‘It’s not good enough, Lisa. I’ve been looking at the National Institute for Health and Care Excellence online. You really should have had the scan by now.’
‘Ideally, yes. My midwife is cross but she’s been keeping an extra eye on me. If there isn’t a sonographer available what can they do? You know how overstretched the NHS is. I get people shouting at me almost daily for things that aren’t my fault.’
‘I guess. I read some women choose not to have a scan. I wonder why?’
‘God knows. I definitely can’t wait for mine. A chance to see your baby.’ Lisa smiles as she looks at me. ‘Do you want to know the sex?’
‘I’m not sure.’ I rest my spoon on the side of my bowl. ‘With Mai and Dewei we knew, of course, and it helped with the nursery, the clothes.’ I try not to think of the folded sleep suits they would never wear. ‘But this time it might be nice to have a surprise. What do you think?’
Lisa studies me for a second before answering. ‘I think you should have a surprise, Kat.’
I am puzzled by her tone for a moment until she slides a gift-wrapped box towards me.
‘What’s this?’ I turn it over in my hands as though it might reveal itself to me.
‘Open it.’
I tear off the candy-striped paper and laugh. It’s a bottle of Eva perfume.
‘Eva Longoria finally got her arse into gear.’ Lisa smiles as I spray my wrists.
‘You remembered,’ I say as I inhale jasmine and lily of the valley.
Lisa looks me straight in the eye. ‘I remember everything.’
Later, I have cleared away the lunch things and am on the sofa, my feet tucked under me, flicking through a copy of Mother and Baby I bought. I have sent Lisa for a lie-down. She looked tired and pinched.
The phone trills, and I hurry to the hallway and lift the receiver before it can wake Lisa. I lift it to my ear and hear the static coming down the line. ‘Hello?’ It’s a question, not a greeting, and the air feels charged with tension and, all of a sudden, I feel angry, not afraid. Whoever is wasting my time, let’s see how they like it. I stay on the line, silent, waiting for them to get bored. To hang up. But minutes tick by and I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Lisa will be down soon and now this seems childish. Fruitless. I slam the handset down but before I can return to the lounge, a shadow falls. There’s a figure outside the frosted glass of the front door. I wait for the knock; instead, light illuminates the hall once more and there’s scuffling, as though someone is crawling around the porch. I tiptoe into the lounge. Part the slats of the blind with my thumb and forefinger. The afternoon is bright. Quiet. There’s no one there. No sound of a vehicle.
I go back to the front door and press my ear against it. There’s nothing to be heard but birdsong. I fling open the door and a breeze washes over me. There’s no one on the street. No mysterious figure, and I chide myself for my overactive imagination.
But that’s before I look down.
Before I see it.
On the doorstep, is a wreath, a green ribbon stretched across the centre. ‘RIP’ written in blood red letters.
30
Now
Sunday sunshine streams through the window but it doesn’t lighten my mood. I barely slept last night. The wreath and the phone calls had set me on edge, and even with Lisa here, without Nick the house seemed too cold. Too empty. Yesterday evening I went over to Clare’s to see if she had noticed anyone hanging around the house, but she wasn’t at home. I rang Nick to talk things through, but it had gone straight to voicemail, and in bed I had felt myself growing more and more agitated as I’d tossed and turned. The ‘RIP’ in blood red letters was etched onto my mind. I lay staring at the ceiling as the house creaked and settled around me, imagining each groan of the floorboard was someone creeping up the stairs. RIP. It was only when I slipped in my earbuds and played the recording of the baby’s heart I began to relax.
My legs feel heavy as I climb out of bed this morning. I trudge over to the door and lift my fleecy dressing gown from its hook. It may be spring but the mornings are still chilly.
Lisa is already in the kitchen, nibbling on toast.
‘Did you find everything you need?’ The breakfast bar is bare save Lisa’s plate, and I pull open the cupboard and lift out jars of local honey, apricot jam and marmite.
‘Trying to make me throw up?’
‘You still have morning sickness? Have you mentioned it to your midwife?’ According to my book the nausea should have passed and she should be full of energy. She looks as exhausted as I feel.
‘She said some women have it throughout. I’m just unlucky, I think.’
‘But if you’re not getting enough nutrients—’
‘I’m hardly wasting away.’ Lisa rubs her stomach. ‘Anyway, you don’t look the picture of health yourself this morning.’
I perch onto a stool next to Lisa and pluck a piece of toast from the rack. ‘I didn’t sleep well. That wreath—’
‘You’re not still thinking about that? It probably got delivered to the wrong address.’
‘But why didn’t the person who delivered it knock on the door? It seems odd to just leave it on the step, don’t you think?’
‘Not really. It’s not like delivering a bouquet of red roses, is it? Something happy? Where there’s a wreath, there’s a loss and that makes people uncomfortable.’
‘What if it was meant for me?’
‘Why would it be?’ Lisa asks.
‘Punishment?’
‘For what?’ I can feel Lisa’s eyes on me but I can’t look at her. ‘For Jake?’
I touch the cross around my neck. ‘Someone is out to get me, I know.’ Paranoia is as thick as the strawberry jam I spread on my toast. It looks like blood. I push it away.
‘Lis.’ I hate myself for asking. ‘What was in your bag yesterday you didn’t want me to see?’ I can’t help analysing her panic as I’d offered to unpack.
‘The perfume. For fuck’s sake, Kat. What are you implying?’
‘Nothing. Sorry. It’s just that it’s almost the anniversary.’ I always struggle at this time of year but somehow this year is worse.
Ten years.
‘Don’t you think I don’t know when the fucking anniversary is?’ Lisa’s eyes are blazing.
‘Sorry, I—’
‘So you bloody should be.’
‘Jake wouldn’t want us to—’
‘Don’t you think I know what Jake would and wouldn’t have wanted? He was my brother, Kat.’
‘I know. Sorry. Please can we forget this? Move on?’
Lisa is silent. Anger still radiating from her like heat.
‘Lisa. Forgive me?’
‘’Course.’ We lean forward and have an awkward one-armed hug. With forgiveness should come peace but the wreath by the back door seems to taunt us. RIP. There isn’t always peace for the ones left behind, is there?
‘Are you sure you won’t be bored?’ I say to Lisa, putting the car in reverse and backing off the drive, past Lisa’s Fiat 500. I’m glad to see it’s back on the road after the money I gave her for repairs. The thought of anyone watching me rehearse makes me feel faint. Goodness knows how I’ll feel when I’m on stage in front of an audience.
‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she says, and I believe her. At school she’d always sit cross-legged on the hall floor as I practised, eyes following my every move, clapping, even when I forgot my lines.
I drive slowly past Clare’s house looking for a sign she is awake. I want to ask her if she saw who delivered the wreath yesterday. Her bedroom curtains are still drawn and the post is still sticking out of her letterbox. Ada must be letting her have a lie-in.