by Karen Cole
‘You’re telling me. That boy’s always spoiling for a fight,’ agrees Abby. ‘What I don’t understand is what got into Aaron Rowe. He’s usually so quiet.’
Rob sits down opposite her and slurps his coffee.
‘His mum has just remarried and there are some problems at home, apparently. He doesn’t get on with his stepdad. Maybe that has something to do with it. What were they fighting about anyway?’
‘Oh, nothing much. Aaron called Carl dumb.’ She really doesn’t want to get into the conversation that started the fight. She’s been so shaken she’d almost forgotten about it, but now she’s calming down she starts brooding. How has Kiera found out about her pregnancy? Has Danny told more people than he let on? Or is it just inspired guesswork?
Then another thought occurs to her. Perhaps Aaron is the source of the rumour. He’s Dr Rowe’s son, after all. It would be a breach of doctor–patient confidentiality for him to have told his son, but Abby knows, from the things that Ellie sometimes tells her, that doctor–patient confidentiality is not always as sacred as it should be.
*
Abby broaches the subject with Dr Rowe when she’s having a check-up, a couple of days later.
‘You didn’t tell anyone about me being pregnant, did you?’ she says as he takes her blood pressure. She sucks in her breath as the band tightens, squeezing her arm until it’s almost painful.
‘Of course not,’ he says, loosening the band and noting something down.
‘Not to Ellie, maybe . . . or to Aaron?’
‘No. Your blood pressure is a little high but nothing to worry about. We’ll just keep an eye on it.’
‘It’s just that all the kids in Aaron’s class seem to know, or at least suspect, and I don’t know how. I haven’t even told Ellie yet.’
Dr Rowe sits down and types into the computer. ‘Well, I promise you I said nothing to my son.’ He grimaces. ‘Anyway, chance would be a fine thing. I hardly see him. His mother and I divorced a couple of years ago.’
Abby remembers what Rob told her about Aaron’s stepfather.
‘Is Aaron okay? Did you know he got into a fight the other day?’
Dr Rowe stares at her. ‘I didn’t. But it doesn’t surprise me. His mother remarried recently, and he doesn’t get on with his stepfather. Can’t say I blame him. He’s a nasty piece of work.’ For a second the normally sunny Dr Rowe looks downright miserable. Then he gives himself a little shake.
‘Anyway, take a look at this.’ He smiles. He turns his monitor to show her the website he’s looking at. ‘This is a foetus at sixteen weeks. This is what your baby looks like now.’
Abby stares at the screen, fascinated. In some images it looks almost like a fully formed baby, its hands clasped as if praying. In others, it looks like an astronaut floating in space, its overlarge head like a helmet, its black eyes covered with a thin film of skin.
‘It doesn’t seem long ago that Aaron and Katie were that size.’ Dr Rowe smiles wistfully, and a dimple appears in one cheek. ‘They grow up before you know it.’
Abby nods politely. As far as she’s concerned, the quicker this thing grows and is out of her, the better.
The doctor rubs his hands together. ‘Now then, would you like to hear your baby’s heartbeat?’
Abby’s really not sure she wants to hear the baby’s heartbeat, but he seems so enthusiastic that she lies down on the couch and lets him rub gel on her stomach. Then he twiddles a dial on an old-fashioned-looking machine and Abby hears a faint beat like tiny horses galloping.
‘There, that’s it!’ He beams. ‘That’s your baby’s heartbeat.’
‘It’s very fast.’
‘Oh, that’s completely normal. It’s about twice the speed of an adult heartbeat. Anyway, everything seems fine.’ Dr Rowe takes off his gloves and Abby sits up.
‘So, do you have any other questions?’ he asks.
Abby takes a deep breath. She knows he means questions about the baby, but there are other things on her mind, questions Dr Rowe might be able to answer. Questions she badly needs answered.
‘This is a kind of unrelated,’ she says, ‘but I was wondering how much alcohol a person would have to drink to lose their memory?’
Dr Rowe eyes her curiously. ‘Well, that depends on the size of the person and how their body reacts to alcohol. It also depends on how quickly you drink and whether you’re drinking on an empty stomach. Someone your size, not all that much, I should think. Maybe, eight or nine glasses of wine.’
Abby doesn’t remember exactly how much she drank on New Year’s Eve. She definitely drank quickly. But she can’t shake the feeling that what happened wasn’t a normal case of getting drunk. She’s probably being paranoid, but she needs to know if her suspicions are plausible.
‘And . . .’ She flushes. ‘A friend of mine thinks she might have been given a date-rape drug. How would she know?’
‘Well . . .’ Dr Rowe gives her a sharp look. ‘It depends on the type of drug used. Rohypnol, for example, can be detected in the body for up to seventy-two hours, so I would advise your friend to go and get herself tested as soon as possible.’
‘What if it happened months ago? How would she know?’
He shrugs. ‘There would be no way for her to know for sure if she’d been drinking or taking drugs as well. Often people feel sick and very tired for days after, with flu-like symptoms. Does that answer your question?’
There’s an awkward silence.
‘If you need to talk about anything, Abby, you know I’m always here, and anything you tell me is completely confidential,’ Dr Rowe says gently. Clearly, he doesn’t believe in the existence of her friend and has guessed that she’s talking about herself. For a moment, she contemplates confiding in him. Then decides against it. The fewer people who know about this the better.
‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I know.’
Dr Rowe waits, and then, when she says nothing else, he sighs and says, ‘I didn’t tell Aaron or Ellie about your pregnancy. I never discuss my patients with anyone. But I think you should consider speaking to your sister yourself. She’s going to know soon enough anyway.’
Abby nods. ‘I know, but I want to tell her in my own time. I’m not sure how she’s going to take it after losing the baby.’
Dr Rowe nods. He knows all about Ellie’s loss, and was very understanding when it happened, giving her time off when she needed it. If it wasn’t for Dr Rowe, Ellie could easily have lost her job as well as her baby.
After a pause, he says, ‘Isn’t it better that you tell her than if she guesses or hears it from someone else?’
*
Abby knows that Dr Rowe is right. She needs to talk to Ellie soon. The longer she leaves it, the worse it will be. On her way home Abby resolves to tell her as soon as she sees her. It will be okay, she thinks, trying to convince herself. Just spit it out and get it over with.
But when she gets home Ellie is lying on the sofa in the living room, clutching her head. The curtains are drawn, and the room is dark. ‘One of my migraines,’ Ellie groans as Abby comes in.
‘You poor thing. Can I get you anything?’
‘Just some water. And a bucket.’
Abby goes to fetch some water from the tap in the kitchen. Her revelation will have to wait until Ellie feels better.
On the kitchen table, there are flowers. Bright red tulips in a vase. Abby runs the tap wondering vaguely where they’ve come from. Perhaps Rob brought them for Ellie, or more likely Ellie brought them herself to brighten the place up. Rob is not generally one for romantic gestures. He buys Ellie flowers on Valentine’s Day and that’s about it.
Abby takes the glass through to the living room and places it on the coffee table next to Ellie.
Ellie groans and rolls over. ‘Thank you,’ she says. She sits up and sips at the water. ‘I’m feeling a bit
better. Think it’s the ibuprofen kicking in.’
‘Who bought the flowers?’ Abby asks, sitting in the armchair.
‘Oh,’ Ellie feels in her pocket. ‘I forgot, They’re for you. I put them in a vase. I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t want them to die.’ She fishes in her pocket and pulls out a small, white sealed envelope with ‘Abigail’ typed neatly on the front. ‘This came with them.’
Abby tears open the envelope, and pulls out a small white florist’s card and reads the message:
Abigail, with love.
She turns the card over in her hand. There’s nothing else, just those words, ‘Abigail, with love.’ There’s no clue as to who sent it. And there’s nothing obviously threatening about it, but all the same Abby feels unsettled, even disturbed. Why haven’t they signed their name?
‘Where did they come from?’ she asks Ellie.
‘They were on the doorstep when I got back from work. Who are they from?’
‘It doesn’t say,’
‘Well, it looks like you’ve got a secret admirer. How exciting.’ Ellie smiles. ‘Who do you think it could be?’
Abby smiles back faintly. ‘I’ve got no idea,’ she says. She throws the card in the bin and then puts it to the back of her mind.
Eight
Mark opens the door before Abby gets the chance to ring the bell.
‘I saw you coming up the road,’ he explains. He’s dressed in jogging bottoms and a T-shirt, holding a roll of kitchen towel in his hands. He reeks of bleach and Abby, who is newly sensitive to smells, tries not to retch. ‘I was cleaning the windows.’
With bleach? Abby thinks. Who cleans their windows with bleach? Out loud she says, ‘Is Danny about?’
‘I haven’t seen him this morning. I think he’s still in bed,’ Mark mumbles vaguely.
‘Oh,’ she says. She looks at her watch. She’s sure they agreed 10.30. Yesterday evening at school, they arranged to go to Brown and Lowe’s, the estate agents, today. They planned it all out. They were going to talk to Andrew Wilson, pretend that Abby was looking for a new flat and somehow bring the conversation around to New Year’s Eve, but Danny has obviously forgotten.
‘Shall I wake him up?’ asks Mark.
‘Not yet. Give him a few more minutes. I’ll come in and wait if that’s okay.’
‘Sure,’ he says, standing back to let her in and flushing slightly. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
She follows him into the kitchen and sits at the table watching as he fills the kettle.
He pours hot water into two cups, then sits opposite her, his elbows resting on the scratched pine table.
‘How are you?’
‘Um, okay, you?’
‘Alright.’
There’s an awkward silence. She never sees Mark without Danny, she realizes, and, like most people, Mark fades into the background when Danny’s around. She wonders vaguely if he’s a bit shy. She chews her nail, searching for something to say, and comes up blank.
‘Have you found your necklace yet?’ he asks at last.
‘What?’ she says momentarily confused. Then she remembers the lie she told last time she was here. ‘Oh . . . no. Not yet.’
‘I’ve been looking for you but so far no luck.’
‘Thank you.’ Abby hopes he hasn’t spent too much time looking for something that he’ll never find. But it gives her an idea.
‘I wish I could remember what I did that night,’ she says. ‘If I could retrace my steps, maybe I’d know where else to look. I know I started off in the kitchen with you but after that, it’s a bit of a blank.’
Mark scratches his head.
‘Well, like you say, we were in the kitchen at the start of the evening. I don’t remember whether you were wearing the necklace or not at that point. Then Chris and Thea turned up and we drank some more.’
‘How much did I drink?’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Quite a few. Then you wandered off and the next time I saw you, you were sitting on the stairs with Danny’s friend, Alex.’
‘How long was I talking to him?’
If Mark thinks this is an odd question, he doesn’t let on. ‘I’m not sure. I spent the next couple of hours in my room talking to Andy and Chris and a bunch of Danny’s friends, that tall, red-haired guy . . .’
‘Hugo?’
‘Yes, that’s’ it. Then you came in, looking for him.’
‘For Alex?’
‘Yes. I suppose you could have dropped the necklace then, somewhere in my room. Do you want to have a look?’
Abby hesitates. It feels strangely intimate, going to Mark’s bedroom. Until recently she wouldn’t have thought twice, but lately she’s become warier. She doesn’t really trust anyone anymore, even Mark. But he’s already bounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time. It seems rude not to follow him. It’s only Mark, after all.
As soon as she enters the room she’s hit by a strong feeling of déjà vu. There’s a musket hanging on the wall. She’s sure she’s seen it before, as well as the neatly made white bed. The blue curtains flutter in a breeze from the open window. And she remembers something. There was a woman sprawled on the bed, her long, dark corkscrew curls splayed over the pillow. She was laughing loudly. And there was a man with red hair sitting on the rug over there, under the musket. She can see him quite clearly, his long, lanky legs drawn up, smoking a roll-up, exhaling smoke languidly, looking at her through narrow eyes. For a second the image is so intense she feels dizzy, and she feels like she’s about to faint. She steadies herself by putting her hands on the bed.
Then she looks up and notices Mark watching her curiously. ‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
She flushes with embarrassment. He must think she’s so weird.
‘Yes, I’m alright. It’s nothing, I just felt a little faint for a moment.’
She scans the room in search of a distraction and makes a pretence of admiring the gun on the wall. ‘This looks old, is it real?’
‘It’s a matchlock musket, seventeenth-century,’ he says proudly. ‘From the English Civil War. That one’s real. The rest are replicas.’
‘The rest?’
He unlocks a cupboard, revealing an alarming display of weapons – swords, guns and bayonets.
‘Wow,’ Abby exclaims, not knowing what else to say. ‘Danny told me you were a re-enactor, but I had no idea you took it so seriously.’
He grins. ‘Keeps me out of mischief.’
‘You go with that friend of yours, don’t you? The estate agent . . . I met him at your New Year’s party . . . What’s his name?’ Abby tries to sound nonchalant, like she’s not really interested but isn’t entirely sure she pulls it off.
‘Andy?’ Mark suggests.
‘Yes. Andy. What’s he like?’
Mark shrugs. ‘He’s alright.’
She waits for him to expand on this statement, but he doesn’t seem to think it requires elaboration.
‘I mean . . . How well do you know him? Is he a trustworthy kind of person?’
Mark frowns. ‘You do know he’s married, don’t you?’
‘Oh, I’m not interested in him in that way.’ Abby flushes. ‘It’s just . . . I was wondering if he would be a good person to help me find a flat, that’s all.’
‘Why?’ Mark closes the cupboard door and locks it. ‘Are you thinking of moving?’
‘Yes.’
‘How come?’
Abby thinks quickly. ‘I’ve not been getting on so well with Rob and Ellie lately. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome. Sometimes I feel like I need a bit of space.’ It’s true, of course, she does need space, but Abby is not really thinking of moving out. Rent-free accommodation is just too attractive an option. And with her student loan still to pay off, she’s willing to take any amount of inconvenience to save money.
‘Three’s a crowd, huh?’ Mark says.
‘Something like that.’
Mark looks at the floor, not meeting her eyes. ‘You know we’ve got a spare room here. We could always use the extra rent money.’
‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind.’
They spend the next few minutes in a totally pointless search under the bed and behind furniture for a non-existent necklace and Abby is relieved when Danny appears in the doorway, looking pale and haggard.
‘Danny,’ Abby says. ‘Are you still up for helping me with the house hunting?’
Danny groans and slaps his head, ‘Shit, I forgot about that. Listen, Abby, I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m going to be able to. I’m feeling like death. I’ve been up half the night vomiting. I think I’ve got a bug of some kind. Can we postpone till next weekend?’
But Abby doesn’t want to put this off. It’s been over a month already since she discovered she was pregnant and she’s still no closer to discovering what happened.
‘I might just go myself,’ she says, standing up and brushing dust off her knees. It seems even Mark has dust under his bed.
Danny winces and clutches his belly. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, Abs? I mean . . .’ He breaks off, realizing that Mark is listening. ‘I mean, you’ll need a second opinion, won’t you?’
‘Why not?’ says Abby with more confidence than she really feels. She can think of quite a few reasons why not. For one, if Andrew Wilson really did rape her, then he could be dangerous. If he’s capable of doing that, then what else could he be capable of? But she needs to know. It’s eating away at her – the not knowing – and she’s worried that if she doesn’t act now she’ll chicken out.
‘Hope you feel better soon, Danny,’ she says, heading downstairs.
‘Just be careful, Abs,’ Danny calls, shuffling back to his bedroom.
‘Say hi from me,’ says Mark, showing her out. ‘If he knows you’re my friend I’m sure he’ll give you a good deal.’
