‘Can’t you stay?’ I pull a face. ‘I miss you.’ Something tugs at my heart as I say this and I know I miss the person she was. Not the person she is now. This Lisa I do not know.
‘I wish I could…’ She looks wistful, and something passes between us. An undercurrent. An understanding? A flicker of what might have been if things had turned out differently.
‘Why don’t you go and have a bath while I make some lunch. It will relax you after your drive.’
‘Oh no. I couldn’t—’
‘Of course you could. I’ve got some Jo Malone bath oil and body lotion I’ve never used. We can catch up properly this afternoon.’
‘It’s tempting. Everything aches.’
‘That’s settled then.’ I stand, urging her to do the same. ‘There’s plenty of hot water so keep topping it up. Lunch won’t be ready for a couple of hours so take your time. You can get changed in the guest bedroom. There’s a spare robe on the back of the door.’
‘You might regret saying that. I could stay in there all day’ Her hands move to the small of her back as though it is sore. ‘Thanks, Kat. You do spoil me.’ She hefts herself to her feet.
‘Oh, Lisa.’ I smile warmth into my words. ‘What was it you said to me? We always get what we deserve.’
My ear presses against the bathroom door and, once I hear the water slosh, Lisa’s groan of relief as she lowers her body into the tub, I hurry into the spare room and locate her handbag amongst her discarded clothes and tip the contents out on the bed. Tissues, purse, brush, lipstick, car keys, phone. I press the button on the top of the handset and am invited to use touch ID or enter my password. Without consciously thinking I key in ‘0509’ – her birthday – Jake’s birthday – and for a second I am transported back to candle wax on paper plates, mouth crammed full of chocolate sponge with too-sweet-icing, the pass-the-parcel Lisa would always win.
Perching on the bed I open up Lisa’s emails and type ‘Stella’ in the search bar. She’d said Stella sends her updates of Gabrielle and surely she wouldn’t have deleted those. No results are found. My stomach sinks a little lower and I realise I’d still been holding on to a kernel of hope that I am wrong. I open up the photos and type baby in the search bar. The image springs up that Lisa first showed us. The baby in the pink polka dot sleepsuit, starfishing in her cot and there is not a smidgen of doubt in my mind she is the same baby as in the frame upstairs. Next, I scroll through her texts. Names I don’t recognise. A name I do. Aaron. I open the message.
Lisa had texted:
I have to tell Kat. I can’t do this any more.
You can’t! Not now.
Aaron’s reply.
I can’t live with myself.
You haven’t told the truth in 10 years. Don’t fucking start now. You’ll ruin everything.
What has Lisa been lying about since Jake died? I know what she is lying about now: pretending to be pregnant. Her and Aaron must be in it together. How they must have laughed as I blindly handed money over each month, forking out for extras, never questioning what it was for. Or has Aaron forced her somehow? Blackmailed her? What has she been keeping a secret? I think back to these past few months. The times when Lisa has let her guard down and we have reminisced over Desperate Housewives and Curly Wurlys. Bacardi Breezers and Snow Patrol. I can’t believe all this is borne of spite. If I ask her why, she’s not likely to tell me, and I need to know. I need to know what was worth destroying me over, because the bottom has dropped out of my world and destroyed is what I feel. I must keep it together. I don’t have much time.
I rattle off a text to Aaron.
I need to see you!
I pace as I wait, tallying the things that could go wrong. Aaron could refuse, if he even gets the texts at all. He could be at work. Not have his phone. There’s a rigidity spreading through me, frustration turning my muscles to stone.
The minutes seem endless but at last the phone vibrates in my hand.
We can’t be seen together.
I’m not in Farncaster. Come here.
I add my address.
The handset stays silent and dark. I think I’ve gone too far, but I can still claw it back, if he’s desperate to keep Lisa quiet. I send another text.
I’m barely holding it together. I’m scared I’m going to crack. Confess.
From the bathroom next door I hear the running of taps as Lisa tops the water up. My heart pounds. I’m hot. Mouth dry. But at last a message comes through.
OK.
I hurry into my en suite and turn on the tap and, tipping out our toothbrushes, I fill a glass with water before removing Lisa’s SIM card. I drop it into the glass and slowly swill it around before fishing it out, shaking off the droplets of water before patting it with a towel. Minutes later it feels dry. It looks normal. I slide it back inside the phone, press the power button and smile before I drop the handset back into Lisa’s bag.
Aaron should be here in an hour.
And so it begins.
40
Now
It is lunchtime when Lisa returns to the kitchen, skin bath-pink and clammy, hair damp. I close my laptop lid. I have learned all I need to know.
There’s a quiche warming in the oven and I pull it out and slice it, turning my head away from the smell of cheese and onion. I couldn’t possibly eat. The pastry crumbles as I lift quarters onto plates, drizzle olive oil over rocket.
‘I can’t help thinking about the time we ran into Aaron at the hospital,’ I say to Lisa as we begin our game, if that’s what this is to be.
‘What do you want to think about him for?’
‘It must be hard for you, with him working in the hospital too.’
‘He’s only a cleaner.’ Lisa’s voice changes pitch. She’s uncomfortable. ‘Our paths never really cross.’
I change my tack. Wanting to throw her off guard.
‘I love the Eva Longoria perfume you bought me. You’re too kind.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She smiles. Relieved at the change of subject.
‘It’s funny, isn’t it? Stella chose the name Gabrielle for her baby? That was Eva’s character’s name, wasn’t it?’ I spear rocket with my fork but I’m watching her reaction from under my lashes. The way she swallows hard. Reaches for her glass and gulps water as though something is stuck in her throat. The truth, perhaps?
‘Was it?’ Lisa’s tone is too bright. Too high. But I know her so well I can detect the tremble. Notice the blush that wraps itself around her neck, and I imagine my fingers there in its place.
She places her knife and fork together at the side of her plate. ‘I’m sorry, Kat.’
‘Are you?’ I lean forward. Almost urging her to be honest.
‘Yes. It must have taken you ages to make this lunch. I get really full quickly now he’s growing.’
Her hand strokes her belly, and I sink back into my seat, stuffing my hands under my thighs before I give in and sweep the contents of the table onto the cold tile floor, where shards of china will lay strewn amongst the pieces of my broken heart.
‘I must go.’ Lisa looks uncomfortable.
‘But there’s a lemon meringue in the oven.’
‘Sorry.’ She stands.
I expected nothing less.
‘So you’ll transfer the extra money?’ She asks for confirmation, and I nod, not trusting my voice not to crack if I speak. ‘I’ll see you soon, Kat.’
She has no idea how soon.
I’ve scraped the leftover salad into the bin and crumbled the pastry onto the bird table when the doorbell rings and, before I even stride down the hallway, see the shadow in the opaque glass, I know who it is. Lisa. I couldn’t just let her leave, could I?
‘That was quick?’ My voice trembles with nerves. With adrenaline. With excitement.
‘My car won’t start.’
‘Oh no.’ I feign surprise, and step backwards, letting her come inside, linking my hands behind my back. While Lisa was in the bath I had scrubbed at my skin with a nailbrush until my fingers were pink and raw but I can still detect the faint whiff of oil. A tinge of black under my fingernails. Lisa was right all those years ago. It’s amazing what you can learn on YouTube.