I Know You

by Annabel Kantaria

  ‘Really?’ We’re walking quite fast and Anna’s face, as she turns to me, is flushed. ‘I’d love that. Thank you!’

  And, for the first time since I arrived in London, I feel I’m doing something useful – making friend connections – and it fills me with happiness, which is probably why, when footsteps run up behind us and I turn to see that it’s Simon, I give him a huge smile.

  ‘Hello, Taylor,’ he says, falling into step with us. ‘I thought that was you. Very distinctive walk you’ve got. And you’re Anna, aren’t you?’

  Anna nods and gives him what I realize is clearly a fake smile and he smiles back then looks away.

  ‘How’s your dad?’ I ask.

  He smiles again and I notice a couple of hairs sticking out of his nose. They quiver with every breath. He pushes his glasses back up his nose. ‘He had a much better week, thank you for asking.’

  ‘Good. And what about you? How was your week?’

  He gives me another smile and shrugs. ‘Comme ci, comme ça. It is what it is.’

  ‘How long have you been caring for him?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s been a year since I moved in to Father’s place. I had to. It was too difficult otherwise. I couldn’t be everywhere at once.’

  ‘There’s no one else who can help?’ I realize what a daft question that is as it comes out of my mouth. Anna, who’s remained silent throughout this exchange, gives me a sideways look.

  ‘I don’t have any siblings,’ says Simon. ‘It’s okay. I don’t mind. It can just be a bit intense sometimes, which is why I enjoy coming to this group – getting outside, seeing other people, feeling like I have a normal life… Otherwise I tend to live my life vicariously through social media.’ He gives a nervous laugh.

  ‘Don’t knock it,’ I say. ‘Saved my life. When I moved here. I didn’t know anyone. If it wasn’t for social media, I think I’d have been dragged away by the men in white coats by now. My husband likes to joke that my best friends are Twitter and Instagram.’

  ‘Lol,’ he says with an ironic smile. ‘You are quite prolific.’

  I do a double-take. ‘What?’

  He taps the side of his nose with one finger. ‘Oh yes, I’ve checked you out already. I liked a couple of your posts. On Instagram, and Twitter.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Hmm. You won’t have known it was me: my account’s a load of random letters and numbers.’ He waggles his eyebrows at me. ‘I don’t like to give anything away.’

  ‘Weeeird,’ Anna says sotte voce, then, more loudly, ‘Well, if you don’t mind, I’ll leave you two to it.’

  ‘No!’ I blurt, desperate to keep her with me. But Anna holds her hands up.

  ‘It’s fine. Don’t let me stop you. I need to get back anyway, so I’ll call it a day here. Lots of work. Let me know about book club.’ And, with that, she wheels around and is gone.

  Twelve

  Every story has its linchpins; those moments around which the story turns. And, if this story starts the day I join the walking group, it takes another turn when I join book club, because this is where I meet Caroline Hughes-Smith. Anna knocks on my door that night, and we walk down the road to Sarah’s together.

  ‘You look nice,’ she says as I shrug on my coat.

  ‘Oh please,’ I say. ‘It’s hard to dress a hippo.’

  ‘Don’t be daft. You look amazing. I only hope I look as good as you when I get to your stage. You must be getting excited now the end’s in sight?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I sigh. It’s difficult to put into words what I’m feeling about the impending birth of my first child. I remember viewing becoming a mother almost as you might view changing species, so alien is the concept. You hear stories, of course, but I simply can’t imagine what it’s going to be like. ‘Exciting but also terrifying,’ I say. ‘I don’t know about you, but I can’t believe I’m going to have this little person to look after 24/7 – and not entirely sure there’s any point in me actually joining this book club, given I’ll probably be too knackered to read anything except parent manuals for the next five years.’

  ‘Oh, come on, it won’t be that bad. At least you’ll have Jake there.’

  ‘True,’ I say. ‘Right, this is Sarah’s house.’

  ‘What’s she like? Do you know anything about her?’

  ‘Only what I’ve seen on Facebook. She looks like a bit of a party animal – her photos are all high heels and cocktails.’

  ‘You’re friends?’ Anna asks.

  ‘No – but her account is wide open so I had a quick look.’

  Anna tuts. ‘What are you like?’

  ‘She’s a neighbour! I needed to make sure she wasn’t a psycho!’

  We drop our voices as we walk up the path. Sarah’s house isn’t one of the Victorian terraces that Anna and I have, but a post-war semi – one of a few tacked onto the lower end of the street. I ring the doorbell and Sarah opens at once. The hallway behind her is lit with a lamp and the warm glow is inviting, as is Sarah’s smile.

  ‘Come on in,’ she says. ‘Caro’s already here.’

  Sarah waves us into a lounge-diner where a woman’s already sitting at the dining table flicking through a book. I recognize her from Sarah’s Facebook. She looks up when Anna and I walk in.

  ‘Hi,’ I say brightly. ‘I’m Taylor. Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Likewise,’ she says smoothly, standing up and holding out her hand. ‘Caroline.’

  She’s wearing a silk shirt and necklace over elegant black trousers; her hair is loose and thick and her face glowing. Discreet diamonds glitter on her fingers and at her wrist. Although I’m fit and generally doing all right in pregnancy, I immediately feel inferior in my maternity jeans and smock top. It’s a feeling I quickly get used to whenever I see Caroline. In terms of looks, she’s as far from me as it’s physically possible to be. Her flamingo to my hippo.

  ‘You look nothing like you do on the internet,’ Caroline says, and that wrong-foots me. ‘Oh, don’t look like that,’ she says, shaking her head so her hair cascades over her shoulders. ‘Everyone does it.’ She snorts a laugh. ‘Anyone who says they don’t is a liar.’

  I look pointedly at Anna and bite my lip. She gives me a tiny eye roll, then turns to Caroline.

  ‘Hello, I’m Anna,’ she says, then there’s a pause that Caroline makes no move to fill, so I take a step towards her. ‘What are you reading?’

  ‘Oh, just flicking through Sarah’s books,’ she says. ‘She has… interesting taste.’ She raises an eyebrow on the word interesting and I see she’s holding a book with a saccharine chick-lit cover. She looks me up and down. ‘When are you due?’

  ‘February.’

  ‘Okaay,’ she says, looking at my bump and nodding. ‘Wow.’

  I want to tell her Anna’s pregnant too, as it’s not immediately obvious, but I don’t feel it’s my news to tell, so I bite my lip and wait for her to notice.

  ‘Right,’ says Sarah, coming back into the room. ‘Have you all met? I thought we could play a little game to introduce ourselves. Can you each just say a sentence about you; plus tell us two things no one else knows about you.’ She giggles. ‘That could be fun, right?’

  Anna, Caroline and I smile brightly at Sarah. I wonder if we’re all thinking, ‘Do we really have to?’ We all take our seats on the sofa and easy chairs and look expectantly at Sarah.

  ‘Okay, I’ll begin,’ she says. ‘I’m Sarah. Obviously.’ She laughs. ‘Divorced. Marketing manager. FMCG stuff. Won’t bore you with it. Two kids. Who live largely with their dad.’ She looks at each of us, her eyes sliding from one to the other, trying to latch, trying to find some grip with someone. ‘Right, two things no one knows about me… hmm…. Okay. I’ve never been to Spain. Can you believe it? Not even Ibiza! Though that might change now I’m single, ha ha. And – oh, this is a good one: I’d love to have another baby. No idea how, but I’d really love to.’ She looks down for a minute, then back up again with a smile. ‘So that’s me. Ta-da!’ She do
es jazz hands and Caroline starts slow-clapping. Unsure of what to do, Anna and I both give a little clap, too.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, which sounds a bit odd, but I don’t know what else to say.

  ‘Right,’ says Sarah. ‘Who’s next? Shall we do it in the order you got here, just to be democratic about it? So… Caroline?’

  Caroline leans back on the sofa and pouts a little as she thinks, her head tilted. We all wait, then she speaks slowly, pronouncing her words deliberately and precisely, in a manner that I come to realize is very much her signature.

  ‘Well, I’m Caroline, obviously. Hughes-Smith,’ she drawls. ‘I’m an architect, currently on sabbatical. Right. Two things no one knows about me.’ She frowns and I’m honestly surprised to see she hasn’t had Botox. ‘There are so many things no one knows about me. And that’s how I’d like them to stay. Does that count as one?’

  ‘Are you telling us you’re secretive?’ says Sarah, looking at Anna and me with a laugh.

  ‘If that counts, then yes,’ says Caroline. ‘One: I’m secretive. Two: I’ve been someone’s mistress.’ She holds both her hands up, diamonds sparkling, to prevent us from voicing the questions that spring to mind. ‘You didn’t ask for explanations. Just facts. That’s your fact. Take it or leave it. I’m not explaining anything, other than to say I was rather good at it, even if I do say so myself.’ She looks away rather theatrically and Sarah raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Ooh, a lady of mystery. Thank you, Caroline. Right, who’s going first out of you two? I think Taylor stepped over the threshold before you, Anna, so let’s go with her.’

  I breathe in deeply, trying to shake off the dislike I feel for Caroline for stealing someone else’s husband. I don’t know the circumstances. I mustn’t judge.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I’m Taylor. I’m from California, moved to Croydon a few months ago. I used to be cabin crew. Currently not working and… I can’t really say I’m pregnant, can I, because I guess you all can see that. Umm. Okay – number one: it’s a boy.’

  ‘Objection!’ Caroline holds her hand up. ‘Presumably your husband knows that?’ I nod. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘then it doesn’t count because Sarah said it had to be things that no one else knows about you.’

  I’m about to say that presumably her lover knew she was his mistress, but Caroline barges on.

  ‘Come on: two genuine things. Chop-chop!’ She claps her hands together.

  ‘Umm. Okay.’ I decide to let it go. ‘I’ve never, ever watched Mary Poppins,’ I look at Caroline, ‘and no, my husband doesn’t know that. And… I joined a walking group here in Croydon only so I could meet people.’ I bite my lip to look coy. ‘I actually hate social groups! Present company excluded, of course.’

  Anna widens her eyes at me so I nod at her and mouth, ‘it’s true’, realizing too late that I should have kept that quiet.

  ‘Right,’ says Sarah. ‘Your turn,’ and we all look at Anna. She wrings her hands together.

  ‘Umm. I’m Anna. Currently working as an indexer. I’m twenty weeks pregnant and my husband works in Qatar but she,’ she nods at me, ‘knows all that, so…’

  ‘Congratulations!’ says Sarah. ‘Almost outnumbered by pregnant women.’ She looks at Caroline. ‘All the more wine for us.’ She laughs. ‘Anyway, sorry. Carry on.’

  Anna bites her lip. ‘Okay. Here’s something no one knows.’ She looks at me. ‘The baby wasn’t planned.’

  I try to look inscrutable but inside me fireworks are exploding: she knows I know that! I’m so happy she’s made me complicit in her little lie. She’s finally trusted me. I close my eyes and breath in deeply. At last.

  ‘And,’ Anna continues, ‘umm, when I first saw Taylor at the walking group, I thought she was Emma Stone.’

  Now I shrink back on my chair, my hand on my breastbone.

  ‘Get outta here!’ I laugh, swatting the air. I’ve never had that before. Reese Witherspoon, sometimes, though I don’t really have her chin, but not Emma Stone.

  ‘No, really!’ says Anna. ‘Remember when she was blonde for Spiderman?’ She shakes her head. ‘It’s something about her cheeks and lips. And eyes. Do you guys see it?’

  Sarah cocks her head, ‘Yeah, maybe now you mention it.’

  ‘Nope,’ says Caroline. ‘Sorry.’

  Sarah rubs her hands together. ‘Right, thank you, ladies. Maybe we’ll get to the bottom of all those intriguing leads as we get to know each other but, for now, I suppose we should get started. I hope you ladies are hungry because I went a bit crazy at the deli.’ She looks at me. ‘It’s all right for you two, you’re eating for two! But some of us have weight to lose.’ She puts her hands on her hips and jiggles them like a belly-dancer.

  ‘Eating for two is a fallacy,’ says Caroline. ‘All these women who stuff themselves under the excuse of being pregnant live to regret it, trust me.’

  ‘Agreed there’s not much need in the first trimester but don’t they say you need more calories in the third trimester?’ I say mildly. It’s not really a question.

  ‘A few,’ Caroline shrugs. ‘Four hundred maybe? Not a lot. A modest tuna sandwich. Not a baker’s dozen of jam doughnuts as most women seem to believe.’ She pauses. ‘February? So have you done your birth plan?’

  ‘I’m not doing one,’ I say. ‘I just want the baby out safely, however the midwife deems fit.’ I pause and look at Anna for support, but no one speaks so I carry on. ‘I’d rather avoid a C-section unless it’s absolutely necessary. But all that stuff about music and candles? I don’t see the point. My doctor says babies make their own plans.’

  Caroline rolls her eyes. ‘One of those, eh? Good luck with that. But, if you want my advice, I’d say have an idea in your mind of what you want before you go into labour.’ She smiles at me; a big smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘You can’t go wrong then.’

  I smile back at her, echoing her big fake smile. ‘You’re absolutely right. I hadn’t thought of it like that. Thank you.’

  Anna shoots me a look and I imagine the laugh we’re going to have about this later. I thought we’d escaped all this by avoiding the mummy-to-be coffee mornings.

  ‘So, how many children do you have?’ I ask Caroline.

  She looks down then back at me almost with a challenge in her eyes. ‘None.’

  ‘Oh, I just…’

  ‘Anyway,’ says Sarah, ‘How do we all want to proceed? Would you like to jump into discussing particular books, or just plan how we’re going to operate?’

  *

  I don’t recall how it comes out, but out it does come, that it’s my birthday in a couple of weeks. By then, Sarah and Caroline have finished one bottle of wine and are halfway down the next. Anna and I are stone-cold sober.

  ‘So what are you doing for your birthday?’ Caroline asks. ‘I don’t suppose it’s much fun being that big. There’s not a lot you can do.’

  ‘No idea. I’ll probably go out for dinner with Jake,’ I say, surprised that she called me big. My bump’s neat; everyone tells me that.

  ‘Oh, you’ve got to do something!’ Sarah says. She looks at the other two. ‘By the way, have you met her husband? He’s gorgeous! He’s got eyes like…’ she slits her eyes and taps her nails on the table. ‘… Keanu Reeves! All dark and brooding.’ She turns back to me. ‘I can imagine why you might want to keep him to yourself, but it’s your birthday!’

  ‘Jake?’ says Caroline narrowing her eyes. ‘Not Jake Watson?’

  ‘Yes!’ I raise my eyebrows at her. ‘Do you know him?’

  She nods. ‘Dark hair, dark eyes? Grew up around here?’

  I nod. ‘Yes, that’s why we moved here.’

  ‘Oh, fuck me sideways,’ says Caroline. ‘I used to go to school with him.’ She laughs. ‘Jake The Rake!’

  ‘No! Surely not!’ I’m laughing, but all the while trying to imagine-not-imagine my husband with this glamorous gazelle of a girl. Did he date her? Would he find her attractive now? I flick my wrist to stop myself going down
that mental rabbit-hole.

  ‘Oh my god, it was a hundred years ago,’ Caroline says. ‘Not that I look old enough, obviously. We were at primary school together.’

  ‘That’s amazing!’ Primary’s good. They can’t have dated.

  Caroline looks at me appraisingly now, nodding a little, as if assessing the type of woman that Jake The Rake finally married, and I’m thinking I can’t wait to ask Jake if Caroline was a bitch at school.

  ‘All very interesting,’ Sarah says, ‘but, if you two have finished, as I was saying: you need to go out for your birthday.’

  I swivel back to face her. ‘I hardly know anyone.’

  ‘You know us!’ Sarah bangs the table, her voice too loud. ‘We should all do something together. Husbands, too. What do you all think?’ She taps her knife against her glass. ‘Ting, ting, ting. All those in favour of doing something for Taylor’s birthday, raise your hands.’

  She flings her own hand up in the air at the same time as Anna, then Caroline raises hers to the height of her shoulder, a small smile gracing the corners of her mouth. Sarah turns to me.

  ‘Right, that’s unanimous. Where shall we go? Dinner somewhere fun? What do we all like? Italian, Indian, Chinese, Mexican? Greek?’

  ‘Ooh, I love Mexican,’ Anna says.

  ‘Me too!’ I say. ‘Oh my god, did you ever go to Chronic Tacos when you lived in the States? I still dream about that place.’

  ‘Yeah, there was one in Fort Myers I used to go to every time I was in Florida. And one in Tampa. I loved it. So authentic! But have you tried Wahaca here? It’s just as good. Better, even.’

  ‘I have! I love it!’

  ‘There’s a brilliant one on the South Bank. It’s made from shipping containers!’ Anna says.

  Sarah gives a dramatic shudder. ‘I love the tacos. They’re so moreish.’

  Caroline rolls her eyes. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, listen to you all sounding like a flock of foodies. It’s not a competition to find the most authentic street food: it’s her birthday. We should go somewhere nice, not some half-baked food truck.’

  I put my hand up tentatively. ‘One more thing: could we make it a lunch? I’m not keen on going into town late at night these days.’