She’d been telling me a story about a new boy band I hadn’t heard of who have just been caught in the press with fifty-pound notes rolled up their nostrils, hoovering up cocaine.
‘Anyway, looks like we’re going to have to drop them. I feel a bit sorry for them really. It’s all over before it even began. Too much too young. I mean, imagine if we’d had a million quid when we were twenty?’
I picture us when we met at Bristol University, me in my impersonation Doc Martens, dark eyeliner round my eyes, rarely smiling to hide the gap in my teeth, trying to pretend I wasn’t giddy with freedom, and Jess next to me in the tie-dye outfits she’d picked up in Thailand, a roll-up permanently at her lips. She hated her halls so she moved into my room. We slept top to tail in my single bed for months. Back then, we’d try and picture what we would be like when we were married women with careers, families and now, almost twenty years on, we try and remember what we were like then.
Neither of us says anything for a moment. Jess carries on chopping and I take oil and vinegar out of the cupboard to make a salad dressing. Jess finishes chopping the cucumber and sits back with her wine cupped in her hands, her long legs crossed.
‘So how’re things at Kate’s? How’s Frank?’
‘He’s just the same. I get so nervous the doctor I was telling you about will get the PVS diagnosis he’s after and that’ll be it for Frank. Then it’ll never be about rehabilitation for him, just management. He’s only just turned fifty for god’s sake, so young to have had such a massive stroke, and although it’s unrealistic to expect a full recovery, I don’t think it’s crazy to think he could get some quality of life back. Otherwise he could have another thirty years just staring at the ceiling.’
‘Jesus.’ Jess picks up the bottle of red and waves it at me; I shake my head and pour myself another fizzy water.
‘We’ve got a minor celebrity on the ward at the moment actually.’ It feels good to have a story Jess will appreciate for once.
‘Oh yeah?’ Jess doesn’t look up as she pours herself another glass of wine.
I feel hot with guilt suddenly. Cassie isn’t a ‘good story’; she’s a patient. I’d be livid if I heard someone else talking about Cassie like that. I remind myself that Mary tells Pat everything, and besides, Jess is, most of the time, an expert keeper of secrets. She has to be in her job.
‘It’s that woman from the Juice-C advert.’
Jess looks blank for just a second before she says, ‘Oh god, not “There’s the sun” girl?’
I nod. ‘Strange, isn’t it?’ I tell her about the hit and run, about Cassie, Charlotte and Jack. I don’t mention the baby; that would be a breach too far.
‘What are her mates like?’ Jess asks, but her phone buzzes on the table. She expertly starts pecking away at the screen with her forefinger, immediately disinterested. But it’s good timing; for once I’m glad her phone’s distracted her and I don’t have to answer her question.
I wish I knew some of Cassie’s friends. I imagine them as bohemian creative types: people who probably lived abroad, maybe Italy for a while; people who practise mindfulness and have visited every theatre in London. I’d like to meet some of them; they’d reassure me that Cassie is more like them, not like the Disney-style character from the advert.
Jess keeps tapping away at her phone before she waggles the screen towards me. She’s already found out Cassie’s full name from the advert credits and found Cassie’s account on Facebook. The photo is the one from Christmas, the close-up of Cassie in black and white decorating the tree. I feel another shameful twist of jealousy. Without doing anything, and despite everything, Cassie seems to have a knack of making me envious. To neutralise the feeling I say, ‘Beautiful, isn’t she?’
Jess turns the camera back towards herself. She wrinkles her nose as she looks at the picture. ‘Yeah, but she doesn’t look particularly happy if you ask me. I practically work in the business of fake smiles and that –’ she jabs her finger at her phone, and I wish she wouldn’t; it seems unkind, disrespectful somehow ‘– that is a fake smile.’
I don’t look at Jess. Instead I turn away and start shaking the salad bottle hard. I hear Jonny’s voice, close, as if he was here in my kitchen, whispering in my ear. ‘She was scared.’
Jess, thank god, drops her phone back on the table. She’s finished for now.
‘So what else is going on?’ she asks.
I stop shaking the dressing. I want to tell someone. I want to tell Jess and, after all, I’ve been good not telling Jess about Cassie’s baby, but I can tell her about my own; that’s my choice. I put the dressing down on the table and bend my knees so I’m level with Jess. She looks slightly startled as I take her hand.
‘I’ve got some news actually.’
She knows immediately, but even Jess isn’t quick enough to hide the frown, the concern that flashes across her face. We stand as she pulls me into a hug that lasts a bit too long.
‘Oh, Ali!’ she says, over my shoulder. ‘That’s great!’
But I feel like I’m being consoled, not congratulated. I regret telling her immediately; the news curdles in my throat like a bad joke. Jess knows everything, of course, about all of my miscarriages. I feel I need to prove to her that I’m calm about it, that I know I’m still a long way from being a mother.
‘I’m only about three weeks though. You’re the first to know.’
‘Are you going to tell David?’ she asks. Her phone buzzes again but she ignores it this time, keeps holding my hands, trying to gauge if I am genuinely OK.
I feel my face flush and think of Cassie not telling Jack. I think how brave, how loving she was to protect him. I want to do the same for David; he doesn’t need to go through it all again. I shake my head at Jess. ‘No, not yet. In a few weeks probably.’ I shrug, and meet her gaze. ‘I’m OK though, and I promise I’ll let you know if anything changes.’
We both turn towards the door; we can hear David and Tim laughing, about to come into the kitchen. Jess kisses me quickly on the cheek and I turn away from the kitchen door, busying myself finding the right tools to serve the lasagne, while I compose my face.
David and Tim burst into the kitchen. They’re too full of their own conversation to notice my delicate news hanging in the air. David opens another bottle of wine and David and Tim talk over each other as they explain a breakthrough they’ve just had with the building design. I serve up the lasagne with David, and as we all sit down, I’m breathing steadier again because I know, despite all the fear, there’s still a chance we might have a child, and I feel in my chest that old, familiar bud of hope beginning to bloom.
11
Frank