I don’t make eye contact as I hand Elizabeth her coffee, and thankfully, there’s a knock at the door before I can answer her.
Jack’s wearing a dark-blue navy suit and tie. He’s recently shaved; a different man to the one I first met. Charlotte is behind him in jeans and a fitted stripy shirt. She holds a black coat over her forearm and has a dusty pink scarf around her neck. They’ve met Elizabeth before so we keep the introductions and pleasantries brief and Jack tells us he has to go to a client meeting in half an hour. His team has been covering him at work, but this meeting is too important for him to miss. I tell him to leave whenever he needs to; either Charlotte or I can fill him in on anything later.
Jack and Charlotte listen intently to Elizabeth, their heads cocked to the right at the same angle. Charlotte occasionally writes what Elizabeth is saying in a notebook. The gist hasn’t changed. Cassie’s just the same; the swelling around her brain has only decreased a little. The tube’s been removed and Elizabeth has put Cassie on a vigorous physiotherapy schedule. The baby’s growing well and we’re going to prepare for both a natural birth and a C-section.
‘We obviously want the baby to remain in utero for as long as possible,’ Elizabeth says, ‘but full term is unlikely. As the baby grows, it will place more stress on Cassie, but we really want to avoid the baby being born before twenty-seven weeks.’
Charlotte traces her finger down her notebook, reading aloud from her notes. Her questions are detailed, hinting at sleepless nights researching. She asks about the effect of anti-coagulants on the foetus, and if Cassie needs painkillers, how will they affect the baby? If Elizabeth is impressed with the line of questioning, she doesn’t show it; she’d never presume to be so patronising. Jack sits silently next to his mum, like her overdressed assistant, strangely listless. Something’s wrong. He scowls when his phone rings, interrupting Charlotte’s list of questions. He cancels the call, but doesn’t apologise. Probably his work. I’ve never seen his face so cloudy.
‘Oh, yes, one more thing.’ Charlotte glances at her son for confirmation. ‘We’ve decided we’ve had enough surprises and so would like to know the sex of the baby.’
Jack nods and drains his tea. He stands as Elizabeth replies.
‘We can tell you for sure when she’s sixteen weeks in a couple of weeks’ time.’
The meeting’s over quite abruptly and hands are once again held and gently pumped before Jack kisses Charlotte on the cheek.
‘See you later, Mum,’ he says, and I catch him as he whispers ‘love you’ in her ear before leaving for his meeting. Elizabeth, with a quick smile and bow of her head follows him.
Charlotte sits back as if she’s just got home to her sofa after a long day. She snaps her notebook shut, breathes out and closes her eyes briefly. There often comes a moment with relatives when they start talking without filter. Some do it to fill the silence, cover the beeps and ticks from the ward; others do it because they think we’ll look after their loved one better if we know more about them. Charlotte is neither of these. I have the sense she talks because she has to, that she needs to unburden herself.
‘You know the police have charged Jonny, don’t you?’ she says, her eyes still closed.
I nod and move my chair a little closer towards her. ‘The police said they knew each other well. Cassie and Jonny, I mean?’
Charlotte laughs, a tight laugh that suggests I don’t know the half of it. She raises a palm to her temple.
‘Oh, Cassie liked him, I think. He helped her with the jam business, drove her around, carried boxes, that sort of thing. He lived in a cottage on the farm. He was their closest neighbour. He moved from London just a few weeks after Cassie and Jack. It was good they all got on, but I always suspected it wasn’t entirely platonic from Jonny’s side. You know he was the one who got her the dog? Maisie?’
Suddenly Charlotte stops talking, she shakes her head, as if trying to shake out the thoughts that have settled there.
‘Jack said she was a rescue?’ My voice is gentle; I don’t want to spook her.
‘She is. Jonny helped Cassie get her from the same rescue centre just outside Brighton where he got his own dog. It was good of Jack to let Cassie adopt Maisie. Jack’s allergic, you see.’
Charlotte picks up her tea; it must be cold now. She takes a small sip. I can tell she’s finished talking about Jonny and Cassie. Her amber eyes flicker, like she’s rifling through her thoughts, desperate to find one that has nothing to do with either of them. My arms are resting in my lap, my hands facing towards my lower belly; I don’t realise until Charlotte’s eyes cast down to where they rest. I pull them away and am about to offer to make her a new cup of tea when she asks, ‘Are you not feeling well, Alice?’
She asks with the quiet motherly confidence of someone comfortable showing people they don’t know well that they care.
I look away from her, know if I look into her amber eyes, I won’t be able to fob her off. I don’t realise I’m smiling until it’s too late.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, Alice, but have you got some news?’
I let my smile take over my face, as I turn to look at her.
‘Oh, Alice, I thought you might be. You blinked every time Elizabeth mentioned Cassie’s baby and your hands keep going here like a reflex.’ She lifts her hands to her tummy. She leans forward towards me in her chair and pats my knee. I hold her hand briefly in both of mine.
‘What wonderful news,’ she says; her smile softens me and I feel the full weight of my joy again. ‘Is it your first?’
I nod, and as I do, a tear I didn’t know was there falls from my eye and lands with a tiny splash on the knee of my polyester uniform.
Charlotte fishes a tissue out of her sleeve and hands it to me. ‘Congratulations, Alice.’ She stands, and my lower back immediately warms as she places her hand there.
‘Oh, Charlotte, sorry, sorry.’ I wipe my eyes with the tissue. ‘It’s just because I’m still only four weeks so I haven’t told anyone yet, not even my mum or my husband. It’s just lovely to be able to tell someone.’ It’s not true, of course; Jess knows and so does Frank, but Jess made me feel guilty, as though I’d willingly made myself ill, and Frank, well, Frank can’t say anything at all. Telling someone new – someone who isn’t worried for me, who isn’t afraid to call my pregnancy ‘wonderful news’ and mean it – feels amazing.
‘I think Cassie must be a good omen,’ I say, holding Charlotte’s tissue in my hand.
‘Perhaps you’re good omens for each other,’ Charlotte says with a smile and she pats my hand before she sits down opposite me again.
‘Alice, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why haven’t you told your husband?’