Chapter Two #2
There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I started the support group for women like me who struggled with falling pregnant, and over the years it’s been my safe space every Thursday evening.
I don’t really want to open this up to Harper, but I can’t say no either.
How could I? It would go against everything the group stands for.
I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
‘I’m sorry, Harper. It’s hard, isn’t it?’ I say, steering away from answering her question for as long as I can.
She nods, and her hazel eyes brim with tears. Oh no. I open my mouth before I can stop myself.
‘Of course you can come,’ I say. Such a pushover.
‘We’re a good group.’ I reach out, squeeze her shoulder, and she smiles gratefully, dabbing at her eyes.
This new, vulnerable side to her is quite a show — and I’m still trying to work out how real it is when Skyla darts up to us and burrows in between my legs.
I lean forward to smile down at her. She gives me one of her gap-toothed grins in return.
Harper kneels down and pushes Skyla’s loose curls away from her face. ‘Want to show me your new toys?’ she asks, all traces of her sadness gone in an instant.
Skyla unwinds herself from around my legs and I watch as she laces her fingers through Harper’s, guiding her over to the corner of the room.
Harper is a good auntie, she is, as much as it pains me to admit it.
She’s great with Skyla, and for that I’m grateful.
She’d be a great mother too, I realise, watching as she helps to untwist the plastic wire keeping one of Skyla’s new toys in its packaging.
* * *
When we’re all around the table, I start dishing Skyla up some food in her pink car-shaped plate.
She’s always called it her Barbie Car plate.
She’s had it since being out of her highchair, since starting to sit in the ‘big girl chair’ at the table with us.
It’s something she probably should have stopped using long ago, but she loves it, and it makes her happy, so I’ve let it stay.
A bit like the dummy, really. I know I get judged for letting her still have her dummy, but enough has been taken away from Skyla in her young life.
James clears his throat when we’re all seated, looking around to make sure everyone’s glasses are topped up.
‘To the birthday girl.’ He grins, and although my stomach clenches, I summon a grin and take a sip.
‘Cheers,’ I say, echoing everyone around me.
Skyla beams, looking between us with a cheshire grin as she raises her glass of Vimto. ‘Cheers!’ she copies.
Her dark eyes shimmer and I find myself looking deeply into them.
I’d been devastated when they’d changed from blue to brown as she got older, not knowing the genetics she and Robin had, it came as a bit of a shock, but now I love how warm they are.
How they turn almost gold if they hit the light the right way.
‘I’d like to make a little announcement.’ James looks around the table but refuses to meet my eye, and I don’t like it. I don’t like the unexpected, and I don’t know what he’s about to say.
‘Well go on then!’ Harper cries, eyes wide. ‘You two pregnant?’
Her question stings. I freeze while James takes the force of the blow.
‘No,’ he answers, sharply. ‘We’re not.’
As always, Harper doesn’t seem to realise she’s hit a nerve, too caught up in her own life to care. A common trait of a narcissist.
‘As you all know, the apartment’s been on the market,’ James says, and now his eyes meet mine from across the table. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat nervously.
I narrow my eyes, unsure where he’s taking this. I’ve heard nothing from the estate agents that should warrant an announcement at the dinner table.
‘Well. We have an offer. And I’ve just been promoted at work,’ he says, positively glowing.
I lean back in my seat. Did I miss an email?
How don’t I know this? I think back to all of the couples I’ve seen clomping in and out of our apartment in recent weeks.
Which of them is it? Does that even matter?
The glass in my hand feels weightless. My hand tilts and for a brief moment I think I may drop it.
‘Darling,’ James says eventually, turning to me. ‘I’ve found a home that’s perfect for us. And we can finally get away from here.’ He says it like it’s a dirty word. Here. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s time. But my insides flip and I feel the urge to flee.
My fingernails claw into my thighs, through the satin of the Marc Jacobs dress I’d purchased from Vinted just last week. ‘James,’ I say, a warning. I look at him, silently begging him to discuss this with me later. In private.
A simple word pools in my eyes. Stop. But he doesn’t stop.
‘Take a look at this,’ he says, pulling out a pamphlet and placing it in the centre of the table.
Skyla peers at it curiously and I want to shield her eyes, block her ears. She shouldn’t see this. It’s not real.
‘It’s a castle,’ she gasps, pinching the pamphlet between her fingers.
James’s mum leans over. ‘Is that the Cotswolds?’ she asks, her brows hitched.
I glance at the pamphlet, at the rolling hillsides, the village of thatched medieval homes surrounded by pastures and wildflower meadows. I don’t want to be interested, I really don’t. But I am, because I don’t understand.
‘Is that—’ I start, but stop, rubbing my eyes. The house in the pamphlet is huge compared to our cramped apartment. Four bedrooms, and it’s on a vineyard. A vineyard!
I look at James, searching for a hint of a smile. Something to give away this cruel joke. But he’s deadpan. Serious. No.
‘Must’ve been one hell of a raise at work,’ my mum mutters.
I consider her words. James has been in IT ever since I’ve known him, and he’s always earned well enough. Enough to get by each month that is. But Jesus. Not this well.
‘Have you become partner or something?’ I can’t help but joke.
He looks down at his ribs, pushing them around his plate. ‘Appreciate your vote of confidence,’ he mumbles. ‘No. The inheritance from my grandma finally paid out.’
A silence falls over the table, only broken by the crunch of prawn crackers between Skyla’s teeth.
‘James,’ I say, squirming in my seat.
He doesn’t look up at me, and it makes me feel like the biggest bitch. I’ve hurt his feelings, and despite everything, that’s the last thing I want to do.
‘Cotswolds,’ James’s dad, Oscar, grunts. ‘Isn’t Jeremy Clarkson there now?’
I know he’s trying to change the subject, doesn’t want to bring James’s grandma, his mother, to the table.
I know the inheritance has been difficult, and I’ve kept out of it for the most part, too swept up in raising Skyla to actually care.
It was only occasionally when James would come huffing and puffing to me, needing to vent about how difficult the process of getting his inheritance was that I really listened.
I guess I should’ve listened better, because I’d had no idea it could’ve afforded us something like this.
My dad nods at Oscar. ‘Has that pub, doesn’t he? Always wanted to go!’
‘Well, wouldn’t this be the perfect excuse.’ My mum smiles. ‘You three move there, we can plan a family trip and go pester Jeremy at his pub.’
‘We aren’t moving there,’ I say, looking around the table. I want everyone to stop being so ridiculous. Even with the world’s biggest raise, we wouldn’t be able to afford this place. And what about Robin? Robin? Have people just forgotten about her?
Inside, my stomach is roiling, and I want to scream. I try to swallow, to coat my throat, but I can’t.
‘But the thing is, darling . . . I’ve already bought it,’ James says, blinking up at me with huge eyes.