Page 42 of A Clean Sweep
'How are the boys? Have they settled in at school? It must be so hard for you, coping on your own.' Oops, another own-goal, judging by the expression on Sophie's face. The last time she'd seen such a pained look was when Michael had serious constipation, only alleviated by industrial quantities of prunes.
'Actually, I'mreallycurious to knowhowyou found us. Dad never told me and, to be honest, I didn't give it much thought until now. Did you, like, bug his car or something?'
Celeste suppressed a snort of laughter at the very idea of her planting a tracking device on Michael's Audi. She wasn’t totally technically inept but anything electronic often defeated her. She needed to dig out the instruction manual every time the clocks changed to reset her oven display. Although she hadn't faredtoobadly with her fitness tracker sleuthing, even if the end result had short-circuited her safe little world. What would Sophie think if she revealed the truth? That she'd snooped on Michael's phone, deduced that something was amiss and pursued him like a latter-day Miss Marple, albeit clad in lycra and trainers rather than brogues and tweed.
'Well, it's a bit embarrassing actually but it all began when I bought myself a fitness tracker.' She waggled her left wrist in Sophie's direction. Not that she'd bothered checking the daily data much recently. In the days and nights following her discovery she didn'treallyneed an app to tell her she was barely sleeping and was lucky to pass the 4,000-step mark. Sophie gave it a cursory glance just as the waitress arrived with their food. They both picked up their spoons and gave the soups a desultory stir.
'I'm not quite following you.' Sophie had a pained expression,although that could be the result of taking a large mouthful of the steaming-hot soup. Celeste nibbled the corner of her sandwich and contemplated her next move. Would Sophie loathe her even more – if that was even possible – or might she feel a smidgeon of sympathy for a woman convinced her husband was doing the dirty on her? Truthfully, she had no idea but very little to lose.
'Well, I justhappenedto have a peek at Michael's phone and—' For the next ten minutes Celeste related the whole sorry tale. Soups cooled and sandwiches remained barely touched. Sophie leant across the table, chin rested on her clasped hands, expression worthy of an ace poker player.
‘So that’s how I ended up making an absolute fool of myself. My intention was to find a hobby I could share with your dad but instead I trampled all over our relationship.’ Celeste felt tears welling and fumbled in her handbag for a tissue. Before she could undo the clasp, Sophie reached over and handed her a paper napkin. Dabbing her eyes, she continued.
‘I set out with the best intentions, truly I did. I thought walking together would be good for us, for me in particular. I thought I’d lose a few pounds but the only thing I’ve lost is the man I love and now you both hate me. And I really don’t blame you. I know I’m responsible for keeping you apart and what I did is unforgivable. I’ve had plenty of time alone to think about what I’ve done and I have no excuses. I’m a selfish, self-absorbed woman and you have every right to want nothing to do with me.’
Sophie appeared to have stopped listening. Having peeled the top layer of bread from her sandwich, she was now removing pieces of salmon with all the intensity of a pathologist performing a post-mortem. Celeste’s already meagre appetite had vanished completely, along with any hope of a happy ending. She decided enough was enough, pulling outher purse ready to pay and go. As she did, she realised Sophie’s head was bowed and her shoulders were shaking. Oh, crap, now she’d reducedherto tears. Except … wasn’t that a guffaw of laughter?
‘That is one of the funniest things I’ve heard in ages.’ Sophie was shaking her head in disbelief but with what looked suspiciously like a large grin breaking across her previously inscrutable face. ‘Seriously, my life’s not been a bundle of laughs recently but the thought of you tailing Dad like that … and all because of a step counter thingy. It’s like something out of a TV show. I know! Jessica whatsername, that amateur detective who outwitted the authorities and always caught the bad guy. Mum used to watch it when I was little.’ Mention of her mum shrank the edges off her grin. Clearly mother-daughter relationships were far from harmonious, no doubt due to Sophie's newfound cosiness with Michael.
'Murder, She Wrote. I watched a few episodes myself back in the day.' Much as she admired Angela Lansbury as an actress, Celeste had always thought the number of dead bodies uncovered in a relatively small community defied belief. Unless Jessica herself was the killer. Hmm … As long as Sophie wasn't harbouring a secret desire to bumpheroff. She didn'tlooklike a cold-blooded killer but who knew? At least she hadn’t nipped off to the loo, leaving the way open for Sophie to lace her soup with weed killer. Which was in plentiful supply here, although disposing of a body during the lunchtime rush might prove a little challenging.
Sensing a slight lightening in the tension between them – murderous tendencies notwithstanding – Celeste decided it was time to share another little secret with Sophie. Her success as a writer. She still hadn’t been able to raise the subject with Michael. The interview and photo session werescheduled in two days’ time. ATea Breakwriter and photographer would turn up on her doorstep, expecting Astra Du Bois in all her overblown glory. Waxing lyrical about Leo and Seraphina and carefully concealing her disappointment about not being the rightful victor. She’d read the winning story and been singularly unimpressed. The sex scenes – in her humble opinion – were far too restrained. Definitely pre-waterworks or whatever they called it. More flannelette nighties and pyjamas than togas and eye-watering contortions. She wasn’tquitesure where it had all come from – she and Michael were quite traditional in their routines – but she was proud of what she’d written. What she lacked in real-life experience, she more than compensated for in fictitious filthiness.
‘You’ve written a book? Seriously? Oh, my God. Celeste, you are revealing hidden depths I never imagined. Honestly, I thought you made puddles look shallow.’
Celeste tried not to look offended atthatlittle barb. She knew she wasn’t particularly intellectual or well-read but at least she’d given the writing a go and achieved some modicum of success. OK,Tea Breakwasn’t exactlyTheTimes Literary Supplement. Last week’s issue had featured articles on removing nasal hair and unblocking sinks but it had its faithful followers. Still, at least her revelation had lightened the mood which could only be a good thing. Sophie now looked less like a person with bowel issues and more the rather pretty young woman she clearly was. She could see now the likeness to Michael. Not so much the physical one she’d noted that awful day but more of a similar sparkle in the eyes when they laughed. The way Sophie crinkled up her nose when she was thinking. And they both appeared to share the habit of dissecting their food. It drove her mad when Michael would push his food around the plate, dividing it into individual mounds of ingredients. Sophiewas now nibbling a piece of salmon, the bread reduced to virtual crumbs.
‘Nice salmon. Much better than that over-dyed and flabby stuff you get in the supermarket. I wonder where they source it from?’ She licked her fingers enthusiastically before wiping them clean on her napkin.
‘We can always ask the nice waitress, I suppose,’ replied Celeste. Not that she gave a stuff where the fish came from. It tasted just the same as any to her, not that she was a particular fan of anything that came out of the sea. Peeling prawns made her feel sick and the veryideaof tipping a raw oyster down her throat …
‘So, does Dad know about your foray into the writing world? He hasn’t mentioned it to me, but then you’re not exactly our main topic of conversation. Sorry, don’t mean to be rude, just stating facts.’ Sophie polished off the last gleaming slice of salmon and gazed guilelessly at Celeste. Face of an angel, ability to wither with a well-chosen word worthy of Jeremy Paxman in full flow. Just smile, Celeste, keep smiling and – most importantly – keep the conversation going.
‘No, he doesn’t know and I’m not sure when – or if – I’m going to tell him. We haven’t really been communicating much in the past week. Although, I suppose I’ll have to saysomethingif a bloody journalist and photographer turn up on the doorstep. Unless I pretend they’re doing a feature on cold-hearted cows who keep fathers and daughters apart. Come to think of it, theydiddo something similar in the past. Except it was about fathers who’d scarpered then turned up years later when their offspring became famous or won the lottery.’
Sophie was signalling to the rather flustered waitress, currently dealing with a group of elderly women all fiddling gamely with their hearing aids.
‘Thought we’d have a coffee. What do you fancy, Celeste?’
Although she – thank God – didn’t need a hearing aid herself, Celeste wondered for a moment if she’d heard correctly. Did Sophie just address her by hername? And in an almost friendly way, as opposed to spitting it out like an unwanted fish bone.
‘Hi again.’ Sophie smiled at the waitress, who was now clearing away their plates. ‘Can I get a soy milk cappuccino and …’ She looked expectantly at Celeste.
‘Erm, I’ll have a regular coffee, please. With cow’s milk.’
Before the waitress could depart, Sophie quizzed her on the provenance of the salmon which was apparently wild – was it normally tame, wondered Celeste? – and lovingly oak-smoked to perfection somewhere in Sussex. Sophie eagerly keyed the details into her phone, clearly intent on stocking up herself. Job done, she settled back in her chair.
‘I gave up meat and most dairy products a couple of years ago,’ she informed Celeste. ‘I’m a pescatarian, actually.’
Celeste wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Ah, well. If Sophie was now divulging personal information she had better join in.
‘Interesting. I’m a Leo which accounts for a lot but—'
Right, she might have hoped for a thaw in relations between them but having Sophie howling in mirth yet again was a little disconcerting. She had no idea what was so amusing about comparing star signs but Sophie’s reaction would have delighted any stand-up comedian. She waited – a little grumpily – for her one-woman audience to stop thumping the table which was attracting attention from other customers. Finally, Sophie resumed her composure, just as their hot drinks arrived.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh like that. It’s just … well, never mind.’ Before she could finish, her phone began to ring. She squinted at the screen, frowned, then picked it up.
‘Hi. Dad. How’s things? Yes, I’m fine. What’s that? No, he’s fine too. It was just a touch of the cold. He’s back at school now. Yes, George is OK. Just a little miffed he didn’t get two days in bed and had to do his spelling homework while his brother watched telly. I’m heading back to pick them up soon because Angie,’ –the childminder– she mouthed to an anxious Celeste – ‘has a doctor’s appointment. Yes, it looks like the settlement will be made any day now so that’s good news. It’s taken the miserable bastard long enough.’
