The Perfect Present

by Karen Swan

  ‘But I’m not going anywhere, Jack. I want to be here, with you. I don’t understand where all this is coming from. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you I thought I was pregnant, but I really did just need to get my head straight.’

  ‘And so did I, because you weren’t the only one with a decision to make.’ His tone was final. ‘If you’d only asked, I’d have told you I can’t bring a child into the world either. Not when I know in my heart that its mother doesn’t love its father.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Laura protested. She wanted to stand but wasn’t sure her legs would support her. She’d told him she wanted his baby. Why were they having this discussion?

  ‘We’ve shuffled along up till now because you’ve tried and I’ve tried to be blind. But a baby changes everything. And we owe it to the baby, if not to ourselves, to face the truth – we’re not going to make it.’

  Tears blinded her and she dropped her face into her hands, shaking her head and trying to block out his words, but like the tears, they kept coming.

  ‘As much as I love you – and I really do fucking love you, Laura . . .’ He choked, his voice ragged and torn. ‘. . . I can’t spend my life apologizing for not being more than the man I am. We both gave it our best shot, for all the right reasons, but we’ve run out of road. You can’t have this baby.’

  Laura looked up at him desperately. ‘But I’m not!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m not pregnant. I never was. I was just late.’ Hope bloomed again. ‘Don’t you see? Nothing has actually changed between us at all. We can just carry on as we were.’

  He went grey before her eyes. ‘But Fee said you were—’

  ‘Fee said?’ Laura echoed, shocked. ‘Fee’s the one who told you?’

  She’d thought he’d guessed. Fee had been spot on when she’d quipped that day, in town, that he knew her monthly cycle better than Laura did. If ever she wasn’t sure, she checked her dates with him.

  ‘She thought I should know. She’s done nothing wrong, Laur,’ he said quietly after a moment.

  Laura looked at him sharply, instantly on the attack. ‘Why are you defending her?’

  ‘I’m not, I—’

  ‘Yes you are. You’re protecting her. My best friend has betrayed my confidence and you’re defending her.’

  ‘This is beside the point, Laura. It changes nothing. Whether Fee told me or not, whether you’re even pregnant or not, our ending is still the same.’

  Laura’s brain began to race as she thought back to Fee’s subdued mood. ‘You said a minute ago that I patronize you and Fee,’ she murmured. ‘But what’s Fee got to do with any of this? We’re talking about having a baby. Why did you bring her into it?’

  ‘I didn’t mean anything by it.’

  ‘Yes you did. You see you and her as the same and I’m an outsider all of a sudden? I’m the one who brings us all together.’

  ‘No. You’ve always been the outsider, Laur. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’re lying to all of us by pretending that this is enough for you, and it’s only something as real and for ever as a baby that’s giving me the strength to say this.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Laura whispered, not even hearing him now. ‘You’re in love with her.’

  ‘No. I’m in love with you.’ The rims of his eyes were reddening.

  Laura stared at him. Fee’s muted behaviour this afternoon made more sense by the moment. She wasn’t cut up about Paul. She had felt guilty for what she’d said, for what they’d . . . Laura gasped. ‘Did something happen between the two of you while I was gone? Is that why there’s no Christmas tree – you couldn’t get out of bed this weekend? Is that it? Is that why she’s broken up with Paul?’ Her voice was shrill and rising.

  Jack shook his head, but fractionally too late. The fatal pause Rob had told her about.

  ‘Laura . . .’

  But she simply held up a single, shaking hand. ‘Don’t . . .’ she whispered. ‘Just don’t. You’ve told me everything I need to know.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Laura pressed the tile to the wall and held it for a few seconds, reaching down with the other hand for the plastic X pegs that set the spacing. She felt it bond and slowly released her hand from it. The tile held.

  Stepping back, she admired her work. Dimpled and rustic in a matt sandy pink with starfish and winkles indented into them like fossils, they had come from a small batch of seconds a local artist had been offering in a box outside her studio. They looked lovely around the sink. Fresh.

  Tomorrow, she could apply the grouting and the hut would be ready for . . . well, for what? Hardly the grand Christmas unveiling she’d bought it for.

  She shook her head, trying to make the memory of last night disappear before the tears could gather. She must buy a small tree, she reminded herself, digging her nails into her hand – preferably one that was potted. And she needed to stop by B&Q at some point and get a peg rack, and some wicker baskets.

  Pulling on her puffa coat and wellies, she locked the hut behind her. The dark pigeon colour she’d chosen for the walls looked great next to the vanilla windows and veranda. In the space of three short weeks Urchin had gone from being the scruffiest hut on the beach to one of the smartest.

  It had started to rain and she marched quickly down the sand to the water’s edge, walking into the mercurial shallows. The water was anthracite grey today with rolling white surf, the sky a molten gold with blowsy black clouds gliding slowly across like galleons. The metallic colours brought the necklace back to mind – not that it was ever very far away, given the hours she was putting in on it. She’d worked for six hours solid when she’d gone back to the studio last night – desperate to do anything other than think, as she heated and melted, annealed, shaped, hammered and fired the happiness in another woman’s life – before falling into a fitful sleep on the sofa at two a.m.

  Work was the best therapy she knew. Talking was a waste of time; she’d learnt that lesson long ago. Life would go on – she’d lived through worse than this – and she knew what she had to do. Gary, the locksmith, was booked to come in tomorrow whilst she interviewed Olive and Min, so neither Fee’s nor Jack’s keys would work and she could stay at the studio without worrying about them turning up unannounced, determined to talk – as she knew they would. Both of them had tried calling her. Fee particularly had left tearful messages, protesting innocence and begging her to call back, but Laura had simply switched off her phone. Soon, Fee would ball up her courage and make the trip face-to-face, risking Laura’s white-hot anger, and Laura was determined to deny her the chance. She wanted the silence between them to be as impermeable and slow-moving as ice, to grow thicker by the day. There was simply nothing to say. Jack and Fee – her only family – were lost to her.

  Laura looked out to sea, watching raindrops pinprick the surface. She felt numb and defiant. There were things to love about her newfound freedom – like eating microwave meals for one at ten o’clock at night, getting up at dawn and not having to explain it, deleting AC/DC from her iPod and singing Florence & the Machine songs at the top of her voice.

  Plus she was blitzing her workload. Kitty and Orlando’s charms were now finished; Sam and Alex’s were nearing completion. Of the interviews that had been done, only Rob’s charm remained – he had unwittingly opened up enough on the glacier to give her more material than she could have hoped for in a formal interview – and she’d been avoiding starting work on that for the simple reason that it forced her to do precisely what she was trying not to do: think about him. But with Cat’s birthday not much more than a week away, and two interviews to do tomorrow, she knew she couldn’t put it off any longer.

  The water came to just an inch below her boots as she waded across the channel, but it was rough and spilt over the tops of her wellies, soaking her jeans and socks. Pulling them off at the bottom of the steps, she ran up barefoot, her hair dripping fat splodges of water down her back.

  Her Skype was ringing
when she unlocked the door, and she ran, skidded and lunged for it, pressing ‘connect’. The first thing she saw was Rob, peering so near to the screen that he looked like he might fall in – or kiss her again. Her eyes fell upon his in close-up, so close she could see the golden specks that dotted them like freckles; she saw the surprise register in his face at the sight of her before him so suddenly, the quick spread of his pupils against their copper beds, the breath-holding silence as they each relived the mutual bewilderment of that last moment in the lift.

  ‘So you just press that button there – and off you go,’ he muttered, moving back, and Laura could see Cat sitting behind him, staring quizzically at the screen. She was wearing a pistachio-green cashmere polo neck, and tufts of blonde hair fell wispily around her face.

  ‘Laura!’ she exclaimed excitedly when she saw Laura staring back at her, sopping wet and bedraggled, through the screen. ‘Oh my God! I can’t believe I did it. I’ve never worked this before! How are you?’ she beamed, before frowning. ‘Is it raining over there?’

  Laura nodded back, trying to look at least okay – it was beyond her to pull off ‘happy’ today – as she raked her hands through her wet hair. ‘Yes, great, thanks. Did you all get back all right?’

  Cat tipped her head to the side and pulled a sad face. ‘We so missed you. What happened?’

  ‘Oh, you know . . . the dog . . . had a temperature . . . Jack panicked.’ She rolled her eyes, keeping her voice steady as she said Jack’s name, aware that Rob was still in the room. She could see him behind Cat, flicking awkwardly through a magazine, no doubt worried Laura was going to drop him in it.

  ‘But it’s okay, the dog?’ Cat asked, concern tattooed all over her face.

  ‘Yes. False alarm. I’m sorry if anyone was worried. I didn’t want to cause a fuss.’

  ‘Do you hear that, Rob? It’s all okay.’ She leant in closer to the screen so that Laura swore she could pick up notes of frangipani. ‘He’s been so worried. It’s so sweet!’

  ‘Aaaah!’ Laura kept her eyes dead ahead, determined not to look at him behind Cat. Her peripheral vision told her they were in the bedroom – it was all very pale and milky from what she could gather, and she wondered whether there was another expensive, exotic carpet on the floor – zebra perhaps? Without moving her eyes a fraction, she saw him throw down the magazine and start to pace. Even across the country and through a screen, she could see the tension in his movements.

  ‘Well now, listen – I have got some great news,’ Cat confided breathlessly. ‘I must have phoned half of London since we got back yesterday, and I can confirm: The. Party. Is. On! We’ll have it in London at a friend’s flat – I’m not sure exactly where yet, so many people want to help – but it’s definitely going to be Friday week, six o’clock to seven-thirty. We’ll start early because it’s the day before Christmas Eve, obviously, so everyone’s just rammed.’

  ‘But isn’t next Friday your birthday?’

  ‘How did you know that?’ Cat gasped, delighted. ‘Who told you? I bet it was Kitty! It was Kitty, wasn’t it?’

  Laura nodded, aware that Rob had stopped pacing in the background and was standing, motionless, his hands in his pockets. She wished he would go away. She wished she had never met him. ‘Yes. Kitty told me.’

  ‘Well, listen, we’ll do the party early evening and then whatever Rob’s got organized for me – and I know it’ll be something fabulous,’ she squealed, half turning towards him, ‘we’ll go on to it together.’

  ‘Oh no, Cat, I couldn’t possibly intrude in—’

  ‘Enough already! You’re one of the gang now. So listen, I’ll email you the address, but just bring everything you’ve got and aim to be in High Street Ken for four p.m., okay? We’ll need to set up properly. And the dress code’s cocktail.’

  Laura nodded nervously. ‘Okay.’ She didn’t have anything here at the studio that would constitute cocktail; she barely had anything here that constituted ‘dressed’. She would have to go home to raid her wardrobe – but what if Jack was there? Or worse still, Fee?

  ‘See you next Friday, sweetie,’ Cat winked. ‘I can’t wait. And Rob’s going to make that call to Bertie, aren’t you, Rob?’

  Rob muttered something unintelligible in the background.

  ‘Baby, how do I turn this off?’ Cat asked, lifting her hands in the air delicately as though afraid the keyboard would give her septic shock.

  Rob came to the laptop, leaning over Cat so that she was lost from Laura’s vision again.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he said, his eyes on Laura, his finger hovering over the button for several seconds before he cut the connection between them.

  Laura sat back, her heart pounding. She told herself it was from the brisk walk over the beach; she had run up the stairs; she was excited about the party Cat was throwing for her next week . . .

  She stood up, agitated, and got the fire roaring so that an orange glow lit up the studio like a beacon. Once she had pulled the duvet out from under the sofa and snuggled under it, she grabbed her laptop and checked her in-box.

  The name that flashed up in it left her in no doubt as to the real reason her heart was pounding. She clicked it open.

  ‘It was a mistake. I apologize. Clearly it won’t happen again.’

  Laura took a sharp intake of breath at the curt message. That wasn’t what his eyes had said.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The next day didn’t start well. After her usual 2 a.m. jolt awake, she had struggled to drop back to sleep again – her mind kept running over various images of Jack and Fee together – and when sleep did return, it was like ether, sending her into a black, dreamless void that didn’t register outside stimuli such as alarm clocks. As a result, she was fifty minutes behind schedule by the time she did open one lazy eye, and it took another five before she could summon the will to move and start this next day alone. Traffic was particularly bad on the way into London, and by the time she had located the gallery, driven round the block nine times trying to find a parking space and then squeezed Dolly into it, she was over an hour late for the appointment with Min.

  She overfed the meter and darted through the perfumed crowds in ill-chosen bootcut jeans, red Converse and an itchy grey rollneck that matched her eyes. She had forgotten her jacket, typically. Yesterday’s rain had turned Arctic and it was sleeting lightly, covering the pavement with a subtle sheen that made her run on her toes as she wove a zigzag path down Holland Park. The gallery was easy to spot, even from a distance, as a tubby sculpture of a naked man rendered in metal coils was squatting outside the huge plate-glass windows. Laura felt an overwhelming urge to plonk an elf’s hat on his head.

  She stared in through the windows. Inside, she saw a short-haired woman with even shorter legs talking on the phone. She was wearing a cream silk shirt and chocolate trousers, and a burnt-orange polka-dot scarf was tied elaborately round her neck.

  The woman looked up and saw her and, without breaking stride in her conversation, beckoned for her to come in. Laura pushed open the glass door, leaving behind her a greasy handprint.

  The woman’s voice was strident and imperious as she carried on with her conversation, seemingly giving directions to a warehouse somewhere in Florence. Laura stood placidly in the middle of the gallery and looked around, trying to muster an expression of interest. Vast pretty canvases of landscapes rendered in cherry-pink, apple-green and cobalt-blue oils lit the space. They were idealized and naïve – some of the scenes even sparkled with touches of glitter, as though fairies had tiptoed across in the night – but the application was so bold and vigorous that their appeal was immediate. Except to her. She couldn’t feel anything right now.

  ‘You’re Laura,’ the woman said, finally finishing her conversation and advancing towards her, but stopping just out of reach of a handshake.

  Laura nodded. ‘Yes. You’re Min, I take it?’

  The woman didn’t feel the need to confirm. ‘You’re late.’

  ‘Y
es. I’m sorry. Traffic’s shocking. I’ve come in from Suffolk.’

  ‘I’m very busy,’ Min frowned, clearly wanting rather more grovelling than Laura was giving.

  But Laura didn’t have the energy or the time. She was going to have to get what she needed quickly if she was going to be out of here and on time for her next interview – and she really didn’t want to be late for that one.

  ‘So. This is for Cat’s latest birthday surprise, is it?’

  ‘Yes, a gold charm necklace. It’s very good of you to give me some of your time. You’re obviously busy. I’ll try to keep the interview as brief as possible for you.’

  ‘To tell you the truth, I’m at a loss as to why Robert Blake wants me to be included in this . . .’ She waggled her fingers as she reached for the right word. Not finding it, she let the statement hang, unfinished, in the air. Her eyes flicked up and down Laura as though assessing her for likelihood of robbery or assault. ‘Come on, then. You’d better come through to my office.’

  She walked through the gallery to a narrow corridor that ran off to the left at the back. From what Laura could see as she passed, there was a smart marble-decorated bathroom, a kitchenette, a tiny storage room and Min’s office. This was reasonably sized and very bright, with a recessed light well cut into the roof, two pale leathers chairs the colour of cappuccino foam and a desk with bronze legs shaped like duck’s webbed feet at the bottoms. Canvases were stacked five deep along the walls, and there was a tower of taped-up boxes in the far corner.

  ‘Sit,’ Min commanded as she marched to her seat behind the desk. Like a good Labrador, Laura sat.

  ‘Some mineral water?’

  Laura shook her head at the meagre offer. It was trying to snow outside. This was the kind of day hot chocolate was made for.

  ‘Let’s get down to business, then.’

  Laura reached down and pulled out her digital recorder, saying nothing but asking permission with enquiring eyebrows. Min nodded.