The Thin Place

by C D Major

  Pippa didn’t notice the juice; she was busy, bent down, picking up marbles and tiny cars to throw into a burgundy box. ‘So, how have you been? How’s work?’

  ‘Work’s fine, thanks.’ Ava perched on the edge of the dark brown sofa. ‘I was out at a biscuit factory today.’

  ‘Lucky for some.’

  ‘Not exactly . . .’

  Garry, her producer, had allocated her the biscuit job at that morning’s briefing. Ava had been far away, worrying about the upcoming scan, and would have agreed to anything anyway. She was lucky in that, as one of their longest-serving reporters – coming up to fifteen years – she was often allowed to pitch her own stories. She’d gained a reputation for getting people to open up and she virtually monopolised the light-hearted or quirkier pieces in the final segment of the show.

  ‘One of their workers was arrested for deliberately contaminating one of the machines. There’s a massive recall of two of their products.’

  Pippa wrinkled her nose. ‘Ugh. That’s gross.’

  ‘Well, I managed to get through the whole piece with no biscuit puns at least.’ Thoughts of poisoned biscuits were making Ava’s stomach turn. ‘So, covering the usual hard-hitting news . . .’ She lowered herself onto the rug and helped out by reaching for random toys: a plastic Spider-Man whose arms moved; a small car that looked like some kind of child’s computer; a plastic pig with a large stomach. She found herself staring at every item, imagining for a second her sparse flat littered in this way.

  ‘Well, I went to soft play – so you still win.’ Pippa picked up a dog in a police uniform and waggled it at Ava. ‘This guy has always given me the creeps.’ Then she stopped and tilted her head to the side. ‘Is everything OK? How’s Fraser?’

  Ava hesitated. ‘He’s fine. Yup . . .’ Say it, Ava! Spit it out! Why did this seem so much harder than telling her parents? ‘He’s sorting stuff for the end of term. He’s starting a new role in September – head of sixth form – so he’s doing a handover and . . .’ She noticed that Pippa’s eyes were glazing. ‘How’s Tommy doing?’

  ‘Alright.’ Pippa picked up her wine glass. ‘Well, alright or weeping about something. Today his banana pancake wasn’t in the shape of a square. But when I made him a square one he cried louder because it wasn’t a big enough square . . .’

  Ava couldn’t stop her hand touching her stomach, her bark of laughter a second too late. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she blurted, a momentary relief that she had said it out loud.

  Pippa’s eyes, the same light brown as their dad’s, widened. Then a brief, uncertain shadow crossed her face before she crawled towards Ava, the last of her wine sloshing onto the rug as she reached out one arm and drew her into a hug. ‘Oh wow, congratulations . . .’ Pippa’s cheek bumped against hers. She smelled of lasagne and had a fleck of blue plasticine on her nose. ‘That’s why you’ve come over. I’ve been wondering the whole day!’

  Ava felt a sliver of guilt. When had she stopped popping round for a drink in the evening?

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Pippa continued, ‘I knew you guys were trying but I was worried . . .’ Pippa sat back on her heels. ‘It’s great news.’

  Ava felt something loosen in her chest. ‘We had the dating scan today. I just told Mum and Dad.’

  ‘Bet they were pleased.’

  ‘They were.’ Ava thought back to her mum’s initial delight and excitement. Why had she messed it all up?

  ‘Well, that is great news,’ Pippa said. ‘And you’re not drinking. I should have guessed.’ Her speech seemed a little faster than normal.

  ‘How’s the new job?’ Ava suddenly felt a need to change the subject.

  Pippa flicked a hand as if batting something away. ‘Oh, it’s fine, but I want to know more. How have you been feeling? Nauseous?’

  ‘A bit.’ Ava felt a tentative warmth enter her.

  ‘Isn’t it the worst? And the tiredness . . . nothing like it.’

  ‘I napped in the editing suite the other day,’ Ava admitted, gratified to see Pippa’s mouth lift at the corners. She wondered for a moment what she had been nervous about. She wanted to share stuff like this with her sister.

  ‘And I always wanted savoury food – peanuts . . . salt and vinegar crisps . . . stuff like that . . .’

  ‘I haven’t really had cravings yet.’

  ‘Oh, I used to make Liam go out and get me stuff. Sometimes just because I wanted it . . .’ Pippa grinned.

  Ava took a sip of juice, glad she had come over, glad it was going well.

  ‘Are you excited about being a mum?’

  ‘Yes, definitely. I mean, I haven’t thought about it a lot – you never know, do you, in those first weeks. But now the scan has gone well . . .’

  ‘I wondered if you were ever going to be a mum.’ Pippa sipped her wine.

  Ava bit her lip. Not sure if the words were meant to carry a sting. ‘Well, I am. And it might be nice not to have to work for a bit . . .’

  ‘It is work, though,’ said Pippa, a familiar bristle in her features.

  ‘Oh, I know, I know . . .’ Ava said, backtracking immediately. ‘But you know what I mean . . .’

  Pippa didn’t reply, just scooped up another toy and threw it in the box. ‘And goodbye lie-ins.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Ava felt the air shift. Since Tommy arrived, Ava had often said the wrong thing. She and Pippa had always been close, but in the last couple of years they had somehow lost that familiarity. Ava felt awkward and bumbling again.

  ‘Is Fraser excited?’

  Ava couldn’t stop her face relaxing, her insides warming. ‘He really is. I shouldn’t be surprised – he loves kids. They’re why he went into teaching but, still, it’s nice . . .’

  ‘Superhero teacher and dad,’ Pippa said.

  Ava didn’t know how to respond. Was she being friendly? Pippa liked Fraser; she knew that. Why did she end up overthinking everything about her sister these days?

  ‘I was about to chuck a pizza in the oven for Liam. Do you want one?’

  ‘No thanks. I’ve got stuff at home.’ Ava’s stomach flipped and for a moment she felt a tide of sickness rise up within her. She probably should eat, but suddenly she didn’t feel like staying. ‘There was one thing that came up when I was at Mum’s . . . I asked her about family history . . .’

  She could almost hear Pippa holding her breath. ‘How did that go?’

  ‘Yeah, not well.’ Ava pulled at a loose thread on the red rug.

  Pippa’s eyebrows pulled together. ‘She doesn’t like to talk about it.’

  ‘Yes, but now I’m going to have a baby it would be nice to know there wasn’t heart disease or some other weird condition in the family.’

  ‘Well, if there was she’d have said something to me, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Would she?’

  ‘Of course,’ Pippa snapped a little too quickly. ‘She loves Tommy. She would have said.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Ava’s voice wavered.

  Pippa pressed her lips together, not meeting her eyes, and Ava knew she had got it wrong again. Pippa was a lot closer to Mum these days. They had Tommy to talk about, to fuss over together. Their mum was devoted to him, dusting off old board games he was far too young for, dragging him off on too-long walks. It had made them closer in the last few years; before then there had often been a suggestion that Ava was Mum’s favourite. Somehow the tension between Ava and her sister always came back to Mum.

  The key turned in the lock and they both looked at the door. Seconds later, Liam appeared in the living room, too-bright tie askew, orange-red hair sticking up. ‘Oh, hey, Ava.’ He drew up short, only half-disguising the annoyance that someone else was there. ‘There was a visiting lecturer,’ he said to the air, as if justifying the late hour. ‘On the future of large-scale cellulosic biofuel production.’

  ‘Hi, Liam.’ Ava got to her feet with a light laugh. ‘Sounds like a ball.’

  A blush crept up from Liam’s collar. ‘It was interesting,’ he mu
mbled.

  Oh God, had she messed up again? Ava had gone to the same school as Liam. He’d been in her year, although Ava had almost no memories of him other than of somebody diligent, freckled and earnest. She had a vague recollection that he’d fallen off stage playing his trumpet but couldn’t remember if that had been him or another boy with freckles. She hadn’t even recognised him when Pippa had introduced them seven years before. Ava stood to give him an awkward kiss hello. He blinked twice. He smelled strongly of diesel. Were all her senses heightened now?

  ‘Pizza’s in the oven, Liam,’ Pippa said. She didn’t tell him Ava’s news.

  ‘I’ll go out and grab some wine.’ Liam didn’t wait for a reply and the door soon closed behind him.

  ‘I didn’t mean to scare him away,’ Ava said.

  ‘You didn’t,’ Pippa said, an edge to her voice. She tucked her hair behind both ears.

  ‘I should get going, too,’ Ava said quickly. ‘Don’t want to disturb your night . . .’

  ‘Yeah. And congratulations again.’ The words seemed hollow this time.

  Ava fetched her stuff from the kitchen, glad to be leaving, going back home to Fraser, where she couldn’t get things so wrong. ‘Bye then,’ she said.

  Pippa was putting the last things away. Ava didn’t approach her for a hug.

  Outside, there was a noise in the street. Ava turned and squinted towards the sound, unable to see anything other than an empty road and a line of parked cars. Getting her keys out of her bag, she walked down the short path and pulled the small wrought-iron gate open. Families, she thought, as she stared at Pippa’s silhouette showing behind the living room curtains. So many complications.

  Chapter 6

  MARION

  I never dreamed it.

  We are engaged.

  I am to marry Hamish West. I will be Marion Eveline West. Isn’t that a scream?

  How that birthday trip to the Savoy changed my life! And thank goodness, because I was quite despairing that, at twenty-four, my chance at marriage was over. Susan, who lives in the house two down from us, is twenty-seven and absolutely on the shelf. I am trying desperately hard to downplay my excitement in front of her, but of course she knows – I can’t stop hugging myself. It’s all just the cat’s pyjamas.

  Hamish has been so attentive these last few weeks. It’s been such a wild romantic time. I feel like one of the plain heroines in the novels I read who is finally about to experience her life beginning. I had truly started to believe I’d be stuck in Barnes forever, an endless cycle of laundry, a walk in the park with Susan, both of us moaning about being old maids, strained meals where the only sound is the cutlery scraping on the china, endless identical jigsaws with Mother to stave off the interminable boredom.

  He wrote to Father in the week after my birthday, which was very proper, and Mother invited him to the house. I cleaned the whole place from top to bottom, fussing over the brass fender of the fireplace as if I was a scullery maid. I wanted things to be perfect. He noticed the snowdrops I had placed in a small vase and told Mother her rock cakes were out of this world. And he said terribly nice things to Father, thanking him for his service to the country and making him go quite pink.

  He has taken Mother and me out on a couple of occasions. We visited the Lyons’ Corner House in Coventry Street, where an orchestra plays on every floor, and he bought me a burgundy felt hat that I just adore. He is so dear. His stories are fascinating. He has a most thrilling job in the City, dealing with stocks and shares for an American company. It is quite beyond me but terribly impressive.

  Father thought him a little smooth, but I think that’s rather unfair. Father often says things that are meant to hurt, so I don’t hold much sway by them and I won’t let him get me down, not when things are going so marvellously.

  And poor Hamish has had a terrible time, losing both his parents rather suddenly only a few years ago. Mother and I felt tears lining our lashes as his head drooped onto his chest. How I wanted to reach across and stroke his hand, staring at the fine hairs on his knuckles, my own skin tingling with the thought.

  Then I was quite distracted as he drew from a rather shiny leather wallet a scalloped-edged photograph of the most wonderful-looking house – like a castle, the warm sepia colour making it look like the most romantic destination. It has a square tower, turrets and crenellations.

  And, extraordinarily, he is now the owner of it. It is on an estate in Scotland called Overtoun and was built by his grandfather, who did something terribly clever with chemicals.

  ‘It’s looking a little tired these days,’ he said as he slid the photograph back in his wallet.

  I was barely listening, imagining for a strange second a haunted look on his face, something dark and unknowable passing across his features.

  It seemed unreal to me: a prince and a castle. How could someone I know be the lord of a manor? He isn’t a lord but he certainly lives in splendour if the fancy stonework and a hundred windows are anything to go by. And now I am to be mistress of it all. I feel like Lizzie in Pride and Prejudice, too happy and excited to believe what is happening. It is impossible. To be plucked out of Barnes, dull little Marion Foot, and taken off to such a glamorous setting with such a faint-inducing husband. Susan is practically sick with jealousy and, even though she can get on my nerves with her endless prattle, I do feel desperately sorry for her being left behind.

  We are to be married in Chelsea and then we will travel to the estate just north of Glasgow. I’ve never even left London. Susan is rather sad at the prospect, but I have assured her I shall write and invite her to stay in the summer. Oh, what larks I am about to have! Scotland has many treasures. Hamish tells me there are streams so cold they make you gasp when you trail your feet in them, and beautiful walks. I imagine walking hand in hand on the edge of a rippling stream, sunlight glistening on its surface.

  I will miss Mother and Father, of course, but I can’t help looking around my tiny bedroom with the faded flowered curtains and the singed rug from the fireplace that spits when the logs are wet and feel my chest explode as I ponder my future. What a grand life I shall lead! They have dances called ceilidhs that Hamish tells me he shall teach me, and dinners and waiting staff, and children and more. And Hamish, like a prince from the books I read by gaslight as a child.

  I can’t stop smiling.

  Chapter 7

  AVA

  She felt exhausted by the time she walked up the first flight of stairs to their flat.

  ‘Hey,’ Fraser called as she opened the door, light from the corridor spilling inside. He sat in the semi-darkness on their sofa, still in his work clothes with a beer in his hand and an empty tray of food on the floor. She moved to close the curtains. He looked up at her. ‘I didn’t wait. Sorry. I made spaghetti carbonara. It’ll be OK in the microwave . . .’

  ‘Thanks.’ She moved into the kitchen and put the plate in the microwave.

  ‘Give me two minutes!’ he called.

  She leaned back against the counter, waiting for the food to ping. Fraser had already washed up and wiped every surface down. She thought of Pippa’s remark about tidying as she glanced around the utilitarian kitchen. Maybe it was growing up in a house full of clutter that had given her a taste for minimalism: the white counters gleamed; the light grey cupboards with their glass fronts showed rows of polished glasses and mugs; a calendar on the wall displayed the correct month of July; a shopping list on a small whiteboard instructed one of them to pick up cornflakes and bananas. It was ordered, clean, calming.

  She removed the plate and stepped over to the small round table with its brushed steel legs and glass top. How would they cope with the chaos of a baby?

  Fraser appeared in the doorway, his dark hair ruffled, a mark just below the collar of his shirt. He lifted the beer bottle to his lips, stubble on his face. ‘How did it go?’ He pulled out the other chair. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t come with you; just taking the afternoon off for the scan meant I had to catch up
. . .’

  ‘Of course. I just wanted to tell them in person . . .’

  ‘How did your mum take the news?’ His mouth lifted into a smile.

  ‘She was chuffed.’ Ava grinned, recalling her mum’s wide smile when she’d told her.

  ‘And Pippa?’

  ‘Yeah. It was alright.’

  Fraser nodded once, not sharing his thoughts. He took a sip of his beer. ‘I can’t wait to tell Dad when I see him next. It feels weird, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yup,’ Ava said, her fork poised. ‘I know we’ve known for ages but today made it feel real.’

  Fraser ran a hand through his hair, the bags under his eyes bigger but his blue eyes bright. ‘Good weird, though.’

  ‘Very good.’

  ‘I’m glad I’m off in a couple of weeks – our last summer holiday before we become three.’

  Ava swallowed her food. She always took a decent amount of time off work to coincide with Fraser’s holiday. They made last-minute plans – cycling, hiking, picnics, paddle boarding. Last summer they’d explored the west coast, taking ferries to obscure islands, staying in campsites and B & Bs. Endless memories of still blue water, soaring landscape, purple heather, rose quartz rocks, shingle beaches.

  As if reading her thoughts, Fraser leaned forward in his chair and smiled. ‘We’re going to have the most fun introducing him – or her – to the world.’

  Ava felt a warm glow all over.

  ‘Although I might not let you jump off any cliffs this summer.’

  ‘It wasn’t dangerous.’ Ava laughed. ‘Mum took us there as kids!’ She made to stand up with her empty plate.

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Fraser stood, dropped a kiss on her shoulder and took it from her. ‘And it was like a thirty-foot jump, Ava. It’s called tombstoning for a reason. Anyway, we both know your mum’s a bit mental. Remember her sixtieth? She made us all go white water kayaking in February.’

  The thought of danger made Ava shiver a little. She put one hand on her stomach. ‘Do you think the baby will be alright?’