternity leave. She really hates her job.”
“I wonder if my mum and dad still have sex.”
“Probably best not to think about it.”
Jemima spotted her reflection in the water. “Look at my freckles. I’ve never had so many.”
“They really suit you,” said Ava. “I wish I was as pretty as you.”
“Aww, that’s really sweet. You’re pretty, too, you know.”
“I wish. I don’t think Drew Daniels even knows I exist.”
“Well, when we get back to school, we’ll have to see what we can do about that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll help you with your hair and make-up. I’ll lend you some nice clothes. Between us we’ll soon get Drew Daniels to notice you.”
“Really? Oh, Jem, that’s so kind. But won’t you be too busy with your GCSEs?”<
br />
“I can always find time for my best friend.”
◆◆◆
Eric returned forty minutes later with the camera and binoculars slung around his neck, and with ice cream running down his forearms to his elbows.
“Hey, Barney. Come and take these off me, mate.”
“He’s asleep.”
“Well, wake him up. They’re melting like … like ice creams on the hottest day since records began. Jemima! Ava!”
“Coming.”
Barney woke, and the girls ran back, and the three of them wolfed down their ice creams in record time while Eric washed his arms in the sea.
When he returned, Ollie said, “Any luck with the wildlife?”
“Huh?”
“Did you manage to photograph any of the birds you were after?”
“Oh, yes. I got one or two decent shots.”
“Let’s see,” said Serena, holding out her hand for the camera.
“Sorry. The battery’s gone flat. I’ll show you later.”
He put the camera back at the bottom of the rucksack.
◆◆◆
At six o’clock, with the beach nearly empty, they packed up their gear and headed back for the campsite; Ollie and Serena taking the lead, Steve and Fiona bringing up the rear.
“Just a sec,” said Steve. “I just want to pick up this litter.”
“That isn’t even ours,” Fiona said, exasperated.
“I’m setting a good example. If enough people see me picking up any old rubbish, whether it’s mine or not, maybe the idea will gain traction.”
“Gain traction? That’s not an expression. Why don’t you just say ‘become popular’ or ‘gain support’? Traction is all about grip or friction, isn’t it?”
“It’ll catch on. You mark my words.”
Chapter 15
Sunday 17 August, 2003
The campsite, Cornwall, 10:35 p.m.
It was the final night of the vacation when the serious alcohol consumption occurred. The kids had gone to bed and the adults were sitting around a small campfire, drinks in hand.
Mia was deep in thought. I bet they all think we’re sitting in a circle, but I’m the only one who realises it’s actually an irregular hexagon. “That’s it. My holiday is over,” she slurred. “I’m back into school mode.”
“Nonsense, love,” said Ollie. “You’ve still got another two weeks until term starts.”
“Yeah, two more weeks of designing seating plans and coming up with inspirational lessons to entertain Wayne fucking Smith. Should I sit him next to one of the nice kids and destroy their education for a year, next to one of the naughty kids so they can ruin each other’s learning, or on his own so he has to shout across the class to disrupt everyone.”
“Can’t you sit him in the corridor outside the classroom if he misbehaves?”
“No. I’m supposed to be looking after him at all times. In loco parentis and all that. If I can’t see what he’s up to, how will I know if he’s setting fire to the school or selling crack cocaine to year 7 girls.”
“Shouldn’t the senior teachers be doing something about the little shit?” said Steve, earning a frown from his wife.
“Oh, they are. The headteacher has informed me she’s going to observe one of my lessons next term. She wants to see what I’m doing wrong with Wayne Smith. What I’m doing wrong! Not him. It couldn’t possibly be him. And then I’ll probably be sent on a course to learn about classroom management. It’s bloody ridiculous!”
Fiona frowned again.
Eric chipped in. “Have you ever thought about quitting teaching and getting another job? I’m sure – with your mathematical skills – Ollie could find you something at his office.”
Ollie gave his friend a look that meant Shut the fuck up, mate. We already see enough of each other at home. But, out loud, he said, “I could look into it if you want me to.”
“No,” said Mia. “Despite all my whinging, I still get a lot of satisfaction from my job. I like to think I’m making a difference with some kids. I just need to come up with a foolproof way to murder Wayne Smith, and a rock-solid alibi.” She giggled. “Oops! Did I say that out loud?”
“I’m not looking forward to getting back to work either,” said Steve. “Maintaining electrical wiring systems isn’t as much fun as it sounds. Teaching might be challenging, but my job is just so boring.”
Eric sniggered.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you laughing at me because I’m just a tradesman and you’re a fucking brain surgeon?”
“I’m not a brain surgeon, I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon. And I was laughing because I was amused that your relationship with your job has lost its spark.”
Nobody laughed.
Fiona put her hand on her husband’s knee and gave it a squeeze, and he smiled back at her.
Ollie looked around the irregular hexagon. “Do any of you actually understand electricity, because I don’t? How does burning a few tonnes of coal at a power station a hundred miles away create some invisible energy that waits inside a plug socket until you flick the switch, and then out it comes like magic? I know there are magnets and teeny, tiny electrons involved somehow, but that’s the extent of my knowledge.”
“It’s simple,” said Steve in his most patronising voice. “Coal or gas or nuclear power is used to generate heat; this heat is used to convert water into steam; the steam builds up to produce pressure; the high pressure turns a turbine; the spinning turbine makes large magnets rotate within coils of copper wire; the moving magnets cause electrons within the wires to move about, and this movement creates the current that produces electricity. That’s all there is to it.”
“Yeah, I’m okay up to the bit with the magnets and the electrons. What exactly is an electron?”
“They’re negatively charged subatomic particles which flow along a conducting wire producing a current.”
“How big are they?”
“Teeny tiny, like you said. About a quadrillionth of an inch.”
“That’s pretty small. What are they made of?”
“Fuck knows.”
“Please don’t use that word, Steven. You know I don’t like it.”
“Sorry, love.”
“How fast do they flow along the wire?”
“Roughly one millimetre per second.”
“You see, that’s what I don’t get. One millimetre per second is only about two inches per minute. That’s about twelve feet per hour. When I switch on a lightbulb, it illuminates instantly, and yet the electricity comes along a wire from a power station a hundred miles away at a speed of twelve feet per hour. It makes no sense.”
“The electrons drift along the wire at twelve feet per hour, but the electromagnetic wave rippling through the electrons is travelling at the speed of light.”
“But how can a wave fit inside a tiny piece of wire?”
“I’ll be honest with you, mate. I don’t really get it either. I don’t think anyone does.”
Ollie wasn’t finished yet. “And another thing: how come you can make electricity out of coal, gas, oil, geothermal energy, nuclear power, sunlight, wind and water?”
“Magnets.”
“Oh, that’s cleared that up, then. Next question, what the fuck is a magnetic field?”
“I don’t know. I’m an electrician, not a bloody physicist. Sorry, love.”
“Power stations are such an eye-sore,” said Serena, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Ugly blots on the landscape.”
“Hopefully, they’ll soon be a thing of the past,” said Steve, animated for the first time. “I’ve got high hopes for green energy. Wind and solar power are the future. We need to stop burning our dwindling supply of fossil fuels, and switch to renewable energy. I just wish the public would take that on board.”
“We’re not on a boat, darling. If you mean you wish people would ‘accept’ it, just say so.”
<
br /> Ollie shook his aching head. “And how on earth does solar power work?”
“Ollie!”
“What?”
“Shut up and have another beer.” Eric lobbed a bottle through the smoke to his friend.
“Don’t mind if I do, mate.”
Fiona rose unsteadily to her feet. “I’m just going to check on Ava.”
“Again?” Steve snapped. “You only checked her ten minutes ago. Sit down, woman. Ava’s fine.”
“Or you’ll what?” Fiona snapped back. “Put me over your knee? Spank me?”
The others were aghast.
In the flickering firelight, a dark expression flashed across Steve’s face. What was it? Fury? Hatred? As quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.
“Don’t tempt me,” he laughed.
Chapter 16
Tuesday 19 August, 2003
Maureen McDonald’s house, 11:45 a.m.
Maureen McDonald (81) was in the kitchen making a cup of tea when her doorbell rang.
“Whoever can that be, Mr Pinkerton?” she said to her cat.
He blinked.
“I’ll go. You stay there and finish your tuna casserole.”
He blinked again.
Maureen’s home was concealed from the lane by an overgrown hedge, so nobody saw the figure dressed all in black push open the front door the moment it was unlocked, and force entry.
“What are you doing?” Maureen exclaimed. “I didn’t say you could come in.”
The intruder closed the door behind him and said in a calm voice, “What am I doing? If I did it outside in the lane, it would definitely be a mugging. I think it would probably be a mugging even if I did it on your doorstep. But we’re inside now. No longer in a public space. So, I guess it’s no longer classed as a mugging.”
“I don’t know …”
“Shhhh! I’m talking now, lady.”