The grass is overgrown, the trees covered in new leaves, rosebuds suspended on long, arching stems that shiver in the breeze. The flower beds are carpeted in delicate, purplish-blue forget-me-nots and at the far end the foxgloves are starting to bloom. A squirrel dashes across the grass, stops to look at us, then scoots up the craggy bark of an elderly fruit tree. It’s an English cottage garden, neglected in the best possible way. I swallow my envy and try to resign myself to reality. If the worst comes to the worst and I have to move I’ll be buying something modest and manageable. What a depressing thought. Over the fence, two little girls shriek and there must be a baby as well, the one I heard that morning. The one that brought me to my senses.
Amber breathes in deeply and lets it go, like a smoker inhaling the first cigarette of the day, a mixture of profound bliss and relief. She turns and walks back inside, pulling a notebook, pen and tape measure from her bag.
‘Shall we start upstairs?’
She wants to measure the windows even though she and Robert haven’t exchanged contracts yet. It feels to me like she’s setting herself up for disappointment, but I don’t say anything. I’m here to provide moral support, not undermine her. And perhaps to prove to myself that we can salvage something from the friendship.
As we explore I try not to get emotional. The house is as incredible as I remember it. It’s impossible to tell when it was last redecorated but I doubt in the last thirty years, and even then it was obviously more a case of patching up than modernizing. Everything from the light fittings to the lavatories are antique. The wallpaper in the old lady’s bedroom is original Arts and Crafts; pink peonies winding in and out of pale-green leaves.
‘Isn’t it amazing?’ Amber says. ‘I can’t wait to get my hands on it.’
‘Amber …’
‘Yeah, I know. You don’t have to tell me. I’m counting chickens.’
We leave the bedroom and go up to the top floor. From the front room we look down on to the tree-lined street.
‘So what are you going to do?’ Amber asks.
‘About what?’
‘Well, selling the house for a start. I can’t tell you how sorry we are. Robert is devastated. It’s so sad when your friends break up.’
I turn away from the window and wander out of the room, a smile playing on my lips.
‘January is the best time,’ she says, following close behind me. ‘But even if you market it now, you’ll still do really well. I can help you find somewhere new.’
‘Will you put Sophie up here then?’
She glances at me. ‘Yes. And there’s room for an au pair, so if we get in quickly I won’t have to impose on you. I might even be able to help you out.’ She hands me one end of the tape measure and pulls it across the width of the window, writes down the measurement and reaches on tiptoe for the top of the frame. ‘You won’t move away, will you?’
I am not entirely sure her concern is genuine. ‘No. I’m not going anywhere. The thing is … Tom and I, well, we … what I mean to say is, we may not be divorcing.’
The tape measure and notebook go limp in Amber’s hands. ‘What do you mean?’
I smirk. ‘Do I have to spell it out? We had a few drinks and one thing led to another.’
‘Oh … so that’s good. Wonderful. I’m really pleased for you.’
She embraces me and leaves the room. I follow her into the next one, trying to gauge her reaction. It’s pathetic to use playground tactics – he fancies me, not you – but I can’t help myself. She has her back to me and she thinks I can’t see, but from the movement of her arm I know she’s scratching the back of her hand. Then she turns round.
‘I wanted to talk to you about the deposit.’
‘I thought we already talked about that. I thought you understood. We can’t lend you the money.’
‘I’m not asking you to lend me anything.’
‘Oh.’ I smile, relieved. ‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean anything—’
‘I’m asking you to give it to me.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Let’s clear this up once and for all, shall we?’
Her expression has changed, become bitter and hard, as if something I’ve done has so disgusted her that she can’t look at me without curling her lip in distaste.
‘Perhaps you’d better.’ I glance behind me, looking for a means of escape, trying to concoct an excuse, but I have none. I’ve already told her I have the morning to myself.
‘You left your baby alone while you went to look at a house. How many times have you done that and got away with it?’ She waves at me when I start to interrupt. Her voice is a hiss. ‘You put him at risk and, if that got out, if the police or social services were to get an anonymous tip … you know as well as I do what happens next. They’re already suspicious. Grayling definitely is.’
The change in her is extraordinary and all I can do is stare. I turn to leave, but she grabs my wrist, wrapping her fingers around it and pulling me so close that I can feel her breath on my cheek. She speaks directly into my ear.
‘You also lied about what the burglar looked like. That’s called perverting the course of justice.’
There is a long silence while I digest her words.
‘I need it next week,’ she says. She turns away, fumbles with her phone, checks it and puts it back in her bag then faces me with a sigh. ‘Don’t be like this, Vicky. It isn’t such a big deal. We’re doing each other a favour. I help you, you help me.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow your logic.’
‘You are funny.’
‘I didn’t mean to be. I don’t know what you think, Amber, but I don’t have that kind of money. Tom deals with our finances and I’m certainly not dragging him into this.’
‘No, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re already in enough trouble there.’
‘Don’t you dare use my relationship with Tom against me.’
‘Of course I won’t.’ She pauses. Eventually she says, ‘Ask your mother.’
‘Forget it. You can’t really do anything. You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Are you sure about that? Who do you think made sure darling Tom read that text?’
I gasp but she doesn’t let me interrupt.
‘And who do you think called Child Protection on Emily’s birthday? I can do a very good “concerned neighbour”.’
I lurch towards the door, my hand to my mouth, run downstairs and slam out of the house. I stride along the road, my fist clenched round the strap of my handbag, almost running. A couple with a pram look affronted as I push past them. My mobile starts to ring as I turn into Coleridge Street.
‘Vicky, you can’t run away from this.’
‘Who said anything about running away? I don’t want to deal with you any more, Amber. You need help.’
‘No, you need help. Let me put it simply, so that you know where you stand. I expect that money to be transferred by next Thursday. If not, I will contact the police and Child Protection and your world will collapse so fast you won’t have time to make excuses or wind Tom round your little finger. Your children will go.’
‘Is there anything else?’ I say between clenched teeth.
‘Nope. That’s it.’
I put my head in my hands. There is no doubt in my mind that she is serious. What have I ever done to her?
Tom hunches over, his hands clasped. He looks at me and my heart fills with dread. ‘I should apologize.’
‘You don’t need to. It takes two.’ I hesitate then rush on. ‘I’m glad it happened. I don’t want to split up.’
He lifts his clasped hands to his mouth and chews at the corner of his thumb. ‘Nothing’s changed, Vicky. Last night was—’