Losing You by Susan Lewis

that what was happening to his mother? Was she really losing her mind, or was it the drink that was making her so irrational and violent and so goddamned pathetic?
    Why couldn’t she just get her bloody act together and be more like other people’s mothers?
    ‘I am not sorry that I damaged that woman’s car,’ she said, as he started to fill the kettle. ‘She deserve it for what she is doing to me.’
    ‘But she’s not doing anything to you.’
    ‘She is sleeping with your father ...’
    ‘No, she isn’t. I’m living there, remember, so I would know.’
    ‘They are hiding it from you. He is very good at that. He always was, it is why my life has been so hard.’
    Giving up the argument, he said, ‘What was that about threatening to go public? What’s he lying about and pretending he doesn’t know?’
    Sylvie’s expression lost focus as her eyes drifted away.
    ‘Mum?’ he growled, suspecting she’d already forgotten what she’d said, never mind what it meant.
    ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, going to stare out of the window. There was no sign of Russ now, only strangers coming and going, and traffic crossing the suspension bridge. ‘I will go public if I have to,’ she said, turning back to Oliver, ‘and then everyone will know what your father is really like, because what he does he only ever does for himself. He cares nothing for others. Tell him that when you see him, Oliver. Tell him I know everything,’ and grabbing the vodka bottle she took herself off to her bedroom and closed the door.
    After leaving his wife’s flat Russ Lomax strode up over Sion Hill towards the Downs, his expression as grim as the misgivings in his heart, his impatience as biting as the wind. Though he hadn’t expected any good to come from confronting Sylvie with the outrageous, criminal act of taking a sharp object to his associate Angie’s car, he’d hardly been able to ignore it. Angie truly had been terrified, though perhaps more by the threats Sylvie had screamed from the street below Angie’s flat, than by what Sylvie had done to the Renault. It was fortunate, and amazing, that no one had called the police.
    If it happened again, he’d meant what he’d said, he’d damned well do it himself.
    Getting into his car, he started the engine and after waiting for the phone to connect with the hands-free he called up Angie’s number as he began to drive.
    ‘Hi, is everything all right?’ she asked when she answered.
    ‘I’d hardly put it like that,’ he retorted stiffly. ‘The important thing is, are you OK?’
    ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m just sorry it happened.’
    ‘You have nothing to apologise for. You must let me pay for the car to be repaired.’
    ‘Oh, there’s no need ...’
    ‘Of course there is. Are you at home now? I’d like to see the damage for myself.’
    ‘Actually, I’m at Clyde Court,’ she replied. Clyde Court was the large, rambling old place he called home, set comfortably in the rolling countryside of the southern foothills of the Cotswolds. It was also from here, or more precisely the converted stables opposite the house, that he ran his business.
    ‘Are you on your way here now?’ Angie asked.
    ‘I am.’
    ‘And is she ... Is she coming with you?’
    Keeping the irritation from his voice he said, ‘She isn’t. Have you seen Oliver since you arrived?’
    ‘No, but I haven’t been into the house. There’s a crisis going on here ...’
    ‘What sort of crisis?’
    ‘Nothing we can’t handle, and it’s over now anyway. We’ll expect you in half an hour?’
    ‘Slightly longer. I’ve got a couple more errands to run before I start heading back.’
    ‘It’s Sunday,’ she reminded him.
    ‘I know, but when did we ever allow a little thing like a day of rest to keep us from the grind? Can you get in touch with Paul Granger to let him know that I won’t be at the meeting this afternoon?’
    ‘OK. Can I ask why?’
    He’d rather she didn’t, but since the suddenness