“Through here,” said Jake, pulling gently at her hand. They walked through a cavernous kitchen, terracotta tiled and gleaming with stainless steel; through a conservatory that smelled of damp, humid earth and was lacy with white ironwork; crossed about a mile of stone-flagged terrace, set about here and there with giant pots and statues and eventually walked down a flight of steps to the endless, velvet-smoothness of the lawn and across to where a man sat in a padded garden chair, in the shade of a giant copper beech tree.

It was obviously Jake’s father, it could be no one else, but Bella was surprised to see that he didn’t acknowledge their presence until they were within a couple of feet of him. Even then, he didn’t look up but sat with his eyes fixed on the copy of the Sunday Times spread on his lap. The silence stretched into an uncomfortable beat.

“Hi Dad,” said Jake, after a long moment.

Mr Goldman finally looked up. His face was an older, coarser version of Jake’s – and Carl’s. The black hair that grew in the same thick waves was, in his case, threaded through with grey.

“Jake,” he said. “And who’s your girlfriend?”

Bella smiled stiffly.

“I’m Bella,” she said, beating Jake to it.

“Hmm.”

Mr Goldman regarded her for an uncomfortable moment. Bella began to understand why Jake had been so reluctant to bring her here.

“We need drinks,” said Jake’s father, eventually. He began to slowly, deliberately fold the paper on his lap. “Where’s that wife of mine?”

Bella felt, rather than saw Jake flinch. She felt a sudden surge of anger towards his father, for being so insensitive.

“So, sit down then.”

Mr Goldman gestured to the other chairs. Jake kept hold of Bella’s hand, pulling her down next to him in the double-seated chair. There was another moment of uncomfortable silence.

“Where’s Carl?”

“He had to work,” said Jake. Bella raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t known that. She had a sneaking suspicion that Jake was lying. Had he even seen Carl over the weekend? There was another long beat of silence.

“So, what’s your game, then?” said Mr Goldman, abruptly to Bella.

“Oh, I’m – I work in the West End. In media.”

It sounded more impressive than the reality. She waited for the requests for elaboration and wondered whether she was going to tell the truth. As it was, they never came. Jake’s father seemed to have lost interest in her and was scanning the terrace, obviously looking for Angela. Bella looked herself. She could see Angela, made tiny by distance, walking slowly towards them. She looked as if she was carrying a tray.

It was a tray, as they could see as she came up to them, four chattering glasses crowded onto it. Angela handed them out expressionlessly, without asking what they wanted. Bella sipped hers. It was a gin and tonic, too much gin and not enough tonic, but she wasn’t going to complain. Angela seated herself in the empty chair and lit a cigarette. She stared out across the lawn, exhaling long blue billows of smoke.

“So, what’s going on with you?”

Mr Goldman asked the question without looking at the pair of them. Like his wife, he was regarding the lawn, or staring off into the middle distance, it was difficult to tell. Bella found it rather unnerving, both of their so-called hosts acting almost as if the two of them weren’t there.

“Not much.” Jake sipped at his drink, ice-cubes clinking musically in the quiet. “Carl and V are off to Venice, apparently.”

“He said.” Mr Goldman sounded bored. “I went there once. Full of tourists. Stinks like a sewer too, this time of year.“

Jake made an indeterminate noise. Bella was watching Angela puffing away vacantly. There was something a little familiar about her. Bella groped and realised, with a faint shock, that she was reminded of Veronica. Surely it wasn’t just the thinness, the blonde hair? She watched Angela drop the cigarette butt onto the lawn and grind it beneath her sandaled feet. It was the blankness. Bella realised it with a little jab of unease. Angela had the same clean-wiped smoothness that made Veronica’s face a beautiful, emotionless mask.

She realised Jake had shifted forwards on the seat and looked at him in surprise. He was making definite about-to-leave movements. Hurriedly, Bella tipped her glass up and finished her drink. She felt the gin hit her stomach and begin to radiate outwards.

“Off, are you?” said Mr Goldman. At last he looked at them both. He had a very slight smile on his face and for an instant, Bella was reminded powerfully of Carl. The two boys were very like their father physically but how could Jake, her Jake, be related to this rude, abrupt man?

“Yeah,” said Jake.

“Don’t let us keep you then. Why don’t you ask me for what you came for?”

The sarcastic edge to his voice made Bella shoot him a look Mr Goldman was staring at Jake as intently as he’d ignored him earlier.

“What?” said Jake.

“Aren’t you going to ask me for some money, then? That’s all you come here for, isn’t it?”

Bella flinched at the expression on Jake’s face. He said nothing for a moment, just regarding his father as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

“I don’t want money, Dad,” he said eventually, through clenched teeth.

“No? Not even a fifty to tide you over? Makes a nice change, that does. Oh yes, makes a nice change.”

Bella’s face burned with embarrassment for Jake. He said nothing else, just turned and began to walk back to the house. She hesitated for a moment, muttered something that sounded like ‘goodbye’, and walked quickly after him. Bella felt them watching all the way back across the lawn. She couldn’t relax until they were out the front door and walking down the quiet, indolent street.

They walked in silence for a while. Bella ran through what had just happened, screening her own private picture show inside her head. The meeting had an air of unreality about it. No, the whole thing had an air of unreality about it. She looked back along the street, half expecting the house to have vanished. No – it was still there, huge and pushy and ugly.

Bella opened her mouth, just to break the silence. Before she could speak, Jake had grabbed her into an embrace, crushing her against him. She gave a squeak of surprise which was quickly smothered against his chest.

His voice was muffled against the side of her head.

“Bella, don’t ever leave me. I couldn’t bear it.”

“I won’t.” She could barely breath but she managed to get the words out. “I won’t, Jake.”

“Who gives a shit about the old man, anyway?” He sounded like he was talking to himself. “He’s no good. You’re all the family I need.”

Bella pushed herself a little away, so she could look into his face.

“Me and Carl,” she said, trying to smile.

He didn’t smile. He pulled her close to him again and they stood there, entwined and silent, for a long moment.

“You and Carl,” said Jake. “You and Carl. You and Carl.”

Chapter Seventeen

He kissed her goodbye, bending over her, a tall shadow in the dimness of the living room. Bella pulled the rug tighter about her neck and coughed.

“You going to be okay?” Jake put a hand on her forehead. “You feel a bit clammy.”

“I’ll be okay. I’ll just rest.”

“Okay babe. I’ll cook something tonight, yeah? Whatever you fancy. Have you called work?”

“No, I’ll wait until nine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Okay.”

Jake stroked her head again gently. Bella was suddenly reminded of Veronica doing the same thing and of her reaction. She felt a hot jab of shame.

“Go on,” she said to Jake. “You’ll be late.”

She lay still until she heard the front door close behind him, the crash reverberating up through the house. Veronica and Carl had already left – Bella had heard them arguing softly as they passed the living room door. She lay for a moment longer, breathing deeply. The enormity of what she was about to do struck her. Inescapably, she recalled how wonderful Jake had been these last few days; how kind and considerate and affectionate. And now she was going to do something terrible. Why can’t I just leave it? she asked herself. But the answer was too quick in coming back. Because I just can’t.