“Just say you forgive them, then. It’s the greatest gift you could give.”
But Annie didn’t forgive them. And as they drew nearer to what had been her home, the familiar streets and shops, she felt the anger she still carried inside her like a dark child. But she’d come this far—she’d started something—and she knew she couldn’t be friends with Zarah and Miriam again unless she at least tried to talk to Jane. “Turn here. It’s the last one on the left: 175—175, I said.” Polly had massively overshot. Annie saw the way she was screwing up her eyes and a horrible thought occurred. “Can you not see or something?”
“It’s fine!”
“Polly!”
“Okay, okay, I’m having some sight problems. Bob is pressing on my optic nerve, that’s all.”
Annie closed her own eyes briefly. “Jesus. I’m driving home. This is it, anyway.”
“It’s cute! I love the bay windows, and the slate tiles.”
Annie used to curl up in those windows and daydream on cold winter days. She’d imagined Jacob doing the same when he was older, reading a book or watching a film. And maybe another kid or two, as well. Ghost children now, just like Jacob, never to be born. “Too bad I don’t live there anymore. Well, I guess we better get this over with. Are you coming with me?”
Polly shook her head. She’d parked with one wheel up the curb. “I’ll stay here, and listen to the top tunes of Magic FM. Life really was too short for Radio 3. I wish I’d known.”
What would she say? What if they threw her out? On the path she looked back nervously, to see Polly headbanging away to the radio. She noticed with a sort of strange mix of satisfaction and sorrow that they’d let all her flower beds overflow, weeds crowding out the delicate bulbs and seedlings she’d nurtured. She raised her hand to ring the bell but it stayed frozen in midair. She glanced back to Polly again, who had wound down the window, letting out the banging beats of the Backstreet Boys. “Cancer card!” she hollered. Annie cringed and pressed the bell.
No one answered for ages, and a terrible relief was growing in Annie’s stomach, when suddenly she heard steps approaching on the other side of the door. “Coming!” Jane’s voice. One that she’d once heard every day, on the phone if not in person. Dissecting boyfriends, jobs, Annie’s wedding plans and the plot of the latest Grey’s Anatomy.
This was a terrible idea. Then it was too late, because Jane was opening the door, and Annie didn’t know what to look at first. Her former best friend, two years older, a little more lined and gray, in pajama bottoms and a big baggy jumper. Or the swelling bump beneath the jumper, which Jane’s hand rested on, her wedding ring glinting. Oh, God. Why hadn’t Annie considered this possibility?
Jane was pregnant.
*
It was a strange thing, to go into a house that used to be yours and now wasn’t. The furniture and even many of the books in the living room were the same, but a framed picture of Jane’s wedding sat on top of the TV instead of Annie’s. Same groom, too. But it was a lot untidier—Annie had once been so house-proud, strange as it was to remember—and there were empty coffee cups and magazines strewn around the room. There was also a mat that was clearly for a child on the floor. It was designed like a garden, with embroidered butterflies and birds and flowers. Getting ready for their baby. Mike and Jane’s baby. When Annie spoke, her voice was thin ice on a river of tears. “I didn’t know.”
Jane looked stricken. “No. We tried not to put anything online, in case... I told Mike he should tell you. But...you know.”
We. The two short letters knifed at Annie. “I’m sorry to just turn up like this.”
Jane busied herself tidying up some magazines. “Have you come...um, did you come to pick something up?”
“No. It isn’t that.” Oh, God, how to explain. “Could I sit down a sec, Jane? I just want to chat. Is that okay?”
Jane paused, and Annie shamefully relived the last time she’d been at this house, the day she’d left, screaming and shouting on the front path about how Jane was a home-wrecker and Mike a dirty cheat. “Okay. I guess it’s about time.” She nodded to the sofa. “Why don’t you...?”
It was the same sofa. Annie had paid for this, a lovely cracked red leather, and yet the only sofa she had now was that awful pleather one she’d got from a British Heart Foundation shop. She tried not to mind as she sat down. Mike had felt so bad he’d offered her the house and everything in it, but she’d been too proud to take a penny. When she’d first moved out she didn’t even own any spoons; she’d been so determined to walk away from her old life and leave everything behind.
“Tea?”
“Um, no, thank you.” Annie wasn’t sure how long Jane would let her stay once she started talking. “So I suppose you must be wondering why I—”
“It is a bit odd, yes.” Jane bent down to pick up a dirty cup, hair hiding her face. It was still blond, but showing more gray in the roots now. Once it had been Jane on the sofa, Annie the flushed and happy hostess, getting ready for the birth of her child. It was the only time in her life when she hadn’t felt secretly jealous of Jane—who, after all, had grown up with siblings, a nice house and a father—and when she’d felt at peace. If anything, Jane had seemed slightly lost, the name of a different man on her lips every time, tears catching in her throat when she talked. And Annie was always there to listen, provide tissues and tea and hugs. Funny. When Jane stopped moaning about her love life Annie had thought she was finally happy with being single, moving on. But really she was moving on to Mike.
Annie said, “Well. I guess I’ve been doing sort of...a lot of soul-searching recently.”
“Oh,” said Jane.
“So I wanted to come and ask you...try to understand what happened. With you and me and...him.”
“You saw Zar and Miriam. Right?”
“Yeah. They said you—that you felt bad.”
“Annie, I feel so bad I could just die. But you have to know I didn’t plan it. Mike and I...” Annie winced. She used to say that same phrase. Mike and I. My husband, Mike. “You and him were already...just so broken, and so was I, and you were gone, out of reach somehow, and he just needed someone to talk to, and before I knew it we were...and now I’m...well.”
“I can see.” Annie stared at the bump. “How long?”
Jane put both hands on her belly, a gesture Annie recognized so well. “Seven months or so.”
The baby inside would be fully formed already, fists and feet curled in on themselves. Jacob’s little feet had been like that, tiny mice inside his blue and green socks. Everything safe, and cozy, and pastel. Annie swallowed, hard. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” she said (though she wasn’t entirely convinced). “But I’d lost everything. My baby, then my husband, my house...and you, too. I had nothing, Jane.”