by Rosie Blake
‘I think.’ Daisy swallowed. ‘I think, maybe, it was Rachel, Ro-Ro.’
‘What?’
‘I think…’ Daisy was crying now, soft tears between the words. Normally Eve would have melted, Daisy was her best friend, her gentle best friend who baked and kept her flat clean and who loved her. ‘She said something once, it just didn’t make any sense, but then when you told me what you’d seen…’
Eve felt cold. Her best friend had been carrying around this knowledge and hadn’t told her. She had known.
‘I asked him at the wedding, asked him to tell you, but he denied it. So I didn’t want to say anything in case I wasn’t right. I should have asked her but I couldn’t do it. I know that’s pathetic but…’
Eve listened dumbly as Daisy carried on, knowing she was right. Thinking back to the times when Ro-Ro had been at their flat, her brash laughter, her eyes following him around the room.
‘I’ve got to go,’ Eve whispered.
‘No, don’t, Eve, don’t. I’m sorry, I should have had the balls to ask her, to force her to tell you…’
‘Yes, yes, you should have done something,’ Eve said, her words blurring into each other, tears streaking down her cheeks. It felt good to let some of the anger out and she didn’t wait to listen to Daisy’s responses, just let her have it. ‘You should have told me because we are meant to be best friends.’
‘I know, I know…’
‘I don’t think you do,’ Eve said, hanging up on her.
The quiet on the boat was unnerving and, as Eve wiped at her face, she moved out onto the deck. She wanted the sting of the wind and the cold. It whipped around her, her hair blowing across her face as she stared out at the river, the water moving past silent, black.
She couldn’t believe it. Daisy had been carrying this knowledge around with her. Eve thought back to all those times Daisy could have said something. Why didn’t she? Why hadn’t she told her? Eve felt queasy, hands gripping the bar at the back of the boat, the steel cold.
She thought of Ro-Ro, all the times they’d forgiven her for putting them down or saying mean things. She was an old friend and somehow that had made it all right, something to be shrugged off, laughed at. Eve swallowed, knowing she needed to confront her now. She stepped back inside the boat, the mobile sitting on the table where she’d left it, approaching it as if it were a bomb that might go off. Snatching it up quickly she pressed on her name in the contacts list.
‘Rachel.’
‘Eve, I’ve told you. I really hate it when you call me that.’
‘Hmm,’ Eve said, feeling anger coursing through her, every vein distended, her hand gripping the phone to her ear. ‘Do you know what I really hate?’
Ro-Ro sighed in a bored sort of way and Eve was suddenly there with her in her flat, watching her tip her head to one side, inspect her manicured nails. She replied, ‘People who claim to be from Oxford University but actually went to Brookes, toys that are marketed for boys that girls could play with, the man with the bear from that insurance advert…’
All these were true, and suddenly the fact that this girl knew her so well diffused the anger. The rage left her, her shoulders sagged and in a small voice Eve simply said, ‘No, Rachel, I just hate it when a supposed good friend sleeps with my fiancé.’
Ro-Ro didn’t wait long enough, the response high-pitched and too fast. ‘Don’t be absurd.’ Then she laughed, a quick, high laugh, dismissive, as if she was at a cocktail party and Eve had accused her of having Botox.
It was the laugh that made Eve continue, knowing it was absolutely true, that it was her, the woman in the photo. ‘Was it the once? Twice? Had it been going on for years?’ She felt bile rise in her throat as the words came, not knowing whether she was ready yet for any answer.
She could hear rustling, sentences in the background, the sound of a TV.
‘Is that Hugo? Oh, I bet he’d love to hear this…’
The noises continued and then the sound of a door closing, quiet, quick breaths, and then Ro-Ro hissing in whispered undertones, ‘Once, all right, well, a couple of times. Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’ll kill him for fucking telling you.’
The voice was so ugly, warped in a way Eve had never heard before. The hurt, the idea that she and Liam would be colluding together over when to tell Eve or not, made Eve feel more nauseous. She’d forgiven Ro-Ro for her snappy comments, her scathing remarks, but this was new. She made her feel as if they had no history together at all, as if there was no affection.
‘Liam didn’t tell me anything.’
That pulled Ro-Ro up short. She fell silent again before saying one word in a quiet voice, ‘Daisy.’
‘It wasn’t bloody Daisy,’ Eve screeched, her voice loud in the small space, surprised to see her own snarling mouth in the dark porthole in front of her. ‘She suspected but she was too bloody loyal to you to drop you in it, wanted to be sure.’
Eve felt a wash of guilt, realising she had shouted at the wrong friend earlier. Now that the truth was out, it seemed more horrible and disgusting than the not knowing; maybe she’d been trying to protect her.
‘Look,’ Ro-Ro said, her whispers pleading, clearly still hiding in her kitchen. ‘Look, it’s COMPLETELY over now. It was all over before I got married, I wasn’t thinking… Are you going to tell Hugo?’ She sounded scared; for the first time, she sounded afraid.
Hugo. Eve felt so sorry for the beaming, red-faced groom she’d seen a few days before, standing at the front of the church making promises to this glossy liar.
‘I… it’s over. Please, Eve, it would just hurt him…’
Eve bristled at the question, her speech, no apology, just hoping that her perfect world didn’t come falling down around her ears.
‘I’m not. You should, though,’ Eve said.
Once she’d heard it, Ro-Ro was all for reconciliation. ‘I am so, so sorry, Eve, I don’t know how it happened. I wasn’t thinking, I was getting married,’ she said. ‘It all seemed so daunting. You don’t understand… the pressure.’
‘You see I do understand, though, don’t I? I was meant to be getting married too.’
Ro-Ro at least had the decency to shut up.
For the first time since the break-up, Eve felt a flood of relief that she hadn’t married Liam, that she wasn’t trotting down the aisle to stand and make vows to someone who would lie and cheat on her with a friend of hers. She was finally glad she had booted him out; there would have been no coming back from it.
‘I suppose you told him where I was living in one of your cosy tête-à-têtes?’ Eve said, realising now why Ro-Ro had invited Liam to her wedding. He had been like a trophy to her.
‘He asked. I didn’t know it was a secret.’
‘Well, he’s taken Marmite,’ Eve said. ‘Not that you’d care about my dog when you don’t give a shit about me.’
‘That’s not true,’ Ro-Ro said and her voice was different, lower, filled with an emotion Eve hadn’t heard from her before. Then there was a voice in the background and Ro-Ro suddenly piped up, ‘Excellent, well, I am glad we talked.’
‘That’s Hugo, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, yes, absolutely. Well, speak soon, okay?’
‘No, Ro-Ro, we won’t be doing that.’
‘Oh, Eve—’
And she was gone as Eve jabbed at her phone and cut her off. She wouldn’t be talking to Ro-Ro ever again.
*
Missing Marmite, unable to stand the boat without the pad of his paws, his excited bark, she picked up a blanket and returned to the decking, thinking over all the times she had spent with Rachel at school, the times she had visited the flat with Liam and Eve. She thought briefly of Hugo and wondered whether he would ever find out, whether Ro-Ro would do it again with someone else. Eve hoped not; she knew what it felt like to be involved in the fall-out.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood out on the deck, the strange empty silence making her feel as if she were the only person on the river that night. S
he knew she should have been feeling happy for Harriet, but it seemed like for ever ago and only managed to highlight how alone she was. She shivered. Her jumper not enough to keep out the cold: she felt as bleak as the landscape around her. Her teeth were chattering as she looked up at the sky, a bank of cloud obscuring any stars. Without Marmite to nestle in her lap, his wet nose to find her hand, his chocolate eyes to follow her around, the boat felt all wrong. Maybe it was seeing Harriet too, knowing that she’d tried to run away from her family, hating that she had hurt them in doing so. They truly cared about her and she had selfishly decided to abandon them.
She looked around her, the river curling round the bend, the sound of the weir distant in the darkness, its relentless task. She knew she had to let Liam go, she knew she needed to move on with her own life, but somehow she couldn’t seem to find the strength. She’d shouted at Daisy, hurt her, and her family too by shunning them at Christmas. She’d lost Marmite, shouted at Greg, and accused him of things that he hadn’t done. Now she was here, completely alone, and Christmas was round the corner.
Well, Eve, you wanted to be alone for Christmas. She’d certainly got her wish.
Eve shut her eyes, a pathetic figure, one slow tear making an unsteady path down her face and dropping into the still water below her.
Mrs McLaughlin was due to appear at any moment. They had kept Pepper in overnight but her condition was no better. She lay, lacklustre, staring out with desolate eyes from between the bars of the kennel, the newspaper soiled around her, no energy to get herself up, the water and food untouched beside her in bowls. Greg knew with a sinking heart that it wasn’t good.
He heard the bell go and turned as Mrs McLaughlin stepped inside. She seemed to have aged ten years since their last appointment, her head down, her hands shaking as she moved across to reception. He felt his whole body lurch as he thought back to the woman who had first bustled into the practice, chirruping at her husband, smoothing out the crossword, fetching them pens, carrying Pepper in a basket, lifting her onto the table. Her determined steely eyes as she took in what Greg was saying, humorous, quick. He didn’t recognise her as she stepped across to him, holding up a tissue to her mouth, already preparing herself.
The cheery tinsel seemed to emphasise her grey face as she raised a weak smile. ‘Happy Christmas.’
He swallowed, hating that it was Christmas Eve and this was how she was spending it. ‘You too, Mrs McLaughlin.’ He was so tired from the long nights, fretting about Mum, worrying whether she’d respond well to the transplant, holding it together for her and Danny. He had barely registered it was Christmas, could hardly focus on anything. He was grateful to Karen for her cheery smile, her offer to work later on Christmas Eve.
‘Mrs McLaughlin, do come in,’ he said, guiding her with one hand on her back. She followed like a dutiful child.
She didn’t cry as she placed a hand on Pepper, still lying on the table in the consulting room. Pepper lay there as Mrs McLaughlin stroked her ever so lightly, her gold wedding band flashing in the strip lights over their heads.
‘Would you like a chair, Mrs McLaughlin?’ Greg knew that he should keep clients standing. It was the better way to break news, he had been told that on a course once; better still if they were walking because their body doesn’t let them go into shock. He didn’t care about that course now or what he should or shouldn’t do; he just couldn’t bear to see her so hopeless.
She looked up at him, her old self for a moment. ‘No, Mr Burrows,’ she said, smiling a watery smile.
He nodded briskly, trying to retain a grip on the situation, worried for a brief moment that his voice would crack. He looked somewhere just above her eyes, not able to focus yet on her, as he said in a slow, careful voice, ‘I’m afraid, as we feared, the cancer is back. I’m afraid that’s why she’s struggling to breathe. The best thing,’ he said, pausing to clear his throat, ‘the best thing, Mrs McLaughlin is—’
‘To put her to sleep,’ Mrs McLaughlin finished for him, her gaze steady, and he held it for a few seconds before silently nodding a response.
The decision seemed to galvanise her and she straightened, stroking Pepper’s fur once more. ‘Can I stay? I’d like to be there.’
‘Of course,’ Greg said.
‘And what do you do… after?’ she asked, swallowing slowly, the only outward sign she was struggling.
‘Whatever you feel is right. You could take Pepper home and bury her or, if you like, we could organise a cremation for Pepper.’
‘I scattered Harold’s ashes,’ she said in a quiet voice. ‘He wanted that, never wanted to be put under ground, was claustrophobic, the old softie,’ she said, a ghost of a smile on her face. ‘I’ll do the same.’ Her voice cracked as she said, ‘They’d like that. I imagine they’d want to be together.’ A tear formed in the corner of her eye and made a slow path down her face, trailing through the powder on her cheeks, marking a wobbly line. Greg had never wished so much that he could have done more in all the years he had been a vet.
Not trusting himself to speak, he went to fetch the folder where they kept photographs of different urns. He watched her select one, taking care over her choice. He spoke to Karen, who followed him back into the room, putting a hand on Mrs McLaughlin’s shoulder.
They stood in the consulting room and Karen moved round the table to hold Pepper, smiling kindly at Mrs McLaughlin. Greg fetched the syringe, training his eyes on Mrs McLaughlin. ‘This will take effect very quickly but you may notice that Pepper gasps or twitches.’ Mrs McLaughlin brought the tissue up to her mouth again. ‘If this happens she won’t be aware of anything. It is just her body’s reflexes, but it can look quite distressing.’
Mrs McLaughlin took a breath and nodded at him.
Greg gave her time to prepare herself and then gently slid the injection into Pepper’s front leg, finding the vein. It didn’t take long and Pepper lay there. Mrs McLaughlin made a small noise and Greg felt his own chest heavy and constricted.
‘I’ll get the cremation organised and she will be back with us in about two weeks’ time, and I’ll call when her ashes are here.’
‘Thank you, Mr Burrows,’ she said, swallowing. Greg wanted to put his arm round her and was so glad when Karen did just that, moving her to the door, chivvying her along. Just before they left, Greg started to speak, not wanting to leave things like that.
‘What was your best memory of Pepper?’ he asked, making both Mrs McLaughlin and Karen turn back round.
She looked at him unseeing, her eyes moving left to right as she thought. Then her mouth slowly turned upwards and the softest chuckle shook her body. ‘I’d make a cake every week for Harold. Victoria Sponge was his favourite. We got back into the kitchen to find Pepper licking her paws. She’d eaten her way through the cling film and had polished half of it off. Harold and I laughed so hard we had to sit on the kitchen flagstones until we’d recovered.’
Greg watched the animation on her face, her pale-brown eyes clearer, her back straighter.
‘You’re a lovely man,’ she said, nodding to herself. ‘Harold always said you were a gent.’
Greg felt warmth settle over him. ‘Thank you, that means a lot.’
Mrs McLaughlin nodded, turning to put her hand on the handle of the door. He watched her back for a second as she took a breath, and then stepped out into reception.
She was heading home for Christmas. She had packed a bag that morning, feeling more certain with every item she threw inside. She wanted to see Harriet, her parents, Scarlet, and she wanted them clucking about her, reminding her that life went on and that people loved her whatever happened.
She had phoned Daisy, stopping her before she had even begun. ‘I’m sorry, Dais’. I am so sorry.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘No, really, truly, Daisy, I should never have shouted at you like that.’
‘I deserved it,’ Daisy said, her voice small and sad, so that Eve wanted to reach through the phone and give her
the most enormous hug.
‘You didn’t, you didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘Did you speak to Ro-Ro?’
Eve sighed. ‘I did. It happened a couple of times apparently. Do you know what? I didn’t need the details. The whole thing just left me more sure I’ve made the right decision.’
‘You really have,’ Daisy said. ‘I’m proud of you.’
‘Sherrup.’
‘Okay, Happy Christmas.’
‘Happy Christmas, Dais’.’
She had felt instantly better, talking to her best friend again, knowing that Daisy would never do anything to deliberately hurt her. She walked to class the next day feeling like one of the stones weighing her down had been lifted away.
It was the last class before Christmas; they were collecting up their pots and bowls. The conservatory had been decorated beautifully. Large wrought-iron candlesticks with twisted stems held scented candles, the flames dancing and letting off a mix of orange and cinnamon scents. Christmas cards were crammed on every available surface and gold and silver cut-outs in the shapes of bells and snowflakes were stuck to the walls. Gerald was looking twitchy every time Raj stepped near one of the many bunches of mistletoe that Minnie had hung around the place.
Eve carefully wrapped her items in newspaper and loaded them into a large bag. She couldn’t wait to give the teapot to Harriet. She’d painted it with large poppies as an ode to her niece and she knew Harriet would love it. She had bowls and plates for her parents and a pot that could be used to hold candles for Scarlet, pens for Gavin. She had made one extra piece, staring at it for a few seconds, a lump in her throat, before checking over her shoulder and bundling it into the bag.
Kissing Minnie on the cheek, ruffling Sandy’s fur, she felt an ache as she was reminded of Marmite. He’d always loved to see Sandy, hopping around his legs, his tiny playmate, following around the older, bigger dog with excitable brown eyes.
‘You have a wonderful Christmas,’ Minnie said, dressed in an extraordinary red velvet ensemble complete with grey fur trim. She looked like Mrs Santa Claus. Eve made a mental note to never introduce her to her dad.