Chapter 4
FOUR
BETH
You should’ve told them.
The know-it-all voice sings in my head as I dab cool water on my cheeks.
God, I hate that voice. Does it always have to sound so smug?
I ignore it and stare at my reflection in the tarnished mirror of the pub toilets.
There’s an ugly sheen of sweat on my face that refuses to be absorbed by the organic, cruelty-free foundation I dabbed on earlier in between serving Henry his lentil Bolognese with his favourite bow-shaped pasta.
Also homemade, of course. There’s little I can do about the onslaught of processed food Henry is exposed to out in the world, but at home, I keep things natural.
You’ve left it too late.
That voice again, dragging me back to my reflection in the mirror. I’ve been in the toilets too long as it is, but I’m so tired. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this exhausted. Not even when Henry was a newborn, waking every few hours.
The face staring back at me burns with the news I need to share. I take a deep breath, smooth down my cardigan and tug at the green skirt I made last week. I didn’t realise the fabric bunches a little around the waist. Sloppy. I’ll unpick it tomorrow and do it right.
Chicken.
I grit my teeth. I’m telling them now.
But as I step out of the ladies’ room, my feet falter. There’s another woman at our table. A stranger. Any resolve to share my secret with Georgie and Tasha disappears.
‘Beth!’ Georgie waves me over like I was planning to beeline for the door. Which had crossed my mind. ‘This is Keira.’
‘Hi.’ Keira raises a hand as I give her a polite smile.
She looks a little awkward. And a lot out of place.
Thick eyeliner rims her eyes, adding an intensity to her face.
I’m not one to judge, but she looks like she’d be happier in one of the trendy bars under the railway arches in the centre of town.
‘I hope you don’t mind me joining you,’ Keira says, her Irish accent strong.
‘Of course we don’t,’ Georgie cuts in as I take a seat beside Tasha, noticing the new bottle of red that’s appeared since I left.
And the inch added to my glass. I don’t even like red wine.
But Georgie pushed ahead, ordering the bottle before I could ask for a water.
Then the glass was in my hand, and it would’ve been rude to refuse.
‘Keira will be a new mum at Magnolia Primary,’ Georgie announces. ‘She’s joining the PTA, and she’s just bought a ticket for the quiz night. I’m going to put her on one of the parents’ tables.’
‘Except I’m hideously late for the meeting. I’m so sorry,’ Keira says.
Georgie waves the apology away. ‘Her daughter, Rowan—’
‘Is joining year three,’ Keira finishes with a smile. ‘She was hard to settle tonight. I think it’s all the changes. We only moved back to my mum’s at the weekend. We’re on Dove Street. Anyway, I didn’t mean to intrude.’
I know Dove Street. A narrow road of terraced houses, crammed in like biscuits in a packet. It’s the cut-through people use on the walk to and from town, and there’s always litter in the gutters.
‘No one who buys wine is intruding.’ Georgie grins, clinking her glass to Keira’s.
I share a brief look with Tasha. It’s not the first time Georgie has adopted someone on a night out. Although usually they disappear pretty quickly when we start talking about our husbands and our lives and they realise we’re not as interesting as Georgie has made us out to be.
Georgie and Tasha are my best friends. Honestly, they’re my only friends.
The only ones who’ve stuck by me for the last six years.
Would they have done the same if we didn’t live on Magnolia Close?
Maybe not, but that’s why our community is so perfect.
We look out for each other. No one outside of Magnolia Close understands how special that is.
It’s why people rarely move away. Why would you want to leave that?
‘I was just filling Keira in on Jonny,’ Georgie says. ‘I was telling her about Henry’s football.’
My anger rises to the surface. How dare Jonny do that!
‘And his objection to my planning permission,’ Tasha says, her voice a little too loud. A sure sign she’s going to regret the wine tomorrow. ‘He even called the planning officer at the council. Can you believe it?’
‘And the way he looks at all of us.’ Georgie shudders. ‘Like he’s undressing us with his eyes. All those little comments about how we look. It’s sexual harassment dressed up as compliments and friendly jokes so we look like we’re over-reacting if we say anything.’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what it is,’ Tasha says. ‘He’s repulsive, and I hate him.’
I nod, feeling the raw, jagged edges of my own anger. ‘And the worst part is, the men can’t see it,’ I say.
Georgie rolls her eyes. ‘Exactly. You know Nate actually thinks he’s cool.’
‘He turns on the charm for them,’ Tasha snaps. ‘They see his flash car, his white teeth, his Rolex, not to mention the women that come and go, and they think he’s the ultimate bachelor.’
Tasha’s right. I think of Alistair and how he only sees what a great guy Jonny is.
But Jonny is all charm and back slaps with the men in the close, and then something else entirely with the women.
I hate the way I catch him looking at me from an upstairs window when I’m in the garden, tending to my vegetable patch.
We always try to be good neighbours in Magnolia Close.
I love where we live. I love how it’s shut away from the rest of the world, like it’s our own little sanctuary.
But I don’t know how much longer I can stand living next to a man like him.
When he’s home, a low-level hum of unease thrums through my body.
An anxiety I can’t shift. Some days, I want to scream with the unfairness of it.
Alistair needs to be close to London. Our life is here.
Our life is in Magnolia Close. We love our home and our community – our friends. We’ll never leave.
‘He said the football caught on his rose bush,’ Alistair said last night, completely ignoring the gaping knife wound in the ball.
‘Did you at least tell him to keep his music down in the evenings?’ I asked. ‘I can hear it in Henry’s room when I go in to check on him in the night.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ Alistair replied, a calming hand taking mine. ‘And he’s a music producer, Beth. He has to listen to it loud.’
At the table, I check my wrist for a hairband, find none and scoop my hair behind my ears instead.
I know the long red waves are my best feature.
It makes me seem more interesting than I really am.
How many times have I heard the expression ‘a fiery redhead’ when I’m nothing like that?
Too many. My hair is really just a distraction from the sharpness of my face.
And skin so pale that Alistair can trace the veins with his finger.
But right now, I’d give anything to tie it back.
Just as I’d give anything to be home in the dog-print pyjamas I made myself for my birthday, curled into Alistair’s side, watching the latest detective series on Netflix.
Poor Alistair never gets the plot. He always has half a mind on whatever research project he’s undertaking or his students and the courses he teaches as a professor at the London School of Economics. I’m forever having to pause the show and explain the twists while he makes us both herbal tea.
If I was home, I could distract myself with TV or Alistair or knitting.
Anything so I didn’t have to think about Jonny.
I hate that he saw me that day seven months ago.
It was March. I remember the daffodils swaying in the cool breeze as I made my way to the train station.
I’d told Tasha and Georgie a white lie about a great-aunt’s funeral so they’d look after Henry for me after school for an hour.
I thought I could get to my appointment and back without anyone knowing.
The last person I expected to bump into that day was Jonny.
When I escape to the toilets again, just for a moment of peace and the cool water I dab on my cheeks, I return to find my wine glass is full to the top, the dark liquid nearly spilling over the rim. My friends haven’t noticed I’m not drinking it.
Keira’s jaw is tight, eyes narrowed as I take my seat again.
‘This Jonny sounds just like my ex, Richard. He’s making my life hell.
I’m coming out of the divorce with next to nothing.
He’s trying to take half my business. I have an online activewear shop that’s doing pretty well, so of course he wants a piece of that.
And he’s even fighting me for joint custody of Rowan.
That man has barely spent five minutes with his daughter in her whole life.
He’s just doing it to hurt me. If only he’d die before we get to court, it would make my life so much easier.
’ Keira’s accent is stronger in her anger, the rhotic R more pronounced.
‘But there’s nothing we can do about it,’ she continues.
‘We’re stuck living in a world where men like this are fucking up our lives. ’
I flinch at the expletive, feeling like a prude as Keira catches the movement and quirks her eyebrow in a way that’s almost challenging.
She thinks you’re a fool.
I don’t care that Keira swore. I’m just so used to watching my words around Henry.
But before I can explain, Georgie jumps in. ‘We should do something. Really do something.’ The wine has left a dark stain on her inner lip. This time we don’t laugh.
Keira leans forward, elbows propped on the table. ‘You should kill him.’