She doesn’t answer. Just suddenly turns and hugs me. I’m nearly knocked over.
“I’m so glad to see you,” Robin says, and she looks up into my eyes in a way that no one else has for weeks. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer the door before. I didn’t know it was you.” She laughs, and I don’t know why but I’m so happy that we’re finally together that I hug her again. We uncouple and then she laughs once more. “And you’re pregnant!”
I smile. “Yeah.” And I say aloud for the first time, “I am pregnant. My second baby.”
“You mean, you have a child?” she asks.
My voice catches in my throat. “Yes, I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before. I have a little girl.”
“A little girl,” she repeats, nodding. “That’s…that’s really good. You deserve to have a little girl. I’m so happy for you—oh my God, that means I’m an auntie.” She’s gleeful and I feel guilty. Because how can you be an auntie to a child who doesn’t know you exist?
“Yep, you’re an auntie. Violet’s nearly four, and she reminds me of you.” She does. It’s the serious eyes. The compact strength. I’d never told Violet, of course, never told anyone. Just silently enjoyed it.
“How far along are you?” She gestures to my belly. It shows more on me because I’m slim. Slimmer than I should be maybe, but all I’ve tended to eat has been toast at breakfast and the odd chocolate bar. I’ve been too worried and felt too queasy and nervous to eat, and who knows how long my money will last.
It was getting to the point in time where I would’ve had to tell Jim. I wanted to get to that point too late for him to make any rash demands. I knew he thought we weren’t ready. I wouldn’t have been able to keep it secret much longer. But he took care of that.
Robin is throwing back tea and asking questions, and she’s so happy to see me that I’m stunned. She thinks this is a happy visit. I can almost reach up and touch my guilt. It hangs around my neck.
—
The adrenaline has swept away and Robin has slumped on the sofa, two hands on her mug, third cup of tea nearly drained. The questions have slowed and her eyes are droopy. She’s asked enough questions about Violet to re-create her out of clay, and she’s the first person I know to ask questions about my bump.
“Do you know what you’re having?”
“It’s too soon, but I think it’s a boy.”
She’s been silent now for a few minutes.
“How long have you lived here?” I ask.
“A few years.”
I want to ask why. Why Manchester? Why Chorlton? Why this family home that is so at odds with Robin? But I just say, “It’s really nice.”
“Where are you staying?” she asks.
“A B&B in Sale. It’s about…Oh.” I smile at my stupidity. “I was about to tell you how far away Sale was, like you didn’t know.”
Robin smiles without looking up from her mug. Her chin is getting closer to the table—she looks like she’s about to fall asleep and it’s not even lunchtime.
“So,” I say, in as cheering and encouraging a way as I can manage a few hours after being reunited with my sister and being dragged headfirst into a suicide rescue. “How about you show me around your city? I’ve not really seen much of it and you can give me the local’s tour.”
Robin looks up. “Yeah, sure. Not today though, I’m so tired. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” I don’t have any interest in seeing Manchester. I just wanted to gel myself into her life, try to make plans to buy myself time to say what I need to say, do what I need to do.
“How long have you been here?” she asks.
“Oh, not long, a few days,” I say, trying to play down how hard I’d looked for her.
She frowns. “A few days?”
“Well, a bit longer than that.” She’s still looking at me, reading my face for specifics. “I mean, I got here a couple of weeks ago.”
“Just a couple?”
“Yeah, why?” She looks skeptical.
“Oh, no real reason. It’s just that someone’s been trying to get hold of me. Like, really trying. And for a moment I hoped it might have been you. It doesn’t matter.”
Knock knock. A quick rap from the front of the house makes her jump. It’s such a normal thing that I wait for Robin to say something, or to move, but she just stares wild-eyed at me.
She whispers: “I need to go upstairs.”
“But there’s someone at the door.”
“I need to get something under the table. Just stay sitting right there, okay?” She lowers herself down off the chair, crouches and shuffles under her kitchen table. I don’t know whether to laugh or what.
Knock knock.
“Just stay still,” she whispers.
“Who is it?” I ask, trying to understand if this is a clever joke I’m too tired to understand. “Is this who’s been trying to get hold of you?”
Knock knock knock. The sounds are getting louder.
“I don’t know,” she whispers hard. “Just hang on, just be quiet, can you?” She doesn’t seem annoyed or amused, more anxious than anything.
“Are you hiding from someone?” I ask. “Do you owe money?”
“No, it’s fine. Just, shh.”
This is ridiculous. This whole thing is ridiculous. I can’t help myself—I stand up sharply and go out to the hall.
Robin scrambles after me. “It’s not safe,” she says urgently, “not in your condition.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about but it’s her house, her rules. I tuck behind her and prod her gently as she moves toward the door.
“Come on,” I say, still trying to be rallying. “This is ludicrous. There are two of us and it’s broad daylight!”
She grinds to a halt as the bangs on the door step up tempo. Who is it?
I hold Robin’s hand from behind, guide it up to the lock. She’s shaking but takes over. She unbolts it and twists the Yale lock as I reach to swipe the chain open.
ROBIN|PRESENT DAY
“Oh my God,” Sarah gasps, and she climbs backward up the stairs, sits halfway up, breathing hard and holding her stomach.
Robin breathes in, draws herself up to her full five foot and shouts, “What the fuck are you doing at my house, Rez?”
He’s staring at her. His thin, graying hair in a snaky little ponytail, his dark eyes tracing every line of her face.
The front door shakes in Robin’s hand as she holds it to steady herself, breathing hard.
Rez is breathing hard too, as he continues to study her, holding his silence like a weapon. He’s taller than Robin remembered. She’d crunched him down to rodent-sized in her memory. He’d looked smaller than this the last time she’d seen him. Almost childlike. Not that she’d allowed herself anything approaching sympathy.
He doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t say anything. Seconds pass. Someone has to make a move.
“Shall I get Sam from the flats?” Sarah says from behind Robin’s head.
A bit more of the old Robin crackles to life. “Fuck that, Sarah, I don’t need a hero. Come on, then, Rez,” Robin says, pushing her breath into her words to force them out. “You’ve been trying to get this door open for weeks, and now you’re just staring at me.”