THE FALLOUT
Rebecca Thornton

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Rebecca Thornton 2019

Jacket design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Jacket photograph © Johnny Ring (women on bench); Shutterstock.com (all other images)

Rebecca Thornton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008373122

Ebook Edition © December 2019 ISBN: 9780008373146

Version: 2020-02-13

Dedication

For Walter and Dom

Epigraph

‘Silent lies are more venomous than cruel truths’

— Ben Oliveira

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Five Years Later

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

Liza

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

Gav

SARAH

LIZA

SARAH

LIZA

One Year Later

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About the Publisher

2 September 2014

WhatsApp group: NCT West London Ladies

Members: Victoria, Liza, Sarah, Miranda, Ella, Camilla

Victoria: Hi guys. We are absolutely delighted to announce that Otto Arthur Stuart-Brown was born yesterday to a very proud Mummy and Daddy. Hit the September baby mark. Phew! Weighed 6 pounds and 5 oz. We are totally in love. Oxytocin, ladies! It’s the stuff of dreams.

Camilla: Lovely news, Victoria. Elodie was born too, yesterday. Whopper at 9.9 oz.

Miranda: Ah congrats everyone. I’m still waiting for my little bundle to arrive.

Sarah: Me too

Liza: Me three

Victoria: Oh you ladies will be absolutely fine. Just remember. Breathe, let nature work its magic. Nothing to be worried about. And remember – they’re sensations. NOT contractions.

Liza: How was it? We’re all dying to hear.

Victoria: Good thanks! Bit tricky trying to type with one hand whilst I feed. Just enrolling him into schools!

Miranda: Oh god. Schools? Really? Do you think I’ve missed my chance already? Where did you put him down?

Victoria: @Miranda – I’ll ping you separately. Yes. I’d get on it. Got to do it now ladies, or you’ll miss the boat!

Ella: Typing …

WhatsApp group: Renegades

Members: Liza, Sarah

Liza: @Miranda, I’ll ping you separately – in our newly-named WhatsApp group. SMUG MUMS.

Sarah: Hahaha I know!

Liza: Shit I thought I sent that to the wrong group.

Sarah: I’m so tired I think I might die.

Liza: You’re tired now? Wait till you get this fucker out. THEN YOU’LL KNOW THE MEANING OF TIREDNESS. Joking.

Sarah: Oh god. Wtf is with that school thing btw? Is she for real?

Liza: Yup. She’s been banging on about it since the first step she took into our NCT class. Thank god you were there. And normal.

Sarah: I’d have to sell a kidney first. Not that they’d be worth much at the mo.

Liza: Me too.

Sarah: £6k a term or something for the one she’s been talking about. PS Ella keeps typing then dropping off.

Liza: Sure she’s fine. We would have heard by now if not. Think she’s just … not into socialising too much.

Sarah: *with us*

Liza: Yup.

Sarah: haha.

Liza: Coffee later?

Sarah: Mella’s? Half an hour?

Liza: See you there. I’m bringing plastic bags to sit on.

Sarah: Ping me if you hear anything from Ella before then? So weird she hasn’t been in touch. I’ve WhatsApped her separately but nothing – she’s read it though.

Liza: Yeah will let you know. Although she’d have pinged you before me anyway. She’s a bit of a mystery that one.

Sarah: She is indeed. Do you think we did anything to offend her? She’s posting on Facebook. Just seen pics of her and Christian from this morning!

Liza: Weird. Must be us then. Something someone said, or did. Like I said, Ella Bradby is a total mystery.

Sarah: Hmmm. She sure is. Ok see you in thirty, yeah? X

Liza: Yeah X

FIVE YEARS LATER

West London Gazette Online, 21 July 2019

Author: J Roper

A nine-million-pound refurbished health club, The Vale Club, has just opened to the well-heeled residents of West London. Based on the Acton/Chiswick fringes, the club boasts an Olympic-sized pool, a crèche, soft-play, six tennis courts and an outdoor playground.

Kirsty Macdonald, Director of Sales, says two thousand members have already joined, with staggered waiting lists already full.

‘Our clients are mainly families and working professionals and we hope to provide a fantastic service to everyone in the area to keep them healthy and fit, whilst also being a great place for socialising.’

The residents are also thrilled to have this new West London club on their doorsteps.

Cordelia Banks, a lawyer and 39-year-old mother of three, says that the club will be a ‘much needed central hub – a place for both children and adults to keep fit and entertained in a safe environment’. And Finlay Brown, a 27-year-old marketing executive, says that The Vale Club will ‘keep the residents of West London active’, and he is looking forward to meeting ‘like-minded healthy people there’.

For further information, or to book a private tour, please visit The Vale Club website.

SARAH

‘Sarah,’ Liza hisses. ‘Quick. Oh my God. Look who it is. My three o’clock.’ She throws her head towards the soft-play, kids hurling themselves off the plastic inflatables like they’re on some kind of kamikaze mission.

‘Georgina Bard?’ replies Sarah. ‘Yes, she’s here all the time. With that perfect, peachy bottom of hers.’

‘No. Not her. No, look again. Behind the blondes. Hurry, she’s going. Bloody hell.’

It’s rare, but Sarah’s not in the mood for a gossip. It’s just one of those days where everything feels wrong, like a too-tight pair of trousers, except she doesn’t have the relief of opening the top button.

She’d googled her symptoms this morning in bed. Mood swings, tiredness, heavy periods. Her diagnosis had said: perimenopause. She shivers remembering what she had read next. Perimenopause can last for ten years during which time fertility declines. Ten years! It seems so unfair. She’s only thirty-nine after all.

She can’t really see who Liza could possibly be talking about anyway. Everyone looks the same here. Block-printed athleisure-wear leggings with Olivia Cunningham’s brand-new Motherhood Mania clothing-line tops. Brightly coloured slogan tees – Mother’s Little Helper! – complete with lozenge-shaped pills underneath. She jolts when she realises she cannot see Casper, his blond, bowl-haircut flying up and down as he leaps from level to level, before she remembers he’s safely ensconced in his Champions Forever tennis lesson.

‘See her now?’ says Liza. ‘It’s a good ’un.’

‘Nope.’ Sarah wonders why Liza is staring at her so intently, waiting for her reaction. A Z-list celebrity, she wonders. Unbearable if it is. But, all she can really think is: why is everyone still smiling? Three days into the autumn half-term and she’s done in. Yet here they are, all the other women (and where are all the bloody men today?) bouncing around. Long, lean legs, feet in pristine trainers, chatting so animatedly. Why aren’t they exhausted? She knows she’s probably just jealous – but what’s wrong with them? She’d never stopped to think that maybe they’re all normal and it’s actually her with the problem. She rubs a mark off her own leggings. Weetabix, she’s guessing, from Casper’s breakfast.

She inspects all the other women as she tries to find the target of Liza’s attention. She’s distracted by Thomasina Hulme, who’d been extremely frosty with her in Zumba the day before last.

‘Come on Allegra.’ Thomasina sounds increasingly shrill. ‘Come on. You can jump by yourself, without Mummy’s help. Go on.’

Sarah wishes Thomasina would shut up and stop thinking that she is instilling confidence into her little one. Allegra jumps onto a red, squishy mat. Thomasina lets out a triumphant ‘Oh!’ and looks around, hoping for some semblance of shared joy at her daughter’s leap into the unknown. To Sarah’s utter satisfaction, no one else seems to be watching.

‘I can’t see anyone new, Liza. Just tell me who it is.’ She tries to disguise the impatience in her voice. Both she and Liza had had a field day when the club had recently opened. After all, The Vale Club is the spanking new place to be for the parents of West London and their little monkeys; so far, she and Liza have pretty much spotted and done a recce on all of the members already (their best one yet being some of the cast of Strictly Come Dancing on rehearsal) and apparently they’ve since shut the waiting list.

She can see why the place is in such high demand. There’s a soft-play, a gym. There’s even a crèche and kids’ classes, boxing, tai-chi and all, so the children can pump their little fists on punch bags instead of Mummy and Daddy.

Just as she’s about to swivel her gaze back to Liza and tell her she can’t see anyone, she spots her. She’s in the corner, behind the soft-play, picking up a large bag with two tennis rackets sticking out. In her right hand is a bottle of half-finished water and, in the other, an iPhone. Sarah can see it has been personalised with a photograph on the back. She gasps. Liza’s right. Bloody hell indeed.

Ella Bradby.

Of all people. Here. Sarah doesn’t know why she hadn’t expected it. She must have just joined.

It’s just like Ella to waft in after everyone else. To check things at the club are tickety-boo. Ella isn’t a leader of the pack in that sense. More that she would always wait. Keep everyone on their toes. Wanting to see if it is actually good enough for her. Sarah’s mind is pulled back to their antenatal class, five years earlier. The way Ella had waited for a text message from someone, before she deigned to follow on to the restaurant that had been chosen for their final NCT lunch. Just let me know what the food looks like, will you? Before I come all that way. And of course that part of the discussion had taken up most of lunch, as everyone had been too scared to put their heads above the parapet – just in case it wasn’t good enough for Ella Bradby.

‘Oh my God, it’s her!’ says Sarah. ‘I thought there was a massive waiting list.’

‘See? I told you it was a good spot. The mysterious Ella. Back again in our lives.’

Sarah doesn’t want to give Liza the satisfaction of reacting in exactly the awe-struck way she is anticipating.

‘Well, she hasn’t changed much, in all these years, has she? We still don’t know where she went.’

‘Nope. You’ll catch flies in a minute,’ Liza laughs. ‘She’s one of us now. No helping it. Ha. You going to ditch me now?’

‘No, course not,’ she replies, distractedly. ‘Shall we talk to her?’

‘You can. Happy to observe. But I don’t want to go back in time. It’s all history now.’

Sarah doesn’t really know what ‘history’ Liza is referring to but she glosses over it, in favour of thinking about Ella Bradby. She had been fascinated by her for the few weeks they’d been in NCT class together, and afterwards too. She thinks about the second she’d first laid eyes on Ella. How every single man and woman in the room – including her own husband – had been looking at those never-ending legs, that self-contained smile of hers. Sarah had felt that curious pull of wanting to both look and be like her, yet feeling simultaneously threatened. The fact that Ella, too, had forgotten Sarah’s name – not once, but twice – only served to make her allure even stronger.

And after that, she’d googled her obsessively and discovered with absolute glee that, back in the day, Ella had spent two dazzling years with West London-based actor, and St Paul’s alumni, Rufus North. Sarah had told Liza she had known with an absolute certainty she’d recognised Ella from somewhere. And there it was! Her relentless poring over the Mail Online’s Sidebar of Shame had paid off. All along, she’d been right on the money.

Afterwards, Sarah had remained intrigued for the eight weeks that Ella had been on the NCT West London Ladies WhatsApp group, before she’d quietly and deftly removed herself.

None of the other members of the NCT had said a word to each other about it. Too proud. Nursing their indignation by swiftly moving on to other matters. Nappy-rash. Tongue-ties, the colour of their newborns’ faeces. (Often accompanied by a photograph. Sorry in advance. TMI, but I’m having a massive freak out! Why is it the colour of mustard?)

But now Ella’s child, Felix, is in the same year at school as Sarah’s son, though of course in a different class. And despite having looked high and low, Sarah’s never once spotted Ella at the school gates.

She remembers eagerly skimming through the Reception enrolment list for The West London Primary Academy School before the start of autumn term. The way her heart had skipped when she had seen the name: Bradby, Felix. And she’d known, right away. She’d texted Liza straight off and had felt a swell of validation that they’d also managed to get Casper into the local primary – even though they are precisely three quarters of a kilometre away from the school. It had still been touch and go for a minute. She had been so thankful that she and Tom hadn’t had to delve into their life savings, just to be able to afford one term’s fees of the private school The Little Falcons. Tom had been relieved when she’d imparted the news and, because Ella Bradby’s child had also been sent to the local primary, Sarah had never again felt that she had to justify her choice to her mother – who constantly asked if Tom’s job was ‘going well’. A lecture would then follow, on how she and Sarah’s father had worked themselves into the ground to send Sarah to her private school. She had clutched at this newly acquired information about Ella and Felix like it was a toasty hot-water bottle.

And now Ella is here too, at the club. Only a few metres away. She feels the lift of her earlier malaise.

It isn’t that Sarah necessarily still wants to be Ella Bradby like she had when she’d first laid eyes on her at NCT. Not in the same way that, aged sixteen, Little Miss Average Sarah Biddlecombe, at her West London private school, had wanted to step into the glittery, platform trainers of Little Miss Popular Cassie Fox.

No. Not in that way. Or at least so she tells herself. She’s had enough experience now to know women like Ella had enough trouble in life, what with the judgement that comes with their ice-cool looks and trendy jobs. The pressure of it all. No, it is something else entirely. She just wants to be near her, and breathe in the cool, calm essence of her. Her energy that says: I don’t really give a damn if you like me or not, which of course, makes Sarah want Ella to like her even more.

Fuck, she thinks, smoothing her T-shirt over her belly. Fuckety, fuck fuck. Is this how utterly sad her life has become that she’s getting off at the prospect of talking to one of the other school mothers?

‘Oh, well, she’s already gone,’ says Liza. ‘Ghosted us. Again. Remind me why we sat here?’ She throws her head towards the soft-play.

‘So we have prime seats so that when the kids are back with us, they can watch even more telly and we can be inside and warm.’ Sarah turns to the blaring TV screen and watches Mr Tiny Tots in his weird, spotted bowtie, grinning and gurning like he’s just necked a load of class A drugs. ‘Hey. Want a coffee?’

‘If you go, can you check on Jack? Outside? In the playground.’

‘I sure will,’ Sarah tells her. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘Thanks.’ Liza lifts Thea out of her pram. ‘He’s just there.’ She points at the window, towards the sandpit. ‘This little monster just needs a quick feed.’

‘No probs. Cake?’ Sarah nearly trips over the aggressively large bundle of bags, toys and coats that they’d used to lay claim to the seats.

‘Nope. Thanks. Need to start learning some willpower. Shift this baby weight.’ Liza lifts her T-shirt and unclips her nursing bra. ‘But sorry – you asked me about coffee. Yes please. I shouldn’t of course. Don’t want to over-caffeinate this little one.’ She gives a small smile at the ubiquitous joke they shared right back from NCT. ‘But – well. You know. I’m tired.’

‘Listen, Liza, Gav will come back to you. I promise. He’s just …’

‘An idiot?’

‘You said it, not me.’

‘Do you see him at all? I mean, I know you’re still under the same roof but …’

‘Yeah. He’s always breathing down my neck about something or other. It’s weird. He wanted the separation. Wanted to move into another part of the house. But still, he thinks he can get involved in parts of my life that I don’t want him to.’

‘Well, you know my thoughts on the matter. Thea’s barely two months old. I mean when I think back to when Casper was that age, how hard it was – and now you’ve got two.’

Something about Liza’s expression looks a little bit guilty. Sarah wants to shake her friend. It’s not your fault he wanted a break, she wants to shout. But instead she controls her voice. ‘Black, one sugar, yes?’ She doesn’t wait for Liza to reply. ‘Let me go and get us drinks and I’ll check on Jack too,’ she says.

In truth, she wants to get away from the bright lights and the screaming. It’s all making her head buzz. She’d drunk too much Shiraz last night and she feels sick. Not so sick she can justify fully indulging her hangover and eating her body weight in carbs, but sick enough.

She watches Liza’s green eyes narrow, scanning the neighbouring cricket pitch outside – a large green peaceful space in this area of West London. Her friend looks even more tired today than she did last week, the wing of her brown eyeliner smudged underneath her right eye. The bright halogen lights are unfairly harsh on her skin. Sarah can see some new wrinkles. Or perhaps they’ve always been there and she’s just grown so accustomed to Liza’s face, she hasn’t noticed.

She thinks of her own appearance. Mousy hair. Freckles. She still looks quite young, she supposes. Except for the lines under her eyes. Smile maps, Tom had said to her once. Don’t be a dick, she had replied. Perhaps she’d have that Botox after all. The other mums she speaks to are all at it. Botox parties. She is both miffed and elated she hadn’t been invited to one. Liza still looks pretty though, Sarah thinks, despite her dog-tiredness. She watches her friend’s expression as she tuts at Thea’s head. ‘Just stay on, will you,’ she mutters down at her two-month-old daughter.

Pretty, but unmemorable, Tom had once said. And that’s why you like her, he had laughed. No threat. You’re so predictable, Sarah Biddlecombe.

No! She had been cross. That’s not true. I like her because she never judges me. And she’d quickly added that Liza was also funny and kind.

‘Bloody hope Jack is still there.’ Liza cranes her neck to get a better look outside. ‘Can’t see him anywhere else. He’s probably digging in the sand under the pirate ship. He’s a good boy, at least I have that much. Thanks for checking on him, Sa.’

‘He’ll be fine. Be back in a sec.’ Sarah walks away from the harsh sounds and noises of the soft-play area to the quieter café. What a relief. Only three more days of half-term. She can do this. But then she thinks about afterwards. She’s moaning now, but what about when it’s over? How empty the days will seem. How boring with the new account Liza has got her. She is incredibly grateful. But she isn’t really interested in marketing old people’s homes. Or post-retirement flats, as they’ve decided to call them.

She walks through to the café serving area and consoles herself with the thought of forty minutes of blissful peace and quiet before she has to pick up Casper from tennis. Just before a load of other customers join the line she arrives at the food counter, where her gaze settles on a passionfruit and walnut cake. She falters for a second. Should she check on Jack first? No, she thinks. Get everything sorted and then she’ll go. She’ll be waiting for ages if she leaves now. He’s nearly six. He’s a well-behaved boy. And after all, he can’t get out of the health club. At least she has made a definitive decision about one thing today. She looks back down at her phone and sends Liza a quick message while stepping one foot closer to the front of the queue.

LIZA

My phone beeps. I’m sure it’s Sarah. She does this when she’s forgotten our table number when ordering coffee. Normally I would pre-empt it. Not today, though, what with both kids awake all night. And of course Gav had been there, at every single turn. I’d hear his footsteps first as he ran up the stairs from the spare room, breath ragged from broken sleep.

‘Everything all right?’ he queried, watching me open my pyjama top.

‘Everything’s fine. Why?’

‘Just checking. That you’re doing your job.’ He’d emphasised the word ‘job’ in such a way that made me think I’d been doing anything but. Last night, he’d stood over me, making sure I was feeding her right, until I’d asked him to leave. ‘I’ll go when you’ve finished.’ He’d sat down on the very end of the bed, the furthest distance he could manage before he would fall off. As though being any nearer would poison him. He’d made exaggerating stretching sounds all through the feed, yawning and sighing.

I try to forget about Gav. I rest my handset on Thea’s side whilst she’s feeding. Sarah would have told me to take it off immediately. Radiation, cancer. She’s right, of course, but I leave it there whilst I shuffle Thea into a more comfortable position. I’m having to learn independence now, after all. I look down at my screen.

Just in bit of a queue. Haven’t checked on J yet.

I type back one-handed.

No worries. I’ve just seen his head poke out from the sandpit but please check on him after. Just to make sure I got the right kid.

I think about Sarah – how strangely she’s been behaving lately. Not with it. Distant. It’s as though her eyes are totally blank. That look she gets when she and I have been on the wine – the dead-eyed tipping point when I know she’s totally gone. I should find out if she’s OK, especially given what she went through last year. I know it can’t be easy, her seeing me with a newborn, but, for the moment, I’m just too tired.

She’s been a bit snippy with me today too. I want to talk to her about an email I’d got from the work contact I’d put her in touch with, but I decide to wait. I know these moods of hers. Nothing can snap her out of it, really. Except today, the reappearance of Ella Bradby had. I wonder how long this one will last. I think about Aria Delamere whose daughter, Emmeline, had been at nursery with Casper. Sarah had constantly meerkatted for Aria at the school gates, whilst I had been her ‘steady’ friend in the background. The feeling towards Aria had been quick to dissipate, though, when Casper hadn’t been invited to Emmeline’s fourth birthday party.

I look back out of the window, thinking about when I’d last seen Ella, just before she’d done a runner on us, all those years ago. The way she’d stood right by me, her fingers squeezing my arms in the pitch-black freezing winter night. Of course Sarah knows nothing about that – no one does. I pull my thoughts away from it all. Time to move on.

I look outside at the sky to distract myself. It’s a greying day. It feels all at odds with the bright colours and noise inside – the swell of parents dropping their kids into the crèche, so they can race to their fitness classes. Thea starts to squirm. I move her onto the other side of me, rather optimistically latching her high up to my breast. It’s only when I look down that I realise that she’s nowhere near my nipple. ‘Christ,’ I mutter. If Gav wants out of the marriage, I dread to think how I’m going to find anyone else who I won’t mind seeing my boobs. I look around. Everyone just looks so on it. So – perky. And then I give myself a good talking to. Come on, Liza, I tell myself. You’re better than this. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get on with it. The kids need you. But despite my pep talk, there’s still something about today that has turned sour. Just a feeling, if you will. Restlessness. An edginess in the pit of my stomach. And it’s not just the way Gav’s been behaving towards me either.

I look out the window again but my vision is pulled towards the other side of the room. And then I see a flash of her amongst the multi-colours. She stands out, in her monochrome outfit. So sleek and perfect. She pushes a tennis racket back into her bag and swings herself up, effortlessly. As though her limbs are weightless. Bet she has no issues with her boobs. I pull up my bra and try and hoik up my own at the same time.

When I look back on this moment, I will realise that this is when it hits me. This is when my mindset spirals even further. When I start to really question myself. Not that Gav didn’t help me do a good job of that anyway.

It was in this moment, little more than ten minutes ago, when things changed and cracked.

This moment Ella Bradby walked back into our lives.

West London Gazette editorial notes, September 2019

J Roper interview transcript: Aaron Daniels, crèche manager, The Vale Club

I know, I know. This is meant to be a puff piece for the club, isn’t it? You want me to tell you how fantastic the new crèche is. My boss gave me the heads-up. How happy the mums and dads of West London are that there’s a new place for them to drop off their children so they can get to their Pilates and what not. How much it’s changed the area. Blah blah blah. But it’s – OK – off the record, I’m not staying for much longer. Sick of it, I am. Especially since I moved here.

For some it’s been good, of course. Not just the crèche. This whole ‘health club’ thing. We’ve already had people claim that property prices nearby have rocketed. Like we need that. It was bad enough when they built that school – West London Primary Academy, driving up the house prices like crazy for the rest of us. A school for the under-privileged, my arse. You should see the families that go there now, braying at the gates with their 4x4 cars running outside. So for those people, you see, of course this has all been a bonus.

Anyway, I’m not ungrateful for the job. I’ve learnt how to handle myself much better. Especially when there’s a complaint from the mums or dads that we haven’t been doing our jobs properly. (I didn’t know our role was to be private tutor, chef and the rest all in one.) The behaviour then is crazy. They’re all rigid and polite until something is not to their liking. Then they come up, their faces all in mine. ‘You mean you don’t have drinks and snacks for the children? This is disgusting. I don’t pay all this money for nothing, you know.’ You get the picture.

Anyway, they’re not all bad, obviously. Some are. Your ears would bleed if I told you some of the stuff I’ve seen. Put it like this, I’m not quite sure how some of them have hearts that don’t explode on the running machines after a weekend of ‘excess’. And by excess, I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. (At this point, interviewee mimics sniffing something off the table – ed.)

I hear them all the time in the queue. ‘How did you feel on Sunday, Minnie?’ And the casual tap on their noses, their smiles, all conspiratorial-like. ‘Oh God,’ they’ll reply. ‘The children were up at six in the morning. I was still absolutely awake from the night before.’ Then they’ll do this comedy wide-eyed expression, chewing their tongues. In front of their kids! Anyway, I’m not going into that now, when I’ve still got to hand in my notice.

Besides, as I was saying, some of them are nice. Polite but distant. But they’re all very, I’d say … ‘eager’ to drop their kids. I understand, they want a break. We all do and I’ve got two of my own, so I know. But the way they go about it is quite mad, really. Jostling and pushing to get to the front of the queue. It’s like they’re teenagers all over again, waiting to see their favourite band live in concert. We’ve had to install a proper system with barriers and stuff, just so we can keep them in line.

And when I say the parents run – they’ve barely finished scribbling their names on the signing-in sheet before they’ve disappeared to get to their fitness classes. Then, when they come back it’s all like, ‘Oh little Freya’ or ‘Little Isabella, how I’ve missed you, have you missed Mummy and Daddy?’

Look, as I said, I’ve got my own kids so I know what it’s like. And better they run to their fitness class than, well, to the pub. Although it appears to me they do that too.

But I think what upsets me the most is not that the members here have a place to enjoy. It’s brilliant that they’ve built somewhere that focuses on fitness and health for both adults and children. I know most of those parents work hard. And if I’d grown up somewhere like this I would have loved to have been a part of it all.

But I suppose what I’m saying, really, is that some of the parents who drop their kids at the crèche, they see it as their right to be here, rather than a privilege.

And you know how I know this?

Well, it’s been a few weeks now since the club opened its doors, and some of the first members started coming here right from the beginning. Every day they’ve dropped their little ones here. Same time, same place. And it occurred to me yesterday that only about half of them have even bothered to learn my name. I don’t expect them to know all the staff members here. Of course not. But the ones looking after their kids? Yes. I do expect that.

I do get a vague smile, though, from most of them. I mean, we can’t be totally invisible. Can we?

After all, we’re looking after their little angels. It’s us that keeps them safe from harm. For that window of time they are with us, we have to make sure that nothing bad comes their way. Because, of course, where their children are concerned, there’s danger everywhere – isn’t there?

SARAH

‘Table number?’ the barista asks when Sarah finally reaches the front of the queue. As well as WhatsApping Camilla, her mind’s been off elsewhere. She can’t seem to focus on one thing, thinking about whether it’s true that sugar has an effect on fertility, and her perimenopause and whether that might just be the root of all her problems in trying to conceive. Then she drifts onto remembering to get a dodgy-looking mole checked (she’d have to remember to bring the iPad with her to the GP to entertain Casper) before starting to think about whether she’s actually remembered to sign Casper into his tennis class. Whether she should put a second wash on before she watches Killing Eve tonight, or if she’ll be too tired to stay up until it finishes.

‘Oh, crap. Sorry. I was …’ She waves a hand over her head. ‘Sorry. I’ve forgotten. We’re just by the soft-play. You know, the table by the window. The one that everyone wants.’ She laughs but the waiter gives her a pitying look. ‘It’s like ze Germans with the sun-loungers.’ She stutters on her own bad joke. ‘Oh, don’t worry. Forget about it.’

‘Overlooking the cricket pitch?’ he asks, speaking slowly, as though she’s hard of hearing. ‘That’s table eighty-seven.’ He jabs his finger on the buttons until the till pings. Shit. Her mind starts reeling again.

What if her bank card doesn’t work? Had she been paid for her last project? She can’t remember and she hasn’t checked her account for weeks. She feels hot and clammy and now look – a queue forming behind her. After all, membership here is expensive enough. But it’s a life saver, she’d pleaded with Tom when it had first opened. A health and fitness club. Think of the benefits. She’d even pushed her stomach out extra hard so that he’d see it and think it was unquestionable that they join.

‘Here’s your receipt, Madam.’ Phew.

‘Thanks.’ She snatches the bit of paper from the waiter’s hand and slinks off towards the sliding window. She remembers it’s her birthday soon. Tom had suggested a weekend away in a cottage in Scotland. Something to look forward to. But she can’t quite bring herself to do that either.

‘We have to celebrate, just for your nearest and dearest,’ he’d said as he spooned overpriced, sugar-free muesli into his mouth, before he’d left for work this morning. She knows it’s ridiculous, but truthfully the idea of it fills her with utter dread. The rigmarole of packing up, organising childcare, catering. False jollity when everyone just wants to slob around in bed all day. And then the invites, to boot. She can’t cut her list down to just her nearest and dearest! What if Saskia gets wind of it? Or Matilda or Miranda? They’d be so hurt and she doesn’t particularly want to keep it all a big secret. That would be far too much effort, what with the way WhatsApps spread like wildfire around the school gates. And then her mother too, on at her about celebrating this big milestone of turning forty.

A tonne of guilt washes over her. Look at what Liza is going through with Gav. Let alone the other awful things that are happening across the globe. Those Syrian children she’d seen on the news earlier. It didn’t bear thinking about. And she had Tom and Casper. A nice three-bed house in a desired location to boot, and it even has a self-contained one-bed lower-ground-floor flat too, which she and Tom have plans to develop.

‘Something to get your teeth into,’ Tom had said.

‘Don’t be so patronising,’ she’d replied. It still makes her cross to think about. And inevitably then she’ll ruminate on all the other misguided comments that Tom has made since they’d had Casper. About work, money and all the rest. As if she doesn’t have enough on her plate. They’re close to Chiswick. Close to Westfield shopping centre. So privileged in so many ways. And yet it’s tough, she thinks. These years are tough. Her mother is getting older. Too old to be in that ramshackle house of hers in Gloucestershire, all alone since her dad had died. Casper needs her and here she is, slap bang in the middle of the sandwich years. But should life really be such a chore? Aren’t these years meant to be breezy, loving your kids, a laugh a minute? She should feel lucky she has a child at all after everything that had happened last year. Her eyes fill with tears despite vowing never to think of it again in public. By the time she reaches the balcony, she feels like she’s been through ten rounds in the boxing ring.

She resolves to stop thinking like this. She needs to hurry up and check on Jack. Her thoughts have reached fever pitch. Five minutes alone and she’s already lost it. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her. She peers over. At first she can’t see Jack but then she spots his curly hair, bandy legs wrapped around a wooden post at the back of the playground, next to the sandpit. He’s halfway up, but looks like he’s edging back down to safety.

She softens for a second. He’s so sweet. Gifted the best of Liza’s personality. Always hugging her, telling her he loves her. Then she thinks of Gav. Wonders what characteristics he’s inherited from him. How he’s changed lately from being fun, up for it Gav to someone she wants to shout and tear her hair out over. Of course, Tom hasn’t noticed a thing.

‘He’s one of my best mates, Sarah,’ he’d said when she’d brought it up. ‘Don’t you think I’d notice if he was controlling Liza?’ Part of her had thought this was true. She’d watched carefully, for any signs. But it is difficult when Gav lives in one part of the house and Liza another. How weird, she thinks. Can’t he just move out? Wouldn’t that make things so much easier for them? It’s not like they can’t afford it. Something is keeping him at the house, she just doesn’t know what.

She really should shout over at Jack. Motion for him to get down from the post. But before the thought segues into action, she feels a presence behind her. She turns.

It’s her. She’s standing on the balcony right behind her, like some sort of apparition.

Ella Bradby.

‘Ella, hello.’ She grabs her opportunity whilst she’s alone, without Liza’s sly gaze making her feel self-conscious. ‘It’s Sarah. Biddlecombe. Remember? We were in …’ she trails off, waiting to see if Ella does indeed remember. Silence. ‘We were in NCT class together?’ she prompts. ‘Years ago. You …’ deserted us all, she thinks. ‘I think you must have been busy.’

‘Sarah. Yes.’ Ella smiles, a flat sort of smile, showing a perfect set of bone-white teeth.

‘How are you then? You …’ Sarah is about to ask about Felix. But she shuts her mouth. How on earth would she know about Felix unless she’s been keeping tabs on her? And she can’t very well admit that now, can she?

‘Did everything go well in the end? After your NCT? Boy? Girl?’

‘Boy, Felix. He’s in karate now.’

Sarah waits, ready to fill Ella in on her own news, the information on the tip of her tongue, but before she can drop in that her own little boy is at The West London Primary Academy School (surely she can’t be dismissive of her after that nugget of information?), Ella’s icy-grey gaze is transported downwards.

Sarah follows her eyeline to see a small, cherubic blond figure on the floor beneath them. The little boy (she assumes it’s a boy but she’s made that mistake before) is about six months old. She thinks about her earlier cyber-chondria. Her self-diagnosed perimenopause. This month’s PMT – she had felt the familiar darkness settling on her all of last week, the downward tug of her uterus. She tries to be generous about other people’s good fortune but, alas, the hand of sadness squeezes her tight around the neck.

‘Oh, lovely,’ she says. ‘What’s … the baby’s name?’

‘This one? He’s Wolf.’

‘Wolf?’ Sarah wants to laugh, desperately – she feels it bubbling up in her stomach. Just wait until she gets back to Liza, she thinks – but then she realises, with some frustration, that Ella pulls it off majestically. A snip of delight swiftly follows that Ella has had two boys –instead of the ‘one of each sex’ that she remembers Ella pining for at NCT. She hates herself for thinking it. Really, really hates herself. But she just can’t help it. Not everything is perfect for the enigmatic Ella Bradby.

She watches as Ella bends down and scoops up Wolf, breathing into his soft hair, her phone in her other hand: a rose-gold-encased iPhone, with an image on the back of her and her husband. Sarah remembers Christian well from their NCT days. Who wouldn’t? His beachy-blond hair, and huge, shiny white teeth. And as for his spectacular body – well, she remembers everyone at their NCT class sliding glances towards him, not daring to stare too long. The way he’d rubbed Ella’s back as they’d all acted out different labour positions. She and Liza had been laughing convulsively but, somehow, Ella and Christian hadn’t made it so funny. She had watched them out of the corner of her eye. The way they’d glided around making it all seem so easy and beautiful – Ella’s eyes closed so serenely, as she transported herself to the birth of their baby. Sarah wonders how it would feel if anyone stared at her and Tom like that.

‘We’re just hanging out, Wolf and I.’ Ella interrupts Sarah’s thoughts, her voice low and controlled. ‘Whilst Felix has got karate. Aren’t we, Wolfie-Bear?’

God, thinks Sarah, the poor bugger is going to develop an identity crisis.

‘God, he’s just so … delicious. Aren’t you, Wolfie?’ Ella continues.

‘He’s absolutely divine,’ Sarah says. Divine? What the hell? She’s never used that word before in her life. But she carries on and on, the words spewing out of her mouth. ‘Just look at that beautiful blond hair.’ Just like yours, she nearly adds, but manages to stop herself just in time.

She stands there, rooting around for more things to say but suddenly her workout top feels too tight, squeezing out all her breath. She notices the squidge of flesh spilling out of the top of her leggings, which begin to feel scratchy and hot. She’s also got a nagging feeling – her stomach feels hollowed out. It’s the sense that she’s forgotten to do something. But then she hears Ella clearing her throat and her mind is transported right back to the present moment. She thinks about making a joke about it all. Telling Ella how annoying she finds this whole ‘soft-play’ thing. She lets out a brief laugh and then wonders how she’s managed, in the space of three minutes flat, to come across as a complete twat.

‘So Felix is enjoying karate? I was thinking about putting my son Casper in for a trial.’ If Ella knows that Casper and Felix are in the same year, she’s not letting on. The feeling her son is being dismissed, as well as her, only makes Sarah more determined to get Ella’s attention.

‘Yes. He enjoys it.’ Ella’s still rubbing her thumb on the screen of her phone, glancing down at it as though she’s expecting it to ring at any given moment.

Keep going with this, Sarah thinks. Her heart’s going crazy. Don’t fuck this up. But Ella’s attention is elsewhere. She’s cooing in Wolf’s ear, totally unaware of Sarah and the emotional energy she’s putting into the conversation.

‘We’re inside,’ Sarah carries on. ‘Me and Liza. Do you remember Liza? She was in NCT too. We’re still mates. Really good mates.’ She sees something flicker in Ella’s expression. A vague recognition but it quickly disappears. She feels slightly irritated. Is Liza really more memorable than her? ‘We’re in the soft-play area. If you want to, you know, join us?’ Liza would scold her later on for that, Sarah was sure of it. What do you want to ask her for?

‘Thanks.’ Ella doesn’t say anything else to indicate she’s even acknowledged what Sarah’s said. She feels stung at Ella’s lack of interest in her, a seed of rage pushing its way up from her stomach. Is she not good enough for her? She tells herself just to stop being so bitter. That none of this is to do with her. Ella is the way she is and that’s all there is to it. Maybe something bad had happened to her when she was young. Her mind fills with images of Ella as a child. A sad and lonely orphan. Maybe, Sarah thinks, just maybe, she should try being a little bit kinder in her thoughts. Except she can’t. She’s furious at the distance that Ella has put between them.

Just as she’s thinking all of this, Wolf’s right leg kicks out and something clatters to the ground.

‘Oh,’ Ella gasps, bending down. But before she can get there, with Wolf now wriggling and whining, Sarah reaches it first. The phone. Ella’s hand stretches out at the same time. Sarah watches as their fingers nearly touch.

‘No!’ Ella lets out a protest. But Sarah’s already grabbed it.

‘Nice,’ Sarah says, turning the phone around in her hands. She feels a giddy sense of power.

‘Can I have it back now, please?’ Ella says, her vowels stretched high over the piercing sound of Wolf’s cries. It’s the first time Sarah has seen Ella experience something close to discomfort – she watches her bounce Wolf up and down on her hip. She smooths her thumb over the plastic case and, before she returns it, she turns it over, screen-side up. She doesn’t know why she does it. It’s an instinctive action, but she can’t stop herself. She’s almost unaware that she’s doing it. She makes a big show of looking at it, her chin pulling right into her neck. There it is. The green background of a new WhatsApp notification.

‘Look,’ she says. ‘You’ve got a message.’

Ella snatches the phone but it’s too late. Sarah has managed to read and digest the entire contents, well before Ella swiped it back. Her stomach flips over. Oh my God! Her first thought is that she can’t wait to get back to Liza to tell her what she’s just found out. But then she realises that perhaps it’s not such a good idea after all – what with everything going on with her and Gav at the moment. Her second thought is that it actually can’t be true. She wouldn’t. She just wouldn’t. Oooh, but she has.

Ella, with her perfect, handsome husband. Her two blond, angelic children.

‘Oh my God,’ Sarah mutters, a half smile curling up her lips. This is more like it. The earlier power she’d felt over handling Ella’s phone has morphed into something else entirely.

‘Wolf. Shhhh. Shhhh.’ Ella is going red now. Sarah watches as she squeezes her little boy’s arm, leaving small imprints in his pudgy flesh. ‘Sarah, I …’ And then she stops, breathes in deeply and stands up straight. ‘Actually, Sarah, you know what? I have got twenty minutes before I pick up Felix. I will have that coffee with you.’

Bingo! Now, perfect Ella is going to want to be her friend. At this point, Sarah doesn’t give Liza a second thought. She can feel Ella’s fingertips through her grey top. She allows herself to be led back into the soft-play. When they arrive, Liza’s slumped on the chair, gazing into the distance. Sarah knows that she’s too tired to have been thinking of anything much. That the last thing she’ll want to do is socialise.

‘Thea’s asleep,’ Liza mouths, giving a thumbs up. But then she clocks Ella and a slight frown crosses her face.

‘Liza,’ says Ella. ‘Look who I just bumped into.’ Aha, Sarah thinks. So you do remember. ‘How are you?’ Ella sounds almost sympathetic. Now why would that be, Sarah wonders. Ella and Liza were never close, were they?

‘Oh hi, both of you.’ Liza looks at Sarah – something accusatory in her expression and then, the strangest thing, she spills a bit of her coffee, and drops her phone.

‘Oh God, silly me,’ Liza flusters. ‘So cack-handed today.’ Most unlike Liza, Sarah thinks. It’s almost as if she’s been thrown off balance. Usually, in circumstances like these, Sarah would cast Liza a glance. One that says a multitude of things: I know. I’m sorry, but come on, we can get the gossip. We can find out what the hell she’s been doing all these years. I’ll steer the convo so you don’t have to make any effort. I’ll make it up to you.

‘So how are you?’ asks Ella.

‘I’m well. Thank you. Very well. Nice to see you,’ says Liza. ‘And another little … boy?’

‘Wolf,’ Sarah interjects. ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ Liza raises her eyebrows but manages to nod.

Sarah inwardly begs for Liza not to be in one of her narky, don’t-carish moods. She doesn’t have the energy to overcompensate when she’s already trying to be as welcoming as she possibly can.

But then Liza jumps. ‘Shit,’ she says. ‘Sarah, did you see Jack by the way? Is he OK?’

Fuck. Jack. Fuck, shit. Shit. Sarah glances outside, but he’s not to be seen. The wooden post he was climbing earlier is set back behind a tree, out of view from here. If she angled herself correctly she might be able to glimpse him, but it’s too late for that.

She absolutely cannot admit to Liza that she had seen him. That he was higher than he should have been on that bloody post, and that she’d been distracted before she could call out to him. Distracted by Ella Bradby, of all people. She can’t admit that in that moment, in that very moment that she’d seen her, both Liza and her beautiful, well-behaved little son had become totally dispensable.

‘Yes.’ Ella sounds almost bored. She sticks a leg out. ‘Yes, she saw him.’ She pulls out a menu from the wooden holder, her grey eyes scanning the protein shakes section. ‘He’s fine, isn’t he?’ she says, without looking up. Liza looks at Sarah, pointedly. Sarah knows that look. Why the fuck are you letting her answer? But before Sarah can say anything else, she finds her head moving up and down, mouth open, like she’s one of those freaky Mama dolls.

She tries to work out why Ella would have said that. But it’s too late now to do anything else and it saves her the bother of having to admit that she had sort of done her job. But not quite.

Sarah looks at Ella and thinks she catches a tiny wink. Almost imperceptible. A warm glow spreads across her chest. Something to tie them together. She forgets about her shitty work. She forgets about the tug of her womb. She forgets about the way she’s been feeling lately. Restless and edgy. Who gives a damn about marketing an old people’s home after all? She sits up straight, buoyed by these thoughts and the connection with the woman sitting next to her. But then she thinks about those moments outside on the balcony.

The moment when she’d seen Ella Bradby. The moment that she forgot about the promise to her best friend.

She looks over to the window again, desperately trying to quash the memories of everything that Liza had done for her last year when Tom had been away on business in Sydney.

She’d been twenty-eight weeks pregnant when she’d rung Liza and told her she had a ‘bad feeling’ and some pains. Tom had scoffed down the phone when she’d insisted on paying for someone to take Casper whilst she went into the hospital.

‘Fine,’ he’d said. ‘But we can’t keep doing this every time you have a “bad feeling”.’ But then, the silence as the ultrasound technician glided the Doppler over and over the same area on her stomach. ‘Just one more second,’ she’d said, pressing harder. Moving it around a bit more. Nothing. Liza had been her go-to then. Liza had been the one who had gripped her hand during the long, drawn-out labour, as she had given birth to the little girl they’d named Rosie. No. She will not think of that now.

She shifts her focus onto the other parents outside watching their kids. She notices a lady craning her neck over the fence at the back of the playground – undoubtedly looking at the new tennis courts. If Jack is in any danger, she thinks, someone will have spotted it. And he’d probably have clambered down from that post now anyway. He would be under the pirate ship and they’d have twenty clear minutes with Ella Bradby. To make up for all that lost time. She clears her throat and turns to Liza.

‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Yes. He was at the back of the sandpit.’ That much is true at least, she thinks. ‘I waved at him. He’s absolutely fine.’

WhatsApp group: Stuff

Members: Sarah, Camilla

Sarah: Guess who I’ve just spotted at The Vale Club?!

Camilla: Holy shit! Don’t tell me the hottie from SCD? I read that he was there in the Mail yesterday! Couldn’t come up today. Taking Elodie to dentist.

Sarah: Ella Bradby!

Camilla: Oh – yes! Gosh. How was she? Never heard from her again, did we? Did we ever find out why?

Sarah: Didn’t speak to her yet. Still looks the same. Just trying to resist cake. Will try and speak to her later and get the goss.

Camilla: You ok? You looked upset this morning at school drop off. Tried to catch you but didn’t want to get stuck talking to Carmen.

Sarah: Yes. 2WW. I think I’m about to get it though. PMT off the charts.

Camilla: You peed on a stick yet?

Sarah: No. Can’t bring myself to see a neg.

Camilla: Oh I’m sorry, love. I know I’ve offered before but if you want my IVF doc name, just LMK. She’s in Chiswick. Easy.

Sarah: Will you come with me? Just for the registration then I’ll tell Tom. Don’t want to put too much pressure on him just yet. We can go for lunch after? That new restaurant on Turnham Green Terrace?

Camilla: Course. I’ll book the appt. Next Thurs morning ok? When the kids are back at school? I know there won’t be anything wrong by the way but she’ll do all the investigations anyway.

Sarah: Sounds great. Thank you. Thank you so much. X

Camilla: No worries. I’m there for you anytime. X

LIZA

Just as Ella and Sarah start up a new conversation, there’s a piercing scream. It’s not Jack. But somehow, call it maternal instinct, I have a feeling it might be to do with him. I half get up, then sit down. Silly. Don’t pander to anxiety. Of course it’s fine. But by then, people have begun to rush through the café, and my heart is slamming around my chest, the blood rushing to my head. The waiter is coming with our coffee. He’s stopped too and is looking over towards the noise.

Everything has me on edge at the moment. The slightest sound. Someone banging into me. When Cecilia Williams had given me a ‘look’ earlier when I’d bribed Jack to shut up with some crisps, I’d even used the ‘F’ word. I know, I know – I’m not proud of it. It was a shitty thing to do. But not that shitty. And the only reason she doesn’t do such a thing is because she has ten hundred nannies. And, well, Jack just wouldn’t freaking stop. And then I’d given him another whole fistful of crisps in front of her, out of spite.

And anyway, Jack was fine only a few minutes ago. Sarah had said so. And Ella had too.

I start to feel calmer, waiting for things to revert back to normal. But then the entire place goes silent. Sarah keeps flicking her eyes over to the window and Ella – well, Ella keeps clearing her throat and looking down at the menu and I’m thinking, really? What’s the point? You know you aren’t really going to order anything other than that sodding green juice, so why bother? Or is she just calculating how many calories she’s managing to restrain herself from? But then the silence continues and that’s when I can’t hold out any more.

‘Jack,’ I cry. And I swear to God, I swear it, I catch a look between Sarah and Ella. I can’t read it. I would dissect it later but, right now, it’s a look that says: Oh my God. Look at her. Look at the crazy bitch overreacting.

And I think – maybe I am? Maybe I am crazy? All this shit going on in my life, maybe it’s sent me over the edge. I think about how much Sarah knows. If she knew the whole truth, she’d be doing more than just giving Ella a look. Honestly – what had she been thinking bringing her over here? I’d outright told her that I wasn’t interested in being in touch with her again. When I’d seen her earlier in the soft-play, that bad feeling came over me. Why had I pointed her out and put Ella back onto Sarah’s radar again? I wonder what part my subconscious had to play in it all. I’d told myself not to be so silly. That maybe I was projecting. I’m full of bad feelings at the moment, but now she’s here, giving Sarah those looks; maybe I wasn’t so wrong after all. Not only has she brought back associations of everything that happened, but it seems the minute she walked back into our lives, mine and Sarah’s friendship has been immediately thrown slightly off balance – I’d been trying hard enough to keep it steady for a while now, what with Sarah’s moods and the way she takes everything to heart, but now everything feels uncertain.

‘I’m going to see what’s going on.’ I stand up. ‘Sounds like something bad.’ I’m trying to be casual. Acting like I’m just a lame old nosey parker but my voice gives me away. I gesture for Sarah to watch Thea but just as I’m about to walk off, I hear the Tannoy.

‘Mr Blue arriving soon, please keep access clear.’ Now it’s Sarah’s turn to exchange looks with me. She brings a hand up to her mouth.

We know that the club has code announcements for different emergencies. Silly ones like, ‘Can Mr Harry Potter please come to the front desk’ (a child has gone missing) or ‘Can Mr Snape call into reception’ (I’ve got a really difficult customer, please send back-up). But I hadn’t heard this one yet and the speaker doesn’t draw breath before she announces it again. I hear something whisper as it falls to the floor, and I realise I’ve dropped my parka. Before I know it I’m running towards the café but there’s no one there. And then I see a commotion by the playground.

I look around, my head twisting across the space. Then I see him. On the grass. The cricket pitch. How on earth did he get there? The only way to reach the pitch from the playground is if he had climbed over the high fence that was obscured by a tree. But – he wouldn’t have done that. Surely. He wouldn’t be capable? Or maybe he had walked back into the building and out again, via a different exit. But … but … I start to hyperventilate.

‘Get out of the way,’ I scream. ‘What’s wrong? What’s wrong with him? I’m his mother.’

Someone’s opened the gate to the cricket pitch. I run through. No one budges at first. Of course, people always look twice, given how dissimilar we are. But then I push someone, hard.

‘Move,’ I hiss. ‘That’s my son.’ And that seems to do the trick. Everyone moves to one side and there I see his little body, his black hair flattened across his head.

I lean down over him, but I’m breathing and shaking so hard I’m worried I’ll hurt him even more. At first, I can’t discern what’s wrong. His large brown eyes look at me and then to the fence.

‘I saw him. Falling,’ screams a lady. Her hands are by her mouth and she’s trying to swallow but she keeps making this weird, gasping noise.

‘Where’s the ambulance?’ I’m hysterical now. ‘Are there any doctors here? Put a message out.’ I’m trying so hard to be calm but it’s like the breath is being squeezed right out of me.

There are no obvious injuries on him, but something tells me it’s serious. His small chest flutters up and down. He’s still breathing OK. But his eyes look desperate. A small whimper escapes from his mouth.

‘Oh God. My darling. My boy. It’s OK.’ I stroke his head, careful not to press too hard. ‘I love you. I love you so much. You’re going to be OK.’ Another whimper.

I think about picking him up. I shift myself back but then I feel force on my shoulder.

‘Ma’am. Don’t move him.’ I turn my face to see that the paramedics have arrived. I hear the sound of their stiff uniform as they bend down. The quickness of their breath. There’s two of them. A man and a woman. I hold Jack’s small hand for a bit but then the man asks me to step aside.

And then I remember. Thea. But when I turn around, she’s already there. Oh God. Sarah’s at the side of the crowd, holding her in one arm, clutching Ella’s elbow with the other. Both of them white.

‘I’ve got her,’ Sarah mouths, nodding down at Thea, who looks so tiny in her arms. I shut my eyes briefly. I think I’m about to be sick. Everything’s falling apart. And then a voice inside my head. No, that happened already long ago.

One of the paramedics is talking to the woman who said she saw Jack fall. I can’t hear exactly what she’s saying. Part of me doesn’t want to know. Part of me just wants him in safety. But then I hear something about three-point protection. I think about where I’ve heard that phrase before. In an old episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Bile swills around in my stomach.

‘Darling,’ I say. ‘You’re going to be OK. I promise you. OK?’ I think about Sarah and how she’d checked on him only moments before.

Yes, she had told me. Yes. He’s absolutely fine. Sarah. Poor Sarah. I know how bad she’ll be feeling. Thinking that she should have brought him in with her. That she should have stayed with him.

I’ll tell her. After this whole horrendous nightmare is over, I’ll tell her. No one could have done anything different. It was just one of those things, I’ll say. He’ll be fine. He has to be fine.

And then it crosses my mind that I should have been watching him more closely and that I shouldn’t have left it to Sarah. But she’d seen him. It was OK. And then the thought swiftly disappears. I have more urgent things to worry about.

‘Please, God,’ I mutter. ‘I know I’ve failed you many times. But if you are there, please, please help my little boy.’

SARAH

Thea won’t stop screaming. Sarah flings out a load of rubbish from the bottom of the pram that Liza had left – biscuit wrappers, apple cores, old juice cartons, about three crumpled-up boxes of medicine – but she can’t see any pumped milk there, or in the nappy bag. Sarah tries shushing Thea, but her arms keep giving way, what with all the adrenaline. She begins to feel maternally useless, further adding to her anxiety.

‘Please. Shhh. Shhhh. Please. I’m begging you. Be quiet.’ But Thea’s tiny mouth keeps getting wider, lips quivering as her screams reach their peak.

Sarah can no longer hear the ambulance. The blare of the siren had gone on for what felt like hours. She imagines how Liza felt in the back and she can’t stop thinking about Jack. His small face as he’d been stretchered out. Shhhh. Thea. It’s OK. And then she remembers her earlier promise.

I’ll check on Jack. Don’t worry.

She thinks of Liza again with her at the hospital, after her daughter had been stillborn. How her friend had silently been there for her and now she’s repaid her with this.

‘What the hell,’ Sarah turns to Ella. ‘What the hell do we do? You told Liza I’d checked on him. Why did you do that?’

‘You didn’t object. You didn’t speak up. You could have gone back.’ Ella’s speaking so slowly and calmly. As though nothing has just happened. Like she could be talking about her summer holiday plans. Sarah wants nothing more than to slap her. All of the earlier allure has gone. Vanished into blackness.

And then her feelings turn in on themselves. It’s her. This whole situation is all her fault.

Don’t try and defend yourself. Just admit it, says an inner voice. You’ve caused this by dumping your friend – and her son – in the shit. You’ve repaid your friend’s kindness and loyalty, with this. She wonders if it would make it worse, or better, that she had only made a flimsy attempt at checking on him. That she knew full well that Jack had been halfway up that post. She swiftly decides it makes things ten times worse. Or does it? Besides, it’s too late now. She should have said something at the time. It would look too bad if she admitted it now. But before she knows it, she’s opened her mouth.

‘Listen, Ella. Actually, I did check on Jack. Or rather, I saw him. Outside.’

‘You did? Fine,’ says Ella. ‘See? It’s all OK.’ She looks relieved. As though she, too, is off the hook, her grey eyes almost glittering. Didn’t she for one minute think about Jack? She’s not going to get away with this, Sarah decides. If she tells her the whole story, Ella becomes complicit.

‘I did. But.’ Ella’s stopped listening now. She’s pulling a thread from the bottom of her T-shirt with much concentration, like she knows there’s more coming; a petulant child with its hand over their ears. ‘Listen. Are you listening?’

‘Hmmm hmmm.’

‘I saw him up that post.’ Sarah takes a step towards Ella. ‘Did you hear me? I saw him. He was halfway up. It looked like he was coming down. Or at least I thought he might have been. I don’t know … I meant to shout out to him. To get down. But then you …’

‘Me?’ Ella’s chin sets forward. ‘You what? You aren’t actually trying to blame me here, are you?’

Sarah feels the energy around her change into something dangerous. ‘No,’ she takes a step back. ‘No. I just, that’s what happened. Should I tell Liza?’

She thinks she should perhaps relinquish some of the power back to Ella and diffuse the situation before matters get much worse. After all, that’s what Ella wants. Girls like her are all the same, she thinks. Or women. They’re women now. Grown-ups. Oh God. Look at everyone here, playing grown-ups, not knowing what the hell they’re doing most of the time. And now this has happened.

‘No. Don’t say anything. There’s no need. Why did you tell me that?’

‘Because …’

‘Because you wanted me to carry half the burden of guilt? Am I right?’ Sarah gives a half nod. This is the most she’s heard Ella speak in one go.

‘Look, Sarah. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt, it’s that you can’t change things. It won’t help if Liza knows. Will it? It won’t change things. It still happened. It still would have happened. And Liza’s strong.’

Sarah listens intently. Ella’s right. In a way. But she should do the morally correct thing. And how dare Ella presume she knows what’s best for Liza.

‘You don’t know anything about Liza.’ There’s the funny look again. Sarah ignores it. ‘Listen. Ella, I don’t even know why we are having this conversation. We just need to focus here on Jack. On Liza. Making sure they’re both OK. All right? I don’t really care about anything else.’

‘Fine,’ Ella says. ‘But do what I say. Just keep quiet, OK? Things will be much worse if you don’t. You’re just being selfish,’ she carries on. ‘Wanting to take away your own guilt. It doesn’t serve anyone. Least of all Liza. So just stick to your story and all will be fine.’

At the mention of Liza’s name, Sarah pulls out her phone. No new messages. And then she wonders if she should ring Gav.

‘Anyway,’ says Ella. ‘It’s time. We need to get the others.’ Oh God. Casper. Sarah hasn’t even thought about her little boy.

‘You go.’ Sarah turns Thea around so she’s facing outwards. ‘Get Felix. Then get Casper. He’s in the tennis lessons on court three.’ She feels too shaken up to move anywhere. She doesn’t think her legs will carry her just yet. And besides, she needs a few moments alone. ‘If they ask where I am, tell them that it was my friend,’ she motions towards the playground, ‘back there. Password for pick-up is Leo.’ She thinks of Casper’s lion comforter and wants to cry. ‘And after that, the kids can get a snack.’

‘OK.’ Ella walks off, sashaying from side to side. She has that unselfconscious walk of someone totally confident with their own body. Then Sarah wonders why she is even thinking of such a thing at a time like this, and what that says about her. Has she been so conditioned to be so damn … judgemental? Or is her mind just distracting itself from the god-awful thing she’s just done? She rubs her stomach, trying to make the bottomless sensation disappear, but the thought of Jack and Liza’s faces keeps looming in her mind’s eye.

She sits and waits, checking her phone every five seconds. She thinks back to what she’d seen on Ella’s screen, moments before. How she wishes that right about now everything had been different. If only she could relive the last twenty minutes. If things had gone according to plan, she’d be WhatsApping Liza under the table right about now, as they sat drinking coffee.

Just wait until you find out what I’ve got to tell you when she’s gone!

She tells herself that Jack is going to be OK. That he’s alive. But what if things never go back to normal? What if Jack never goes back to normal? What if he never walks again? What would she do then? She clenches her hands together, trying to rid them of the onset of pins and needles. How would Liza and Gav cope? Not just emotionally, but financially too? It would be a daily reminder of what she’d done. All her fault.

Just as she thinks she can’t take the not knowing much longer, Ella arrives back in sight, with Wolf in her arms and Felix and Casper on either side of her. Felix looks like something from a Boden catalogue, all neat and clean blond hair swept to one side. He’s wearing brown leather hi-tops, cream chinos and a sleeveless V-neck jumper over a striped blue shirt. Ridiculous. Casper, by comparison, looks like some sort of urchin child, with ragged tracksuit bottoms on and a black smudge on his chin. She’s lucky enough to have her little boy. She thinks of Rosie. She must make more of an effort. She holds Thea up over her shoulder and opens her arms up to her son, breathing in his smell.

‘Oh God. Casper.’ She doesn’t deserve him. Not after what she’s just done.

‘They’re closing the club early. My tennis teacher said so,’ he says in his matter-of-fact voice, eyebrows disappearing under his blunt-cut fringe. Sarah had hacked at it two days earlier, trying to save money on a professional cut. She’d made him look half-deranged. ‘Where’s Liza, Mummy? Where’s Jack? Liza promised we could have half an hour play.’

‘Jack has had a small …’ Sarah places a fist on her breastbone. ‘He’s going to be …’ she swallows back tears.

‘He fell,’ Ella says. ‘Jack fell. He’s just gone to be checked out. He’ll be OK though. Felix, go with Casper and get some biscuits. Quick. Before they shut the place.’ She presses a ten-pound note into Felix’s hand. Casper runs after him. Sarah watches his legs winding up faster and faster at the thought of a sugar-fix.

‘Jack – he’ll tell her he didn’t see me.’ Sarah turns to Ella. ‘That is if he …’

‘If he what? I think you’re being a bit hysterical about all of this. He’s going to be just fine.’

Sarah fights an uncontrollable urge to hurt her again.

‘How do you know? I was just thinking that if he does – God help us – make it out alive, he could be paralysed. Or something. So tell me, how do you know it’s all going to be OK? You don’t. Too busy looking at your special messages?’

She grabs at Ella’s phone but she snatches it away.

‘Look.’ Sarah starts to cry again. ‘We need to sort this out. I think something really bad has happened to him. If I’d just told him to get down.’ She watches as Ella glances over to where he fell. For a fraction of a second, she bites her lip, before her expression turns to one of impatience, and she throws her hands up in the air.

‘Look, you did check on him. OK? We saw him. From the balcony. You waved at him. He was at the bottom of the post. That’s your story. He’s not going to remember if he waved back at you or not. You can say he can’t have seen you. But that you saw him. Or that you thought he waved back but maybe you were mistaken. Maybe he was just moving his hand around.’

‘What if they’ve got CCTV or something?’ Sarah can’t believe she’s even entertaining this discussion. She tries to motion to Casper, who has come back with a muffin stuffed into his pocket. Oh well. She’ll have to be done for theft too. She’s too emotionally wired to tell him to put it back. And then she sees a waitress right behind her, coffee cups stacked on a tray. She steps aside, heart thumping. Is her son about to get told off? She couldn’t cope with it if he was. More lies – having to pretend she hasn’t seen Casper pocketing their food because she certainly isn’t going to own up to that now. But the waitress mercifully carries on walking, the sound of china rattling around the otherwise silent room.

‘It’s not going to get that far. Is it? She’s your friend.’ Ella pulls up her posture until she looks like she’s about to launch into a backflip. ‘She’s going to believe you. Why would she think you’d lie?’

‘I don’t know.’ Sarah pauses to think about why she had lied. Ella. Ella had happened. ‘But what if he is paralysed or something?’

‘Just wait and see what happens.’

Sarah wants to shake Ella, predominantly for not giving her the reassurance she needs, but also for seemingly not giving a damn about Jack’s welfare.

‘Look, I’m telling you, he’ll be fine,’ Ella says. ‘Whatever happens, he’ll be fine.’

‘Whatever happens? What do you mean, whatever happens? So you do think he’ll be paralysed? I can’t cope with this.’

‘Look, just stay calm, Sarah. Just bloody well stay calm. This is certainly not helping.’

Casper suddenly runs up to Sarah, a cereal bar in his hand.

‘Can I have this, Mummy?’

Sarah bends down, careful not to jog Thea now she’s finally quiet.

‘Of course you can, darling,’ she says, her mind being pulled in a hundred different directions. In any other situation she’d have said something, she’d have told the truth, straight away. At least, she likes to think she would. She can barely swallow for fear.

But the thought of losing Liza’s friendship is too much for her to bear. Tell the truth, lose a friend. Lie, and keep her close. A hot flush rips through her as her brain settles on her decision. She’ll do what Ella told her to. At least then they’d both be in it together. And, on second thoughts, Ella’s right. Telling the truth now won’t solve anything. In fact, it might make matters worse – stress Liza out even more. For the moment, they all need to do what’s best for everyone and, most of all, Jack. She’ll wait and see what the news is at the hospital. The Tannoy goes off again.

‘In light of an earlier incident, we’ll be closing the club in ten minutes. I repeat …’

‘Fine,’ Sarah says, turning to Ella. ‘Let’s just see what happens. Casper. Come on, darling. We’re going to take Thea back to ours.’ She is about to say goodbye to Ella, but she pulls up. ‘Wait,’ she says. ‘I need your number.’

She watches a frown cross Ella’s face.

‘In case I need to speak to you.’ Ella shrugs. Sarah lifts her chin in defiance. ‘Don’t you want to know what happens? With Jack?’

‘Fine,’ Ella breathes, and then she reels off her phone number, a bored expression on her face.

‘Thanks. Fine. I’ll ping you later. Felix, bye to you too.’ She grabs Casper’s hand and takes him and Thea back to the soft-play. She takes the pram, hoisting all the bags and coats into the bottom of the buggy before ordering an Uber. She’s in no mood to take the bus home. Whilst she’s waiting, she rings Tom.

‘Oh God,’ he says, once she’s run through the whole incident. ‘Is he OK? What can we do? I’m coming home now. Anything at all I can do, just let me know. Anything.’

‘I don’t know, Tom. I’m …’ She tries to tell him she’s scared but the words hang heavy on her tongue. ‘OK, look.’ She decides now is not the time to be thinking of anything else other than Liza and Jack. ‘Right. Formula. Can you get some formula milk for Thea? I’ve got her with me. Take out the Moses basket from the loft. Oh, and some nappies and shit … I don’t know. The steriliser. Do we still have that? What else do we need for babies? It’s been a while.’ She gives a small laugh which turns into a hiccup.

Images of last year surface in her mind – they seem to come back full-force in times of stress: how Liza had gone quietly to her house from the hospital before Tom had arrived back in London; keeping her mother up to speed because she couldn’t face her grief as well. Liza had then spent that day putting away any reminders of Rosie’s homecoming – everything shrink-wrapped and stored back in the loft so Sarah wouldn’t have to see it again.

She squeezes Casper’s hand. ‘OK?’ she mouths. He nods, looking up at his mother, a worried expression on his face. It’s only when she hangs up that she realises her hands are shaking and she’s got tears running down her face. For the first time in about five years, she actually wants to ring her mother but she’s too scared that the sound of her voice will prompt her to lose it entirely.

By the time she’s got Casper out of the building and manoeuvred the pram and everything else, the sky is getting darker and heavier, and it’s nearing tea time. Any minute now, Casper’s going to start whining and Thea’s going to want her milk. She passes a small group of women by the car park.

‘Awful,’ one of them whispers. Priti, she’s called. Sarah recognises her from Body Pump – she always wonders how she manages to be so compact but springy at the same time. ‘Investigation … I mean, my little one plays out there all the time. Lord knows what could have happened. Someone could have been killed.’

She wants to tell them all to stop gossiping. To go back home and have a little respect. She watches all the 4x4s, streaming out of the barriers. People are waving at her left, right and centre. Why can’t one of you just offer me a lift, she thinks. She stands scanning the roads for her Uber, when she realises she doesn’t even know what she’s looking for. She puts the brake on Thea’s pram, checking it’s on with her foot, three or four times. Something about the conversation she’s just overheard has made her even more nervous.

‘Casper. Away from the road.’

‘I’m not near the road,’ he says, but she yanks him back so he’s standing right close to the hedge. He looks shocked.

She pulls out her phone and brings up the Uber app. Tom’s words play back in her mind. Anything at all I can do, just let me know. And that’s when she knows. That she’ll do anything to make it up to Liza. To Jack. Liza won’t know why, but that’s fine. Somehow, even if it means putting her own life on the line, she’s going to sort out this awful, sorry mess. Maybe she should do some googling – falls from a great height, or paralysis – but then she knows her fear will take over.

She puts her phone firmly in her pocket, and then she sees Priti, leaping into her car. She plays back the conversation she’s just overheard; the self-righteous tremble of Priti’s voice. Investigation. Someone could have been killed. And that’s when she jolts. Investigation? Surely not. It was an accident. That’s all. Surely they wouldn’t go that far? And anyway, she couldn’t come clean now. She thinks of Liza’s face. The relief when Sarah had told her that her son was OK. I saw him. He’s fine. This is the way I paid you back for your friendship and love, Liza.

Her stomach tilts. She watches Priti’s car swing out of the space and into the road, the flash of her diamond ring winking in the weak sunlight. It’s far too late. She’s sure the investigation won’t happen. And if it does? Well, she has a story. She is going to stick to it and that, she tells herself with a lurch, is that.

LIZA

I’m taken into a waiting room, whilst Jack is rushed into the operating theatre. Gav arrives soon after, motorbike helmet clamped under his arm. I stand up, and we hug. Something we haven’t done for months now. It doesn’t last long. I extricate myself from him, terrified about what’s coming next.

‘What happened?’ he demands as he crosses his arms and takes a step forward, encroaching into my space.

‘He fell.’ I take a step back from him.

‘How?’

I’d worked out the explanation already, yet now that Gav is here I’m finding it hard to speak.

‘He was climbing.’

‘Climbing what? A tree?’

‘No.’ I lower my head. ‘He was outside The Vale Club. In the playground.’ My vision tunnels.

‘And?’

‘Look, please,’ I tell him. ‘I was with Thea. She was screaming.’

‘That’s not what I’m asking you.’ I look into his eyes. Ever since we’d separated and he’d moved into a different area of the house, he’s been distant, unreadable.

‘He was outside. In the sandpit.’

‘And you were doing what, exactly?’ His voice takes on a menacing tone. ‘Can you please explain? That’s my son in there.’ He narrows his eyes. ‘Again.’ Cold rises up in my blood and I take another step back. I know we’re both thinking the same thing.

‘I was … I told you. I was with Thea. He was fine.’ I think back to just before it had happened. How Thea had just fallen asleep. How finally, that day, I thought I’d have three minutes to myself. Until Sarah had turned up with Ella Bradby.

‘He was fine. Sarah checked on him seconds before. He obviously …’ I trail off, unable to think of his small body impacting the ground. I swallow. ‘The doctors are, well, they’ve been good.’

‘What have they said?’

‘Nothing much. Just rushed him into theatre. They think he might have damaged his neck.’

‘Damaged? What the fuck do you mean, damaged? Broken?’

‘Gav. Please.’ I cover my mouth with my hand. ‘Please. Keep your voice down.’ I’m used to Gav’s emotions going from zero to a hundred miles per hour within the space of a few seconds.

‘You weren’t watching him, were you? Busy in that café with Sarah? Please, just tell me you were doing your job as a mother.’

‘I was,’ I try, but the words sound hollow. ‘I was. He was fine.’

‘And you trusted Sarah? What did she say? That he was OK?’

‘She said,’ I look up, trying to recall what she had said. ‘She said that she had waved and that he was fine.’

‘Well, you shouldn’t have left it up to Sarah. She’s so dopey sometimes she wouldn’t notice if her arse was on fire.’

‘That’s not fair. And nor is it relevant.’

‘What about the club then? How could they have something so dangerous? In the kids’ playground. I’m going to fucking have them. I’m going to …’

‘Listen.’ Now he’s turned his attention to The Vale Club, at least it’s off me and Sarah. ‘We have to focus on Jack.’

‘Well, it’s all relevant. He was under your watch, after all.’ He stares me down. I know what he’s thinking.

‘Look.’ My voice comes out in barely a whisper. ‘He was in the sandpit. I had seen him minutes before. Sarah checked on him. There’s nothing else that we should have done. I know that … I know you’re thinking of …’ I can’t bring myself to talk any further, but I don’t have to because he takes a big breath. The room feels dry.

‘If anything happens,’ he points a finger at me but then tempers himself, rubbing his face with both hands.

If anything happens, then what, I want to say but I sit down, defeated.

‘And I’m going to make sure they damn well do an investigation into all this. The club. Someone’s going to have some answers. I want answers. I’m going to sue.’

This is the thing about Gav – he always needs answers. Even when there aren’t any. I’m torn between pushing the spotlight off me – and the fact that I hadn’t been outside with Jack – and getting Gav onto the fact that it might have been The Vale Club who was at fault. Eventually, however, he runs out of steam and we sit in silence, Gav fidgeting in his seat. He picks up his motorbike helmet, clicks and unclicks the clasp over and over. I give him a warning look but he carries on.

I’m scared. So scared. I’ve been through every single outcome of the fall. From the best to the worst options. Jack is alive, but what about his quality of life? What if he never walks again? One of my greatest fears come true. And then all these other fears start careering through my mind. If he is paralysed will we be able to afford it? How will I cope? I don’t want to be thinking of money at a time like this, but we’d have to make arrangements. Change the house. Maybe Gav’s right? Maybe we should sue? Maybe that’s the only way we’d get enough to pay for his care. I try and be sensible and give myself the advice I’d give Sarah. Wait and see what the doctors say. Stop making things up before they’ve happened. But I feel sick at the thought of my son going through all of this.

‘Please can you stop making that noise with your helmet,’ I finally snap. ‘I’m finding it distracting.’ He stands up. ‘I mean, not you,’ I add quickly, in case it makes him flare up again. I’ve just got more important things on my mind right now than stepping on eggshells around Gav. ‘Just the noise.’

‘I’m going,’ he says. I feel the familiar stone drop in my stomach. Where to, I want to ask, but I keep my mouth shut. ‘I need to know what’s going on.’

He walks out of the room and I start to sob. I pick up my phone, mainly as a distraction from the sensation of dread hanging over me. There’s a text from Sarah. About Thea. My God. Thea. All this time I haven’t even thought of Thea. I feel the tingle, the swelling of my milk ducts. Oh God. She needs feeding. I am a shit mum.

All ok with Thea. We’ve given her formula. She’s fast asleep. We’re thinking of you. We’re here for you if you need anything at all.

Thanks, I text back. Still waiting. Jack in surgery. Can Thea stay the night in case we aren’t back? Not sure what’s happening.

Of course, comes the swift reply. Don’t think about anything other than Jack. Let us know any updates if you can Sx.

I start typing a reply. Telling Sarah that she needn’t berate herself about what happened, but I put down my phone. I’ve got to concentrate on the matter in hand.

The doctor comes in with Gav. She’s still in scrubs, her dark hair pushed up under her cap. She’s very pretty, with kind features and a reassuring expression, which makes me want to start crying all over again. I stand up and go to Gav’s side. Without realising it, we are gripping each other’s hands.

‘I’m your surgeon, Mahim Qureshi,’ she says. ‘Nice to meet you. Sorry I didn’t catch you both earlier.’

Please, tell me he’s going to be all right, I plead in my mind. I’ll die if he’s not. I’ll die.

‘Jack is going to be OK,’ she says. ‘He’s going to survive.’

Gav snaps his head up, ripping his hand out of mine. ‘Survive? What do you mean, survive? I had no idea …’ I will the doctor to start talking, to put us out of our misery.

‘He had a very lucky escape,’ says Dr Qureshi, looking at me. ‘He’s broken a wrist. And he’s had a greenstick fracture on the seventh cervical vertebra. That’s to say that in adults, it would have resulted in a clean break. But children’s bones are a lot more supple. We’ve operated on his wrist but you’ll have to keep him lying down for the next few months whilst his vertebra repairs and he’ll have to be in a neck brace. He’ll be able to move a tiny bit. But it’ll be painful for him and we can’t be a hundred percent certain that it won’t have a future impact on things.’

For a second, I think about asking what things but I’m unable to process everything she’s saying to us. The only words that are flashing through my mind right now are survive and lucky escape.

‘So he’ll be OK? He’ll be able to walk again properly and everything?’ I ask, desperate to hear one more time that he’s going to be all right.

‘With the right care and support. But at the moment, I cannot stress to you how important it is that you keep him still. No knocks. The bone needs to heal right.’

I think of how the hell I’m going to do this but then I don’t care. I don’t care. He’s alive. He’s going to be OK. I feel like collapsing with relief. My boy. My beautiful boy. It’s all going to be OK. I start to cry.

‘You might want to arrange things at home so that …’ her gaze flicks from me to Gav, ‘it’s comfortable and easy for you to reach him.’

‘We’re …’ I can’t bring myself to use the words, even though it has been weeks now.

‘We’re not together any more,’ Gav finishes for me. I look over at him. His presence fills the entire room. ‘But I still live there and am watching Liza and the kids all the time.’

He glances over at me. I imagine him ending the separation. How we might be able to make things work if I can show him that we’re meant to be together. That we are a family unit of four. That I’m a good person. A good mother, who has just made some mistakes in her life.

‘It’s OK,’ says Dr Qureshi. ‘I’m sure you’ll work it out and we’ll send support for you, of course.’

I think about our house. My room in the loft. Jack’s on the floor below and the living area two more floors beneath that with a spare room attached to the end, where Gav sleeps.

I’ll move downstairs, or move Jack to the bottom room, and then we can be together. Thea can be in the … fuck. My mind feels like it’s spinning with all the options. Gav would never, ever agree to moving back upstairs to the room we used to share. And I can’t move downstairs to be nearer Jack – I wouldn’t be able to cope with being on the same floor as Gav, breathing down my neck all the time. And besides, Jack would pick up on the bad atmosphere if we’re forced to spend long periods of time together.

I’d begged Gav, after all, to move out. To end things in a better, cleaner way than him still living in the house. But of course, he’d refused over and over.

‘I’m staying. To watch you,’ he’d warned me.

What am I going to do?

And then, a flash of an idea. And I think about Sarah’s earlier text.

If you need anything at all.

Sarah and Tom. Their lower-ground-floor flat. It would be perfect. They aren’t getting it developed for another year. Maybe, just maybe, I could ask if we might stay for a bit. We’d all be on one floor. Me, Jack and Thea. I’d have to get Gav onside, and no doubt he’d be over every five minutes. But I’d know that Sarah and Tom would be right upstairs if I needed them. It would work perfectly. If I could get them to agree. Do I dare ask?

‘I’d best get back but I’ll come and see you later to answer any questions you have,’ says Dr Qureshi, leaving the room.

We both sit and my phone pings. Sarah.

What’s going on? I can’t stop thinking of you all.

He’s ok. Fractured his neck.

Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. Liza, I’m so sorry.

Why are you sorry? I’m just grateful you were there to take Thea.

What does that mean? He’ll be able to walk again, won’t he? Will he be ok?

Doc says he’ll be ok. But very difficult. We won’t be able to move him at all for a bit otherwise it’ll disrupt his healing, so he has to lie flat on his back. It’s going to be tough. For him mostly. And I think she said there might be knock-on effects. But was too overwhelmed to ask what they were. I feel so upset for him. He should be running around in the park with his friends. Not lying like this in a bed for the foreseeable future.

I think about asking her there and then. Just come out with it. She wouldn’t say no now. But then I tell myself to slow down. Wait, at least, to find out if Jack is going to be OK. Focus on his recovery. And then, only then, will I think about how to move on from this.

To: J.Roper@westlondongazette.com

From: 54321@freeserve.com

Hi

I saw you’ve been covering quite a lot of The Vale Club’s new opening of late. I’m not sure if you’ve got some form of tie-in with them but I thought you might like to know that there was an accident there earlier today. A small boy fell off from high up a post in the playground. I believe he is ok but I thought you should have a look at what went on – us residents and members would be keen to know the truth behind it all.

Yours,

Derry

SARAH

That night, Sarah lies in bed, terrified of Thea waking up. She listens to the snort and shuffle of tiny arms and legs. She hovers over the Moses basket, holding her hand under Thea’s perfect upturned nose. She’s breathing. This time five years ago, she’d done the same thing every night, with Casper.

She thinks back to when they had first brought Casper home from Queen Charlotte’s and Hammersmith Hospital. She had snapped at Tom for being too rough with the car seat as he tried to click it into the back of their BMW. She’d held her breath at absolutely every jolt on the road, both for the baby’s sake and her own – she had been torn from back to front. She winces remembering the pain as the metal had tugged Casper right out of her. And then the rest. The ensuing images at every turn of things that could go wrong: Casper choking on her milk, suffocating in his Moses basket, inhaling smoke particles from family members who held him. The list had been endless. She rubs her stomach wistfully. She’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. And just like that, she has a vision of Rosie being handed to her in the hospital. She remembers wanting to breathe life into her daughter, so desperately. To impart some of her own living soul into the tiny creature that lay in her arms. Liza’s presence strong and calm right beside her. The doctors. We’re so sorry. Nothing anyone could do. She shivers.

She hears Tom downstairs, the soft monotones of the cricket commentary on the TV, which she normally finds so comforting. Tonight though, she wants to shout down to tell him to come and help her. But, she reasons, he has probably fallen asleep. She doesn’t want to leave the room in case the creak of the door wakes Thea.

Her mind traces the events of the day. Jack fracturing his neck. His small body lying in the operating theatre, the anaesthetic needle puncturing his tiny veins. She curls herself up into a ball as she replays the events preceding the accident. And then Liza’s WhatsApp. She flicks back onto it, reading and rereading the conversation she’d had with her earlier: there might be knock-on effects. She puts her phone down. He’s alive. That’s all she should be focusing on. She thinks about whether Ella was right. He still would have fallen. Whether you’d checked on him or not. She’d never know.

And anyway, where the hell is Ella? Does she really not give enough of a damn to at least contact her and ask about Jack? Especially given the thing that Sarah had found out earlier. And then Priti mentioning the investigation. She knows, rationally, that the club will be duty-bound to look into what happened. She also knows they won’t want any bad publicity from this. They’ll shut it down as soon as possible. They might want to speak to her. That’s OK. She’ll tell them what she told Liza. She takes a breath and recites the words in her head. I waved at him. He was absolutely fine. And then she goes through the various responses to any given questions they might ask her. Are you sure you saw him properly? Yes. He was playing. Are you sure he was OK? Yes.

Oh God. She wipes her hands on her top and shuts down her thoughts. She needs to focus on Thea. Do the best for her friend and try and make things up to her. And then she remembers Liza’s earlier text. How Jack would be flat on his back. How this is all her fault so she needs to be doing more to fix it – especially if he never quite recovers properly. The taste of bile floods her mouth. She can’t quite believe that she’s been responsible for something so hideously awful. She’s done some bad things in her life – she’ll never forget lying to her parents time and time again so she could go to the Palladium nightclub – but this, this is something she could never have even imagined experiencing.

She thinks about their lower-ground-floor flat. It’s free at the moment. Perhaps she’ll ask Liza and Jack to stay with them for a bit so she can help out. Try and make things all right. It would give Liza a break from Gav, too. The way he calls her out on everything. Look at you, he’d say. Look at the way you’re doing that. And he’d get up and take over. Tutting and asking Jack if he was OK, gliding his eyes over his little boy’s body in exaggerated movements. Anything your daddy can help you with?

She didn’t know how Liza stood it, really. He never used to be like that – controlling and anxious. And it’s even weirder now, given that they’re actually separated. In any case, it would be good for Liza to get away from him. Give her some breathing space. Sarah’s absolutely sure that Gav is not going to be happy about the fact they’d both been inside The Vale Club, and not out in the sandpit with Jack. He’ll probably try and sue and then she’ll have to speak up in court. Oh God. But before the thought maps out into anything further she hears a small cry.

Shit. The milk. It’ll be freezing cold. She should have boiled the kettle earlier instead of being held hostage by her thoughts. Perhaps she should go downstairs and get her bottle first? Or take Thea down with her so she doesn’t start shrieking at full pelt? Shit.

Before she knows it, she’s running downstairs.

‘Tom,’ she hisses. ‘Tom, she’s awake.’

‘Hmmm?’ She watches as Tom stretches out and moves a pale, freckled hand towards the remote.

‘Tom?’ She’s exasperated now. Has he no sense of urgency? She swallows back her ‘nagging’ voice, as he calls it. ‘Tom,’ she continues. ‘I’d really love it if you could go upstairs to Thea while I get her milk. It would be really helpful,’ she monotones. ‘Because you’re so soothing with babies.’

It’s a trick she’d learnt during their stint at Relate last year – after they’d buried Rosie. She still feels resentful that Tom hadn’t been with her, even though she knows that wasn’t his fault. Would it work tonight? Would it fuck.

‘Tom!’ She picks up the remote and hurls it across the sofa.

‘Jesus.’ He leaps up. ‘Sarah. What the hell has got into you?!’

‘Oh God.’ She can hear Thea’s cries getting more intense. ‘I’m sorry. Can you just go up?’

‘Going.’ He stands, his expression bordering on sheer terror at witnessing his wife in such a state. She has no idea why she’s freaking out so much. She’s looked after a baby before. Surely this should be a doddle? She goes to the kitchen and counts out the formula scoops, checking and rechecking the amounts on the back of the blue box.

When she’s satisfied she’s got the right number of scoops, she shakes the mixture in boiling water and places it in a bowl of ice. The crying slows down.

At least Casper will stay asleep, she knows that much. Her one saving grace. She stares at the milk, willing for it to cool. ‘Hurry up,’ she mutters. By the time she goes upstairs Thea’s screams are at full pelt.

‘You calm now?’ Tom gives her a look, as though she’s one of those potty pigeon ladies who cover themselves in breadcrumbs in the park.

‘I’m calm. Look. Today. I …’

‘I know. I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I should have realised how traumatic it would be for you and I’m sorry. Oh love, why don’t you go to bed with Casper? I’ll sort Thea out. Just go and get into your nightie and I’ll do the rest.’

She wants to resist. She feels she owes it to Liza to be the one looking after Thea, but the lure of lying down and ignoring the world is too strong. She pulls out her old grey nightie from the wardrobe – the one that she used to comfort her stonking hangovers – and sits on the bed. She watches Tom angling the bottle into Thea’s mouth, her small, fuzzy head resting in the nook of his elbow.

‘Shhh, there we go,’ he says. ‘All OK now. It’s OK now.’

‘I forgot how good you are at this.’ She nods at Thea. She sniffs at the hem of her T-shirt. Don’t let me think about it. Last year. Please. Not now. But it’s too late and she starts to cry.

‘We’ll be OK, love,’ he says. She knows what he’s thinking. This should be our child. ‘Don’t you worry. You’ve had a long day. No wonder you’re feeling tearful. Now go on. Get into Casper’s bed and try and get some sleep.’

She can’t think of anything she’d rather do less than move from where she is right now. The tiredness has hit her like a truck.

Tom looks down at Thea and smiles. ‘Well done, little girl.’

Sarah pulls down the soft, pink eiderdown and climbs into their comfy king-sized bed from Loaf that they’d saved up for last year.

‘I want to sleep with you.’ Sarah’s sobs subside. She needs to feed off Tom’s calm presence. If she’s near Casper, she’ll start to feel more anxious. What if karma is real? Tit for tat. That kind of thing. What if he fell too? Please, Casper, no. Stay safe.

After Tom has got Thea back down, he goes straight back to sleep. She listens to his slow, rhythmic breathing. Not a care in the world. No lasting adrenaline from the baby crying. How lovely to be him – able to switch on and off at the drop of a hat. She can feel her heart still thrumming from earlier. She tries to still her whirring mind and fall asleep, but it’s no use. She listens to the tick-tock of the bedside clock, her limbs restless. She watches three rectangles of light strobe across the ceiling as a car drives past.

Maybe she’ll feel better when her PMT subsides. Then she’ll be able to rationalise everything. No. It’s guilt, warping into something even worse, says a voice.

‘Tom,’ she hisses. ‘Tom, wake up.’

‘Go back to sleep,’ he murmurs.

‘I never went to sleep in the first place.’

‘Shhh. You’ll wake the baby.’

She goes quiet for a few seconds.

‘Tom?’

A short jab in his ribs has the desired effect and he drags himself up onto his elbows.

‘What is it?’ He squints over to the small Ikea side table. ‘Three in the morning. Oh God, Thea’s due a feed soon anyway. What’s the matter?’

‘Liza. Jack. And,’ she nods over to the Moses basket. ‘I was just thinking.’ She stares at the shutters on their bay window, wondering when they’d last been cleaned.

‘Thinking what? He’s going to be OK. You know that. I spoke to Gav.’

‘No. I know but …’ She takes a breath. If Tom agrees just to this one thing, she knows, in her heart of hearts, that everything can be OK. Not in an OCD, everything-has to-be-in-threes kind of way. Just in a make-her-peace-with-what-she’s-done kind of way. She’ll show Liza just how sorry she is. She won’t say anything at all about what happened, but she is absolutely convinced that if she gives her life over to Liza, just for a little bit, then everything will be OK. She’ll have paid her dues for her wrongdoing. She wonders whether to wake Thea while they’re talking but decides not to. She wants Tom’s full attention and he’s always moaning that she can’t multitask.

‘OK. Well, I was thinking. Our downstairs flat. Well – we’re not using it. I know we were going to Airbnb it before we renovate, but how do you feel about Liza and Jack moving in? With Thea, of course. That way they’ll all be on one floor. Easy access. That kind of thing.’

She holds her breath. Tom’s kind. He’ll always do anything to help out. But before she’s allowed herself to exhale, he shakes his head.

‘No. No way. Not now.’ He throws back the covers with more force than is perhaps necessary and walks over to Thea. ‘I’m going to feed her now. Before she starts screaming. Then hopefully she’ll sleep till seven.’

Tom always has been a stickler for routine and she has to admit that, for Casper, it had worked a treat.

‘Look, I know you want to help. But this is not the way to do it. Besides.’ He lifts up Thea’s small body and places her gently over his shoulder. Sarah watches the paleness of his skin, reflecting against the moonlight.

‘Besides what?’

‘Besides. What about us? Our baby? I need you to focus fully on our situation, Sarah. We can’t put our lives on hold. No matter how awful Liza is feeling. There are other ways we can help. Jack is going to be OK. You know that, don’t you? You,’ he takes a breath, ‘we, we aren’t over what happened to us last year. Please don’t give your entire self over to Liza.’

She wants to tell him she owes it to Liza, in more ways than one. She wants to shout at him that he wasn’t even there when Rosie died, so how dare he try and tell her what Liza does or doesn’t need. But she is too exhausted.

‘How do you know? That Jack will be OK?’

‘Because I know. This bit will be tough for them. But you know what Liza’s like. She’s got it in hand.’

An image of Liza’s pram from earlier floods her mind’s eye. The piles of rubbish. The medicine boxes and the rotting apple cores. She isn’t so sure.

‘OK,’ says Tom with a sigh. ‘How about you move in with Liza for a couple of days? Stay with her just while Jack settles back in. I can take some time off work. Look after Casper. That way you can help out but we can still focus on us. On our baby, Sarah.’ He squeezes Thea tight. ‘You know how much this means to us.’

She opens her mouth. She’s about to tell him about the IVF clinic appointment next week, but something stops her.

‘OK, Sa? Is that OK? Good enough?’

‘Yes.’ She wraps her arms around herself and shivers into her T-shirt. ‘Yes, it’s fine.’

But in her head, of course, she’s thinking something totally different. No. It’s not good enough. It’s absolutely not good enough at all. She doesn’t want to move into Liza’s; with Gav giving them both the evil eye every time they open their mouths. She wants to be right here with Tom and Casper. And she wants to, she has to, do the best by her friend. There’ll be a way to get Tom to agree. And she’s damned if she isn’t going to find out what it is.

WhatsApp group: West London Primary Academy PTA Class Reps

Members: Ems, Liza, Aissatu, Sarah, Bella, Millie, Amina, Charlotte T, Charlotte G, Nabila, Charlotte M, Kalisha, Amelia, Shereen, Fizz, Becky D, Becky G, Isa, Marion, Mimi, Camilla

Liza: Hi all. I hope everyone is surviving half-term! I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I just wanted to let you all know that Jack has had a terrible accident and fractured his neck and broken his wrist. I’m doing the best I can but I’m trying to put everything into place now, before we leave the hospital, so that I can focus on him and him alone as he’s going to be flat on his back for a while. He’s doing ok (champion that he is) but it’s going to be a long recovery. And thankfully, I think he’s going to come out of this relatively unscathed (physically, at least.) So – I wanted to let you all know that I’ll be stepping down from my role as head of the Christmas fair this year. I know it’s not far away so I wanted to let you all know sooner rather than later so you can get things in place. I’ve started off with a bit of the sponsorship money – some leads but there’s a lot of work to be done. Need to raise 10k for all the stuff on the school enrichment fund. This is the most important thing so any leads at all please, please chase them up. This is a full-on task, so anyone that is interested needs to be aware of that. Thanks all.

Millie: Oh my god, Liza. That’s so dreadful. I’m so sorry. We’re all here to help.

Charlotte G: Oh, Liza. We are all so desperately sorry. Jack is such a spirited little boy that I know he will cope with this brilliantly. Do let us know how we can all help.

Liza: Thanks so much all. But please – use this thread just to sort out the Xmas fair, so I don’t have to worry about it! If you want to send any private messages to me or Jack please do.

Ems: Typing …

Charlotte G: I’ll do it!!! I’d love to

Mimi: ME!

Shereen: Yes. Liza, we are here for you if you need anything.

Charlotte T: I’d LOVE to do it.

Charlotte M: I can’t. Sorry! I’ve just got so much on with the little ones at the moment and work – I think it’d be silly to take it all on at once. Don’t you? I’ll help out of course in any way that I can though.

Bella: As you know, I’m not a SAHM so I just don’t think I can offer any more of my time. But like Charlotte M says – I’m happy to help.

Fizz: Just FYI I’m a *SAHM* and my time is limited too! I don’t think we should be talking in terms of time. It’s not helpful when we are all exceedingly busy with our children and everything else.

Sarah: Guys – let’s just focus on Liza here please and getting the fair sorted so she can concentrate on Jack. Anyone who offered to help out, we’ll have a meeting the first Thursday back after half-term, in the green café at ten am. I’ll send out a reminder before then. 10k is a heck of a lot. We need to get focused. Ok?

WhatsApp group: School mums VIP business

Members: Charlotte G, Bella

Charlotte G: Was that the ‘incident’ I heard about at The Vale Club? Do you know? Apparently someone wasn’t watching their kid and they had a fall? There’d better be an investigation of some sorts.

Bella: I don’t know. Maybe. Awful.

Charlotte G: Must be. I’ll try and find out. They shut the club apparently. I wasn’t there, of course. Had all three kids at home crafting. But by the sounds of it, someone’s head’s going to roll.

Bella: *rolling heads emoji*.

LIZA

The next morning, I meet Gav in the hospital café. I’d slept on a guest bed next to Jack, whilst he’d gone home to get some rest. I’d barely shut my eyes, listening out all night for any change in the rhythm of Jack’s breath.

‘Ready?’ I hand Gav a black coffee. Two espresso shots, just as he likes it. He nods and takes the cup without a thank you. We get the lift up to floor three, Paediatrics. I shield my eyes from the other patients in wheelchairs and trolleys. I can’t stand any more heartache right now. Selfish, I know.

We stand close to each other as we walk towards Jack’s hospital bed. My little boy is there, his head on the pillow, stilled by a foam neck brace. I’d only been away from him for about ten minutes whilst I went to meet Gav but I’m already overcome with the feelings I’d been battling all night – fear, guilt, sorrow, relief that he’s alive. There’s a flickering halogen bulb to the side of him, the blue concertinaed curtains drawn so that I can only see half his sleepy face. It all feels a bit eerie now the lights have been switched on, especially when I see the cannula tape, puckered over his small arm. There’s a plastic jug of squash next to him, still full with a bunch of limp-looking straws next to it.

‘You OK?’ Gav takes my arm and pulls me forward. For some reason this small act of kindness makes me want to cry all over again, until he seems to physically push me forward with the palm of his hand on my back. He wasn’t being kind after all – he was just steering me into the right direction, I think. My feelings can’t keep up with his actions and my throat constricts. It seems that neither of us knows how to behave in light of this trauma. ‘Just …’ I manage.

‘Come on. Let’s not let him see us upset when he’s fully awake.’ Gav grabs two plastic chairs and places them next to Jack. There’s an awkward moment, when neither of us knows who should sit first, but I go ahead and lean over to my son.

‘Jack? My little one? It’s OK. Mummy and Daddy are here.’ His eyes look all droopy and a small tear rolls its way down his cheek. I feel the heat of his breath on my hand. A lone, thick eyelash has made its way onto his cheek. ‘We love you so much. We’re so proud of you.’ I lick my finger and press it over the eyelash. ‘I’m doing it for you. The wish. OK?’ I shut my eyes and blow as hard as I can. Please, please make him better.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers. ‘I didn’t mean to be a bad boy.’

‘Oh darling, you could never, ever be a bad boy. It was an accident. A dreadful accident.’

I would never, ever admit this to Gav, but I think about the fact that I had been inside The Vale Club. That I should have been with Jack, watching him. How easy it had been for me to be sitting in the warmth, as he had climbed higher and higher up that post. How poor Sarah would probably feel guilty for the rest of her life that had she checked on him just minutes later, she might – just might have seen him. Too high. Not that she should feel bad. Of course, she couldn’t have changed a thing. But – I know Sarah. I know how she is, she’ll obsess over this. My stomach feels like it’s about to fall out of my body.

‘Never let me hear you say that again, darling.’ I smooth back his hair. His eyes look glassy. ‘You’re OK. You’re going to be all OK. I promise.’

I hear the creak of Gav’s leather jacket as he leans forward and wraps both of his arms around Jack’s small legs.

‘I love you, big guy,’ he says, his voice muffled by the sheets. ‘I love you so much. You are my hero. Always remember that.’

A small smile hovers on one side of Jack’s mouth. I look at Gav, who is chewing the inside of his lip, eyes closed.

‘It’s OK,’ I tell him too. ‘He’s OK. He is.’

By the time we both look back at Jack, he’s fast asleep again. It’s only then that I feel drops of liquid pouring out from my boobs.

‘Shit.’ I look down at two, large damp bullseyes on my Breton tee. ‘Shit. Thea.’

‘Is she OK?’ Gav snaps his head up. ‘She’s with Sarah – are you sure that’s the right person to—’

‘Yes, yes of course. It’s just that,’ I point to my chest. The movement seems grotesquely intimate, embarrassing even, given Gav hasn’t been anywhere near that area since Thea was conceived.

‘Do you reckon you could just go to the maternity ward?’ I think back to when we’d last set foot in there only eight weeks ago. My bladder feeling like it was going to explode as I bounced up and down on that purple, rubber ball. ‘Just explain the situation and ask one of the midwives if I can borrow a pump? That nice girl, Lucie. See if she’s on shift? She’ll remember us.’

Gav lets out a deep sigh. ‘I’ll go and see. Anything else?’

I look up at his brown eyes. I want to ask him why he had felt the need to separate from me in the first place. How if he could explain it to me fully, perhaps I could help, do something. Anything, to make it better. But he’ll shut down. As he usually does. Say that things have changed since Jack had been born, and that’s that. Then why did you have another child with me, I want to shout. Why?

‘No thanks. Nothing.’ My whole face hurts with the effort of trying not to cry. My chin feels numb.

Why didn’t you love me enough to stay with me? To try and work things out, I want to ask, even though, deep down, I know the answer.

He’s gone for a long time. I watch the other kids in the ward. Listen to the shuffle of feet and swish of mops. A tall male nurse with a sharp face comes over to take Jack’s blood pressure and temperature.

‘Lovely boy.’ He breaks into a grin. I nod but can’t say anything. By the time Gav gets back, Jack is still asleep. He wheels in a large yellow hospital-grade pumping machine. We both smile, thankful that the distraction – and size of it – has broken the tension. ‘Jesus,’ I say, as he pushes it around the bed and moves his chair out of the way. ‘Looks like it could milk an elephant.’ I try and be light-hearted for Gav. Make jokes so that he might recognise the old me. The one he fell in love with and perhaps, then, things would be all right.

‘Someone’s coming,’ he says. ‘With all the other … you know,’ he waves his hands around his own chest, ‘stuff.’

We sit and wait. Eventually someone arrives and hooks me up with all the bottles and tubes. Both boobs are stuffed unceremoniously into two rubbery cones.

‘Let me,’ says the midwife, ramping up the dial. Almost instantly, the drrrr drrrr sound starts up.

‘That noise,’ Gav says, mimicking the sound of the machine and placing his palms over his eyes. ‘Gives me nightmares.’

We both laugh again. I remember how we’d both spent hours working out how to use the damn thing when we’d first brought Jack home. I see Gav shaking his head, as though ridding himself of the darker memories that followed. I wonder when it got so bad between us. We’d managed, in spite of everything. But then he’d snapped after Thea was born, around the time she reached the three-week mark. All those memories of what happened with Jack had surfaced again. I tell myself to focus on the now. I go through the things I’d been taught when Jack was tiny. Focus on things you can see, touch, smell and hear. I watch the rise and fall of my son’s small chest, thankful that Gav’s earlier rage has dissipated. This morning, I had been braced for his harsh remarks and his sharp temper but, so far, he’s managed to contain it and I’ve managed to keep the mood buoyant. Somehow. It’s exhausting, but my focus now is on keeping things calm for Jack. My son is here. He’s alive.

When both bottles are half-full of milk, I hear my phone vibrate.

‘Shit.’ I shuffle my hip towards Gav. ‘Sorry about this. Can you just …’

He reaches over and slides out the phone from my pocket. I notice how careful he is not to touch me – whether he can’t bear to, or he doesn’t want to give me the wrong impression, I don’t know.

‘God, this old thing. Never could work your bloody keypad.’ He presses in my code – Jack and Thea’s birthdays – and I watch his eyes flicker over the screen.

‘Well, there are about a million messages from school parents from about two hours ago. And there’s one here from …’ he squints and brings the handset close up to his eyes. ‘Unknown number?’

‘Weird. What’s it say?’ This feels so like how we used to be. Comfortable and free. My heart aches again. ‘Go on, read it then.’ I almost drop the bottles of milk as I lean over, willing him to hurry.

‘Wow. This is something else.’

‘What?’ I wonder what on earth he’s talking about.

‘But there’s no name. It’s just a random number.’

‘Read it out then. Come on.’

‘It says: Dear Liza. I’m so sorry about Jack. I’ve paid for a maternity nurse to come and watch Thea for the next two days and nights, whilst you get adjusted. She’s called Mary. We had her after both Felix and Wolf were born and she’s a saint. I had some problems after Wolf and she still managed beautifully. Here’s her number. She’ll start today. Please text her your address.’

For a minute, I have absolutely no idea who has texted. Who would be so generous and do something so extraordinarily kind? But then the names Felix and Wolf ring a bell. Felix. Wolf. I had heard that only yesterday. Who could forget the name Wolf? And bam, out of nowhere, I know. It’s her.

No explanation of how she’d found out what happened, nothing to indicate how she’d got my number. It’s so like her, I think, from what I know of her. How she was at NCT: so confident in her choices. I think of those grey eyes. The way they’d scanned the drinks menu in the café. Her long limbs, supple and loose. The strong line of her nose and pale skin. And then I think about when I’d seen her after Jack had been born, in the street – she’d been kind to me then, offered a hand of friendship as I’d stood in the street, shivering, unaware of who I was – but I’d just pushed it to the back of my mind. I think about Sarah – how her body had gone rigid the minute she saw Ella Bradby in the corner of the room yesterday. The slackness of her mouth. And then afterwards, when they had both walked over together into the soft-play, after checking on Jack. The way Sarah’s eyes had darted around the room. Look at me. Look at who I’m with. And then, the conspiratorial apologetic look she had given me, which I had studiously chosen to ignore.

I’d felt suspicious then, but maybe I had just been jealous? Maybe I had thought badly of Ella all this time and actually the problem was with me and the association of when I had last seen her – when everything started to fall apart.

‘Ella,’ I say to Gav. ‘Oh my God. It’s Ella. Remember her? NCT?’

In fact, I know he does. No one could forget her.

‘I do,’ he replies. ‘I totally do. She went AWOL, yeah?’

‘Yes. No one knew why. But well, I bumped into her yesterday. Just before … Anyway. Her kid is at school with Jack but not in the same class. And neither me nor Sarah have ever laid eyes on her at the school gates. Guess she’s back and nicer than we thought.’

‘Oh. I’m surprised you didn’t mention it. I know Sarah was obsessed with her. Anyway – it appears that yes, she is back,’ says Gav. He looks over at Jack and nods his head. ‘And two days’ maternity nurse? Wow. I think she might just be our fairy godmother. It will be good to have an extra set of eyes on everything.’

I guess, despite everything that’s happened in the last two days, despite the fact my son is lying in a hospital bed next to me, despite me wanting to shake Gav to come to his senses, we’ve agreed on one thing, at last.

West London Gazette editorial notes, October 2019

J Roper interview transcript: Faye Hollis, witness, The Vale Club

Are you sure this is anonymous? I mean, my job could be on the line. I’ve been with my family for three years now: two little girls. I’m a live-out. But I still know them back to front because I babysit twice a week and I’ve been on holiday with them. They employed me fresh out of Norland College for Nannies. They expect full loyalty – so, they must never, ever find out I’ve been speaking to you. It’s this code of conduct thing. They know we all gossip about them behind their backs. For us it’s work, you see?

‘Oh, you must hate us,’ they say. ‘And talk about how awful we are to all your other nanny friends. I hope you don’t think our children are too bratty.’ But they don’t mean it. Really, they’re just looking for reassurance that we haven’t been discussing their children – or their parenting habits. But of course, we have.

So I was there. When it happened. I didn’t see the actual fall. For me it was just a normal day. Pretty intense because it’s half-term but a group of us had met that morning. It was the same as it normally is, just on hyper-mode; all the parents competing all the time. Perfect little children, perfectly dressed up. And if one of their children starts to have a meltdown, they speak extra loudly – just so everyone knows they’re disciplining their child. ‘Maximilian, do we do that at home? No we don’t.’ (And let me tell you, Maximilian definitely does do that at home.) Or they just give in to save face – ‘Here, Maximilian of course you can have ten chocolate bars,’ whilst hissing at him on the sly that he’s going to have his favourite toy taken away later on.

But anyway – it was all a bit busy. We were going about our business, when we heard this terrible scream. Everyone froze for a minute. Then I saw this one woman – she had brown hair and was in leggings – rush outside. I thought she looked like she was going to faint. It must have been her son because when we looked outside she was sobbing over him. She was at the table where you can see outside into the playground, so I suppose she must have been watching but, you know – if it had been one of us nannies in charge, it would have been a totally different ballgame. For a start, we would never have been sitting there, we would have been outside. It’s an unspoken rule at the club, that that table is reserved only for mums and dads.

Because, you know – there’s a list of rules us nannies have to stick to. No phone during working hours. Engaging with the kids at all times. Always be next to them. Healthy food. Consistency with discipline. All the things we’d do anyway. But – it’s like, we’re held to a totally different set of standards to the parents.

I spend all day with my two charges – seven a.m. to seven p.m., doing exactly what their mum and dad ask me to do – and I work hard to do it. But then the parents get back from work and undo everything I’ve achieved that day. They sit there on their phones as soon as they get back from their jobs. Slumped on the sofa and then they wonder why their kids are jumping all over them, demanding their attention. And then – the cheek of it, I’ve spent hours preparing freshly pressed juices, fresh salmon and the likes – the parents let them eat what they like. ‘Yes of course you can have a bowl of Coco Pops.’

I tell Mum and Dad, ‘They’ve already had a very healthy dinner,’ and you were the ones that implemented that bloody rule anyway, I want to shout, but they look at me and then they look directly at their child, and say, ‘It’s OK. Mummy said you could.’ It drives all of us nannies wild.

I’m not saying anything shady went on, just that – well – if it had been us nannies on patrol, then I doubt this would ever have happened. And if it did? You’d find us on the front page of the paper, wouldn’t you? I said as much to my boss and she didn’t seem very happy with me. Mumbled something about mums being exhausted all the time and ‘mental load’ – whatever that is. Does she not think I’m exhausted, taking care of her kids?

As I said – it’s one set of rules for them, and one set of rules for us.

But please, I’ll lose my job if anyone finds out I’ve been talking. I’m sorry. I hope you don’t think I’m too awful. It’s just that this is exactly the way it is. And our rule would have been very clear. We would have been outside, all that time. Rain or shine. We would have been watching that poor little boy, and so really – he never would have fallen in the first place.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.