‘What’s going on with you lately?’ Nick had asked, the mattress dipping as he curled himself around me.
You mustn’t tell, Kat.
My lips were pinned together as I turned to the wall.
‘Clare hasn’t seen anyone lurking around,’ Nick says now, as though that makes everything okay.
‘You’ve been talking to Clare about me? When?’ Yet again I have a cold feeling writhing around inside of me and I rub my arms as though I can warm myself.
‘I don’t have time for this.’ Nick picks up his briefcase.
‘You don’t have time for me.’ The words scorch my tongue.
As I watch him leave I want to call him back. Tell him I am sorry. I take a step forward but the outside world rushes in at me and, in my peripheral vision, I see movement. I twist my head but it’s only the wind battering the cherry tree. Nick climbs into his car, but before I can catch his attention, there’s a sound to my right. I jump. It’s only an empty can of lager clanking across our driveway. Hurriedly, I slam the door closed and lean against it.
My mobile vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out. My heart sinks a little when I see it is Tamara.
‘Morning, Tam.’
She skips the pleasantries altogether. ‘You missed another rehearsal yesterday afternoon, Kat. What’s going on?’
‘Sorry.’ I don’t explain I was fully intending on coming, but I thought I saw someone crouching by the side of my car, and I had shrugged off my coat, slipped off my shoes and gone for a lie-down instead.
‘We open soon. We’ve sold tickets already.’
‘I know. I’ll be ready. I will.’ But we both know I won’t be. I’m constantly forgetting the words. The dance steps. I can’t seem to concentrate.
‘You’re going to die on stage if you’re not careful. I could take over—’
‘No,’ I bite, sharper than intended.
‘I only want what’s best for the play.’ I hear the desperation in her voice, and I feel a stab of guilt. I’ve grown quite fond of her these past few months and we’ve become friends, of sorts. Her life revolves around the company, and I should make more effort. I’m not being fair.
‘I’ll be at the next rehearsal. I promise. We can talk everything through properly then. Sorry, got to go.’
I cut the call. I’ve got hours before I have to leave to meet Lisa. I look out of the window. The street is quiet. Silent. Inside, the clock ticks. ‘Die on stage.’ It’s a throwaway comment. Just a word. I am anxious and tense as I wait to see if I have another panic attack. Sometimes the fear of having one is the worst fear of all. My breathing is shallow but I think I’m okay. There’s a knocking as the washing machine starts to spin, startling me.
I stuff my feet into my shoes and open the front door. Clare is home. Her car is in the drive. My skin is tingling. I can just cross the road to Clare’s and have a coffee. Something small. Something normal.
I can do this.
I can.
‘You don’t look fine.’ Clare starts to pass me a mug, but she glances at my shaking hands and places it on the side table instead.
‘I am.’ Tucking my legs under me, I make myself as small as possible waiting for my pulse to slow.
Ada is building a tower on the rug in front of the fireplace. ‘Look!’ She widens her big blue eyes as she places another brick on the top.
‘She’s growing so quickly,’ I say feeling calmer now. I reach forward for a custard cream.
‘It will be your turn soon. How is Lisa?’
‘She’s good. It’s the scan this afternoon.’
‘You’re going?’ Clare asks.
‘Yes. It will be a relief to see everything’s okay.’
‘Are you worried?’
‘A little. It’s been tougher than I’d thought. Not being in control, I suppose.’ I don’t know where Lisa is. What she’s eating. If she’s taking her folic acid. It’s not how I imagined it would be. I place my hand across my middle, longing to feel the bubbling of a new life. Tiny kicking feet. Sharp elbows.
‘It will be worth it though. When he’s here. Or she.’
‘Yes, not that long to go really. Next week Lisa will be twenty-three weeks, and the baby’s lungs could be developed enough to survive if they were born early. Imagine that! Beanie will be the size of a large mango.’
Clare laughs.
‘Sorry, I get a bit carried away. Nick doesn’t seem interested in this stuff.’ I feel disloyal voicing my concerns, and I stuff another biscuit in my mouth as though I can force the words back in with it.
‘Men often aren’t. Akhil practically rolled his eyes every time I asked him for a foot rub or if he’d massage Aveeno into my stretch marks. You’d think he had nothing to do with the conception.’
‘And now?’ I haven’t seen him for a while.
‘He hasn’t seen Ada for ages. It’s his mum, really. She never approved of me and was disappointed Ada was a girl, her skin was too light, we gave her a Western name. Mother-in-laws.’ Clare rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t you worry though. Nick will be a great dad. You only have to look at him with Ada to know that. Did you bring the tickets? For the play?’
‘No. Was I supposed to?’
‘Last week I asked you for three. I’m bringing my parents.’
‘God, sorry.’ My mind is full of gaping holes – my memories slipping through the gaps. It’s stress, I know. ‘I’ve probably blanked it from my mind. Tamara has just rung to tell me I’m going to die on stage. I can’t say I blame her. I’m rubbish.’
‘I’m sure you’re not. It’s just her manner, isn’t it? Try to relax. You’ll be fantastic.’
‘That’s what Nick keeps saying.’
‘You’re lucky to have him.’ Clare nods as she speaks. ‘Most women would give anything to have a husband like yours.’ Her eyes glisten as she watches Ada’s tower wobble precariously. One false move and it will tumble to the ground.
Clare’s mobile phone lights up. She practically dives on her handset and turns it over but not before I’ve seen the name on the display.
Lisa Sullivan
‘Why is Lisa texting you?’ They’d only met once at the party, I’d thought.
‘Oh. I…’ Clare looks away before she meets my eye again. ‘We’ve just been comparing pregnancy notes. Exchanging experiences. I hope you don’t mind?’ Her cheeks are patched red.
It brings it home to me, once more, that no matter how many books I read, I will never fully understand how it feels to have a life growing inside me – acid reflux, swollen ankles, morning sickness – and all at once I want to weep into my coffee.
27
Now
Seeing Richard is the last thing I want to do but there’s some charity paperwork that needs signing. It’s on my way to Farncaster, and I’ve time before the scan. Normally I avoid seeing Richard on my own. The conversation is always strained and awkward.
‘Can I leave this with you?’ I ask the receptionist but the phone rings and, as she picks up the receiver, she gestures at me to go upstairs.
I tap on the door and push it open. Richard’s office is stifling, as always. Aftershave thick in the air.
‘Morning.’ I keep my voice bright and breezy, hoping he doesn’t realise I’m holding the envelope to my chest as though it’s a shield.
‘Kat.’ Something flashes across his face, and I can’t tell if it’s irritation or panic as he stuffs papers into his drawer before slamming it shut. I wonder if they are to do with Nick’s business and I feel a shift of discomfort that I don’t fully know what’s going on, how bad it is, and although I had intended to leave, I pull out a chair and sit.
‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’ Although, by the tone in his voice, Richard doesn’t think it’s a pleasure any more than I do.
‘I’ve brought the proposal for the sponsorship. Could you look it over, please?’
‘Now? I’m very busy.’ There’s a coldness to his voice that unnerves me and I suppress the urge to bite it was his idea to form the charity. For his grandma. At the very least, he could take more of an interest; he always acts as though it’s such a chore, or perhaps it is only me he finds tiresome.
‘I can leave it with you.’
‘I wanted to talk to you anyway. About Lisa.’ He steeples his fingers, his expression unreadable.