The Love She Left Behind Read Online Free Page B

with never having to function in the real world, and God knows, Patrick was no better. But she had been right to warn him. Mum had always been the gatekeeper: now that responsibility had passed to him. The timing could have been better. Nigel had a big client presentation in the morning and the PowerPoint material wasn’t yet finished for him to check over, while Sophie’s annoyance over his absences from the house was cashing out in escalating acts of martyrdom he’d be stupid to ignore. That morning she’d even washed his gym kit for him and presented it to him at the door when he’d left at sparrow’s fart: he knew the danger signs. She needed some attention. No wonder his IBS was playing up.
    â€˜Can you get her to ring me?’
    Apparently the girl had wandered off, Louise didn’t know where. She said she’d do her best. Nigel agreed that in that case it would be a good idea for Louise to stay if she could, until he could travel down after his presentation the next day. With Mum gone, who knew what some opportunist hack might be hoping to dig up? Patrick hadn’t been newsworthy since 1982, but you neverknew. A journalist could probably manipulate him into saying a story’s worth of anything, if they were really that desperate for material. And at least being down there would allow him to have a proper conversation with Patrick about the future.
    When Nigel got home that evening, Sophie had not only made coq au vin, but insisted the boys wait so that they could all eat it together. They were peevish and argumentative with hunger and tiredness. Nigel felt the same way, but he made a great effort to be charming and interested, and to praise the food, which he knew his digestion would suffer for later. As Sophie told an extended anecdote about her tribulations in returning some catalogue purchases, Nigel used the time to think through tomorrow and its compartments, starting with the presentation and moving on to whatever he would face in Cornwall. Perhaps it had worked out for the best that he’d be down there before Louise went for good: for all he knew, she might have stripped the house bare. Had there been rings? Sophie would remember. According to the will, he and Louise were to split everything evenly, but it would hardly be surprising if Louise took the opportunity to line her pockets while she could.
    As he nodded at Sophie’s detailed account of her interactions with various unhelpful courier agencies, Nigel checked this thought. Actually, it would be nothing short of astonishing to find Louise in breach of her stolid honesty: Nigel might have liked her so much more if she had ever in her life summoned enough gumption to steal, or even lie. Still, he’d confer with Sophie about the rings. As for the matter of Mum’s title to the house, there was obviously no point in filling Louise in with the larger picture until it was entirely clear. Larger pictures overwhelmed her, they always had. She was vexed enough by a life lived in details.
    â€˜So they said of course we’ll send a credit note and I said, you know what? You can send me a voucher for twenty-five per centoff and free delivery and maybe I won’t post a moan on your website—course, I’ve already put it up.’
    â€˜Well done that woman.’ Nigel patted Sophie’s hand and accepted seconds on the coq au vin. Already, his guts were twisting.
    The next day was predictably draining. On the train, Nigel made calls and formulated emails to compensate for his absence, both actual and prospective. Still, a refreshment-trolley cappuccino’s length of staring out at the meaningless countryside was enough to drive him back to his laptop and its demands. Relaxation never helped; for one thing, it made him oversensitive to the alerts of his treacherous digestive system. The cappuccino had been a mistake, if you were to believe the nutritionist Sophie had arranged for him to see: no