by M. A. Hunter
Rosie frowns at me, and then begins to chuckle like she suddenly sees the funny side of my question. (There was no funny side.). ‘I wondered where my niece was today. Where have you left her?’
I see now why she is laughing, and I don’t correct the misunderstanding. ‘She’s at a friend’s house,’ I say.
‘That’s such a shame. James and I will have to come by soon and take her out for the day. She’s starting school soon, isn’t she?’
‘Wednesday,’ I say, nodding, and it’s like a pin has been pushed into my heart.
I can see Charlie returning with two plates of food in his hands, each stacked as high as a sandcastle. I grab Rosie’s hand. ‘Would you do me a favour? Don’t ask why, but can you check your case pile for a girl called Daisy? She’s nearly five now, I believe, petite, dark hair, goth-like.’
Rosie’s frown deepens, but Charlie arrives before she can ask any more questions, and she has to shuffle back to her chair. Charlie pushes the plate before me, and gravy drips over the edge and onto the table cloth. There’s an enormous Yorkshire pudding, with two tepid-looking sausages inside, a mountain of mashed potato beside it, peas, carrots, sprouts, broccoli, a scoop of swede, three parsnip slices, cauliflower cheese, and sage and onion stuffing balls, along with slices of pale-brown turkey breast.
‘I got you a bit of everything,’ he says, placing his even taller plate next to mine.
He knows I’m not a fan of cauliflower cheese, and my stomach turns as I see the cheese sauce congealing with the thick brown gravy. I push it to the edge of the plate, and dig my fork into the potato.
‘Don’t worry if you can’t eat it all,’ he says leaning in. ‘Think my eyes were a bit bigger than my belly. I—’ But before he can finish whatever he was about to say, his phone is ringing. He fishes it from his pocket, and checks the display. ‘Sorry, I have to take this,’ he says, wiping his mouth with his napkin and quickly hurrying from the table, the phone pressed to his ear.
Rosie shuffles back over, the skin around her eyes taut with concern. ‘Is everything okay, Jess? Your request is a bit… unexpected. Who is this Daisy girl?’
I wish I hadn’t said anything now. ‘It’s nothing,’ I say, backtracking. ‘Forget I said anything.’
Unfortunately, I know she won’t and will probably spend the rest of the day ruminating on what my interest is in Daisy.
‘Let’s talk after lunch,’ Rosie says, still watching me as my cheeks redden.
The last thing I want is for Rosie to mention what I said to Charlie. He already thinks my mind is playing tricks on me, and if he learns I’ve tried to rope his sister into my supposed delusion, his anxiety is only going to grow. I catch a glimpse of him outside the window of the converted barn. He is laughing uproariously at whatever Doug has just said, but as he turns and our eyes meet, he suddenly hurries away like I have caught him in a terrible lie. Maybe he just doesn’t want me to see him enjoying life in case I’m jealous.
It barely looks like I’ve eaten a thing, but my stomach is full. More than half the plate of food remains, and as much as I hate to see good food wasted, I cannot manage another morsel. As I push the lonely sprout towards the mountain of mash, my gaze falls on Katie and her baby. Though she is barely a month old, I can already see she has her mother’s brown eyes and mess of dark, curly hair. She is awake again, and Katie has propped her up, a hand securely clamped around the back of her neck for support, but the youngster seems to be enthralled by the smiling faces of the other guests, who’ve all come over to gush at how beautiful she is.
Not one of them has asked how I’m feeling about losing my son. Not one has come over and asked how I am coping, knowing I carried him to full term, only to never feel his beating heart against my own. I still remember how ice-cold his tiny hands felt as they placed his carefully swaddled body on mine.
‘It’s important that you say goodbye properly,’ one of the midwives had said.
I hadn’t wanted to say goodbye. Even now, I want this to all be just some horrible nightmare that I’ll wake from, to still find him moving about inside my womb, waiting to burst into the world.
‘None of this is your fault,’ one of the other midwives had said, yet nobody could tell me exactly whose fault it was that my son came into this world without a single breath in his lungs. ‘Just one of those things.’
What a copout! Somebody is always to blame. Was it because I didn’t sleep at the most beneficial angle for him? Or perhaps that his father and I tried to have sex to induce labour? Or maybe it was because I simply didn’t deserve to bring a beautiful, bouncing boy into this world. This was my punishment for daring to believe I could have all the cherished things other mothers enjoy.
I remember kissing his tiny fingers, and willing any God to take the life from me and pass it into him, just so that I would be able to tell him how much I loved him, how I’d felt such a strong bond with him throughout my pregnancy. I would have given anything for him just to hear me tell him how precious he was.
Katie’s baby belches and a stream of regurgitated milk spurts from her mouth and all over Katie’s hand. The smell of baby sick wafts across the table, and I have to put my napkin to my nose as a filter.
A knocked-over glass jolts me back to the present, and I see that Tracy has now plonked herself down in Charlie’s seat. There is no sign of her new mystery man, and as our eyes meet, she is already fiddling with her wedding ring.
‘You’re looking well,’ she says, before I’ve had chance to think of what to say. We both know she’s lying; even in the salmon-coloured blouse I decided to put on for my trip out with Charlie, my hair hasn’t been cut in months, my skin is dry and unmade, and my weight has ballooned in the chair.
‘Where’s Jack?’ I ask, as casually as curiosity will allow.
She stands up the glass she knocked over, avoiding my gaze. ‘I thought you’d have heard: we broke up.’
The news isn’t unexpected, given the intimacy of the kisses she’s been sharing with the new man, but I’m still surprised to hear the words coming from her lips. In our circle of friends, Tracy and Jack were the powerhouse couple; together since college, married for ten years, and living in an enormous detached house in Gerrards Cross, they’d been the couple we all aspired to be. No children, as both wanted to focus on their careers, Jack a chartered accountant and Tracy working in publishing. We’d all been expecting them to announce an extension to their family any day.
I have dozens of questions filling my mind, but give her the space to speak more.
‘Caught him shagging some client he was working for up in Barnstaple. Apparently they’d been at it for months behind my back.’ As she’s speaking the words, I find it almost impossible to believe that the Jack I know could be so callous, yet there is no hurt or regret in her voice. It’s as if she is reciting a recipe, every detail delivered with an even pace and in a matter-of-fact manner.
‘He said he’d fallen out of love with me, and agreed to the divorce settlement my solicitor demanded on my behalf. Ironically, I’d say planning our wedding took longer than dismantling it. He’s moved up there with her from all accounts, and that’s all there is to it.’
Given I haven’t seen Tracy since the week before I was rushed into the hospital, I don’t quite understand why she thinks I would have heard about such shocking news and had not offered my support.
I look over to Charlie, who smiles and waves in my direction before returning to his conversation with Dave. If he arranged this gathering today, he must have known that Tracy was bringing her mystery man, and that Jack wouldn’t be here. Does that mean he knew about the breakup and didn’t tell me? What else is he keeping from me?
‘I’ll introduce you to Gareth when he’s back,’ Tracy continues. ‘He’s a fireman, and also plays rugby for a local team. So much bigger and stronger than Jack, and so hands-on with stuff that Jack would have just hired someone to come and fix. Like, I was having a problem with the car not starting last week, an
d Gareth was over in an instant, tinkering away with the engine, and had it up and running again inside twenty minutes.’
A waitress appears at my shoulder and asks if I’ve finished, and I nod guiltily. She probably assumes that my eyes were too big for my belly, and I want to tell her I never would have piled my plate so high, but what is the point? I just hope they have some kind of process in place for redistributing unwanted food to those in greater need.
‘She’s a cutie pie, isn’t she?’ Tracy says, smiling and nodding towards Katie’s baby, who is once again drawing everyone’s attention. ‘Where’s Grace today?’
‘She’s at a friend’s,’ I say, quickly looking away from the baby, and pressing my hand to where I last felt Luke kick.
‘Well, it makes me glad Jack and I never had kids.’ Tracy sighs loudly. ‘Nothing worse than having to explain why Daddy is now living with some trollop up north.’ She breaks off, as Gareth heads over, and she quickly introduces us.
‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ Gareth says, his voice not quite as deep as I’d imagined it would be.
‘Not all bad, I hope,’ I fire back quickly with a smile.
He smiles too, and I can see why Tracy has moved on from her ex-husband so quickly. Gareth is handsome, too muscly for me, and certainly not my type, but attractive nonetheless. They seem quite an odd pairing, Tracy so petite and barely five feet tall, but he is as into her as she him. I find myself watching them as they return to their places across the table from me, and I’m barely able to remember what Jack looked or sounded like.
I’m relieved when Charlie finally returns, and it is quickly agreed that the bill will be split rather than fathoming who ordered what and paying for individual items. Then we are away, Charlie wheeling me back through the restaurant towards the front door. The place somehow feels even busier than when we arrived, but I keep my head bent to avoid making eye contact with any curious bystanders.
Back in the car, I’m amazed at how tired I suddenly feel. Maybe it’s my full stomach, or maybe it was the energy it took to keep smiling and pretending like my life hasn’t been totally flipped upside down by everything that’s happened these past six months. My eyelids feel so heavy, but then the car’s Bluetooth system announces that Doug is calling Charlie. What is wrong with that man? Why can’t he leave his staff alone at the weekend? It isn’t like Charlie gets paid any extra for being at his boss’s beck and call.
I’m waiting for Charlie to answer, but he cancels the call. ‘Sorry,’ he offers.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I sigh. ‘If you need to take it, I’ll pretend I’m not here.’
Charlie doesn’t bat an eyelid. ‘I’ll call him back when we’re home.’
Is my husband turning over a new leaf? I’ve never known him decline a call from Doug. Back when we were trying to conceive, he once stopped foreplay to take a call. I don’t know whether to be alarmed or impressed.
He checks his watch. ‘We’ve got to collect Grace from Ava’s house shortly.’
His mood has gone decidedly frosty, and I can’t help wondering whether his last call with Doug ended in some kind of argument. I close my eyes and try to shut out all thoughts, figuring twenty minutes’ sleep on the way home is better than none. The phone rings again, and Charlie quickly declines the call, before switching off the stereo, and thus the Bluetooth system.
I think back to my conversation with Tracy, and can only hope that my husband isn’t keeping dark secrets from me. I know he doesn’t want to add to my already high stress levels, but what if all the extra hours at the office and the constant calls from Doug are a sign that everything at work isn’t as rosy as he’s been making out? I want to ask him, but I’m not sure I could take the strain of the truth right now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Before – Morag
Lawrence’s words are playing on my mind as I drive up the road, searching left and right for the address I found in the phonebook: you never really know anyone in this day and age, nor what they might be capable of.
I suppose there is some sense in what he was saying, though I have always considered myself a good judge of character. Not so much in recent years, it has become apparent. Take Jess as a prime example; my instinct was that she was just like any normal mother, and that the two of us might be able to strike up a friendship for our wee ones. But after our run-in at Waitrose, and the coldness she presented at the barbecue, now I’m not certain what her intentions towards us are.
Spotting number thirty-seven, I indicate and pull onto the driveway. There’s no sign of Charlie’s little Hyundai, and now I’m wishing I’d phoned ahead to let them know I would be dropping off the leek and tatty soup. If I’d known they were out, I would have brought it around later. I’m surprised they’re not home, to be honest, as Jess had given the impression she spends most of her time cooped up. I’ll just have to leave it inside their porch with a note saying who it’s from.
When I get out of the car, the air is much cooler than first thing this morning when I dashed to the phone box, and there is little blue sky visible beneath the white quilt of cloud. I’m certain showers weren’t forecast, but the weather down south can be temperamental. At least back home in Aberdeen you’re almost guaranteed it will rain at least five days a week.
I’m just leaning in and reaching over to the lidded porcelain pot on the passenger seat when I hear an engine revving just out of sight. Straightening, I’m pleased to see they’ve returned, so I won’t need to hunt for pen and paper. I carry the pot over to Jess’s side of the car. I’m sure she’s scowling as she lowers the window.
‘Hello there, Jess. How are you feeling today?’ The question is meant to be a sincere enquiry into her well-being after yesterday’s ill health, but the way her cheeks quickly redden, you’d have thought I was accusing her of some heinous crime.
‘Much better,’ she snaps. ‘What’s in the pot?’
Her frostiness is enough to make my blood boil, but I lower it to a simmer. ‘I thought you might not be up for cooking, so I made you some leek and tatty soup. It was my great-aunt’s recipe, passed down from generation to generation. Best thing when you’re feeling under the weather. Cures all known ills. I thought you might enjoy it. Only needs a few minutes on the stove to warm it through.’
‘Sounds wonderful,’ Charlie says, leaning across his wife and offering a warm smile. ‘That’s very generous of you, Morag. Hold on, I’ll let you in and you can carry it through.’
Jess opens her mouth to say something to him, but quickly changes her mind, and raises the window again. What the hell is wrong with her? Whatever happened to good manners?
I move back to my car, keen to put down the pot, which is much heavier than it looks, but the two of them remain in the car. A murmur of their voices carries on the wind, and I don’t turn because I don’t want to witness their argument. Poor Grace must be hearing all of it, and I wonder if she’s become immune to their bad-tempered spats. I don’t think Angus and I have ever argued in front of wee Daisy, but I know she too has borne witness to bickering parental figures.
Charlie’s door slams shut as he gets out. He is all sweetness and light to me. ‘It really is very kind of you to make us soup,’ he says. ‘Leek and potato has always been one of my favourites. My gran used to make it, but my mum was never much of a cook. Guess I inherited her lack of culinary skill.’ He unlocks the front door, and I’m expecting him to take the pot from me, but he pushes the door wider and encourages me up the ramp and inside. ‘Kitchen is at the far end of the hallway.’
Before I can say anything more, he is already on his way back to the car, presumably to help Jess and Grace out. With no other choice, I head in, instantly struck by how homely the place feels. The wall leading up the staircase is covered in framed photographs of the three of them looking contented in sunnier climes. It’s hard not to look at each image, a moment captured for ever, hinting at happier times. There are no pictures of Jess in her wheelchair, and it stirs a thought
in the back of my mind; does she really need that chair or is it part of their cover story?
‘Stop being so paranoid,’ Angus would tell me if he was here.
I know he’s right, but I can’t ignore the nagging doubt in my head about this picture-perfect family. As I move towards the kitchen, the pile of plates, bowls, mugs, and glasses by the sink catches my eye. Despite all the crockery, there is no sign of any pans, and the dustbin is overfilling with plastic containers. Is this really how they live? Considering the height of the countertops, I suppose I shouldn’t be so surprised that Jess isn’t able to do more in here, assuming she really does need that chair. They’ve clearly fitted the ramp to enable her to get in and out of the house, so it strikes me as odd that they haven’t made modifications to the kitchen too.
Placing the pot on the hob, I’m about to leave – I don’t want them to think I’m snooping – when I notice a small collection of pill bottles near the kettle. Lifting each, I recognise the names on the labels: Oxybutynin for bladder spasms; Gabapentin for pain relief; Clopidogrel to prevent blood clots; and finally Citalopram, a mood stabiliser. I’m not shocked that Jess is taking antidepressants if everything they’ve told me is true. It’s not safe leaving them here though, within easy reach of wee Grace. Some of these pills could easily be confused for sweeties. Do they not realise what a danger it is to leave such toxins in easy reach of a curious child?
I suppose Angus is right, you can take the lass out of nursing, but not the nurse out of the lass.
I can’t just leave without saying something. Pushing the small container of pills behind the kettle, and therefore out of Grace’s reach, I move towards the kitchen door. I can hear their hushed voices further along the hallway.
‘How does she know where we live?’ Jess says in a loud whisper.
‘I don’t know, maybe she looked us up online. What does it matter? She’s done a kind thing here.’
