by C. J. Skuse
‘You should have had that job, Rhiannon.’
‘Yeah, I know I should.’
‘I should have done more for you.’
‘Yeah, you should.’
We ordered – she a tabbouleh salad and a mineral water with ice; me a medley of breads (the love affair with the carb continues) and an apple juice ‘absolutely without ice’.
We talked about the weather. We talked about Brexit. She asked about my non-existent antenatal classes and I made up a boatload of lies about how well pregnancy is going.
‘Do you feel bonded to it yet?’ she asked with a sparkle in her eyes like Christmas morning.
‘Oh for sure.’ I smiled. ‘It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.’
Liar.
We talked about Linus’s eye cancer and how the old sphincter bruise is getting on with an eye patch. I dropped in the odd ‘Aah’ and ‘Poor guy’ in all the right places. I wouldn’t wish cancer on anyone but Linus.
‘It looks like he’s beaten it at least, which is such a relief,’ she said.
‘You don’t “beat” cancer,’ I replied. ‘Trust me. You’re its plaything for a while until it gets bored and leaves you alone but it always comes back.’
‘Well, he’s on the right medication.’
‘It’ll come back, Claudia. He will die of it.’
She cleared her throat and started complaining about the stickiness of the table top, which I’d noticed but was happy to ignore. Claudia rifled in her Poppins-esque Moschino bag and pulled out a pack of antibacterial wet wipes. She had everything in there – hairbrushes, water, phone charger neatly coiled up, notepad and pen, pack-a-mac. Organised. Prepared.
And then we talked about the killings.
‘They had a vigil in town.’ She sniffed. ‘One night in July. Gazette organised it, galvanised some local sponsorship. Did you read about it?’
‘No, I’m a bit out of the loop with the goings on around here.’
‘Hundreds turned out. There was a piper and a minute’s silence. We did a ten-page spread featuring the victims a few months ago.’ I could hear the next question rumbling along the tracks. ‘Do you think he did it, Rhiannon?’
He didn’t do it Auntie Claudia, she did. SHE DID!
I did my starey-eyed middle distance thing. ‘I didn’t want to believe it at first. It still seems unthinkable.’ Time for a bit more bullshit, methinks. ‘I keep getting this thought that Lana knows more than she’s letting on.’
‘Lana Rowntree?’ said Claudia, choking on her water. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah, something doesn’t add up about her. I mean we’ve always known she was a car crash but one of the murders – Julia Kidner – Craig definitely didn’t do. He wasn’t even in town, he was at Wembley. And yet his semen was found on and in her body. Lana has no alibi for that night.’
Claudia stared me down in her unavoidably contemptible way. ‘I don’t blame you for attacking her in the office. I could feel your pain.’
‘Could you?’
‘Definitely. When I found out my husband was having an affair, I made the same noise you did when you launched at her.’ She patted my hand – why does everyone feel the need to touch me, all the time? ‘But you look great, Rhiannon. You’re clearly the one who’s come out of this smelling of roses.’
‘Well, not quite roses,’ I said. ‘Sweet peas, at least.’
‘Mmm, I love sweet peas.’
‘Lana’s not doing too good, I hear.’
She shook her head. ‘Haven’t seen her for weeks. Have you?’
‘I popped over to her flat a few months back to apologise for hitting her. Took some flowers. She didn’t look great. Her arms were all scabbed up too.’
‘Rhiannon – don’t spend any time worrying about Lana, for god’s sake. After what she did to you, she doesn’t deserve an ounce of your sympathy.’
‘I guess.’
Tell her now.
‘Have you heard from AJ at all lately?’ I asked.
‘No but he’s updating his Facebook and he’s sent me a few DMs saying his WiFi’s patchy. Seems to be having a wonderful time though. He’s in love with Tibet. Staying with this nice family. Have you heard from him?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘You were seeing each other before he left, weren’t you?’
‘Briefly.’
Before you threw boiling water in his face and stabbed him twenty-eight times in the chest.
She sniffed. ‘I knew it.’
‘It was nice to have someone who cared about me. Craig had checked out of our relationship – I think trying for a baby took it out of him. I felt bad for cheating but then I found out Craig had been cheating on me.’
‘I completely understand,’ she said. ‘Same thing happened with my husband. Trying for a baby became everything and he felt shut out.’
‘Still’ I said, at least Craig had his “hobbies” to keep him happy.’ I laughed – too soon, I realised.
Claudia sipped her water. ‘AJ talked about you all the time.’
‘I know.’ The baby started kicking again. ‘You told me once.’
Bloody bloody bloody TELL HER!
Claudia took a deep breath. ‘I was only looking out for him. I wanted him to focus on his job – he only wanted to focus on you. He said I was obsessed with the idea that he might find love when I couldn’t. Had quite the argument about it. I take it it’s over between you two?’
As over as it can be when he’s three feet under in six sections I suppose.
Our meals arrived. ‘He hasn’t messaged in months so I guess so, yeah. I think you’re quite glad about that, aren’t you?’
Claudia unfolded her serviette and lay it down on her lap. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘I know you’ve never liked me, Claudia.’
‘No, that’s not true. I was just looking out for him.’
‘I overheard you and Lynette from Accounts once, talking about me in the Ladies’ at the Gazette.’
Her mouth stopped chewing lettuce to form a perfect O.
‘I heard you say that you’d never felt comfortable around me, that I didn’t stand a chance of getting the Junior Editor job anyway, even though I kept applying, year on year. Oh, and you called me a freak.’
Her mouth then formed a perfect I, a green thing visible between her lateral incisors. It was putting me off my medley of breads.
‘It’s all right, it’s one of those things,’ I said. ‘I am a freak – I’m a super freak. I’m super freaky. In my defence though I am brain damaged.’
‘Rhiannon. I didn’t mean anyth—’
‘It’s fine, honestly. Just save me the bullshit, Claudia. Don’t tell me I should have got the job and that you should have done more and that you’ve always liked me because those are lies and I’m all stocked up on lies.’
She put her fork down next to her salad. ‘God I feel awful now.’
‘You’re bound to because I’ve caught you out.’
‘Still. That was unprofessional to talk out of turn like that. I am sorry.’
‘You’ve been through a lot. I understand. Three failed IVFs, isn’t it?’
She frowned. ‘Yes. A few years ago now.’
For crying out loud…
‘And two failed adoptions, was it? Or three? Five miscarriages – one stillborn. You’re bound to be bitter.’
She pushed her plate away, deliberately avoiding eye contact. The restaurant had got busier now and the clang and clank of cutlery and smell of rich coffee beans had amplified.
‘I get why you are the way you are,’ I said. ‘You get that I’m the way I am. We’ve both been through stuff. Jesus Christ I’m so bitter I could spit into a hole in the ground and grow a thousand lemon trees. You asked life for a baby and life’s given you everything but.’
Her face had gone hard. ‘Why did you call me, Rhiannon? I thought you wanted to catch up on old times or ask about having your job back.’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘So did you j
ust want to rub my nose in something? What is it?’
The kicking intensified. Somewhere in the restaurant, another baby was squawking for attention. I rubbed my bump and breathed out so deeply the serviettes fluttered off the table top.
‘AJ’s the baby’s father, Claudia.’
Her eyes flashed, her coffee cup clashing with her saucer. ‘What?’
The kicking stopped.
‘He’s the daddy. I can’t prove it right now but it is his.’
She sat up, forcing her tired eyes wider. ‘Oh my god. Does Craig know? Do his parents know?’
I let my eyebrows do the talking and sipped my elderflower pressé.
‘Gosh. So that’s my grandniece or nephew in there?’
‘Niece. It’s a girl.’
She stared at my bump like it was glowing.
‘Do you want to be in her life, Claudia?’ The moment I said the words aloud it was like a great heavy rucksack had been taken off my back.
Her face was blank. ‘Do I? You want me to?’
‘I don’t trust myself to do the right things for her. I need back up. All these pregnancy books talk about having back up, lots of back up. I don’t have anyone. The baby’s related to you so—’
‘Oh my god.’ Claudia scrabbled around in her handbag for a tissue and blew her nose. The waiter came over to ask if the food was all right – neither of us answered and he moved away. She looked down until he had gone again. ‘Do you mean this?’ she said, eyes going all glassy.
‘Yeah. I’m not that religious but we could have a christening or something and do it officially. You can be her godmother.’
Claudia clutched her blouse as her tears came harder. She seemed to straighten up and blew out a few times. ‘Sorry, this is so unexpected.’
‘Unexpected in a good way?’
She laughed and a bubble of snot blew out of her nostril which she quickly wiped away. ‘A wonderful way!’ Then she did what I had feared – she came out of the booth and made a beeline towards me, embracing me, then the obligatory bump rub because my stomach is public property now.
‘That baby is going to be the most spoiled baby ever,’ she chuckled.
I should bloody think so. She has a pool, doesn’t she? And that downstairs office would make an awesome playroom. Wendy House in the bay window. Little kitchenette. And one of those motorised kid cars.
Her face relaxed to the extent that she didn’t look like Claudia anymore. She wasn’t in business mode – she wasn’t that tight-suited pointy-nosed queaf who’d order me about, delegating all the shit jobs, refusing my pay rise, calling me Sweetpea. She was just Claudia – ‘Claudie’ as Ron called her.
‘I like the idea of her being spoiled,’ I said.
‘Oh she will be. I promise I’ll do whatever I can for her, anything. Oh Rhiannon, I can’t stop smiling! Do you need somewhere to live, both of you? Craig’s parents aren’t going to want you living with them once they find out.’
‘We’re okay for the time being. Thanks.’
‘What about AJ? Does he know?’
‘Yes, he knows. And he doesn’t want anything to do with us. Probably why he’s staying away.’
LIAR.
Claudia frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound like the AJ I know.’
I shrugged. ‘He didn’t want me telling you cos he knew you’d contact him and get him to come back. Please – follow my lead on this one. Leave him out of it. And I don’t want his mum and stepdad knowing either.’
‘But they have rights. Let me call them, they can get through to him—’
‘No, I don’t want that.’
‘But—’
‘Do you want to be her godmother or not? Because if you’re going to start interfering with my wishes—’
‘I won’t say a word, I won’t interfere at all, I promise you. This is your baby and whatever you say goes.’
‘I’ve got to know I can trust you, Claudia. And if I can, you can see her as often as you want. She can be a part of your life.’
She nodded sharply. ‘I hear you, Rhiannon. You call the shots.’
‘Yes, I do.’
Wednesday, 31st October – 25 weeks, 3 days
1.‘Warren’ in ASDA who said ‘Need a bag, Madam?’ while eye-browsing my tits. Don’t you eyebrows ME, Pig Features, I’ll check YOU out.
2.People who use the word ‘lovely’ as a term of endearment. ‘Hello lovely. Hope you’re okay, lovely.’ When did that become a thing? I’m going to start calling people by adjectives. ‘Thanks, Sleeveless. Well done, Hideous. Watch out, Agreeable, that piano looks unsafe… ’
3.Those smug California tourist board adverts.
So there’s a cauliflower in my womb and a bee in my bonnet.
It’s my mum’s anniversary today. I can see the date coming at me when October begins every year – like an oil slick in the road, and every October thirtieth I have to relive the last time I spoke to her, the last time she spoke to me, the sound of her death rattle as I filled my cup at the cooler.
Pregnancy hormones aren’t helping either. Nor is my ever keen sense of loneliness. It’s like all of these things are rolled up together in one hideously spiky little ball and it keeps bouncing around inside my head. Wall to wall, floor to ceiling. Bounce, bounce, bounce it goes. Never letting up.
Today it doesn’t feel so good to be in an empty house where there’s no noise at all, not even Tink’s bell as she scuttles around sniffing out crumbs and squeaking her toys. There’s no Jim fiddling with a model boat on the kitchen table. No Elaine chopping me up fruit for snacks or telling me endless facts about what different cravings mean or asking if I’ve got haemorrhoids yet. There’s no sound at all except the sea outside whipping up into a storm.
Monks Bay is particularly anxious about storms. There was one a few years ago that took out the power and claimed some clifftop caravans. Storm Alice, it was called. Killed three people. It’s a strange fact actually that storms named after women claim more lives because nobody takes them seriously. Some boffin in America did some research and apparently you’re scientifically more prone to being killed by a Hurricane Rhiannon than you are by a Hurricane Craig. From an early age girls are told to stay away from strange men. Nobody warns boys about women like me.
Gender bias once again working in my favour.
I woke up thinking about Mum. That final day at the hospice was the nearest I’ve come to an out-of-body experience. Even though our relationship had soured over the eight years since Priory Gardens, to lose your mother is to be partially unanchored to the Earth. Like there had always been these ropes fixing me in place – Mum and Dad. When Mum went, one of the ropes snapped. When Dad went, I didn’t feel like I was anchored anywhere. Except perhaps to Craig.
I walked into that hospice knowing what I was going to see but still not prepared for it. I saw the other women through the windows of the communal lounge, seated in big armchairs having their chemo. Silk scarves and pale yellow faces; rows of wilting tulips. Mum’s room stank of lavender and hand gel. Dad was mopping her dry lips with a wet cotton bud. Her face was so dry and small I could have taken it in my fist and ground her to dust.
‘What does dying feel like, Mum?’
‘Go away, Rhiannon.’
‘Tell me how it feels. Are you in pain?’
‘Leave me.’
‘Take me with you.’
‘No. You stay. Suffer with them.’
Seren said I brought Mum’s cancer on. She said my violent temper and behaviour at school made her life a misery – teachers said I was acting out and that I needed time to adjust. Then came the lying, and the stealing, and the setting fire to things. Cutting her hair. Stabbing her leg with the kitchen scissors. Dad was the only one who understood me.
‘You talk about Dad like he’s some kind of god and he’s not – he’s a psychopath. Like you.’
I’d hate me too if I was Seren. I called her anyway.
It was the decent thing to do on such a day, and th
ough my mask has slipped of late I do sometimes still try to be a decent person.
‘Hello?’
‘It’s me.’
There was a delay on the line, as usual. ‘Rhiannon? Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. How are you?’
Another delay, about ten seconds. ‘Yes, I’m fine. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. I wanted to say Hi. It being The Day and all.’
‘Yeah, I saw it on the calendar. I would have called you.’
‘Liar.’
‘Rhiannon? Is everything all right?’
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me.
‘Rhiannon.’
‘Everything’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’m extra hormonal today, that’s all.’
‘How are things with the baby?’
‘My ribs ache. And I’ve got this beach ball in my stomach. And my tits are sore and I can’t lie on my front anymore.’
‘But the baby’s all right?’
‘Yes, the baby’s all right.’
The longest delay yet. She hadn’t heard me. Or maybe that message hadn’t reached her.
‘Have you done any antenatal classes? I found them very useful when I was having Mabli.’
‘Yes.’
‘You know they say blueberries are great for pregnant women too. I ate a bunch of them when I was expecting Ash.’
Oh good the blueberry lecture again. I so enjoyed it the first eight times.
‘How’s Craig?’
The question fell on me like a shout. Did she know?
‘He’s fine.’
‘Cody might have some building work for him when we move into the new place. He could use someone with Craig’s expertise. Is he around to have a quick word about it?’
‘Not at the moment, no. When do you move to Vermont?’
‘Less than a week now. But the new place needs quite a bit done to it. We were going to ask you both over for Thanksgiving. We’ll be settled in by then. Cody and Craig can do the boring man stuff and we can spend some time together. We’d pay for your flights of course.’
‘I’ll be in my third trimester by then. I won’t be able to fly.’
‘Of course,’ she said, her voice an octave higher.
Shit, I thought. She was trying to build bridges. She wanted to see me, see us, and she knew nothing about Craig’s arrest or the forthcoming trial, none of it. I can guarantee if she had the slightest inkling that Craig was in jail, she would know beyond a shadow that I was the one who put him there.
