She walked straight past me. It was more devastating than any awkward small talk could ever have been. However much I tried to persuade myself that she might have been rude for all sorts of other personal reasons, I suspected that the rumour was out already. It never took long.
One of the teaching assistants at New Hall Prep, who had two children at the school, might have been the weak link between school protocol and parent gossip; or the school receptionist’s sister might clean Charlotte’s house; or the duty officer at the police station might be sleeping with the school receptionist’s sister. Who knew how one indiscreet moment could lead to wildfire. ‘Don’t tell anyone, but...’
My adrenalin levels had spiked and my downcast mood was momentarily flung aside as I concocted creative retorts to embarrass her with in the playground and heartfelt emails to make her feel bad. Deep down, I knew it was futile to engage with the woman on any level. She was not renowned for her incisiveness and she had been looking for a reason to snub me ever since Charlotte’s first fight with Rosie, which she blamed Rosie for, of course. Nevertheless, I now wished we could go back to how it had been before between us, when I would politely endure her inane, barbed chatter, and have a laugh with Peter about it afterwards.
‘Cuppa?’ I asked Mum.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said, rising from the chair, which I gratefully sat down on.
‘So, what’ve you got tonight, you two?’
Neither of them answered me.
‘Hello? What homework do you have?’
‘Place value,’ Noah said, arcing his pencil along a number line.
Rosie ignored me completely. ‘Granny Helen, will you read my fable through?’
‘A fable?’ I said, trying to ignore the fact that she was ignoring me. ‘That sounds interesting. Can I read it?’
I stood up and moved behind Rosie’s chair to peer over her shoulder. Rosie covered her work with her hand and said, ‘I want Granny Helen to read it.’
‘I’ll get supper on,’ I replied, hurt, but trying to hide it.
‘It’s okay, darling, I’ve promised them my special tuna bake.’
‘Right, everything is in order, seemingly.’
I felt rejected, superfluous. It had been awkward getting out of work early, but at least there had been the sense from Lisa that I would be missed.
Since Sunday, when Rosie had clung to me and sobbed herself inside out, I had tried hard to be nice, too hard. Our hugs had lingered, but they were laced with the unsaid. Our conversations had included laughter, but the content was inconsequential. When I kissed her goodnight, she had pulled the duvet around her ears as though protecting them from anything I had to say.
In only a few days, both children had begun to ask Granny Helen to knot their ties, to fill their water-bottles, to help with their homework, to put more ketchup on their sausage buns. The three of them had created a functioning self-sufficient unit that I didn’t feel part of. I was out of place and phony – mechanically patient and upbeat with the children – and I couldn’t wait for the next morning when I could escape from scrutiny, from the self-consciousness around Rosie, and back to work.
However, while they were busy and engaged, happily ignoring me, I thought of Rosie’s diary. Her school bag was at her feet. I picked it up.
‘Got your PE kit in here?’ I asked, half expecting her to grab the bag from me.
‘Think so,’ she replied, letting me look.
Her trainers and gym kit were scrumpled up at the bottom. The diary was not in there.
‘I’m off to have a bath.’
My heart sped as I slowly climbed the stairs.
I crept into her room. And there was her diary lying on her bed, available and ominous.
As soon as I held it, light in my hands, I remembered that it was locked with a code. I typed in as many birthdays and number combinations as I could think of. It refused to open. I could hear Noah’s voice getting louder as he approached the stairs, and then Rosie’s. Just one more guess. And another. Their feet were on the stairs. I dropped the diary and nipped out of the room.
* * *
Peter was my only safe haven. When he came home that night, late, after the children were in bed, I craved some time alone with him, away from my mother. I missed our suppers together, just the two of us, where we indulged in an analysis of the days we’d had, where I felt we put the world to rights, where he calmed me with his gentle spirit. Now, if we wanted to talk about anything intimate, we had to snatch conversations when my mother was out of the room, when she was fetching something or talking to a friend on her mobile.
‘I think they prefer Mum to me,’ I laughed, chucking some red peppers into the pan.
‘Don’t be silly.’
He stood behind me and rather half-heartedly slipped his arms around my waist, pecking me on the neck. As much I wanted to enjoy his affection, and respond accordingly, I couldn’t. I felt my shoulders rise. Getting the message, he let go and poured a large wine glass of red, right up to the brim.
‘I wish Rosie had opened up to you yesterday,’ I said cautiously.
Peter had been subdued on the day he had taken Rosie out of school for the medical examination. He had not been allowed into the consultant’s room with her. I had been desperate for details from him.
‘I told you, it didn’t feel right to ask her,’ he said defensively.
‘I know, so you said.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It wasn’t meant to mean anything.’
He slammed the fridge door closed. ‘You know when she came out of that consultant’s room, her little hands were freezing cold. She’d been standing half-naked in front of a strange doctor who must’ve asked her weird questions and made her feel bloody awful, and so, to be frank, the only thing she needed was a hug and a hot chocolate.’
‘Sorry.’
I backed off. Deep down, we knew everything was too precarious for an all-out row.
‘When I spoke to Philippa...’ I began.
He interrupted, ‘You spoke to Philippa Letwin? Why didn’t you say?’
‘I’m saying now.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Nothing much. She said we might have to go to some kind of safeguarding meeting with the police and Miranda Slater.’
‘Really, when?’
‘Not sure. But she warned me that if we put any pressure on Rosie it could majorly backfire.’
‘That’s what I was trying to tell you.’
‘I know. That’s why I told you what she said. I was agreeing with you.’
‘Oh, right, okay. Sorry.’
‘Sorry too,’ I said, abandoning the stir fry and turning to him. We both chuckled – it wasn’t the first time we had bickered over an issue that we both agreed on – and then we hugged. My cheek rested on his shoulder.
Peter pulled away enough to look down at my bump. ‘When’s your next scan?’
I counted up five months from September on my fingers. ‘January.’
‘But everything feels okay in there?’
‘Very. I never forget he’s there, but I haven’t been giving him as much thought as I should.’
‘I’m not surprised with everything that’s going on.’
‘Apparently, third babies are universally neglected.’
‘Poor bugger doesn’t stand a chance.’ Peter grinned, kissing me on the lips.
When my mother came in, we pulled apart physically, but all through supper his hug stayed with me. We were both on the same side. I guessed he was as terrified of talking to Rosie as I was. Neither of us knew how to handle her, and maybe we never had.
* * *
I knocked on the spare room door.
‘Hello?’ my mother said from behind it.
‘Mum? Can I come in?’
‘Come in, of course, darling.’
She was propped up in bed reading a tatty paperback.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Not really.’
She placed her novel down on the eiderdown, and patted a spot next to her.
I lay down with my feet crossed at the ankles. My head sank back into the down pillows and I wished I could drift away on them into the clouds.