Greenwich Park by Katherine Faulkner (read book txt) 📗

‘No, Daniel, I haven’t. I haven’t taken it out of the house. I’ve been with Rachel all day today, I told you. And anyway, why would I take the laptop to a cafe?’

He exhales loudly. ‘It’d be a lot easier to find things in this house if there wasn’t so much crap everywhere.’ I survey the kitchen table. He has a point. The table is covered with newspapers and magazines I said I’d read but haven’t got round to, a stack of pregnancy books, a TENS machine, an empty bottle of Gaviscon, a yet-to-be-inflated birth ball and pump. He starts lifting the piles of newspapers and magazines from the table with unnecessary aggression, shoving them into the recycling. Leaflets drift out from between the newspaper pages and float onto the floor.

‘Hey, don’t throw away the mags. I haven’t read that Rory thing yet.’

I press my lips together. Too late. I shouldn’t have mentioned the Rory interview. It does nothing for Daniel’s mood. His hand freezes over the bin. He extracts the magazine, and chucks it onto the table.

‘Don’t be so cross, Daniel. It’ll turn up.’

‘Sorry. I’m just a bit stressed.’

While Daniel takes out the recycling, I glance over at the magazine. Rory’s face stares up from the front cover in monochrome. He looks unlike himself – menacing, somehow. Something about it reminds me of Daddy, in his bad moments. When he used to get cross, when he was someone else. I haven’t read the interview yet, but the headline is bad enough.

I stare outside at Daniel. I can see from his movements that he is frustrated with the overflowing bins. He is stuffing the bags in, one after another, even though it’s clear the lid won’t close.

He and Rory have rowed about the article, I know. After all the controversy, Daniel thinks Rory should have known it would end in tears – a big interview, just as they are poised to unveil the next phase of the development. When it came out, Daniel went mad.

Apparently, he hadn’t even known Rory had done an interview – Rory hadn’t warned the client or anything. He told Rory he was an idiot, asked why the hell he hadn’t talked to him before he agreed to it. Rory had snapped that that was rich coming from Daniel, and why hadn’t Daniel mentioned the fact he was moving the company’s money offshore, and how had he imagined that was going to look. Daniel said it wasn’t dodgy, everyone did it, it was just good accounting, and what would Rory know about that since he had never taken the slightest interest in keeping the company’s finances on track. I didn’t like the sound of it. I hate it when they fall out.

Daniel is back in the kitchen, washing his hands. ‘I’m out again on Monday night, I’m afraid,’ he says, raising his voice over the water. ‘With the client. To try and repair some of the damage.’ He dries his hands on the tea towel, then throws it back on the side in a heap.

‘All right. You haven’t forgotten about Rory’s birthday dinner this weekend, though, have you?’

Daniel blinks. He obviously had.

‘Do we have to … go to that?’

‘Daniel, he’s my brother and your business partner! Of course we have to. Come on, the article can’t have been that bad.’

‘Yeah, well, like you said, you haven’t read the article. It was bad.’

I sigh, wondering how we have ended up arguing again, when the evening started so well. I pour a glass of Sauvignon Blanc into the risotto. It bubbles up quickly, soaks into the rice. I turn the heat up, make sure the alcohol is evaporated. I smell it over the pan, heady, disorientating for a moment, then gone.

‘Want a glass?’ I pour some of the wine, pass it to him. I’ve been discouraging his drinking lately, since his performance at Rory and Serena’s, but this feels like an easy peace offering. Daniel seems mollified by the gesture. He looks at the glass, stops rummaging for his laptop. ‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘Think I’ll have a beer, though.’ He reaches into the fridge. ‘How was your day?’

‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Except I’m still getting these cold calls all the time.’

Daniel frowns. ‘Sorry, I keep meaning to get that landline disconnected.’

I shake my head. ‘These are weird, though. It seems to be the same company calling, saying something about a new mortgage, or a remortgage. They’re saying I’ve applied for one.’

‘Well, you haven’t, have you?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘So just put the phone down, Helen. That’s the whole thing – they want to keep you on the line, get you talking about your finances. You just have to hang up.’

I bite my lip. I’m sure Daniel is right. But the woman was really persistent earlier. She knew my full name, our address, our current mortgage provider. She had insisted I was the one who had requested the application. I’d hung up, but it had nagged at me. It hadn’t felt like the people calling about PPI claims, or asking whether I’d been in an accident.

‘I honestly wouldn’t worry,’ Daniel says. ‘They’re clever, some of them. They can buy data on you, find out stuff that makes them sound genuine.’

‘I guess.’

I stir the risotto, adding the stock slowly, ladle by ladle, moving it around the pan before it bubbles.

‘Oh, also, I bumped into Rachel in the deer park earlier,’ I say, changing the subject.

‘Again?’

‘Yeah. It started raining so we went to the Maritime Museum. Had a coffee.’

‘That sounds nice.’

I frown. ‘Yes,’ I say distractedly.

Daniel closes the fridge door and leans back against it, fiddling with the bottle opener on his key ring. He is smiling at me.

‘Why are you making that face, if it was nice?’

I glance up at him as I stir, wondering if I should share my thoughts with him.

‘I don’t know,’ I say eventually. ‘I mean, do you think it’s weird, how I keep bumping in to her all the time?’

‘What