The Summer Seekers Page 11

  “You mean cheap?”

  “I was referring to the volume rather than the value.” Kathleen sipped her drink. “One was wearing the bottom half of a very brief bikini, and nothing else. Finn might consider it presumptuous of me to say so, but I consider us to have a friendship of sorts.”

  “That’s a great story.” Was that why they’d been upgraded at the hotel? Maybe management thought Kathleen was related to Finn Cool. Hilarious. With luck they’d have rock star treatment all the way. “So you’ve been to Chicago before. How about California?”

  Kathleen put her glass down. “Never.”

  “This is a dream trip for you?” She could see from Kathleen’s expression that she’d asked the wrong question, and quickly moved on. “I’ve never been to America before. I’ve been to Italy. On a school trip. That’s it.”

  Kathleen was staring across the skyline with a faraway look in her eyes.

  “Kathleen?” Martha was tempted to snap her fingers to check that she was conscious. “Would you like another drink?”

  Kathleen blinked. “I’d better not.” She picked up her empty glass. “I’m not supposed to drink with my blood pressure tablets.”

  Martha thought about the three cocktails. “What happens if you do?”

  “I don’t know. We might be about to find out.”

  Hopefully not. “The risotto was delicious. So was the cocktail. Thank you.”

  “Have another.” Kathleen waved at the cute waiter. “If you don’t misbehave when you’re twenty-five, you don’t have anything to look back on when you’re eighty. If the time comes when I’m too decrepit to travel and maintain my independence I shall spend my days traveling through my memories, and when that happens I should very much like them to be interesting. I’m sure you will feel the same.”

  Martha couldn’t imagine being eighty, but she’d allowed herself to be persuaded, and she’d allowed herself to be persuaded the night after too, which was why she was now standing in front of a sports car with the aftereffects of the three cocktails still hammering away at her brain. The hot sun beat down on the shiny red sports car, making the paintwork gleam and dazzle.

  She’d had two blissful evenings and had spent the whole of the day before exploring Chicago on her own because Kathleen had decided to have a quiet day before their journey began. It had been more exciting than Martha could have imagined. For a brief time her anxiety about the driving had vanished, but now it was back with a vengeance as was the sickening realization that she was about to be responsible for two lives—hers and Kathleen’s. Also the lives of anyone else who happened to be on the road in front of her.

  Cade was still waiting for a response from her and she tried to focus. “What did you say again?”

  “I was checking that this is really the car you want.” Cade looked between the two of them, as if he’d never seen such an unlikely pairing.

  Martha didn’t blame him. She opened her mouth to say, Of course this isn’t what we want, but Kathleen was talking.

  “This is perfect.” She stroked her slender wrinkled hand over the shiny surface. Her rings looked too big for her fingers. “Is it fast?”

  “Fast?” The guy transferred his gum from his right cheek to his left. “Lady, this baby has a 5.0 liter V-8 engine and it’ll go from zero to sixty in under four seconds. That about fast enough for you?”

  Kathleen tilted her head. “It sounds sufficient for our needs.”

  The guy grinned and shook his head. “You’re really something.” He obviously thought Kathleen should be renting a wheelchair, not a high-performance car.

  Martha felt out of her depth. Age was supposed to make you careful, wasn’t it? Mrs. Hartley next door never went anywhere without her walking stick. She didn’t answer the front door without checking the spy hole first.

  It was clear now why Liza had looked anxious and asked so many questions.

  But this was Kathleen’s trip. Surely she had a right to live life the way she wanted to? Although she didn’t have all the facts, of course. Lacking full disclosure from Martha on the quality of her driving, Kathleen had probably underestimated the risk.

  “This model has redesigned cylinder heads and new crankshaft—” Cade droned on and Martha’s mind glazed over. What exactly was a quad tip dual exhaust and why did she need to know about it?

  Cade opened the door and gestured. “You’ve got your sport setting, your track setting—”

  Martha looked inside, relieved to see automatic transmission. P for Park and D for Drive. That was all she needed to remember. She had no intention of reversing. This journey was going to be forward all the way. In fact that could be a metaphor for her life. No going backward.

  Cade straightened. “You want to take her for a ride?”

  And give him visible evidence of her lack of skill? He’d probably refuse to rent it to them.

  “Not right now. Let’s finish up the paperwork. We need fully comprehensive insurance.” She caught his eye. “Not that we’re going to need it, but probably best to be safe. In case someone reckless drives into us.” Like a tree. Or a post. That had been known to happen.

  “Sure. That’s it? Then we’re done here.” Cade shrugged. “Any questions?”

  “I have a question.” Kathleen removed her sunglasses and the wicked gleam in her eyes made Martha almost as nervous as the prospect of driving the car.

  “Kathleen—”

  “What’s the speed limit?”

  Oh for...

  “Why? Are you on the run, lady?” Cade laughed and scratched at his skin under the T-shirt. “You robbed a bank? Police chasing you?”

  “No, although I did recently have dealings with the police when they came to remove a body from my kitchen.”

  Cade stopped laughing. “Body?”

  Body? It occurred to Martha that she really didn’t know that much about Kathleen at all. She’d talked a lot about her work, and her travels, but hadn’t revealed anything personal. She knew about Liza only because she’d met her.

  She could be traveling across America with an eighty-year-old serial killer. “Kathleen? You didn’t—er—mention—”

  “It slipped my mind, dear. Or perhaps subconsciously I’ve been trying to forget it. The mind has a way of blocking out trauma, doesn’t it?”

  Hopefully that was true, because right now it seemed that this trip might be unforgettable for all the wrong reasons. “Tell us about the body, Kathleen.”

  “It wasn’t a random body. It belonged to an intruder who entered my home in the middle of the night.”

  “Oh that’s terrible.” Martha put her hand on Kathleen’s arm. “How very frightening.”

  “He didn’t seem frightened. In fact, he was rather bold.”

  “I meant frightening for you.”

  “I know. I was teasing you.” Kathleen patted her hand. “It was the most excitement I’d had in a long time, although I admit I was lucky he was alone and inebriated. A word of advice—” she leaned closer to Cade “—if you intend to break into a house, stay sober and always take an accomplice. It’s much harder to fight off two people.”

  Cade took a step back, eyes wide and staring. “Right. So—you killed him?”

  “No. He is very much alive.” Kathleen frowned. “Probably because I used the eight-inch pan, and not the twelve-inch. I only use the twelve-inch if I’m frying eggs and mushrooms with my bacon.”

  “Good to know.” Cade’s gaze skittered to Martha and she saw pity there. “Speed limits and general information on driving here in the US is right here in our book—” He thrust it at her. “In the trunk you’ve got your flashlight, a blanket, jumper cables, flares and a first aid kit. We advise you to always carry water, particularly when you reach the desert, and keep your phone charged although you might not have a signal of course. Everything you need is right there. And i
f you get into trouble—” the look on his face suggested he thought that to be highly likely “—you can call the number on the back.”

  “Thank you.” Kathleen took the book and beamed. “It’s all most exciting.”

  Martha wasn’t finding it exciting. Flares? Why would they need flares?

  Cade cleared his throat. “So—any more questions or are we done here?”

  I have a question, Martha thought.

  Why, oh why, did I take this job?

  8

  LIZA

  Liza glanced at the picture of her mother raising a glass with the spectacular Chicago skyline shimmering behind her. Martha had added a quick caption: Living the dream.

  It had been a thoughtful gesture on Martha’s part to send the photo, but it was making Liza take a long, hard look at her life.

  Envy stabbed her in the chest and she sat down at the kitchen counter she’d been cleaning moments before.

  Her world seemed gray and mundane by comparison. Her mother was surrounded by flickering candles and cocktails. Liza was confronting an empty cereal bowl.

  Today was her wedding anniversary. Not that she had high expectations, but a small celebration would have been nice. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have an excuse.

  Her mother didn’t need an excuse. She celebrated every moment.

  How had Liza ever thought that was irresponsible? It was a good way to live life.

  What had she done the night before while her mother had been drinking, laughing and watching the sun go down over Lake Michigan? She’d been catching up on ironing and doing some last-minute planning for France.

  Her mother stayed in hotels. She wouldn’t even have to make her own bed. If she was engrossed in a book, she could pick up a menu and order room service. All she had to do was decide when she wanted to eat, and someone else would do all the work.

  Liza stood up and threw the cleaning equipment back in the cupboard.

  Enough feeling sorry for herself.

  She had to find a way to be more enthused about the moment she was in, rather than always hoping that things would improve in the future. There were days when her entire life felt like a postponement. She’d waited for the twins to grow out of colic, for the nights when they started sleeping, for the day the tantrums stopped. Now she was waiting for them to move past this “difficult” teenage phase. Was there ever going to come a point where she was happy with life in the present?

  Sean walked in. He was wearing a suit and was reading the news on his phone. Without lifting his head, he put his breakfast bowl on top of the counter.

  That one small bowl, abandoned, seemed to symbolize her whole life.

  Happy Anniversary, darling.

  “The bowl doesn’t load itself into the dishwasher, you know.”

  He glanced up from his phone. “It’s one bowl.”

  “Someone has to put it into the dishwasher. That someone is always me.”

  The article in her bag would have advised that she broached any issues calmly, expressing her concerns in a constructive way. No snappy, snide remarks. But his response made her snappy and she was tired of trying to be perfect.

  Sean opened the dishwasher, put the bowl inside and closed it with a decisive click.

  “Happy now?”

  No, she wasn’t happy. Today was their anniversary and he’d forgotten.

  He could have put a bottle of something fizzy in the fridge for later. He could have told her he was whisking her off to dinner.

  “I shouldn’t have to ask, Sean.”

  “Yeah, right. Sorry.” The ends of his hair were still damp from the shower. “What’s wrong?”

  My mother is drinking cocktails on a roof terrace while I’m cleaning up other people’s mess.

  Her mother was squeezing every last moment of joy from life. Perhaps that made her reckless or selfish, or perhaps it made her sensible.

  “I spend too much time clearing up after other people, that’s all.”

  “We’ll all try and help a bit more.” He flashed her a smile and dropped his phone into his pocket.

  “When you say you’ll help, that still puts the responsibility squarely on me. It implies that the job is mine, but you’ll assist me. I don’t want ‘help’. I want other people to take responsibility.”

  The book she’d bought had suggested she started with “I feel” and she’d messed that up again.

  I feel, I feel, I feel.

  “I feel taken advantage of, Sean.”

  “What? Oh—that’s not good. And we’re going to talk about this. Properly.” He walked back to her and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek. She smelled the faint smell of shaving gel and felt something uncurl deep in her stomach.

  It was their wedding anniversary. She should be feeling romantic, not mad.

  They needed to pay more attention to each other. Perhaps that was all that was needed.

  She lifted her hand on her chest. “I’m glad you said that. I think we do need to talk.”

  “And we will.” He glanced at his watch. “But I have a nine o’clock meeting in the office with the pickiest client it has ever been my misfortune to work with, and I need to leave now if I’m to stand a chance of making it.”

  She let her hand drop.

  Is your marriage in trouble?

  Yes, it definitely was.

  Was she being unfair? She couldn’t expect him to blow off a meeting because she wanted to talk. He had responsibilities to his partners and clients. And any conversation they had now would be tainted by the fact that he was stressed about being late for work.

  “Let’s go out for dinner tonight.” If he wasn’t going to suggest it, then she would.

  “Tonight?” He looked panicked. “I have drinks after work with the partners. Didn’t I mention it?”

  “No.”

  “How about tomorrow? We should celebrate.”

  A warmth spread through her. He hadn’t forgotten. “Celebrate?”

  “Beginning of the holidays, for you and the girls at least—” He flashed her a smile. “We could go to that Italian place. The twins would love that. And tomorrow works for me because it’s Saturday and I won’t be breathing garlic over everyone at work.”

  “I wasn’t planning on inviting the girls.”

  “Oh—you mean a romantic night. Great.” He grabbed a protein bar from the cupboard. “Any night except tonight.”

  Any night except tonight.

  Their anniversary.

  The warm feelings withered and died.

  She watched as Sean grabbed his gym bag from the laundry room and stuffed the nut bar into a pocket on the side.

  “Sean—”

  “You book somewhere. Anywhere you like. Looking forward to it.” He was out through the door, leaving before she could say, I feel it would be more romantic and special if you chose somewhere.

  The front door slammed behind him and she flinched as if he’d trapped her finger in it.

  Happy Anniversary, Liza.

  She topped up her coffee. Was she wrong to expect romance? Did every relationship feel this way after two decades and two children? For their first anniversary they’d had a weekend in Paris. They’d done it on a shoestring, staying in a seedy hotel on the Left Bank and loving every minute. For their second they’d taken a picnic to the river and spread everything out on a blanket in the shade of a weeping willow.

  It had been years since they’d done something special.

  Eight signs that your marriage might be in trouble.

  Why was it bothering her so much? And why eight signs? Why not seven or nine? Someone had probably sat at their desk throwing out ideas and eight sounded like a good number.

  Caitlin came thundering down the stairs. “Have you seen my jeans?”

  “It’s a school day. No
jeans.”

  “Last day. We can wear what we like, remember?”

  No, she hadn’t remembered. “Your jeans are in the wash. You’ll have to wear something else.”

  “What?” Caitlin’s shriek brought her sister running to the top of the stairs.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Mum washed my jeans! Can you believe that?”

  “Thank you for washing my jeans, Mum,” Liza said, and Caitlin flushed.

  “I needed them today, that’s all.”

  “If you needed them, why were they in the laundry?”

  “Because they needed a wash—but I thought you’d have done it by now. I put them there on Monday.”

  “I’ve had a busy week too. I’m sure you can find something else to wear.”

  “I wanted my jeans. I’m going to look awful in all the photos, and that will be your fault. You’re still punishing me because of the stupid party. I hate my life!” She thundered back upstairs and reappeared ten minutes later wearing a pair of thigh-length boots with bare legs and a miniskirt.

  Still blindsided by the fact that her daughter thought she hadn’t washed the jeans out of spite, Liza blinked. “Where did you get those boots?”

  “Jane lent them to me.”

  “Well, you can give them back.” Stay calm. Do not escalate the tension. “You’re not wearing that outfit to school, last day or not. It’s inappropriate.”

  Caitlin’s eyes sparked. “I know you like to control absolutely everything about our lives, but you’re not controlling what I wear. I decide. I do have a brain, you know.”

  “And it would be good to see you using it.” This was exhausting and thankless. “Go and change.”

  “No time.” Caitlin swung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the car.

  Alice was right behind her. “Don’t start a fight,” she begged. “I can’t be late today. I’m reciting a poem, remember? Doing that is enough of a horror without being late.”