Tom is on his mobile, having a brief, laughing conversation with Magda. ‘I know, I know,’ he says. ‘It’s just, after what happened, Vicky is understandably on edge.’ He laughs again. ‘Thanks, I knew you would understand.’
Slowly my pulse returns to normal and life flows back into my heavy limbs. I sit up straight, pull my hands from Amber’s and attempt a smile.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault.’ Tom pockets his phone and swaps places with Amber who goes into the kitchen to fetch me a glass of water. He puts his arms around me. ‘I should have realized how deeply this has affected you. We can leave now if you like. I’m not going to force you to stay if you’re really not comfortable.’
I shake my head. ‘No. I’m fine now, honestly. It’s passed.’
He smooths my hair back off my face. I can tell he’s relieved.
Amber moves round the table collecting plates, her tiny waist flattered by the wrap-around dress. She notices Tom watching her and her skin prickles. She glances across at Robert, who has pastry crumbs down the front of his blue shirt, and feels a combination of irritation and tenderness. She chose him and tried to mould him into the man she needed him to be. The results have been mixed; and yet she does love him … in a way. She’ll love him a lot more if he gets them out of this place. She shoots Tom a quick glance. He smiles at her and she loses her chain of thought. Vicky says something and she has to ask her to repeat it. She’s felt Tom’s eyes on her more than once this evening and the almost covert nature of his scrutiny increases her sense of connection and makes her feel almost giddy. When did this happen? She can’t remember a moment when her feelings towards him shifted, but that new feeling has cemented now, become something that she can no longer kid herself about. Her body seems to hum when he is close.
‘Can I help?’ Vicky is drunk, but in a good way, a way that makes her soft and malleable, which is a relief after that tricky moment earlier.
‘No, I’m fine,’ Amber says. ‘You relax.’
She takes in the scene; candles and crumbs, flushed faces and sparkling eyes; twinkling glasses and laughter; fond jokes at each other’s expense; shared memories; their children’s foibles. This is her status quo, her safety. Or at least it was, before Vicky let the side down. Life doesn’t feel stable any more; it feels like she’s on ice, like the hands that are helping her stay upright could do more harm than a fall. She should let herself fall and take the risk. All the same, she can’t help wondering how much she’s prepared to lose. She doesn’t have an answer to that question yet. Life is not that simple.
‘Are you cold?’ Tom says, and she realizes that she’s shivering.
Robert leans back and smiles good-naturedly at his wife. ‘Put the heating up a notch if you like, darling.’
‘Lucky me,’ she mutters, and he flushes.
She takes their dinner plates into the kitchen and sets them down on the counter, then stops, still holding the dirty cutlery, and closes her eyes in despair. She must be kinder to Robert – it’s not his fault he doesn’t bear comparison with Tom Seagrave, not his fault that she feels so trapped. Actually, she pities him. He works so hard and for what? So that they can pay an outrageous rent to a greedy landlord. Amber clenches her teeth as she scrapes wasted food into the bin. She’s ready now. Things are going to change. Silently, she repeats, I am good; I am strong; I matter.
Behind her, Vicky walks in with the remains of the tart. ‘You have to let me help. I need to move. Shall I make the coffee? I think the men could do with some.’
She means Robert, Amber’s guessing. She nods and Vicky gives her an impulsive hug.
‘I’m so grateful to you,’ Vicky mutters thickly.
‘You scared me back there,’ Amber says. ‘I thought you were going to start confessing.’
‘I wouldn’t do that. At least, not without discussing it with you first.’
Amber and I are stacking the dishwasher together; she is scrubbing the larger items while I dry up and put away. The kitchen is tiny and reminds me of the one Mum and I had when I was little, with two chairs and a table crammed against one side. My eyes stray to the digital clock on the oven which tells me it’s almost eleven forty-five. I rinse a cloth under the hot tap, wring it out and use it to wipe the surfaces, scrubbing at dried-on spots of sauce with unnecessary vigour. Despite my moment of weakness and Amber’s genuine solicitousness, there is still a hard knot of anger in my stomach.
‘I’m sorry about Browning Street.’ She wipes her hands on a tea towel. ‘I know you’re pissed off with me.’
‘I’m not,’ I lie. ‘Really. Something else will come up.’
‘But you would have enjoyed it and you’re so good at all that stuff.’
I shrug depreciatingly. ‘The money though, Amber? I thought the whole reason you were stuck here was because you couldn’t raise enough for a deposit.’
Amber isn’t facing me and I don’t hear what she says. I wait until she turns round and repeats it, still whispering.
‘I thought you could help with that.’
This is one of those moments, one of those awful, awkward moments that life doesn’t prepare you for, when it’s vital to answer a question with sensitivity but the chances of getting it right are virtually nil. I feel cornered and embarrassed, and my thoughts scurry in all directions in a frantic attempt to dredge up the least worst response.
‘Amber.’ I swallow but my mouth is dry. ‘Look …’
Amber waits for me to go on. The noise pulsing from downstairs is getting worse. There’s a shout of laughter and then the music stops. In the brief pause before it starts again, I keep my eyes on her face.
‘I’d love to help, and I’ve already offered to give you a hand with the DIY, but I can’t pay your deposit. You know that.’
Her lips turn down and for a moment I think she’s going to cry, but those big blue eyes are unreadable. ‘But you can get it. You’ve got so much, you two. You don’t understand what it’s like not to have a home. You—’
‘Oh, Amber. I’m so sorry. I’ve been incredibly insensitive. You know I’ll do all I can. I said I’d look after Sophie and I will. But the money … I’m really sorry, but we can’t help you there.’
She winds her long hair round her hand and then pushes it behind her shoulder and a sigh shudders out of her. ‘Forget I said anything. I didn’t mean it.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ I have a brainwave. A way I can make amends for Tom’s tactlessness, and for my less than enthusiastic response to her news. ‘Come with us to Spain. Please, please, please! It would be so much more fun with you lot. The house is all paid for. All you’d need is your flights.’
Her face brightens. ‘Do you mean it?’
I wonder if the impulse wasn’t a mistake, if I should have slept on it and at least checked with Tom, but her expression makes it all worthwhile. ‘Of course I do. We’ll be there for my birthday, so the more the merrier as far as I’m concerned.’
‘What about Tom? Won’t he mind?’