Oh my God, he’s not going to leave, is he? I can’t see him now! I refuse!
Before I can stop myself, I shake my head in protest.
He can come back later when I’m good and ready, thank you very much!
To my annoyance, I see him laugh. He points again.
Oh for God’s sake.
I stomp towards the door, quickly trying to pick the crusted spot cream off my face. Bruno bounces alongside me, thrilled that I’m giving in. Isaac seems to be his favourite person in the bloody world.
‘Er, hi?’ I say, trying to keep my eyes open as I step into a sudden beam of sunlight.
‘Good morning to you too!’ Isaac says brightly, and I fight the urge to throw my coffee over his chirpy face.
‘It’s six in the morning,’ I whine. ‘Why are you awake?’
The corners of his mouth turn up.
‘I’ve been up since four,’ he says. ‘Did you forget our plan?’
He continues to smile, and I gawp back at him, suddenly unable to form any words whatsoever.
‘We agreed yesterday,’ he says conversationally. ‘You wanted to see what life here was like in comparison to your exciting life in London.’
I wince as he repeats my words back to me.
Did I really say that?
‘But if you’ve changed your mind, that’s fine,’ he continues. ‘I wouldn’t want you to do anything you can’t handle, being a city girl and all. It might be too much.’
I open and close my mouth indignantly.
Is this why he’s here? To try and prove a point about how out of touch I am?
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I say indignantly, lifting my chin. ‘I grew up here, just like you did.’
‘Fine,’ he says brightly. ‘Well, we’ll leave in ten minutes then, assuming this isn’t your outfit for the day?’
I feel my face burn as he gestures to my fleece pyjamas.
‘We said we’d meet up today,’ I say pointedly. ‘This is not the day; this is morning.’
His mouth curls. ‘The morning is part of the day.’
I open my mouth to argue, then stop myself.
Damn. He’s right.
‘If it’s too early for you, I can come back later, or if you’re not feeling up to it, we can take a rain check.’
I’m about to reply that of course it’s too early for me and I need at least an hour to get ready, but my grip loosens on the door and for some reason I don’t want to close it.
‘No,’ I say tightly, ‘I just need to get dressed. Please,’ I add, forcing a sugary layer to my voice, ‘make yourself at home.’
I feel myself scrunch into a horrible false smile as Isaac steps inside, Bruno leading the way.
‘Great,’ he says, dropping onto the sofa. ‘Do you want breakfast? I’ll make it as a peace offering for your watch. You’ll need some stamina for the day. I brought some more eggs.’ He reaches into his bag and pulls out a small cardboard carton.
He needs to offer me a lot more than a lousy boiled egg for destroying my watch!
‘No thank you,’ I say, turning on my heel and stalking up the stairs. ‘I hate eggs.’
And with that I flounce into my room and smother my face with every bit of make-up I can find in the quickest time possible. All the while trying to ignore my stomach howling at the idea of a delicious morning omelette.
I bloody love eggs.
*
I glare at Isaac as he hops over the fence like it’s no big deal whatsoever.
Surely not. Surely Isaac hasn’t arrived at my house at the crack of dawn, demanding I get dressed and dragging me out into the rain, just to trick me into helping out on his farm.
‘Come on,’ he says as he lands on the other side. ‘You just need to straddle it.’
To my annoyance, I feel myself blush furiously. He definitely said that on purpose.
It took me almost half an hour to get ready. I had an absolute disaster trying to work out what to wear. It didn’t help that I had no idea where we were going or what we were doing. I haven’t seen him in years; God only knows what he gets up to these days.
The main fear fluttering around my mind was whether or not this was a date, seeing as Isaac never actually asked. If he had, I would have said no. Obviously. I do not want to be on a date with him. But still, in order to try and claw back some of my dignity after my earlier fleece pyjamas and morning breath, I spent at least ten minutes choosing my outfit. I ended up throwing on skinny jeans and my mustard, knitted jumper, so I can remind Isaac how great my boobs are (it’s quite fitted) without being in danger of him telling me off for not wearing enough layers (like he did when I asked if I could wear a skirt).
I mean, thank God I didn’t wear a skirt if this day is going to consist of light straddling.
‘You okay?’ he says as I swing my leg over the fence with ease, fighting the urge to punch the air in satisfaction.
Yeah. Stick that in your it-might-be-too-much-to-handle pipe, Isaac.
As I lift my chin to shoot him a look of triumph, I take a good look at the farm, and a warm sense of familiarity rolls through me. I spent my teenage years on this farm with Isaac.
‘Do you still work here?’ I ask, following him as we walk towards a barn. ‘Is that why you came back?’
I gasp as a horse sticks its head out of a stall. It has a chestnut mane and long, curled eyelashes. Isaac stops walking and starts to pet it.
I feel my heart lift.
Are we going riding? I could forgive Isaac and his know-it-all attitude if he’s taking me riding.
‘Yeah,’ he says, stroking the horse’s long nose. ‘My parents asked if I wanted to come back and help. I wanted to be with Felix too; he was going through a hard time at school.’
I frown. ‘Felix?’ I repeat, picturing Isaac’s younger brother wearing a dinosaur T-shirt and giggling with a gap-toothed smile. ‘Isn’t he like, what, seven?’
Isaac grins at me. ‘Thirteen.’
My mouth falls open. ‘No!’
He laughs, feeding the horse an apple from his pocket. We fall back into silence, and a familiar simmering feeling starts to resurface.
‘So,’ I say, ‘are we going riding?’
I reach out and touch the horse’s mane.
‘Why?’ Isaac says, not taking his eyes off the animal. ‘Do you fancy a ride?’
I feel a flash of heat surge through me. Isaac catches my eye and bursts into laughter.
‘Oh come on!’ he says, nudging me with his free arm. ‘That was funny! You asked for it. Have you forgotten how to laugh since you’ve lived in London?’
‘If you just want to piss about, then I’ll leave,’ I say haughtily, crossing my arms over my body. ‘I have a lot of very important work to do.’
‘Sorry,’ Isaac says, trying to look apologetic and failing. ‘It was only one joke.’
‘And you said that other word earlier.’
‘What word?’
‘Straddle.’
Urgh. I’ve only been with him an hour and he’s tricked me into saying the word straddle.
He laughs again.
‘Right you are,’ he says, giving the horse a final stroke and walking towards the farm. ‘I’m showing you Welsh life today, that’s all, just in case you’ve forgotten it.’
I roll my eyes at the back of his head.
‘Of course I haven’t forgotten it.’
‘Good,’ he says, shooting me a smile over his shoulder. ‘Then this should be a breeze.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
RACHEL
I step back and proudly admire Katy’s flat. I’ve scrubbed her kitchen (as well as any pregnant woman can scrub), I’ve dragged her wretched Henry hoover round and I’ve tidied and organised her washing. I feel a little zap of joy zoom through me as I admire my work.
I love having everything neat and in order. It makes me feel calm.
The cleanest thing in Katy’s lodge is the Super Bike, which I’ve been secretly glowering at e
very thirty seconds. I don’t know why I was shocked that she spent so much on a bike, considering as teenagers she once tricked Dad into buying her an ‘essential’ swimming costume for fifty pounds. She claimed our PE teacher had recommended it as the top swimsuit to wear in swimming lessons, whereas I knew it was in fact the top swimsuit to wear to get Isaac’s attention when we all went paddleboarding.
I laugh at the memory. Dad was so mad when he found out. He was even angrier when Grandma accidentally-on-purpose threw out the receipt and insisted that we deserved nice things.
I jump out of my thoughts as my phone starts singing next to me. Peggy’s name pops onto the screen and I smile.
‘Hey!’ I say, snapping off the rubber gloves. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh hello, love!’ Peggy cries, her warm Welsh voice gleaming with surprise. She always seems totally shocked whenever I answer the phone. It’s like she’s never used a telephone before and just can’t believe it’s worked.
‘Now listen,’ she says, ‘are you at home? Only there’s a sale on at JoJo Maman Bébé and I’m going to pop in. Would you like to come?’
I try not to laugh at her weird attempt at a French accent.
‘Oh, I’m not in,’ I say without thinking, and then immediately want to kick myself.
Peggy has made no effort to hide the fact that she finds it utterly bizarre that I’m hiding my pregnancy from practically the entire world. She always spills into a lecture about how a baby is a gift and I should be thanking the Lord and praising Jesus, blah blah blah.
I think she’s been watching too much Call the Midwife. She’s not even religious!
‘You’re not in?’ she repeats. ‘Where are you, love – at the hospital?’
I chew on my nail.
Hmm. Usually I would have no issue spouting a harmless white lie to Peggy. But if there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that she loves popping round without warning. If she thinks I’ll be home later, then she’ll raid the maternity section of New Look, then appear at the cottage with a Chinese, ready to do a fashion show.
‘Er, no,’ I say eventually. ‘I’m actually in London.’
‘London!’ she shrieks, her voice piercing my eardrums as though I’ve told her I’m chilling out in the middle of the Sahara Desert.
Okay, I just need to play this down and pretend it’s no big deal.
‘Yup,’ I say lightly. ‘I just fancied a city break. I was going to go to Amsterdam, but I couldn’t get flights.’
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could catch them and cram them back in.
‘Darling, are you okay?’ Peggy says in hushed tones. ‘Are you really in London, or are you somewhere else? Are you in danger? If you are in danger, cough once.’
I roll my eyes. For goodness’ sake. Scrap Call the Midwife; Peggy has clearly moved on to Line of Duty.
‘Peggy, I haven’t been kidnapped!’ I say. ‘I’m staying at my sister’s place in London. I just wanted to get away.’
I can almost hear Peggy’s brain manically trying to fathom why anyone would want to go on a mini break to London when you could go on a nice walk by the sea (her answer to everything).
‘Oh right,’ she says, ‘so Katy’s with you then, is she?’
Heat prickles up my neck. ‘Yes. We thought it would be easier if I came to London instead.’
‘Oh,’ she says, ‘well, that’s nice. So how did Katy take the news? Are you having a lovely time together? Did you give her my present?’
I feel a wave of guilt. When I told Peggy that Katy was coming down to stay so that I could break the news, she got so excited that she bought her an I’m going to be an auntie! T-shirt.
I can’t tell her that Katy isn’t here. She’ll never understand.
‘Er, not yet,’ I say. ‘I’ll give it to her later.’
‘And was she excited?’
‘Yup,’ I say, crossing my fingers behind my back, ‘she was thrilled.’
‘Ah!’ Peggy puffs in relief. ‘I told you she would be. See, you were worrying about nothing, weren’t you? And I bet she’s moving back into the cottage too, isn’t she?’
I open and close my mouth.
Okay, this is getting too much. I need to distract her.
‘Actually, Peggy,’ I say quickly, ‘while you’re shopping, could you possibly pick me up a . . .’
Shit. Think of something pregnancy-related. Something, anything!
My eyes fly madly around the lodge, desperate for something I can ask for, and land on William’s tennis racket.
‘. . . a baby tennis kit?’
My cheeks flame as the words fall out of my mouth.
God, I am a terrible person. Here’s Peggy trying to help me like the guardian angel she is, and I—
‘What the shag is that?’
Okay, maybe not an angel. An angel with a potty mouth. I’m sure they exist.
‘Yup,’ I babble, trying my best to sound convincing, ‘I’d like the baby to start tennis right away. I read an article about it. That’s how the Williams sisters got so good, and I actually had a dream last night that the baby became the youngest ever Wimbledon champion. I think it may be a premonition. It’s really important that they start from birth.’
‘From birth?’ Peggy echoes, flabbergasted. ‘Sweetheart, is baby tennis gear really a thing?’
Why did I say this? Why didn’t I just ask her to get me a sodding babygro? I don’t even like tennis!
‘Yup,’ I say again. ‘They should have it at JoJo Maman Bébé. Obviously I’ll transfer you the money.’
There is a silence down the phone and I practically hold my breath.
Please don’t question me any more on the stupid tennis kit.
‘Okay, love,’ Peggy says, ‘I’ll do my best. It would be quite fun to go to Wimbledon one day, wouldn’t it?’
I feel a wave of relief as we say goodbye and ring off. Okay, I’ll just need to keep Peggy at bay for the next few days. She shouldn’t ask any more questions about Katy, and by the time the baby arrives, she’ll be so overcome with excitement that she’ll forget all about it.
I flick the kettle on, pulling a decaf tea bag out of the cupboard and dropping it into a mug.
God, I miss caffeine.
I stayed with Fiona last night until much later than I’d intended to, and it was only when William started falling asleep in his pasta that we realised what the time was (much to the annoyance of Jasmine, who had been telling us all about her geography project where she has to make a globe).
The first night in their kitchen had felt forced, like it was obvious I had only agreed to be polite, but last night was different. The four of us sat around the table like it was completely normal, and for a moment I almost understood why Katy hasn’t moved out into a flat. I felt as though I was part of a real family, eating dinner together, everyone chatting about their day. With Danny always working on cruise ships, I haven’t had that since Katy and I were teenagers. Neither of us has.
I pick up my mug and manoeuvre myself onto the sofa. The baby shuffles around, and I feel a cold feeling spread through me as a new image creeps into my mind. It’s just me and the baby, alone at the table. There’s no happy chatter between a family, or visitors popping round for dinner. Katy sends the obligatory birthday card once a year and a stuffed animal, but that’s it.
I shake the image out of my head.
Don’t think about that. You have no idea how she’s going to react. She might surprise you.
Maybe.
I pick up my phone and turn it in my hands. The last message from Katy, the photo of Bruno, smiles up at me. I never reacted to the voicemail she left me. She was right, again. I should have warned her about the dodgy connection and Isaac living next door. I was so wrapped up in my own problems that it didn’t even cross my mind.
I click her name and hold the phone to my ear, gearing myself up to leave yet another voicemail. Ordinarily Katy and I never speak on the phone, mainly because neither of us
ever answers. We swap the usual stories over email, or occasionally text message (mine are all rehearsed rubbish about my lovely week at work), and then tick the ‘I’m a good, caring sister’ box and carry on with our own lives, sending the odd email in between. I realised that was the best way to secure a response. Katy swears by her emails.
Sometimes I feel as though—
‘Hello?’
My heart skips as Katy’s voice springs into my ear. She answered? She never answers!
‘Hi!’ I say, feeling a bolt of adrenaline rush through me. I was not ready for this.
‘How are you?’ I say.
Although maybe she just answered so that she can shout at me down the phone.
‘I’m okay!’ she says. ‘I’m sorry about that voicemail I left you.’
I pause.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about the internet. I did send you a message about how to get it to work,’ I say quickly, ‘but Fiona seems really nice. I don’t think she’d be annoyed at you not working.’
I start to nibble my nails as I wait for Katy to respond.
‘What do you mean?’ she says. ‘Have you spoken to her?’
Oh shit.
Is now the time to tell her that not only have I spoken to her, I’ve actually had dinner with her, twice?
‘Er, yeah. A bit.’
I hear Katy huff down the phone.
‘Does she seem angry?’
I frown. ‘No,’ I say. ‘Why would she be angry?’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Katy says, the lightness in her voice gone. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to sort out a goose.’
She’s got to sort out a what?
The line goes dead, but I keep the phone to my ear, trying to squash the feeling that I’ve done something wrong, again.
I should have just sent her an email.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
KATY
What Disney film is it where the princess is lightly scattering food for the animals? All the animals (who seem to have inexplicably long eyelashes) dance over to her and gently graze on the food, only stopping to chirp in time with a sweet harmony or shoot her a look of pure love.
Well whatever film it is, this goose is not in it.
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