‘Oh, and that’s the greatest thing of all,’ gushes Annette, her eyes still resting on mine. ‘We’re having a little boy!’
I stare at her, everything finally sliding into place: the card, the quote, the slow, careful unpicking of my character. Annette is behind everything. Annette and Ron are going to steal my baby!
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Annette
After
‘I’m not surprised really that this has happened, officers. I could see she’d lost her marbles two days ago when we went round for Christmas lunch.’
The two police officers slide their eyes over to one another in perfect synchronisation.
‘In what way?’ asks the female officer, who has a touch of nous about her unlike her incompetent sidekick.
‘Oh, pickled as a walnut, couldn’t tell her arse from her elbow, excuse my French.’
‘I believe you and your husband are pharmacists, is that correct?’ DC Kennedy fiddles around with the corner of his notepad.
‘We are. She’d been in to the pharmacy two days before Christmas Day with a prescription for antidepressants.’
‘And you served her?’
I shake my head. ‘I was out food shopping. The weather, as you’re aware, was a nightmare. Still, it only lasted a day, didn’t it? Never can rely on the British weather, can you? I suppose this torrential rain isn’t helping much with your forensics?’
‘So, who served Louisa?’ asks Lawrie, not falling for any of my rhetorical questions. I like her, I like her a lot.
‘I can’t say I know for sure, but normally it would be our assistant, Dawn. Have you spoken to her yet?’
Lawrie’s slight drop of the eyes informs me she hasn’t. Dearie me, and she was doing so well.
‘Where is your husband, Mrs Green?’ asks Kennedy, the bumfluff on his upper lip now wet with Earl Grey tea. I probably should have brought in Tetley’s – such a waste.
‘Scotland. We’re planning to move there for work and he’s gone ahead already. There are things to sort out.’
‘And when did he leave?’
His nosiness is beginning to grate on me. ‘Yesterday.’
He nods before placing the china cup back into its saucer on my eighteenth-century Italian coffee table, his hands shaking ever so slightly.
The officers proceed to ask about our friendship, pushing for details which, if I’m honest, are pointless. It’s clear Bumfluff boy doesn’t believe I’m sad about the events which have befallen you, and, although not wrong entirely, he is certainly misguided. I never hated you, Louisa, not for a second. You simply had no backbone and I found that mildly irritating.
‘We met at SureLife’s support group,’ I say, ensuring I make full eye contact. ‘Ron and I attended after suffering a miscarriage at eight weeks.’ The memory of that day causes tears to spring into my eyes, which is embarrassing to say the least. ‘We paid for weekly scans, which is par for the course when attending SureLife. The seven-week check was marvellous. The baby was no bigger than a lentil, of course, but it flashed on and off like an orb… its heartbeat, that was,’ I add, clarifying the situation for Bumfluff boy. ‘Lentil or no lentil, that was my baby and I loved him.’
‘Him? You can’t tell the sex at seven weeks.’ Bumfluff raises his eyebrows, which sends him soaring up in my estimation. Who would have thought he’d know something like that?
‘Figure of speech obviously.’ I swallow down another influx of tears at the memory, not enjoying this sudden loss of control. ‘A week later we attended SureLife for the eight-week scan. I had stopped vomiting five days prior and thought perhaps I was lucky. But…’
‘You don’t have to continue, Mrs Green.’ DC Lawrie breaks eye contact and circles her thumbs round and round each other. Heavens above, she’ll be requiring a handkerchief herself in a moment. I really did read her wrong. Sometimes you never can tell.
‘It’s fine. The baby had passed. Which isn’t uncommon, especially at my age. Doctor Hughes suggested we use donor eggs and we were weighing our options when we attended the support group.’
‘And that’s where you first met Louisa?’
I close my eyes, the memory of our first meeting still vivid in my mind.
‘Annette, Ron, over here.’
Magda, who in truth hung around me like a bad smell, beckoned Ron and I over to where she was sitting in the middle of a semi-circle, two empty plastic seats positioned to her right. The room was plain and dull in comparison to the rest of the clinic, with stark white walls and a downtrodden blue carpet. A single projector screen hung off the far wall, and flat-pack tables were pushed into the corner of the room. It obviously doubled up as some kind of conference room and it grated on me that the clinic didn’t regard patient wellbeing very highly. ‘Here, I saved you some seats. Glad you could make it.’ Magda, at that moment in time, had silvery grey hair, stopping just short of her shoulders. Gone was the bright, iridescent attire, which I had become almost accustomed to, and in its place were a dusky pink poncho and stripy, candy-cane tights. Ridiculous, really, for a woman in her early forties.
I looked around the room, noticing that there were only women present. A handful, like us, were already seated, their chatter hushed and their smiles not quite reaching their eyes. A cluster of women were huddled around the tea trolley and I noticed one of them was crying, the other four comforting her.
‘That’s Carly,’ whispered Magda in my ear. ‘She’s in for repeated miscarriage… four this year alone!’ Magda spoke as if the clinic were a prison, and we were inmates. Which in a way I guess we were. Nobody was there by choice, and each and every one of us was praying for a release date. ‘I’m sorry to hear what happened to you,’ she continued, referring to our earlier miscarriage.
‘These things happen. There’s no point dwelling on it.’ I sucked on my teeth, determined not to show her any sign of weakness. Ron was busy looking at Carly, the miscarriage girl, seemingly upset for what she’d been through. Always the same, my Ron, a beautiful, caring soul.
‘Oh look, here’s Louisa and James. Met them last week in the cafeteria. They’re using a sperm donor but obviously keep that to yourself.’ Magda whispered your secret to me. Her breath was hot and left condensation in my inner ear, which was unhygienic to say the least.
I glanced over at you, Louisa, with your hands placed protectively over your abdomen. I knew then that you were waiting to find out if you were pregnant. I prayed you weren’t, which may seem callous, but so is life.
‘James, Louisa, meet Annette and Ron.’ Magda looked as if she was performing some kind of puppet show with her hands.
You smiled at me, displaying white teeth and sparkling green eyes. You were slim, naturally beautiful, a young woman in her prime. You had everything I didn’t, Louisa, and even though I knew I probably shouldn’t, I couldn’t help but dislike you. So I did what I always do. I looked deep inside of you, picked you apart like a slow-cooked rack of lamb. The closer I looked the more I saw: low self-esteem, a muddied past, a deer in the headlights, I suppose. Not my type of person at all.
‘What are you in for?’ I asked you, flicking my eyes over to your husband, who turned a deep shade of scarlet.
‘Just IUI,’ you said quickly, looking down at your shoe. IUI is a less invasive form of IVF, used for minor infertility issues, or in your case with donor sperm. The fact you didn’t need IVF told me the problem wasn’t with you, which grated on me further.
‘Child’s play then,’ I quipped, wanting to make you feel small, like you didn’t belong. ‘When did you have it?’
‘Last week. We find out if it’s worked in another week.’ You looked so hopeful, but also vulnerable, almost as if you didn’t dare to believe. I perhaps should have offered you some support, wished you the best, but I was terrified in case my good wishes accidentally came true.