Praise for Lisa Hall’s bestseller Between You and Me

‘A well plotted psychological thriller with the mother of all twists. It’s certainly one of the best debuts I have read in a while, it’s compelling and shocking, and very cleverly crafted.’

– The Book Review Cafe

‘Hall packs a punch with this one and the ending left me gasping.’

– For the Love of Books

‘A gripping psychological thriller with a level of tension that will leave you breathless.’

– Tracy Book Lover

‘It is disturbing and chilling. It feels very real. And a quick mention for that twist! I did not see that coming AT ALL. I usually spot these things and I didn’t! Clever! Very clever!’

– Northern Crime Reviews

‘Between You And Me is that kind of book. The one that makes you feel like you’re there, you’re experiencing the emotions, the hurt, the pain.’

– Bibliophile Book Club

‘Lisa Hall has written a harrowing, disturbing and chilling novel which I couldn't help but devour in a matter of days. She's one of those authors you don’t see coming and BANG best seller, up there with the greatest crime writers like Stuart McBride and Lee Child. She’s one to watch.’

– Brunette Lifestyle

Tell Me No Lies

Lisa Hall

www.CarinaUK.com

LISA HALL

loves words, reading and everything there is to love about books. She has dreamed of being a writer since she was a little girl – either that or a librarian - and after years of talking about it, was finally brave enough to put pen to paper (and let people actually read it). Lisa lives in a small village in Kent, surrounded by her towering TBR pile, a rather large brood of children, dogs, chickens and ponies and her long-suffering husband. She is also rather partial to eating cheese and drinking wine.

Readers can follow Lisa on Twitter @LisaHallAuthor

For my Granny and Grandad Langford – for always being there.

CONTENTS

Cover

Praise

Title

About the Author

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

Extract of The Perfect Couple

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Copyright

PROLOGUE

They say everything happens for a reason. That a person comes into your life at a certain time, whether their intentions are good or bad. I used to think it was a load of rubbish, that we are in control of our own destiny, but now, knowing what I know, I’m not so sure. Sometimes people aren’t what they seem. Sometimes people set out to destroy everything you hold dear. And sometimes, that person is you.

CHAPTER ONE

I heave a box from the back of the van, taking care not to stretch too far. It’s not heavy, and I shift it in my arms as I turn and look up at the house. A fresh start, that’s what it is. It’s not just a house, it’s a chance for Mark and I to put straight everything that has gone wrong this year, to give Henry a happy family home instead of the war-torn existence full of accusations and blame that he’s had to put up with this year. This imposing, statuesque Victorian townhouse is going to make us feel like a family again, with its large rooms set over three floors, a garden with enough room for Henry to run around in and impressive trees that line the street outside. It’s a step up too, from our cramped two-bedroom flat in Crouch End, to this beautiful house in Blackheath, that’s almost so big I don’t know how we’ll ever fill it. And Blackheath isn’t that far from Crouch End, not really. A movement to one side catches the corner of my eye and I turn slightly to see Mark walking towards me, holding out his arms.

‘Here, give me that.’ Dark eyes twinkle at me, in the way that captured my heart six years ago, and I swallow hard. Twinkly eyes or not, forgiveness is not quite that simple.

‘I’m fine. It’s not heavy. And I’m not made of china.’ I shift the box again in my arms, but he insists and tugs it gently away from me.

‘You’re carrying precious cargo there.’ Mark smiles down at me and I manage to muster up a small smile back. Surreptitiously, I run my hand over the small swelling of my stomach, still almost invisible to anyone else. Mark strides towards the house, and after one last look at its imposing front, I follow after him.

He heads straight for the huge, airy conservatory at the back of the house, a stunning addition that lets vast amounts of light into what would otherwise be a gloomy, shadow-filled, Victorian kitchen. He adds the box to a pile that has already been off-loaded and turns to me.

‘Nearly there, Steph. Only a few more boxes to go and we’re done. You can start unpacking if you want, make it look like home a bit before Henry gets here.’ I give a small nod, and Mark pulls me towards him.

‘Honestly, Steph, it’s a fresh start. We can say goodbye to all that’s happened and try to start again. Or we can carry on dwelling on it all and let things really disintegrate. We can do this, Steph, I know we can.’ Hearing the slight sense of desperation in his voice, I lean into him and feel his chin rubbing against my hair as he rests his head on mine. Pulling away I look up at him, trying to see the man I married, instead of the man who broke my heart.

‘I know, fresh start. I’m trying, Mark, really I am. It’s just a bit overwhelming, that’s all. Everything’s changed, everything that I thought was solid has turned out to be ... liquid. I’m just finding my foundations again. Give me a bit of time.’

‘I’m sorry, Steph. You know that, I’ve never been more sorry. We can get over this; it’ll be hard but we can do it.’ He tugs me back into his arms and I rest there for a moment, squashing the queasiness in my stomach, and trying to ignore the stench of decay that still surrounds our relationship.

Two hours later, the removal lorry is finally unloaded and I’ve managed to find mugs and the kettle. Henry’s bed has been made up, and I feel like maybe this wasn’t the worst idea we’ve ever had. Maybe we have done the right thing, getting away from everything that went wrong, trying to start again somewhere new where there are no memories. Surveying the mass of boxes in Henry’s room I take a deep breath – I just need to get over the anxiety that hangs over me in the wake of all things new, and remind myself that this is for the best. I’m just smoothing the bed covers on Henry’s bed when the doorbell rings. Hoping it’s my parents bringing my little boy home, I run lightly down the stairs. I can hear Mark in the conservatory, swearing under his breath, obviously attempting to put a piece of furniture together or unpack something that is clearly getting the better of him. Swinging the door open, my ‘Hello’ dies on my lips as I realise it isn’t who I am expecting. Instead of my mother standing on the doorstep, there is a tall, redheaded man in a Christmas jumper, despite the fact that it’s not even the middle of November yet. There is a vaguely familiar air about him, as if I think I have met him somewhere before, but nothing comes clearly to mind. This isn’t unusual; my memory for faces isn’t the best even when I’m not pregnant.

‘Hello?’ I lean on the doorframe, aware that I must look a sight. My T-shirt is crumpled and filthy from cleaning Henry’s room before setting up the bed, my hair a tangled bird’s nest. The man on the doorstep smiles, showing off a perfect set of gleaming white teeth, and holds up a bottle of red wine.

‘Sorry, I know I’m probably intruding hugely, but I just wanted to introduce myself. I live next door – I’m Laurence. Laurence Cole.’ He holds out a hand and I shake it without thinking, before glancing down at my dusty palms and wiping them surreptitiously on my jeans.

‘Hello, Laurence Cole. You’re not intruding as such … It’s nice to meet you, but perhaps now isn’t a very good time.’ I glance behind me, where swear words are pouring from the kitchen.

‘Steph, is that the chap from next door? I told him to pop over; show him in.’ Mark’s voice floats out from the kitchen and my heart sinks a little. I’m really not feeling up to visitors; the house is a tip and I look a fright. But I rustle up a smile, taking the wine bottle from Laurence and showing him into the kitchen where Mark has just about given up on putting a cabinet together. As a television producer it’s safe to say DIY isn’t his forte. Getting to his feet, Mark wipes his hands over his jeans and holds one out for Laurence to shake.

‘Sorry about that.’ Mark swats his dark hair out of his eyes and turns to me. ‘Laurence, this is Steph, my wife. She’s a journalist too.’

‘Hardly a journalist, Mark.’ I look down at the floor, before raising my eyes to meet Laurence’s. ‘I don’t really think interviewing minor celebrities for trashy magazines is journalism.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Laurence smiles at me. ‘I wouldn’t mind interviewing a few celebs. I’m at the far more boring end of the scale, I’m afraid – I’m a financial journalist. I bring you all the doom and gloom from the financial quarter.’

‘There’s probably more juicy gossip your side than there is at Steph’s end.’ Mark gives Laurence a wink as I cringe. Mark doesn’t always think before he speaks, not realising that sometimes he comes across as brash and embarrasses me, even when he’s trying to be complimentary. Busying myself opening the bottle of red he’s brought over, I don’t realise at first that Laurence is speaking to me.

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘I said that must be where I know you from.’ Laurence accepts the glass of wine I’m offering, his hand brushing mine as he reaches for it. I pull back, not sure if I imagine the tiny fizz of electricity that sparks on my skin where his hand glances against mine. He takes a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving my face. ‘From the magazine. I think you interviewed Sasha Ronan after she got caught having an affair with that London banker – the one who embezzled a ridiculous amount of money and then spent it on his mistress. It was one of those trashy magazines that picked up on it all and gave her the chance to tell her story.’ My cheeks burning, I fill the kettle to make myself a drink, seeing as how I can’t drink the wine, no matter how much I want to.

‘Well, you know, it pays the bills.’ I avoid looking at Laurence; he is ridiculously good-looking and obviously my pregnancy hormones must be going crazy, my face hot with the force of the blush that spreads across my cheeks.

‘Sorry – I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I just meant that that was where I’d heard your name before. It caused a bit of a scandal in my office, and we talked about it for weeks. It made a change to read the other side of the story for once.’ He smiles at me, and I feel the hot flush of my cheeks subside.

‘Chill out, Steph, he didn’t mean anything by it. We don’t want to fall out with the new neighbours before we’ve even settled in.’ Chuckling, Mark perches on the kitchen stool next to me and picks up his glass of wine, patting my hand in that clumsily affectionate way he has. I slide my hand out from under his and spend the next hour listening to him and Laurence trading stories, like they’ve been friends for years. They don’t seem to need much input from me, thankfully, and I can tune out and think my own thoughts, random and spiralling, taking me somewhere far away.

We see Laurence out some time later, after an impromptu takeaway suggested by Mark, following a call from my mother to say that Henry has fallen asleep after a busy day and she will keep him for another night, allowing us to settle in properly. Standing at the end of the garden path, watching Laurence fumbling with his door key to get in, Mark puts his arm round me and pulls me in for a hug. I breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of him, the smell of clean laundry and Hugo Boss aftershave, with a slight tang of sweat.

‘See, I told you everything would be OK. We’ve made a friend already – it’ll be nice living next door to someone we get on with, who we can have a curry and a bit of a laugh with. And I’ll feel better when I’m working away, knowing there’s someone nearby if you need them.’

‘Hmmmmm. Yes, Laurence seems nice. It was very kind of him to bring us a bottle.’ I wrap my arms tightly around him, wanting to believe that what he’s saying is true, that everything will be all right. Walking back up the path together, the curtains in the living room of the house on the other side of the street twitch slightly, and I can’t help but feel an unexplained but overwhelming sense of unease.

CHAPTER TWO

I am sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of mint tea, when Mark hurries in, simultaneously wishing me a good morning, tying his tie and flicking the switch for the coffee pot. It’s still dark outside, crisp swirls of frost patterning the kitchen window. The kitchen is warm, the heating having come on half an hour before, and I loosen the belt of my dressing gown a touch, now that the early morning chill has abated slightly. We have only been in the house a week and it’s beginning to feel more like home, but now the furniture is all in place and only the very lightest boxes remain to be unpacked, Mark has no choice but to leave me to it and go back to work – he starts production on a new series in a few weeks and he can’t put off his return to the office any longer. He pours himself a cup of strong coffee and the smell of it makes my stomach roil in protest. I swallow hard, pressing down the bile that sits at the back of my throat.

‘What time will you be home?’ I sip at my tea, hoping to stop the morning sickness before it really grabs hold.

‘Late, probably. I know it’s not ideal, but after sorting the house out last week I need to make inroads into the new production. It’s not going to be an easy day. Are you sure you’re going to be OK?’ His eyes search my face, and I swallow back the urge to ask him to stay.

‘I’ll be fine, I promise.’ I give him a small smile, the smell of coffee in the air making the sick, queasy feeling in my belly worse. Oblivious to my nausea, Mark leans over to kiss the top of my head, breathing coffee fumes into my face.

‘Jesus, Mark!’ I gag, and sprint to the downstairs bathroom, only just reaching it in time. A few minutes later I hear the beep of the central locking on Mark’s car as I sit back on my heels, wiping my mouth with a tissue. I was hoping that, this time around, the morning sickness wouldn’t be as bad as it was with Henry, but it looks like I’m in for a rough ride again. Hauling myself to my feet, I am already feeling drained and exhausted and it’s not even seven a.m. yet. Reaching the kitchen, I hear footsteps scurrying around upstairs that sound like an army of tiny mice, telling me Henry is up and ready for another day. Mark has left, his empty coffee cup turned upside down in the sink to leave a dark, tannin stain on the enamel, the dirty coffee pot left unwashed on the side, burnt-coffee aroma filling the air and making my cheeks fill with bile again. A hastily scribbled note on the kitchen table reads, ‘SORRY, HAD TO LEAVE. SEE YOU TONIGHT. I LOVE YOU.’ Pushing my hands through my hair, I ignore the wreck of the kitchen and head upstairs to find my son.

A few hours later, Henry has been safely dispatched to school; I have waded through the dirty dishes in the sink and unpacked the last few boxes. I have an article due in two days on ‘What He Thinks About During Sex’ for a controversial women’s magazine, and have no clue where to start. How about the other woman he wishes he was sleeping with? I probably wouldn’t be the right person to write this article at the best of times, given the way things are between myself and Mark, and now, after what has happened in our marriage, I would say I’m the last person who should be writing articles on the subject. But, as I said to Laurence, it pays the bills and that’s what counts. I have just deleted the opening sentence for the fifth time and started to bash out another version when the doorbell rings. I sigh in frustration, glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall, as I only have an hour before I have to leave to collect Henry from school. Opening the door, I am surprised to see a petite, dark-haired woman on the doorstep, someone I definitely don’t know.

‘Hello?’ I smile quizzically at her, not having a clue who she is.

‘You’re Steph, right? I’m Lila – your neighbour!’ She gives me a wide, toothy grin and looks at me as though I should recognise her.

‘From next door? Oh, you must be Laurence’s wife. Nice to meet you. Sorry I haven’t been over to introduce myself; things have been a little hectic here.’ I pull the door fully open and hold out my hand for her to shake.

‘Oh, silly! Honestly. I don’t live next door; I live across the street with my boyfriend, Joe. I’ve been meaning to pop over and introduce myself, but you know how it is. I wanted to come over the day you moved in but Joe said I should wait a bit, let you get settled.’

I wonder if this is the curtain twitcher from the first evening, when Laurence came over? Feeling a little on the back foot, I give her a tiny smile, thinking that maybe I should invite her in – Mark would want me to invite her in for a cup of tea, at least.

‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, Lila. Would you like to come in? I mean, I don’t have long, I’m working … I work from home, you see.’ I’m rambling, so I stop talking and wait for her response, half wishing she would refuse the invitation.

‘That sounds lovely – I bought you this, as a little house-warming gift.’ Lila holds out a foil-wrapped package and, with one delicate, porcelain-white hand, peels back the foil to reveal a home-baked coffee cake. The smell hits me before I even realise what it is and I reel back.

‘Oh, Jesus. Sorry.’ I clasp my hand over my mouth and sprint back into the house, running for the downstairs bathroom before I am sick again.

Coming out of the bathroom ten minutes later, as I wipe my hand across my mouth, I remember that I left Lila on the doorstep. Now, it seems she has made herself at home in my kitchen, the foil-wrapped package tightly resealed and stuffed deep into the bottom of the bin, and the kettle boiling merrily away as she busies herself taking down mugs and finding teabags.

‘Sorry about that.’ I sit down heavily into the nearest kitchen chair, legs still shaky after the vomiting.

‘Nonsense. Don’t worry about it. I should have realised that coffee cake is not the best gift for a pregnant lady suffering from morning sickness.’ She smiles at me and hands me a cup of steaming mint tea.

‘How did you know?’ I ask, taking a small sip. ‘I could have just had a virus.’

‘Your husband … Mark, isn’t it? He mentioned it when I introduced myself, last week.’ Lila sits at the table next to me. ‘Now, drink that slowly. You don’t want to be sick again, do you?’

‘Mark mentioned it?’ Mark never said anything to me about the fact that he had met our other next-door neighbour. He never mentioned anything at all about meeting any of the neighbours.

‘Yes, Joe and I were on our way back indoors after we’d been out and your husband was in your front garden – he is your husband, isn’t he?’ I nod, and she carries on: ‘I introduced Joe and myself. Mark said then that you had a little boy and that you were expecting another.’ Lila sips her tea, her eyes darting all around the kitchen as if looking for something. ‘Where is your little boy?’

‘At school.’ I watch her carefully, this strangely overfriendly woman who seems to have just barrelled her way into my home, although my dashing off to be sick and leaving her on the doorstep didn’t really leave her much choice, I suppose. She must be quite a bit younger than I am, maybe twenty-eight or so, with dark, almost black, glossy hair falling in soft waves to her shoulders. Her skin is pale, alabaster-white, set off by a pair of striking green eyes. She is most unusual looking, almost like a real-life version of Snow White, and far more glamorous than I am, sitting here with my rusty-brown curls tied in a knot on top of my head, yoga pants with a small yoghurt stain on the right thigh where Henry flicked his yoghurt spoon at me this morning, and presumably the scent of sick on my breath.

‘Well, I can’t wait to meet him, you lucky thing. I’m so looking forward to when Joe and I have a baby,’ she breathes. ‘It’s going to be so lovely to have a nice family as neighbours, especially after the people that lived here before.’ Lila makes a little face, before giving me a broad smile as she pats my hand, and I hope that a little of her sparkle and fizz will rub off on me. I don’t know anything about the family that lived here before us, only that they left in rather a hurry, possibly something about a job abroad.

‘Lila, it’s been lovely, and I’m so sorry about the cake. It’s just the coffee thing. I can’t seem to stomach it at the moment; even the smell sets me off. I’m hoping that in a few weeks it’ll wear off.’ I set down my mug and get to my feet. I don’t want to be rude but I have a deadline to meet, and my boy to collect in just under twenty minutes.

‘Of course! I’m sorry to keep you. We didn’t get off to the best start, did we?’ Lila also gets to her feet, still smiling. She makes me feel like I must have a permanently miserable look on my face, compared to all her shine and glitter. I see her to the door, holding out my hand once again for her to shake. She bats it away and steps forward, enveloping me in a huge hug. I stand there stiffly, feeling ever so slightly awkward. I’m not a hugger, and certainly not one of those people who will scoop up someone she’s just met for a giant squeeze. Lila hugs me tight, until I give her the tiniest of hugs back.

‘I’ll pop in during the week, shall I? Just to check on you, OK?’ Lila says, buttoning the front of her pea-green coat. ‘Someone needs to take care of you while Mark’s working away, don’t they? It’s going to be so lovely having someone my age living across the street! I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they all seem to be a bit older than us around here.’ She laughs and gives a little wrinkle of her nose. ‘And I promise, no more coffee cake. We’re going to be great friends – I can just feel it.’ She gives me a wink and one last twinkly smile, before marching off down the path towards her own house, leaving me standing on the doorstep, feeling slightly bemused.

I walk back into the kitchen, intent on finishing the last bit of the article I was writing, only to find that the Word document I had open on my laptop is completely blank. I must have clicked on the delete button in my haste to get to the front door. Sighing, I close the lid of the laptop, and as I’m shrugging on my coat to walk up to the school to collect Henry, I realise I don’t remember telling Lila that Mark worked away. Mark must have told her when he met her in the garden, I think, and I wonder why he never mentioned it to me.

CHAPTER THREE

I make it to the school with seconds to spare, the walk taking me a little longer than I had anticipated. I should have driven, really, knowing that I was under pressure to get there on time, but the lure of fresh air and a brisk walk proved too much to be able to resist. This is my favourite time of the year, those few weeks between the start of a fresh new school year (odd how, even twenty years after leaving school, the first week of September still feels like a fresh start to me) and Christmas – all the giddy excitement of preparing for the festivities, made all the more fun since the arrival of Henry. The perfect time for us to re-evaluate things and make a go of our marriage after all that has happened, giving ourselves a clean slate and a chance to start over. It’s the best kind of day too – the kind that starts crispy and frosty, swirls of ice on the windowpanes and car windscreens, blades of grass turned white and crunchy with the frost. The kind of winter’s day where, even though there are bright-blue skies and sunshine overhead, the temperature doesn’t lift a degree or two above freezing, so all day long your breath puffs out in little dragon clouds as your boots slip and slide on the glittery, icy pavements. The best kind of day to pull me out of the thick, suffocating darkness that threatens to suck me under sometimes.

By the time I arrive at the school, the bell has rung and children are beginning to stream out of their classrooms, looking for their mothers waiting patiently in the playground. Half of the parents there don’t seem to pay any attention to the children pouring out of the school, not looking eagerly for their offspring, preferring instead to catch up with the school gossip with the other yummy mummies congregating in the playground. I stand to one side, away from the gossiping masses, my nose red from the cold, my cheeks flushed from the race to get there on time, and unzip my thick winter jacket as pregnancy and the brisk walk make me warmer than I should be. As I push my hat further back on my head I see Henry come out of his classroom, holding tight to his teacher’s hand. I feel my heart squeeze at the sight of his little face, a serious frown crossing his brow as the teacher leans down to speak to him. As she stands, she catches my eye and beckons me over with one finger. My heart sinks a little; today has obviously not been a good day for Henry. I make my way across the playground, dodging small children on scooters, their mothers still yakking away about nothing to their playground counterparts. I reach Henry and Miss Bramley, and lean down to give Henry a quick squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.

‘Is everything OK, Miss Bramley?’ I ask, knowing full well that something will have happened today at school. Henry is only in Year One, and this is only his first week in his new school, but he doesn’t seem to be settling in as well as they would like him to.

‘We just had a slight incident today with Henry, Mrs Gordon, nothing too serious, but I thought we should let you know.’

‘What is it? What happened? Henry, are you OK?’ He gives a small nod and a sniff, not raising his eyes to meet mine.

‘It seems Henry was pushed over by another child in the playground today, Mrs Gordon. It may have just been a little rough play that got out of hand, but I did think I should make you aware of it. Henry wasn’t hurt, just a scraped knee, and this is not the kind of behaviour we at the school condone, I assure you.’ Miss Bramley almost looks embarrassed at having to tell me my child has been hurt at school, her eyes looking everywhere but at me.

‘Henry, is that what happened? Was it just playing?’ Henry nods, a small, slight nod, and I look down at him helplessly. ‘OK. OK, fine. Thank you, Miss Bramley.’ I take Henry’s hand and lead him away towards the black railings at the far end of the playground, to collect his scooter and get us out of the gate before I can speak to him properly. Henry is a sensitive boy, much more like me than Mark. I think when he was born, Mark thought he would be getting a rough-and-tumble boy, one he could play football with in the garden and take to the green to play cricket in the summer. A boy who would appreciate vigorous play, wrestling on the living-room carpet with his dad, instead of one who preferred to sit quietly, drawing or painting. Since he started school and discovered the joys of reading, he has become a voracious reader, devouring all the picture books I collected and read to him when he was tiny and clamouring for more every time we venture into a bookshop.

As we begin the walk back down the hill towards home, he scoots a little ahead, using his school shoes as a brake – something that would normally infuriate me, but today I don’t mention it. We cross with the lollipop lady, a cheery soul who stands there morning and afternoon in sunshine and torrential rain, always with a smile on her face. She waves to Henry and hands him a lolly as he crosses, which brings the first smile to his face that I’ve seen today.

‘Henry, wait!’ I shout to him as he whizzes along the path, narrowly missing a lady walking a yappy Chihuahua that snaps at Henry’s legs as he passes. He slows and I catch up with him outside the small convenience store, panting slightly. ‘Leave the scooter there. We need milk. And some hot chocolate, if there are any good little boys about?’ I peer around and Henry giggles, his laughter tickling my skin like summer sunshine, pulling a smile onto my face. Henry chatters on as I fill my basket with milk and other little bits we’ve run out off. I am only half listening, concentrating on packing my shopping bag as the man behind the till scans the items.

‘Eight pounds forty, please.’

I smile at the man behind the counter and give him a ten-pound note. He hands me my change before reaching under the counter and popping a small purple packet into my hand.

‘Your change. And a treat for the young man.’ He winks at Henry, and I give him a small smile, nudging Henry into a ‘Thank you’ before adding the bag of chocolate buttons to the rest of my shopping.

A short while later, via a small diversion to the green, leafy park that we pass on the way home, we let ourselves in and Henry busies himself putting away his scooter and tugging off his school coat. I wait until he’s finished and then follow him through into the kitchen.

‘So then, hot chocolate?’ I ask, turning to the shopping bag and pulling out a large carton of milk.

‘Can we have marshmallows?’ he begs, his face lighting up. ‘And squirty cream?’

‘Well, of course,’ I reply. ‘Is there any other kind?’

He giggles and I pour the milk into a saucepan and set it on the hob to boil.

‘Is everything OK at school, kiddo?’ I ask him, watching his face carefully for any clues. He is just like me, so insular. Neither of us likes to open up unless we have to, both of us preferring to keep things bottled up and deal with them in our own way, something I’ve started to realise is not always healthy. I want to encourage him to start to be more open, to let him know that I’m his mum, that he can always tell me anything and I would never judge him. Something I didn’t have growing up, which I think has contributed to the way I deal with things. I have to encourage him, even though I know it means I’ll have to force myself to do the exact same thing.

‘Yeah. Mostly.’ He carries on scribbling away, colouring in a drawing of a tiger. I turn to the milk pan, catching it just before it boils over and splashes all over the hob. I wait a moment, leaving him a chance to expand, but he carries on colouring, taking painstaking care to make sure he doesn’t go over any of the lines. I pour the milk, whisking in the cocoa powder, topping them both off with squirty cream and marshmallows. It turns out that baby number two is far more partial to horrifically calorie-laden hot chocolate with all the trimmings than he or she is to coffee. Placing the mug in front of him, I try again.

‘Just mostly?’ I ask, nudging him gently. ‘Why just mostly? Is it something to do with what happened in the playground today?’

‘No.’ He grasps the hot chocolate in his hand and blows gently on the top, like I showed him. ‘That was just silly. Bradley doesn’t know how to behave himself. He always GOES TOO FAR, that’s what Miss Bramley says. He’s not my friend, anyway. I don’t care if he doesn’t want to play with me any more.’ Henry takes a sip of his hot chocolate, managing to slurp up several of the mini marshmallows dotted on the top at the same time. I give him a small smile and pat his hand, turning back towards the kitchen sink to blink away the tears that rush to my eyes.

Later that evening, once Henry is safely tucked up in bed, I tell Mark about Lila coming to visit.

‘She seems nice,’ I say, neglecting to tell him how my first instinct was to close the door in her face. ‘She said she had met you already.’

‘Hmmm?’ He looks up from his laptop, pushing his glasses back on top of his head. ‘Come here.’ He pats the sofa next to him and I slide along until our thighs are pressed together. ‘That’s good – you know, that you had tea with her and everything. It’ll be good for you to have a girlfriend; you don’t seem to have anyone close, not since Tessa left for New York.’ He puts his arm around my shoulder and pulls me towards him.

‘So, you never said you’d met Lila already.’ Although I know we said it’s a fresh start, I can’t help the spark of … what? Jealousy? Mistrust? I don’t even know what it is that flickers inside of me. Mark rubs his hand across his forehead, tiredly.

‘I didn’t really think about it, to be honest. She introduced herself and I told her about us, that we had a little boy and a baby on the way. Nothing exciting. Now come on, up to bed with you, you look exhausted. I’ll be up in a minute. I just need to send a couple of emails.’ He kisses my head and I shuffle off the couch to head upstairs.

While Mark is downstairs finishing off emails or whatever else it is he has to do on the rare occasions he gets home from work before midnight, I sit in bed and slide my hand between the bed frame and the mattress to pull out my diary. I used to keep a diary, years ago, when all the bad stuff happened, but once I sorted myself out and met Mark I let it lapse. Now, though, following on from everything that has happened between Mark and myself, including after Henry was born, and on the instruction of the counsellor Mark found, I’ve started to write in it again. The counsellor, Dr Bradshaw, recommended I document how I feel about certain things that happen, in an attempt to keep at bay the dark feelings that threaten to overwhelm me sometimes, so now I sit in my pyjamas and write about today. I write about how sad I feel for Henry, as he struggles to fit in at school with the other kids; I write about how I wonder what Mark is doing downstairs – he says he’s checking emails but how do I know that’s really what he’s doing? I write about Lila – about how she brought a little bit of sunshine into my day today with her bouncy demeanour and her vomit-inducing coffee cake, and about how, maybe, after so long avoiding making new connections and new friends, I should learn to trust other people again. Maybe I should make an effort to make a new friend. Maybe if I pretend for long enough that everything is going to be OK, it will be OK. In fact, I write, I think Lila might be good for me.

CHAPTER FOUR

I push my way through the crowded restaurant towards the table at the back, the one Belinda always favours and somehow manages to bag, no matter how busy it is in there. She has arrived already, which is no surprise seeing as how I’m fifteen minutes late. I seem to be running at a pretty constant fifteen minutes late since I fell pregnant again, the morning sickness that lasts all day always appearing just as I am about to leave the house. Belinda sits at the table, eyes constantly scanning the room for people who might not want to be seen, permanently on the lookout for her next story. She puffs rapidly on her Vape, her nicotine addiction still as strong as ever. The day the smoking ban came into effect was a dark, dark day for Belinda. She tosses her icy blonde hair over her shoulder, squinting towards me in the dim light of the restaurant. Then, as she realises that it is actually me approaching her, she gets to her feet and waves at me enthusiastically, cigarette and all.

‘Darling. I was beginning to think you’d stood me up.’ Belinda’s voice is husky from far too many cigarettes, late nights and bottles of fine whisky.

‘Sorry. I felt a bit … yeuch. You know how it is.’ I lean down to kiss her on the cheek, inhaling the familiar waft of Chanel No. 5 and cigarette smoke, the signature scent that is Belinda.

‘You know damn well I don’t, and I never want to either. No offence, darling, but babies are not for me.’ She takes another deep drag on her fake cigarette, squinting at me again in the half-light.

‘None taken. I do think it’s time for you to dig out the specs again, though, Bel. You’re squinting at me like mad, and I don’t know why you choose this restaurant every time – the lighting in here is awful.’

‘That’s precisely why I choose it, darling.’ Belinda lets out a cackle, drawing the attention of two older gentlemen dining at the table next to us. ‘Soft lighting makes me look twenty years younger, plus no one can see the bags you’re carrying under your eyes. Speaking of which, is everything OK, Steph?’ Speaking her mind as ever, she eyes me with concern. Belinda may be a tough old bag, but she has been a huge support to me since I first met her. She was, and still is, the editor of a very successful magazine – not as posh as Tatler, but a few steps above the trashy weekly gossip mags. I did work experience with her, way back when I was doing my journalism degree, and never expected to even cross her radar, but it seemed I was the only one in the office who could make her coffee exactly as she liked it, and she took a shine to me. She took me under her wing, showed me the ropes, and eventually, once I got my degree, gave me a job as a features writer. Fifteen years older and infinitely wiser than me, Belinda taught me everything I know, and now, since having Henry and not wanting to work full-time, she still passes me interviews and features to write in a freelance capacity.

‘Yes, Bel. Honestly, everything is fine. Just a bit exhausting at the moment, what with sorting the house out and being pregnant. I’ll be fine.’ I take a sip of the sparkling water on the table as Belinda takes a hearty gulp of cold, crisp Chardonnay. Lunchtime is drinking time to Belinda, and no doubt she’ll carry on until late in the evening. Apparently, she writes all of her best features half cut.

‘And Mark? What about him?’ Belinda’s nose turns up a little as she mentions Mark’s name. She doesn’t know what happened between us earlier in the year, and I want to keep it that way, but she doesn’t like him and never has, and she’s never told me why. I don’t like to ask.

‘He’s fine. He’s back to work and starting on a new project. Some wildlife, adventuring programme thing. Think Bear Grylls crossed with David Attenborough. Apparently he and the crew are travelling to some far-flung place next week to start shooting some footage.’

‘Bear Grylls slash David Attenborough, eh? Impressive.’ Belinda raises an eyebrow as she takes another gulp of her wine.

‘Oh, come on, Bel. Don’t be like that.’

‘Well, I just don’t like it, Steph. He leaves you and the baby on your own for weeks at a time. Anything could happen. He’s lucky you don’t find someone else to take care of you while he’s not around.’ She raises an eyebrow at me as I shake my head, a smile on my lips. Despite a tough exterior and a reputation for being a hard-nosed bitch, on the inside Belinda is as soft as spun sugar.

‘It’s fine, Bel, honestly. I knew what I was getting into when I married him.’ To some extent, yes … his behaviour six months ago, not so much. Belinda pulls a face and I think it’s best to change the subject. I don’t want to talk about Mark, about how he’s up and leaving me and Henry again just a few weeks after moving into a new home, a few weeks after promising me a fresh start. I don’t want to think about who will be travelling with him, or what he’ll be doing while I’m not there – that way madness lies. I’ll end up driving myself crazy wondering what’s going on, which is the reason why I took Belinda up on her offer of lunch today. I’m hoping she’s got some work for me, something a little more upmarket than ‘What He Thinks About During Sex’ and other such exciting features.

‘So? Why am I here, Bel? What have you got for me?’ Our starters arrive, steaming-hot, tiny bowls of creamy pasta with a Parmesan crisp sticking out of each one. I don’t know why Belinda bothers to order anything; it’ll just get pushed around her plate, while I will eat everything and then feel like a heifer afterwards.

‘I’ve got a great interview for you.’ As expected, Belinda swirls a forkful of pasta around her plate, before taking another sip of wine and letting the pasta fall from the fork before she’s even lifted it. ‘A TV star turned entrepreneur. Trashy-mag fodder turned rival to Alan Sugar. Darling of the reality-TV phenomenon turned bona fide business tycoon. It’ll be fabulous.’

‘Sounds intriguing.’ I shovel a forkful of pasta into my mouth, the morning sickness having left me famished. I have to eat while my stomach allows it; who knows how long it will be before the queasiness returns? ‘So, who is it?’

‘Melissa Davenport. You know, the girl that won that desert-island reality-TV thing? You must do; I’m sure you said Mark worked on that. She’s started her own lingerie business; it seems to have really taken off. Everyone’s going crazy for it, so I’m thinking we strike while the iron is hot. While she is hot. She’s kept a low profile lately – obviously she’s been working on this business idea of hers – but if we can get an interview with her now, before it all takes off, then we’ve got the scoop on all of the others. What do you say? Steph?’

The pasta has turned to ash in my mouth and I feel the blood draining from my cheeks. Melissa Davenport. Just the name alone is enough to start my stomach roiling in a manner far, far worse than morning sickness ever could. Saliva squirts into my mouth, heralding the fact that my stomach is about to revolt. Making my excuses, I jump up from the table and race towards the restaurant bathrooms.

Heart hammering, I make it to the ladies’ room just in time to watch the small amount of my starter, that I did manage to eat, come back to haunt me. Splashing cold water on my face, I raise my eyes to the mirror, not at all shocked at the fright staring back at me. My face is pale, dark circles surrounding my eyes. My fringe lies flat on my forehead, no sign of the sheen and bounce I carefully styled into it before I left the house. Sighing, I pat my face dry with a paper towel and make some effort to look normal by patting some powder onto my cheeks and adding a dab of mascara to my eyelashes. Satisfied I can pass Belinda’s inspection, I make my way back to the table. Belinda is on the phone and abruptly ends the call as I reach my seat.

‘Darling. Are you OK? Is the morning sickness really that terrible? Thank goodness I never found myself in the family way. I’d die if I had to get sick in a public place.’ Belinda wrinkles her nose in distaste and roots in her handbag for her Vape, dragging it out and puffing furiously. She’s not good with illness, or sympathy for that matter. I sit down, leaning back in my chair as the waiter fusses around our table, removing the plates. Belinda waves him away impatiently.

‘I’m fine. I’m sorry to spoil lunch. I don’t know what came over me.’ I sip at the glass of water next to me, avoiding Belinda’s stern gaze.

‘Don’t apologise – you can’t help it. If anyone is to blame, it’s Mark.’ Belinda puffs and gives a short bark of a laugh. If only she knew how true that was. ‘So, what do you think about the Davenport girl? Is she worth an interview? We could make her the cover – she sells magazines by the bucket load.’

‘I’m sorry, Bel, I don’t think so. I’m sure she’d give you a brilliant interview but I just don’t think I’m the right person for the job at the moment.’ Just hearing her name makes my stomach flip over. There is no way I would be able to stand being in the same room as her. Melissa Davenport. The woman who slept with my husband. The woman who tried to steal Mark away from me. The woman who tried to destroy my life.

My mother has agreed to collect Henry from school today, so that I can have a long, leisurely lunch with Belinda. With this in mind, I take a slow walk home instead of jumping on the tube. Belinda is incredibly understanding about my not wanting to do the Davenport interview, blaming my hormones and the pregnancy (and Mark), and I am thankful I never told her what happened between Mark and Melissa. He says it was a one-off, a reaction to how I was after Henry was born, that it was a mistake and that it is only me he loves. She, on the other hand, didn’t say much at all, only to beg me not to tell the papers, as it would destroy her career – she was concerned about being seen as a homewrecker (as well she should), although it’s just unfortunate that that didn’t cross her mind before the affair began. I’ve told no one, apart from my best friend, Tessa, about what happened between them, shame and humiliation making me keep silent. I told no one about how I found messages from her on his phone, messages that were anything but the innocent texts he said they were. I stomp angrily home, her name beating a tattoo in my head, the rage and hurt still as white-hot and fresh in my mind as it was the day I found out.

Lila is in her front garden as I make my way down our street towards my own front path. She raises a hand to me as I pass, pulling off a pink gardening glove as she straightens up.

‘Steph! How are you feeling?’ She smiles at me, a perfect row of white teeth gleaming, and for some reason I feel even crappier than I did before, imagining my teeth slicked with the vile taste of vomit.

‘Hey, Lila. Not great, I’m afraid. Morning sickness still kicking in at the moment. I’m just going to go and have a lie-down before my mum brings Henry back.’ I barely look at her as I fumble in my bag for my door key, juggling my phone in the other hand.

‘Oh, bless you, you don’t look too well. Go and rest up. I’ll be home if you need anything, just give me a shout. In fact …’ She pulls out her mobile and holds her hand out for mine, before inputting her number into my phone. ‘You just call me if you need anything, OK?’

I nod wearily, half raising a hand to her as I cross the street and let myself in. I need a hot bath, pyjamas and my little boy snuggled on the couch next to me.

Two hours later, when I go to the front door to let my mum in, Henry jabbering away nineteen to the dozen about the Christmas fair she took him to, I notice a tiny bunch of winter flowers tied together with a piece of raffia tucked into the corner of the porch. A small slip of white paper attached to the raffia reads, ‘Just a little something from my garden to cheer you up’. A smile touches the corners of my mouth. Even though I was so rude to her earlier, practically ignoring her in my haste to get indoors, to get away from everyone, she still thought about me. She still cared enough to leave me a gift to cheer me up. The thought of it is warming, and I resolve to fight against my instinct to push her away, to make more of an effort to let Lila in properly, as a new friend.

CHAPTER FIVE

Mark calls later that evening to tell me not to wait up. It’s always like this the few hectic weeks before he and his crew go off on location to start shooting – meetings that start after hours and go on long into the night as they plan what equipment they need to take, which routes they’ll travel along and which flights they need to catch. For once, he calls early, just as I am about to put Henry to bed, so he says goodnight to our son and waits patiently as I finish tucking Henry into bed.

‘Hello? I’m back,’ I say, as I fold my legs beneath me and get comfortable on the couch. Despite not managing to eat any lunch, I’m not hungry yet and decide not to eat until later. ‘What time do you think you’ll be back? I haven’t eaten – I can wait for you.’ I say this in the hope he’ll tell me he’s leaving soon.

‘No, no. Don’t wait. I think it’s going to be a very late one. That’s why I’m ringing; they’ve decided to pull the whole thing forward.’ Mark’s voice is low, barely above a whisper and I realise there must be other people nearby.

‘Pull the whole thing forward? What do you mean? You’re not supposed to be leaving for another two weeks!’ My voice is shrill, and I take a deep breath to try to calm myself. I should have known that the ‘fresh start’ wouldn’t last for long – Mark is a workaholic, the lure of the camera and all the excitement that goes with it pulling him away from Henry and me time and time again, no matter how many times I beg him not to go.

‘I’m sorry, Steph. I know I said a fresh start, and that I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. But it is necessary. I have to go, and the sooner we leave the sooner we come back.’ He carries on, making his excuses to me about how this is a once in a lifetime opportunity (it always is), and how if they leave now they’ll miss the worst of the rainy season, blah, blah, blah. Always the same old reasons.

‘So, when do you go?’ I ask, biting down hard on my tongue. He knows I’m upset – of course he does; you can’t spend six years with someone without knowing them inside and out, can you? I refuse to lose my temper, refuse to shout and beg him not to go. I used to. I used to get cross and shout and tell him he loved his job more than he loved me and Henry, but after the affair with Melissa Davenport I don’t feel like I can. That maybe the reason he did what he did was partly my fault – my fault for being a nagging old shrew.

‘Please don’t be upset, Steph,’ he says, his voice breaking a little, and I melt a tiny bit inside. ‘We leave in two days. I’m sorry, you have no idea how sorry, but this way we can be back in plenty of time for Christmas. I’m gutted that I have to leave so early. You know I didn’t want to leave you alone, but at least this way I won’t miss it. I’ll be there on Christmas morning when Henry wakes up.’

This does go some way towards softening the blow, as Mark knows I want him home for Christmas. Of the five Christmases that Henry has celebrated, Mark has missed all but two of them, and one of those was his first Christmas, when he was just two months old and didn’t really take part in any of the festivities at all. I reassure Mark that it’s all OK, that we will be fine without him, and when, with a sigh of relief in his voice, he asks if I have had a good day I decide not to mention lunch with Belinda, or the fact that she wants me to interview Melissa Davenport. If he is going to be leaving me, the last thing I want on his mind is her. He says goodbye and assures me he’ll be home as soon as he can, promising to take Henry and I out for dinner tomorrow night as it’s his last night before he leaves. I agree, and hang up, knowing in my heart that there’s little chance of his making it home before midnight tonight, and probably little chance of us seeing him properly at all before he leaves us again.

I am just making myself a bowl of scrambled eggs when there is a light tapping at the front door. Nervously pulling my dressing gown tightly around my middle, I go to answer it and am relieved when it is just Lila standing on the doorstep, bundled up like a snowman. The temperature has risen a couple of degrees since the arctic weather this afternoon, but it is still bitterly cold outside and the inky night sky is full of clouds, pregnant and heavy with the first snowfall of the season.

‘Lila! God, you must be freezing. Come in.’ I stand to one side of the front door to let her squeeze in, her bulky winter coat making her face seem like that of a petite china doll, peering out from underneath her fur hood.

‘It is freezing out there; there’s definitely snow on the way.’ She grins at me, pushing back her hood with one hand, her other hand clutching on to what appears to be a black sack filled with something oddly shaped.

‘How are you feeling now?’ Lila follows me through into the cosy living room, hanging her coat on the stair banister as she passes. I have lit the open fire that sits in the centre of the room, and Lila stands to warm her hands in front of it, the smell of coal and the pine cones I chucked onto the open flames filling the room.

‘Oh, better.’ I smile. I shed a few – OK, a lot – of tears after my phone call with Mark, the thought of the next few weeks alone almost too much to bear, what with finding work, although I know Belinda will help where she can, making sure Henry is settling in OK at school and, obviously, the seemingly never-ending rounds of morning sickness. That, and spending my evenings alone, in the dark, without Mark there. It doesn’t matter how many times he goes away; it never gets any easier. ‘It just sneaks up on me a bit at times. It turns out that morning sickness is not just confined to mornings.’ I don’t elaborate any further, not wanting to discuss Mark’s imminent departure or to delve into the deeper side of how I am feeling about this pregnancy, the nervousness I feel about what happens next, once the baby is born. How I don’t want a repeat of what happened when I had Henry.

‘Well, I’m pleased you’re feeling a bit better. I was a bit worried about you earlier, you looked so peaky,’ Lila says, leaning forward to squeeze both my hands. ‘I have a little something for you and Henry, something I hope you’re going to like.’ She reaches down by her feet to the large black sack I noticed her carrying earlier. ‘I made it myself, from the plants I have growing in my garden. Anything else that I didn’t have growing I went out and picked. It’s unique, made just for you and there’s not another one like it in the world.’ She is like a small child, her enthusiasm glowing across her face and her dark hair shining in the glow of the firelight. I can’t help it – her eagerness is infectious, and I lean forward, suddenly desperate to see what is in the sack. A broad grin sweeps across Lila’s face and I find myself mirroring it back to her as she slowly withdraws a hand-made Christmas wreath from the sack. It is exquisite, a perfectly woven circle of moss, holly, ivy and mistletoe, with a few winter flowers peeping out here and there to give it some extra colour. It is absolutely perfect. Tears spring to my eyes as I hold my hands out for it and Lila lays it gently in my palms.

‘Oh, Lila. It's gorgeous – and you made it all yourself? You are clever. It’s beautiful and Henry is going to be so pleased when he sees it.’ I turn it over in my hands, spotting more flowers tucked in underneath. It really is a work of art.

‘Oh, don’t be silly. It’s nothing, just a little something I knocked up.’ Lila smiles at me bashfully, a faint blush staining her cheeks.

‘It’s not nothing – it’s gorgeous. You should sell these; you could make a fortune.’

‘No. No, I don’t want to sell them. I just thought… well, I knew you weren’t feeling too great. It’s just a little something; call it a welcome-to-the-neighbourhood gift. This is the first one I’ve made this year.’ She leans over to tuck in a stray piece of wayward mistletoe. Her words make me smile, and the way she is so enthusiastic about things reminds me a little of Tessa.

‘Well, I’m touched, Lila. I really am. This is a really lovely gift; it’s so thoughtful of you.’ I lean forward, surprising myself as I give her a small peck on the cheek. Not a Steph thing to do at all, but maybe I am learning to open up to others; maybe I am making an effort to make new friends. I resolve to make sure I note this feeling in my diary later; the warm feeling that comes from a budding new friendship. It’s been so long I’ve forgotten what it felt like, to let someone new in, to start trusting again.

‘I just thought maybe you needed a bit of cheering up, that’s all,’ Lila says, sitting back on her heels where she is perched on the floor in front of the fire. ‘You looked really miserable when you came home earlier, and I thought maybe the morning sickness was getting to you a little bit.’ She is bashful, looking down at her hands, and I lean over and give one a quick squeeze.

‘I’m fine, honestly, but I do appreciate the sentiment. I was feeling a bit miserable earlier, you’re right, but you already left me something to cheer me up. I got your little posy and the note when Henry came home. It was a lovely thought, thank you.’

Lila cocks her head at me quizzically, as if I have said something that makes no sense to her whatsoever.

‘What do you mean, Steph? What posy?’

I laugh a little nervously, and stand to walk through into the kitchen where I have left the small posy of flowers in a vase on the windowsill, still tied together with raffia, the note tied to one side.

‘These.’ I put the posy down on the coffee table in front of where Lila sits. ‘They were on the doorstep when my mum brought Henry home from her house. The note says “a little something from my garden to cheer you up”. I just assumed it was from you as I had seen you in the garden when I came home.’ I look down at the innocent-looking flowers, laid in the small circle of water that has dripped from their stems, a cold shiver beginning to prickle at the base of my spine. Lila inspects the posy before she turns to me, a serious look crossing her perfect features.

‘Sorry, Steph. They’re not from me. I was out in the garden when you came home, collecting holly and ivy for the wreath I made you. I’ve never seen these flowers before in my life.’

CHAPTER SIX

The thought of the small posy of flowers weighs heavy on my mind all the next day, or rather the idea of someone who isn’t Lila leaving gifts on the porch while I was sleeping does. After reassuring Lila what felt like a hundred times that I was OK, that the idea of someone sneaking on to my porch while I was asleep and leaving a present for me did not creep me out in the slightest, she left, promising she would keep an eye out to see if anything else was left.

‘Honestly, Lila, it’s fine. I promise I’m not concerned about it in the slightest. It’s just odd, that’s all, that I saw you, then when I woke up the posy was on the doorstep and I just immediately assumed you had left it for me.’ I brush her concern away as best that I can, although inside my mind is racing, fearful that the one person I don’t want to find me has found me.

‘Well, I kind of wish I had now. At least then you wouldn’t need to be worried.’ Biting her lip, Lila tries to smile at me, as she stands on the doorstep to go home. ‘I’ll keep a look-out, OK? You don’t need to worry about anything, especially if Mark’s not here.’

Despite her reassurances, though, the posy sneaks into my mind on and off all day. Is it not just a little bit weird? That whoever left it didn’t sign their name? Could it be him? Is it Melissa, trying to freak me out? I scribble a quick note in my diary, just a few sentences documenting how I feel about it, how uneasy the idea of it has made me, in the hope that if I write it down it might get it out of my system a little bit.

Mark gets home before six, a hugely unexpected surprise despite his reassurances last night that he would be home in time for dinner. I am trying to wedge a huge black sack of rubbish into the outside bin when he parks alongside the kerb, giving the horn a little toot. I smile as he gets out of the car and immediately drops his bag on the pavement to help squash the black sack into the bin.

‘Thank you.’ I kiss him. ‘You’re my knight in shining armour.’

His brow creases and he looks apologetic.

‘You might think that now, but not for long. I booked us a table at that swanky pub on the other side of the Heath tonight as a surprise, but my sister can’t babysit now. Jacob’s got chickenpox. It was meant to be a surprise. I’m sorry, Steph. I wanted us to have a really nice last evening together to make up for my leaving early, but it looks like I’ve cocked it up again.’

He looks so disappointed. I reach for his hand to tell him it doesn’t matter when a voice calls, ‘Steph? How are you feeling?’ Lila appears from the other side of the hedge that shields one side of our front garden from the road. ‘Hello, Mark – nice to see you.’ She flashes a quick smile at him and leans over to peck me on the cheek.

‘I’m fine, feeling much better actually.’ I smile at her, and hope that she won’t mention the posy before I have a chance to speak to Mark myself. ‘Mark was just saying he’d booked us a meal out tonight, but the babysitter has cancelled. It’s his last night before he leaves for Paraguay,’ I explain.

‘Well, don’t miss out on an evening together for the sake of a babysitter! Why don’t I sit with Henry for you? It’ll only be for a few hours, won’t it? You two should spend your last evening together, go and have a good time. Honestly. I don’t mind.’

‘What about Henry?’ I ask, a frown creasing my brow. ‘I mean, I’m grateful for the offer, Lila, but Henry doesn’t know you that well. And he’ll want to see Mark.’ I know he wants to spend Mark’s last evening with him as well. He’s sensitive, and every time Mark goes away it disrupts his routine for days on end. It’s always much easier if we have all spent the last evening together.

‘We’ll stay home and put him to bed together like usual, then we can go out for dinner on our own, just the two of us.’ Mark snakes an arm around my waist and smiles at Lila. ‘Thank you, Lila, we really do appreciate the offer. Steph, don’t worry, Henry will be fine – we’ll make sure he’s settled before we leave. Come on, let Lila and I do this one thing for you.’

Lila nods at me, and that’s it. Settled.

Mark is so pleased with himself for arranging tonight; I don’t have the heart to tell him I don’t really want to go. I know if I make excuses about not knowing Lila that well, or that I’m tired and would rather stay home, he’ll start thinking I’m slipping back into the way I was before, when everything was an effort, and it was easier to let the black clouds blanket me from the outside world. I make my way upstairs, feeling crappy about getting so irritated with him. He’s tried his hardest to sort out a lovely evening out, even booking a table and sorting the babysitting out with Lila – normally the things that I have to arrange – so why don’t I feel more grateful? Because he’s only done it because he’s leaving us for weeks at a time? Because he asked Lila, someone who Henry really doesn’t know that well, instead of just letting us have an evening at home? Because he cheated on me and broke my heart, and try as I might I just can’t seem to get over it? I sigh, mentally kicking myself for being such a bitch and stand for a long time under a hot shower, trying to wash away my blues.

Henry is settled, Lila arrives on time and so does our cab. Before I know it we are sitting opposite each other in a restaurant that tries to model itself as a homely, English pub, but instead of dishing up the more traditional plates of fish and chips or pie and mash, it serves everything on wooden boards or pieces of slate, chips balanced up like a greasy, dripping tower. I have resolved, while I was getting ready, not to mention the posy of flowers to Mark, worried he’ll think I’m being paranoid, but now, sitting here in the cosy pub, firelight glowing and filling the room with warm orange light, I decide I don’t want to keep it a secret from him. I don’t want him to leave for weeks with a secret between us, however small and insignificant it might end up being.

‘Mark … yesterday someone left something on the doorstep.’ I watch him carefully, to see how he reacts. I’m always conscious that he does have a tendency to think I jump to the wrong conclusion all the time, especially as he knows my history. He spears a forkful of salad before replying.

‘Something? Like what?’

‘Well, flowers. With a little note.’

‘That’s nice. Who were they from? They weren’t from me, I’m afraid, babe. You know flowers aren’t really my thing. I’d buy you something far more exciting than a bunch of flowers. Sorry, I’m starving.’ He shovels the forkful of food into his mouth and I have to turn my face away for just a second.

‘That’s the thing. I don’t know who they were from. I assumed they were from Lila, but she said she’d never seen them before in her life.’ His eyes meet mine across the table and he gently lays his fork down.

‘Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer?’ He takes my hand in his large, warm one. ‘Are you worried about it, Steph? Is that it?’

I sigh, and try to shake my head.

‘I don’t think so. Maybe. Why would someone leave them on the porch, when I was home asleep, instead of just knocking on the door? I just worry it might be somehow connected to what happened … you know … before.’ I suck in a deep breath and blink back tears as I tell him exactly what the note said. He fiddles with his wedding ring, twisting it slowly around his finger. He must have lost weight; it never used to move so easily on his hand.

‘Maybe they didn’t want to wake you. It just seems to me like someone genuinely being nice, that’s all. Steph, you worry too much. It’s not to do with Llewellyn Chance, I promise you. Whoever it was just wanted to cheer you up, that’s all. The sender might have even got the wrong door for all you know; they might have been meant for Lila. Please try not to worry.’ I drop his hand. Maybe they were meant for Lila, but something inside me says they were meant for me, and that’s not necessarily a good thing.

‘Maybe I am reading too much into it all. Maybe you’re right. I’m sorry; let’s not spoil your last night at home. Let’s order dessert.’ Not wanting to talk about it any further I pick up the dessert menu and study it carefully, until Mark gently pushes it down away from my face.

‘Do you want me to check? Make sure that he’s still inside?’ His eyes search my face and I shake my head gently.

‘No. No, it’s OK, they would have told me if he wasn’t. Please, Mark, let’s just leave it.’

‘Steph, you are still seeing Dr Bradshaw, aren’t you? You’ll keep seeing him while I’m gone?’

‘What? Yes, of course.’ My face flames and I dip forward, allowing my hair to fall over my face. I have cancelled my last two appointments with Dr Bradshaw behind Mark’s back. I don’t really need to see him, I’m sure I don’t. I am feeling much better and writing in the diary helps a lot.

‘Please make sure you keep going, Steph. It’s important, especially after last time. I don’t want us to have to go through it all again, and I know you don’t want to. I love you, Steph. I just want you to be OK.’

‘I said, yes, didn’t I?’ My tone is sharp and Mark seems to realise that it’s time to drop it. Mark calls Dr Bradshaw a counsellor, but we both know he’s not. We both know he’s a therapist, a head doctor, whatever you want to call him. We both know that Mark wants me to keep on seeing him because, even though I know he loves me, even though I know he regrets what he did, deep down Mark thinks I am still a teensy bit crazy. The mood changes after that and we decide not to bother with dessert. Arriving home earlier than planned, Mark tries to give Lila some money for babysitting, but she waves him away, laughing, saying it was her pleasure and that she doesn’t get out enough as it is. I smile weakly at her and use checking on Henry as an excuse to make my way upstairs, out of the way of their banter, too tired to pretend tonight.

As I tiptoe into Henry’s room and perch on the end of his bed, the nightlight casting a warm glow over his perfect features, he opens his eyes and smiles at me.

‘Hi, Mummy,’ he says, rolling over to face me.

‘Hey, baby.’ I lean down and kiss him on the forehead. ‘What are you doing awake? You should be asleep by now.’

‘I woke up and I couldn’t get back to sleep. Lila made me a hot chocolate and read me some stories. Next time she says she’s going to teach me how to play dominoes.’

‘Well, that was very kind of her. You need to go to sleep now, sweetie – it’s school in the morning.’ He makes a face as I pull him in tight for one last hug, inhaling the sleepy, biscuity scent of him. A noise in the doorway startles me and I turn to see Mark’s profile outlined in the shadowy hallway, so I stand and walk over to him, leaning my head on his broad chest. He wraps me in his strong arms and we gaze down at our finest achievement, our sweet, tiny boy, who gives a little sigh and slips easily back into sleep.

‘I’m sorry for bringing up Dr Bradshaw tonight, Steph. I know you’re still seeing him and I know you’re much better, I just can’t help worrying about you, that’s all.’ Mark says to me as we get into bed.

‘Honestly, Mark, you have nothing to worry about, I promise.’ I fluff my pillow behind me and change the subject. ‘Henry seems to have hit it off with Lila, that’s a good sign, right? Maybe it’ll be good for us when you’re not here, having Lila across the street. I won’t feel so isolated.’

‘Definitely. And I know we weren’t going to talk about it any more, Steph, but I really do think that your friendship with Lila is a sign that things are going to work out OK. The fact that you’re willing to let someone new in speaks volumes, after everything we’ve gone through together. After everything you’ve gone through. I’m proud of you.’ He kisses the top of my head, and although I want to ask him to elaborate, to tell me how everything is going to work out OK in the end, I relax into the kiss and murmur my agreement. I can sort of see what he’s getting at – after what happened before, then after Henry and the problems that I had, followed by Mark’s indiscretion (oh, it was so much more than an indiscretion, but how can I say any more than what I have done already?) I shut myself off completely from the rest of the world. I was so terrified that if I let someone new in that they would somehow end up hurting me that I just stopped doing it. I pushed away all the friends that I did have, and refused to make any new ones, cutting myself off from the outside world. The only one who stuck with me is Tessa, my oldest friend. The one who already knows everything that there is to know about me, who knows all about the darkness that surrounds me and refuses to budge no matter how hard I push. She was the one who was there to hold my hand and help me pick up the pieces when everything fell apart around me when I was fifteen. She was the one I went to when I couldn’t talk to my mum about what had happened. She was the one who held me as I cried, when I thought I would never ever feel normal again. So maybe Mark does have a point – maybe my friendship with Lila does show that I’m starting to open up again, that I’m ready to let people in, but the posy still plays on my mind. I decide to make an appointment with Dr. Bradshaw first thing tomorrow morning, just to keep Mark happy.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Dr Bradshaw’s office is cold in both senses of the word. I sit in the reception area, avoiding eye contact with the other patients waiting for their turn to be seen. The heating is switched off, as is usual for this office, despite the fact that it’s December. It’s been snowing on and off for the last week, the first snowfall just having had time to turn to slush and ice before the arrival of the next deluge. I shiver slightly, pulling my thick cardigan tighter around my body, and give a small smile as the receptionist does the same, pulling the sleeves of her jumper down over her hands. The décor doesn’t help the chill either – walls painted with a pale, frosty light blue add to the chilly feel, and hard, plastic chairs mean no one sits comfortably while they wait. You would think for the amount of money Mark is paying there would be a little bit of luxury awarded.

‘Stephanie Gordon?’

I look up as the receptionist calls my name and gestures towards the closed door at the far end of the corridor.

‘Dr Bradshaw will see you now.’

I smile my thanks at her and start the walk down the brightly lit corridor, painted with the same chilly blue, my heart beginning to hammer nervously in my chest. I hate these appointments, constantly feeling as though each one is a test I must pass to be able to carry on with my life, even though Dr Bradshaw is always perfectly pleasant. I give a tiny tap on the door and push it open, making my way inside.

‘Steph. How are you?’ Dr Bradshaw swivels around in his chair and gives me a warm smile. Around my age, with warm, crinkly eyes and a neatly trimmed, bang on trend beard, he is ridiculously good-looking for a psychiatrist – not at all what I had imagined when I first began seeing him. Not at all what Mark would have expected either, if he had ever managed to come along with me.

‘I’m OK, I suppose.’ Handsome or not, I am always nervous when I see him, anxious to make sure I say the right thing so he doesn’t decide to cart me off to the loony bin.

‘You missed your last two sessions – is there any reason for that?’ He picks up a smart, leather-bound book and a fountain pen, poised and ready to write down my answers. When I asked him once why he didn’t get with the times and use an iPad, he told me he preferred to do things the old-fashioned way, conscious that some of his patients might be put off by the modern technology. Another point in his favour for being so considerate. Handsome AND kind, I’m sure he’s made someone a wonderful husband.

‘Just busy. Henry has started school and I’m still working freelance so everything has been a bit hectic. No other reason.’

‘And what about the pregnancy? How’s that going?’

I purse my lips at him. I didn’t even know I was pregnant the last time I managed to make it to an appointment.

‘Mark told you, didn’t he? Whatever happened to patient confidentiality?’

‘Well, Steph, that works one way, I’m afraid. Mark is welcome to give me any information he thinks is relevant to our sessions, but you can be assured that anything that you say to me in here stays in here. I won’t discuss anything said here with anybody else.’

I sigh, reluctant to speak about it, but now Dr Bradshaw knows about it, I know he won’t let it lie.

‘I’m scared, OK? I’m scared that what happened after I had Henry will happen again.’ Tears spring to my eyes and I reach across his desk for the box of Kleenex that he keeps, just for these moments. Dr Bradshaw eyes me coolly from across the desk – tears mean nothing to him; he must see them all day long.

‘There’s nothing to be scared of, Steph. We know about it this time and we can deal with it. There is no need to spend this pregnancy in a state of fear. I’m here to help you, Mark’s here; we’re all ready to support you and make sure we treat the post-natal depression before it manages to get a hold of you, OK?’ I nod, shredding the tissue between my fingers.

‘Are you still writing in the diary?’ he asks, as he scribbles in his posh journal and I nod. ‘And how are you feeling in yourself? Are you worried about anything else, aside from the new baby?’

I take a deep breath, knowing the decision I make now could affect what happens next. It could affect whether Dr Bradshaw decides to prescribe more pills for me (no, thank you) or whether he lets me try to make sense of it all on my own, with his help, some cognitive behaviour therapy to talk it all out. I decide to bite the bullet. It’s just one event and, now I think about it, in the safety of the doctor’s office, it’s not even that much of a big deal.

‘Someone left something on the doorstep. Some flowers. I thought I knew who they were from, a new friend I’ve made.’ See, I want to say to him, I am trying, I’m trying so hard to be normal. ‘I asked her about them but she said she had never seen them before, that they definitely weren’t from her.’

‘And what do you think?’ He raises his eyebrows at me, steepling his fingers and resting his chin on them in a typical therapist listening pose.

‘I don’t know,’ I stress, searching his eyes to see if I can tell what he is thinking. ‘I want them to just be a goodwill gesture from someone who is concerned about me. I don’t want to think there’s anything sinister about them but … it made me feel uneasy, that’s all. They were left on the porch while I was asleep. I don’t like the thought of someone creeping around outside the house while I’m there – why not knock on the door? But I’m sure it’s fine, probably a neighbour or something.’ As I speak I realise I sound paranoid, so I quickly backtrack, trying to convince the doctor (and myself, if I’m honest) that it really is no big deal. A bubble of anxiety rises in my chest and I swallow hard, trying to force it back down.

‘OK. Steph, we’ve been through this before, haven’t we? People know now that you are pregnant, correct? And Mark tells me you’ve been quite poorly with it – so, I think it probably is a case of someone having heard you’ve been a little under the weather and just wanting to give you a little boost, something to cheer you up. It’s easy to see things that aren’t there, especially when you’ve suffered with depression issues before and have battled through it.’ He gives me a sympathetic smile, and resumes his scratching in his notebook.

I nod, blinking back the last of my tears. I must be seeing things that aren’t there, if Dr Bradshaw thinks it’s innocent. I realise this is the reason I made my appointment – I wanted reassurance from someone who isn’t Mark that I’m not going crazy; that there is nothing in it, just a kind gesture from someone who would prefer to remain anonymous. I thank Dr Bradshaw, making a show of looking at my watch to say our time is up – usually his line, but today I’m taking advantage of it and getting out of here.

Ten minutes later I’m standing on the pavement outside the doctor’s office, wrapping my coat around me against the bitter chill of the wind. I have made another appointment in two weeks’ time, but I’m honestly not sure if I’ll keep it. I feel a lot better now I’ve had some reassurance that the posy is nothing to be scared of, and Dr Bradshaw seems to believe my assertions that I am OK dealing with things. I feel lighter than I have done in days. As I step off the kerb I hear someone shout.

‘Steph! Steph, wait!’

I turn, my hair whipping across my face, and see Laurence striding towards me, cheeks reddened by the cold.

‘I thought that was you! How are you?’ He stoops to kiss my cheek.

‘Laurence. I didn’t see you there – I’m very well, thank you. Just on my way home.’

‘Me too. Let me walk with you.’ He looks back over his shoulder towards the building I have just left, and I feel my cheeks flush red as I hope Laurence doesn’t realise where I have just come from. To my dismay he nods towards the building,

‘Have you just been in there?’ he asks. ‘Research, I’m guessing? From what I’ve heard he’s a right old quack. I’ll be interested to see what article you write on him.’ He gives a little laugh and grasps my elbow gently as we cross the road. It’s been a long time since Mark remembered to do anything as gentlemanly as that.

‘Erm, right, yes. Research. That’s it.’ I feel flustered, both by his words and the fact that his hand is burning right though my coat to my skin. As we reach the other side of the road and he pulls his hand away, I fancy I can still feel his touch, branded onto my elbow. We walk slowly together towards home, and I feel odd, as I did the first time I met him, like there’s something comforting and familiar about him. Like he knows me completely already, while I know nothing about him. I realise after a moment that he has been talking and I’ve not taken in a word he has said.

‘I’m sorry, what did you say? I was in a world of my own.’

‘I said, Mark has asked me to keep an eye on you and Henry while he’s away. That’s if it’s OK with you? My being next door and everything.’

He looks down at me, eyes searching my face and I feel yet another blush rise to my cheeks. What the hell is wrong with me? Without thinking, I prickle back at him, ‘I’m a grown woman, Laurence; I hardly think that anyone needs to keep an eye on me. I’ve managed on my own for years without Mark around, so I’m sure I can manage another three weeks or so.’

‘Right, OK. Well, the offer is there if you need anything.’

Immediately, I feel like a bitch for snapping at him, disappointed in myself for letting things slip, for giving in to the natural instinct to push people away. Mark obviously wants to make sure we’re OK while he’s not there, and Laurence has very kindly offered to help. It’s not his fault I feel so resentful towards Mark for leaving us so soon after promising me a fresh start, even though I know deep down that Mark doesn’t want to leave.

‘Listen, Laurence, I’m sorry. That came out all wrong. I’d be glad to have you keep an eye on us while Mark is away.’ The words come out before I can even think about stopping them. ‘Why don’t you come for dinner tonight? I can cook us something, nothing too fancy, and you can update me on all the scandal from the financial world.’ He gives a laugh, and tucks his arm into mine as we turn into our street.

‘Sounds perfect. I’ll be there.’

I am nervous before Laurence arrives, making sure the beef is turned right down low so it doesn’t burn and fussing with my hair, which has been flattened by the wind on our walk home. At eight p.m. sharp the doorbell rings, and smoothing my hair down for the fiftieth time I pull the door open, not expecting to see the person standing on the doorstep.

‘Lila! What are you doing here? Is everything OK?’ I stand in the doorway, instead of pulling the door wide open as I usually would.

‘Yes, everything’s fine. I just brought this over – I thought we could chill out together this evening, girls’ night in?’ She waves a DVD in my face, and makes as if to come in. I hold out a hand, resting it gently on her forearm.

‘Lila, wait. I’m sorry but … I can’t. Not tonight.’ Lila’s face falls, and I feel terribly guilty. She has been so good to me and I hate to let her down, but even so, we hadn’t made any arrangements.

‘Oh. That’s a shame.’ She gives me a small smile. ‘I just thought that … well, I thought maybe you might quite like some adult company while Mark’s away. But it’s fine, another time.’ I go to explain myself, to say it’s nothing personal, but before I can say anything, Laurence appears behind her. Lila turns, and seeing him behind her, gives a little nod. ‘Oh, I see,’ she says, in a flat voice. ‘You’ve already made plans. I’m sorry, Steph, I didn’t realise.’ Dejected, she turns to leave.

‘Lila, wait,’ I say, feeling like a total heel. ‘We’re just having dinner. Laurence is looking after us while Mark is away, that’s all. How about you join us? Or you and I could get together tomorrow evening?’ It’ll be the last thing I feel like tomorrow. After Laurence coming over this evening and two articles to write tomorrow the chances are I’ll be exhausted by the time tomorrow evening rolls around, but I hate seeing the disappointed look on her face.

‘Oh, no, don’t be silly, it’s fine. It was only a DVD and a bar of chocolate. But tomorrow, yes. That’ll be lovely.’ Lila turns on her heel and I watch her make her way back up the slippery, icy path, glittering with frost, before gently closing the door.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I wake up early the next morning, the previous evening with Laurence on my mind. I had forgotten how nice it was to spend an evening with someone who is mentally present, as well as physically. Mark always has to rush off to check work emails, or make phone calls, leaving me feeling as though our spending a quiet evening together is inconveniencing him, forcing him to take time out of his busy schedule. It didn’t feel like that with Laurence – he listened to me without comment, without making me feel as though I needed to weigh up every word before I spoke. I am always so conscious of what I say to Mark, wary of saying the wrong thing in case he thinks I’m sliding backwards to how it was before. There was none of that yesterday evening – I felt relaxed, not at all on edge. I forgot how nice it is just to be Steph, not Mark’s wife, or Henry’s mum, just me, spending the evening with someone who wanted to be there, who didn’t have a million other things he needed to be doing. I leave the house early, in the hope I can catch Lila before she goes out anywhere. I’m still not entirely sure what she actually does for a living. Despite us becoming so close over the past few weeks, every time I ask her she brushes me away, saying her job is terribly boring and often changing the subject. I’ve come to the conclusion that either she has a terribly rich family and has no need to work but is too embarrassed to tell me, or she really does have some rubbish boring job, like stuffing envelopes from home or something.

I ring her doorbell, even though it’s only eight a.m., and keep an eye on Henry as he whizzes backwards and forwards on his scooter across the garden paths. I am about to turn and walk away when suddenly the door is wrenched open and Lila appears in her dressing gown, hair tousled as if she has just got out of bed.

‘Oh, God, Lila, I’m sorry, I thought you would be up – did I wake you?’ I pull an apologetic face, feeling awful. There’s nothing I hate more than being woken up. She smiles at me, pale-faced, pulling her dressing gown tighter around her body.

‘No, it’s all right. Are you OK?’

‘Yes, it’s just ... well, I just wanted to apologise about last night. I would have loved a girls’ night in but I had already invited Laurence for dinner and didn’t want to be rude. I didn’t realise you were home alone or I would have invited you too. How about lunch today?’ Sod the two articles, I think, I can write them tonight when Henry is in bed if I meet Lila for lunch.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, you funny thing.’ She smiles at me, a broad grin filled with perfect white teeth, at once much more her normal self, and pats my arm. ‘I just had horrendous PMT and thought we could indulge ourselves with a chocolate-filled girly night, but it’s fine. I came home and ate the chocolate myself!’ She gives a little chuckle and leans against the doorframe, her stance making it clear she’s not going to invite me in. Although she seems her normal chirpy self now, there is an air about her that’s a little off and I guess she is still a bit miffed about last night, even if she says she’s not. I give her a small smile back, before I say, ‘Well, good. I was worried I had offended you. Shall we meet for lunch? Or are you busy?’ I realise I really am worried that I have offended her – now that we seem to be getting along so well I’d hate to have upset her.

‘Gosh, no. It takes far more than that to offend me!’ She gives another tinkly laugh. ‘And I’m sure poor Laurence needed the company far more than I did. Listen, I don’t want to be rude but I must dash, I’m late as it is.’ Lila reaches to close the front door, still not responding to my invitation to lunch. I decide not to mention it again – maybe she is offended, despite protesting otherwise?

‘OK. Well, as long as we’re OK? I’ll let you get on. I need to get Henry to school.’ I move reluctantly from the doorstep and make my way down the path to where Henry is waiting impatiently, scuffing his feet backwards and forwards.

‘Oh, and Steph – how about one o’clock at the Hole in the Wall?’

I look back and grin, relieved that Lila is not cross with me after all.

‘Perfect.’

I drop Henry off and am threading my way through children and parents, out of the playground, when a hand lands on my arm and stops me.

‘You’re Steph Gordon, aren’t you? The new mum?’ A woman moves in front of me, blocking the path ahead, so that I have no option but to stop and speak to her. She is petite, with hair in a shiny, black bob and a full face of perfect make-up, despite the early hour. Straight away she makes me feel grungy and lazy, with my curls once again bundled up in a topknot and no make-up on.

‘Yes? Errr, I mean, yes, that’s me.’ I have no idea who she is, presumably the mother of one of the other children, hopefully a child that Henry has made friends with. She sticks a hand out for me to shake.

‘We haven’t been properly introduced. Jasmine Hale. Head of the PTA.’

‘Oh, right. Nice to meet you. I’m sorry, but I’m kind of on a deadline …’ I go to walk past her but she effectively blocks my way again.

‘The PTA are always on the lookout for new members, you know. I’m sure you would bring some marvellous qualities to our little group. The school needs all the support it can get.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t really think—’

‘We raise a lot of money for the school; it’s so nice for the children to have lovely equipment to play on, don’t you think? But of course, we all have to pull our weight and make sure we do our bit. You’ll be at our next meeting, a week on Wednesday, won’t you? We are in dire need of some new blood and I just know you’ll be perfect.’ She looks at me expectantly, waiting for a response.

‘Well, I’d love to, but the thing is … well, I work from home and my husband works away a lot. I’m not sure I would be able to commit—’

‘Oh, don’t be silly; everybody can spare an hour here and there. It’s not a huge commitment, and of course it benefits the children. All of the children.’

She is so bossy and confident I’ll do what she wants, completely ignoring the fact that I am desperately trying to turn her down. She’s like a dog with a bone. I try to take a bit of a firmer stance with her.

‘Jasmine, thank you for the invitation but I’m really not in a position to commit to anything right now. You know, Mark not being home and everything ...’ I trail off. She smiles at me, head on one side.

‘Oh, you poor thing. Yes, that must be terribly tough on you and … Henry, isn’t it? It must be especially hard for him, poor little boy, not having his daddy home every night. Well, I’m sure we can come up with something. It is so nice to see all the PTA children playing together, and they all become such good friends. Catch up later.’ She leans forward and kisses the air next to my cheek, sweeping off to join a gaggle of yummy mummies in the corner of the playground, all of whom have been watching our exchange with goggle-eyed interest. I watch as they close ranks around her, all except one, a slim woman with dark hair who stands a little way off to one side. She gives me a small smile and I smile uncertainly back, still unsure as to what actually just happened. Did Jasmine just insinuate that Henry doesn’t have any friends, and now that will be my fault as all the PTA children play together and my refusal to join means Henry won’t be included? Or am I just being paranoid? The gaggle of mums all turn simultaneously as I turn to leave the playground, Jasmine waving one gloved hand at me as I leave.

I am still unsure hours later when I walk into the Hole in the Wall to meet Lila. This is only Henry’s first year at school, so I am feeling my way a little bit when it comes to playground etiquette, especially when it comes to things like joining the PTA. Maybe I should have just said yes, if that’s what all the other mums do. Anxiety about being seen to fit in playing on my mind, I take a deep breath as I walk into the pub, casting my eyes about quickly to see if Lila has already arrived. She is sitting at the best table in the pub, a tiny booth in the far corner, near the roaring open fire, her coat hanging on the back of her chair and a glass of red wine in front of her. She smiles as she sees me and gets to her feet.

‘You look frozen, you poor darling. Here, take my seat, it’s closer to the fire.’ She gets up and kisses me on the cheek, then shuffles round to the other side of the table and I gratefully take her seat. It’s only a short walk to the pub, but outside the weather is still below freezing, an icy wind cutting through to my bones.

‘It’s much warmer in here – I’m so glad we could get together. And I’m sorry about yesterday evening.’ She waves my apology away as I pick up the menu and quickly glance over it before opting for my usual jacket potato – it’s all I can keep down at the moment. While we wait for our food to come, I tell Lila about my morning, and how Jasmine Hale had accosted me in the playground.

‘She sounds like a perfect horror.’ Lila laughs, as I come to the end of my story. ‘Don’t worry, Steph, Henry is a delightful little boy. He’ll make friends. It just takes a while at that age. She sounds like she’s just a bit enthusiastic, that’s all.’

I bask in the glow of her reassurance, relieved we seem to be back on track and that she hasn’t taken offence at my turning her down the previous evening. I realise Lila is talking to me, and I’ve missed what she’s saying.

‘I’m sorry, what was that? I was in my own little world for a moment.’

‘I said I was just like Henry as a little girl. Quite insular, not the most popular girl in the class. I was shy and really struggled to make friends, and my family wasn’t exactly the most … well, never mind. Look at me now – totally different.’ She takes a sip of her wine. ‘I have a lovely house, a gorgeous boyfriend and I’m having a glorious lunch with a good friend. Winning at life, don’t you think?’ She grins at me and chinks her glass against mine.

‘Speaking of which, how is Joe?’ Despite the close friendship we have developed, I am still yet to meet Joe. He’s rarely there, spending even less time at home than Mark if that’s possible, and when he is there, he seems to leave the house and return at odd times, meaning I haven’t quite managed to spot him yet. I’m guessing that Mark has met him, after Lila’s reference to her and Joe talking to him in the garden, but the man remains a mystery to me.

‘Oh, he’s fine.’ Lila waves her fork around airily. ‘Busy, busy. You know. He’s working hard, as usual. I told you he’s a photographer, right? He goes away on location for shoots, kind of like Mark. That’s why he’s not around much. You’ll meet him next time he’s back, I’ll make sure of it.’ Another thing we have in common, although I didn’t realise Joe was a photographer. The conversation moves on to our respective other halves and how easy it is to seem to go for days without seeing them, they are so busy. We finish lunch and I realise that, for the first time in a long time, I have enjoyed myself. I don’t feel sick; I’ve laughed until my stomach hurt at Lila and her witticisms; and it’s been lovely not to feel so anxious about everything, just for a brief time. It’s like how things used to be between me and Tessa, when she still lived close by, and I realise how much I’ve missed having a close girlfriend. We split the bill and Lila surprises me by telling me she is going to come with me to pick Henry up from school.

‘Are you sure? You don’t have to, you know.’

‘I’m coming.’ Lila’s voice is firm as she winds a colourful scarf around her neck. ‘I want to see Henry, and this afternoon has been so lovely, why shouldn’t we string it out a bit longer?’

‘Why not, indeed?’ Smiling, I link my arm though hers, and as she pushes her hair behind her ears I notice she is wearing a pair of beautiful tiny diamond studs.

‘Beautiful earrings; I have a pair just like them,’ I say, smiling at her as a faint blush rises to her cheeks. One thing I have noticed about my new friend is that she is not very good at accepting compliments, and blushes like a fiend every time she receives one. It’s sweet, really.

‘They were my mother’s,’ she says. ‘They’re the last thing she gave me before she died. Now, come on, let’s go and get Henry.’ Lila gives one of her tinkly laughs, and we stride out of the restaurant, down the hill towards the school.

Henry is delighted to see that Lila has come with me to fetch him and shows off on his scooter, doing little bunny hops and jumping on and off the kerb while she claps her hands in delight. He takes her over to meet his teacher, who seems utterly charmed by her, just like everybody else, and I can’t help but feel a little bit of pride that this shiny, beautiful, dazzling creature has chosen me – dowdy, permanently sick, tired me – to be her friend. As we leave through the front gate, I point out Jasmine Hale to Lila, discreetly of course, but Jasmine spots me and jogs over.

‘Steph – lovely to see you.’ She air kisses my cheeks on both sides. ‘Have you had any more thoughts about what we talked about this morning?’

‘Sorry, Jasmine, I haven’t had a chance. Let me wait until Mark gets home. I might be able to help then?’ I cross my fingers inside my coat pocket that I have said the right thing.

‘Oh, of course, I forgot that your husband isn’t around. Such a shame. Well, we can maybe speak about it then, if you have time, of course.’ She smiles sweetly, before jogging lightly back to her friends, while I am left wondering whether she meant it, or if sarcasm laces her reply. Lila shrugs at me, and we walk out together, her arm tucked through mine.

At the bottom of the hill, Henry waits outside the little convenience store, chocolate smeared across his mouth.

‘Henry,’ I scold, ‘I told you not to scoot down the hill without us!’

‘It’s OK, Mrs Gordon, I kept an eye on him.’ Mrs Spencer, the lollipop lady, appears next to me, lollipop in hand. ‘He said you were just coming – got carried away, I expect.’ She gives a little chuckle before returning to her post on the opposite side of the road.

‘Henry, come here.’ I crouch down to his level, meeting him face to face. ‘That was naughty – you must never scoot away like that again.’ Tears fill his eyes, making me feel awful, so I pull him in tight for a hug. ‘Don’t cry – it’s done now, but you must never do it again. What’s that around your mouth? Chocolate? Did Mrs Spencer give it to you? You shouldn’t really take sweets from people, baby, even if you know them.’

‘It wasn’t Mrs Spencer, Mummy.’ Henry’s tears are forgotten now, and he takes his scooter back from where Lila stands, holding the handlebars in one hand. He starts to scoot slowly ahead of me, towards home. ‘It was Mr P. You know, the shop man.’ I turn back towards the window of the small convenience store, where the man who served me the other day, Mr P., stands watching us through the grubby glass.

CHAPTER NINE

I am just getting ready to leave for my next appointment with Dr Bradshaw when the phone rings. I’m in two minds whether to answer it or not, seeing as I’m already well on my way to being late, but snatch up the receiver at the last minute in the hope that it’s Mark. I’ve barely spoken to him since he left, what with the time difference and the fact he has to use a satellite phone in the more remote areas he finds himself in. It means he quite often can’t get a signal, but we have emailed backwards and forwards when we can and I have managed to reassure him that, with Lila’s help, everything at home is running smoothly in his absence. I pick up the receiver quickly before it can ring out, but it’s not Mark’s voice on the end. Instead, the warm, honey-rich tones of my best friend come down the line, immediately bringing a smile to my face.

‘Tess! What time is it for you? It must be early … is everything OK?’ I tuck a stray curl behind my ear and put my door keys back in my bag. Depending on what’s going on with Tessa I’m probably not going to make it to my appointment. Too bad, but things are going really well and I am pretty sure that skipping this appointment won’t make too much of a difference in the grand scheme of things, as long as Dr Bradshaw doesn’t tell Mark.

‘Everything’s good, sweetie, really good. I just wanted to check in on you, what with Mark being away and all the rush up till Christmas. I know you hate doing all that stuff alone.’ Her voice has picked up a slight transatlantic twang after living in New York for the past two years, something that still surprises me every time I speak to her. I’m so used to hearing the South London accent I grew up with, it’s strange to hear the way she pronounces certain words after being away for what feels like forever, but in all honesty is really not that long.

‘I’m OK. Mark’s due back before Christmas and I can sort out presents and stuff. I’ll be OK, I promise. I’ve made a couple of friends … they’re helping.’ I fall silent and wait for Tessa’s reaction – she knows how hard I find it to let people in. She witnessed me fall apart, as a teenager and again after I had Henry – it was she who put me back together again. She was the one I went to when not even my own mother could talk to me. I miss her so much.

‘Really, Steph? That’s brilliant! I’m so glad you’re settling in OK. I’ve been worried about you after everything that’s happened, then Mark dragging you halfway across town. Tell me about these new friends.’ I get Tessa to hang on the line a moment while I take my coat off – I definitely won’t make it to Dr Bradshaw’s office in time for my appointment now, but I make a mental note to call and make a new appointment as soon as I’m done talking to Tessa. I don’t want him telling Mark I haven’t been coming, not when we’ve both said we will make an effort to get our marriage back on track. I head into the kitchen and flick the kettle on as I tell her all about Lila and how we seem to have really become close these past few weeks. I tell her all about how good Lila is with Henry, and how supportive she has been, popping in and keeping me company while Mark has been gone. I realise as I’m speaking that Lila seems to be filling the shoes Tessa stepped out of when she left for New York. Then I mention Laurence, and she seizes on it.

‘Laurence – who is he? You haven’t mentioned him before. Is he handsome?’ I laugh; Tessa has always been the same, completely incorrigible when it comes to men even though she has been in a stable relationship with the wonderful Pierre ever since moving to New York.

‘Yes, handsome. But Tess, I really do like him. I mean, there’s something about him, something that I don’t think I should like, but I do. Like, in the wrong way.’ The line goes quiet as Tessa abruptly stops laughing. I sigh, hating myself for feeling like this about Laurence, but Tessa is the only person I can talk to about it.

‘Shit, Steph, that’s massive. What are you going to do? What about Mark? I know Mark is a total shithead and there’s nobody who dislikes him more than me but … God.’

‘I know, I know. It’s just silly – there’s something about him that feels safe and familiar. He’s a genuinely nice guy, I think. Mark went away and Laurence came over for dinner and he was just so … kind. He gets on so well with Henry; he even played some video game with him last night so I could finish off the dinner in peace. Mark never has time for that stuff with Henry at the moment. And he listened to me, Tess. He listened to me and he didn’t tell me I was imagining stuff, or that I was being paranoid or overreacting. He didn’t ask me if I had missed my appointments with the doctor; he just listened, and made me laugh. I enjoyed his company, that’s all, and it seems like it’s been a long time since I enjoyed Mark’s company.’ A single tear rolls down my cheek as I voice for the first time how I really feel about everything. I love Mark so much, and I desperately want us to work, but he ripped my heart out when he had the affair with Melissa. Tessa sighs, and I can picture her sitting at her desk, even though it’s only seven o’clock in the morning for her, a coffee steaming in front of her as she runs her hands through her short, blonde hair.

‘Steph, you’ve had a nightmare year. Mark’s affair with Melissa pulled the rug out from under you in a split second, and then Mark moves you halfway across London for a “fresh start”, away from everything you feel safe with – which he then decides is all sorted and buggers off to bloody Peru or wherever the hell he’s gone. No wonder you’re feeling a bit up in the air. Add to that the fact you’re pregnant and no one would blame you for feeling confused. You know Mark isn’t my favourite person, but I do really think he loves you. He just made a mistake.’

‘It’s Paraguay,’ I whisper into the phone, as tears course down my cheeks. Tessa always has a way of putting everything back into perspective, making sure I know that everything that happened was in no way my fault, and I love her so much for this.

‘Paraguay, whatever, they’re all the same to me. Now, don’t worry. I don’t think you’re in love with Laurence or anything; you’re just feeling a bit vulnerable. Just enjoy having someone around to look after you while Mark is gone. If he hadn’t been such a prick in the first place none of this would ever have happened – you’d still be living in your old house with none of this upheaval. Is it all still hush-hush? I’m surprised the papers haven’t got wind of anything.’ Tessa is disparaging towards Mark – she always has been a bit. She always thought he was a bit stuck up, but since his affair with Melissa Davenport she really can’t abide him. I suppose this is because she worked so hard to help me get back to my old self, especially after Henry was born and I was lost in a swirl of post-natal depression, then had to witness me fall apart again. I reassure her that nothing has got out in the papers, that hopefully it never will. I couldn’t stand the smug looks disguised as sympathy at the school gates. Who could stand comparison with Melissa Davenport? Certainly not me. I tell her about my lunch with Belinda and how the subject of interviewing Melissa came up.

‘Oh, God. What did you say?’ I hear the sharp intake of breath as Tessa lights a cigarette.

‘I said no, of course, but it was tricky. You know Bel – she’s always suspicious of everybody and everything. She caught me on the hop a little bit, but then I was sick, so she was more than happy to accept my excuse that I was too pregnant and poorly to do the interview.’

Tessa’s laughter pours into my ear and I can’t help but smile. It does seem quite funny when I look back on it – Bel asking me to do an interview and me rushing off to vomit. If only it hadn’t been about her.

‘Well, Lila sounds delightful too. It’s been a long time since I left, Steph. I’m glad you’ve found someone to look after you while I’m not there.’ Tessa’s voice is quiet now, serious, and I know she really does care about me. She worries when I’m on my own, especially after she has been through so much with me.

‘She is, she really is. But don’t worry – she’ll never replace you.’

‘As if anyone ever could.’

With Tessa’s laughter still ringing in my ears I hang up. I feel better for speaking to her; I always do. Friends since junior school, Tessa has always been the one to look after me, hold my hand when exam anxiety hit, reassure me that Mark really did like me in those early days (despite the fact she really wasn’t keen on him), squeeze my hand and tell me I looked beautiful before following me down the aisle on my wedding day. Helping me through my darkest days, the first time everything fell apart around me, and then again years later after I had Henry and the post-natal depression hit me hard. I dial the number for Dr Bradshaw’s office and make another appointment before I can change my mind – I owe it to Tessa, and to Mark, to try my hardest to make sure it doesn’t drag me down again this time.

I notice a white envelope peeking out from underneath the front doormat as I am pushing my arms into the sleeves of my coat, ready to go and collect Henry from school. A shiver of alarm washes over me – I have been sitting at the kitchen table following my conversation with Tessa, trying to get my article finished before the deadline that is looming over me, and I never heard anybody approach the house. This is just like the posy again, I think, before shaking myself and giving myself a virtual slap on the cheek. Don’t be silly; it’s just an envelope, a note, that’s all it is. Taking a deep breath, I bend to pick it up, sliding my fingernail under the flap and easing out a piece of cream card. Casting my eyes quickly over the typewritten font, I breathe a shaky sigh of relief and give a small laugh.

‘Dear Mrs and Master Gordon,

Mr Laurence Cole requests the pleasure of your company this afternoon (after the school run)’ [I laugh at this, a cheeky little aside into what is a very formal invitation] ‘for afternoon tea. There will be French fancies, and fizzy pop for those of us that do not wish to take tea. Please RSVP on your way past.’

I splutter with laughter as I search for a pen to scrawl across the back of the invitation. Everything I said to Tessa is true – Laurence is a genuinely nice guy who’s just keeping an eye on things for us while Mark is away – but my heart does beat a little faster at the thought of seeing him later on today. I scribble a response on the back of the card, sliding it back into the envelope and writing ‘For the attention of Mr L. Cole’ on the front. I quickly run upstairs and smooth some product through my hair in an attempt to calm my wild curls, and slick a quick pout of pink lipstick across my mouth. Satisfied that this will do, and not wanting to look as though I have made too much of an effort, I rush out of the front door and up the garden path to Laurence’s. As I slide the envelope into his letterbox I see Lila watching from her front room window. She smiles and raises a single hand to me, as the shadowy form of a man appears behind her. I wave, trying to get a glimpse of who I can only assume is Joe, but she turns and walks away from the window, towards the shadowy figure, gesturing wildly. I shrug, thinking to myself that Joe must have been calling to her, and, checking my watch, realise I’m going to be late for Henry if I don’t get a move on.

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