‘Alice, you’re back?’ Charlotte asks. She’s visiting later than normal this evening.
I watch Alice’s face change in an instant; Alice the professional is back. She turns toward Charlotte, and all I can see now is the back of Alice’s head as she walks towards the older woman.
‘Charlotte, hi, yes, sorry. I’ve been off with a really terrible migraine, I’m afraid.’
Charlotte’s hair falls to the side as she tilts her head slightly, listening to Alice.
‘Doing much better now though,’ Alice continues, ‘so I thought I’d just pop in quickly, see how everyone is, then I’ll be back for my shift tomorrow morning.’
Alice’s voice is clipped, efficient. I hear a small warning to Charlotte not to ask questions.
Charlotte’s eyes narrow slightly. I don’t think she believes Alice, but she seems to have picked up on the warning in Alice’s voice; she knows not to pry.
‘Well, make sure you don’t overstretch yourself, Alice. I was supposed to leave a little while ago, actually, but the little one’s been so busy tonight. I’ve just been standing there feeling her kick. Honestly, it’s amazing how much energy she has. Come and have a feel.’
Alice follows behind Charlotte to Cassie’s bedside but she keeps her hands laced behind her back, away from Cassie’s baby. I know she means well, but I wish Charlotte would leave Alice alone.
‘Actually, Charlotte, I’m really not planning on staying long. I … I’m still not really myself, so I think …’
Charlotte stares at Alice. Her eyes narrow again, like Alice is a puzzle she’s trying to work out. Then she looks down at her hands, resting on the top of Cassie’s bed, and I think Charlotte knows there’s something else wrong. Maybe like me she’s seen the new absence in Alice, the loss in her.
Charlotte nods and looks up at Alice, tries a small reassuring smile, and says, ‘Of course, Alice, I understand. You should go home and get some rest. Get that husband of yours to make you supper.’
Alice nods, and raises a small but empty smile to Charlotte.
‘You’re going to stay for a bit longer?’ she asks Charlotte. ‘I’ll let Paula know you’re here.’
Charlotte nods. ‘I bought that cream I was telling you about, the one that helps skin stretch? I think I’ll just pop some on her now and then I’ll head home as well.’
‘Well, I’ll see you at some point tomorrow,’ Alice says. She casts a final expert glance over Cassie, her eyes resting on her bump for just a second. Her smile fades as soon as she turns away from them. She closes the curtains most of the way around them but she wants to get away quickly now and she doesn’t pause to fully close the gap. She only looks up at me quickly to smile goodnight.
My heart cracks for her; her footsteps sound so lonely as she walks away.
I try and become interested in what Charlotte’s doing, to distract myself from the terrifying free fall of Alice’s loss. I watch as she takes off her coat and lays it carefully on the visitor’s chair. From her handbag she takes out a white tub, and starts picking at the seal until the lid finally releases with a little sigh. She pulls the sheets carefully off Cassie, bunching them around her ankles. Cassie’s legs look thin, the sort of thinness old people have when their muscles wither like overripe fruit. Charlotte lifts her nightdress, exposing Cassie’s swollen stomach. I haven’t seen the bump like this for a while; Cassie’s tummy button has popped out like a small, juicy grape. Her stomach is impressive, dwarfing Cassie’s form. It looks bigger next to her shrinking muscles, as though it has its own presence, as if the baby’s here already, which in a way, I suppose it is.
Charlotte doesn’t sit in the visitor’s chair. She stands above Cassie as she dips her hand into the jar and pulls out a large handful of white cream. She warms it in her hands before she starts smearing it on Cassie’s stomach in fluid, round motions, as if icing a cake. She keeps her eyes fixed on her work as she looks down at her hands and Cassie’s stomach, both of which are now covered in cream. She starts muttering, her voice taut, lower than I’ve heard it before.
‘Oh, my little Freya,’ she says, smiling down at Cassie’s bump. But then her hands stop moving and for a brief moment they become tense. ‘I want you to know your daddy never wanted any of this to happen.’ She looks up briefly at Cassie’s face, and the warmth in her voice cools to a hiss. ‘I tried to warn her.’ And then she starts moving her hands again in small circles, Cassie’s stomach as innocent as a shelled boiled egg, white and glistening with the cream.
21
Cassie
Jack, handsome in his tuxedo, a dark-red silk scarf splashed over his shoulders, opens the taxi door for Cassie and then, with a flourish of his hand, offers Charlotte the passenger seat. As Jack lowers himself next to Cassie, Cassie sees Charlotte smiling at her son in the wing mirror, proud of the fun, chivalrous man she’s raised.
This year, the theme of the Clarks’ annual New Year’s Party is ‘The Roaring Twenties’. Cassie had forgotten to do anything about an outfit, so now she’s wearing a strange assortment of clothes that never should be worn together: a black velvet dress she bought at a second-hand shop ten years ago; red, satin gloves from Charlotte; and her wax jacket in case it’s still raining when they walk home later. The synthetic material of her dress lies scratchily against her skin, and she can feel her tights already slipping down her hips, making an uncomfortable web of fabric between her thighs. She wishes for the hundredth time that she hadn’t agreed to go to the party, that she could stay at home under a blanket, warm and safe with Maisie. But she’d promised Jack in a weak moment that she’d go so here she was. Christmas had been a slog. Guilt had turned Jack into a cheesy sitcom version of himself. He’d been cloying for weeks, acting like he couldn’t do enough for her. He’d bought her an expensive red coat for Christmas they couldn’t afford and she hadn’t really liked. He’d cleaned the house and tried to give her massages. He’d gotten her to pose for photos that he posted to Facebook, and typed ‘beautiful’ next to them. Judging from the comments, no one seemed to have noticed how much effort Cassie had put into holding up her smile. People only see what they want.
Cassie doesn’t know this version of Jack. Is this his way of covering his back, so, if their marriage dissolves, the world will believe he did everything he could to make it work? Cassie doesn’t know any more. She has no idea what’s going on behind those amber eyes, what he’s capable of.
In the back of the taxi, Cassie’s phone buzzes in the pocket of her wax jacket. She still hasn’t got round to changing her number. She looks at the message and sees the first line reads ‘Happy New’.