If You Knew Her Page 16

‘Oh, yes, that. No, well, we can always do it next year, can’t we?’ he says, but it’s as though the fractious pieces of his understanding still haven’t quite meshed together.

  Some of Marcus’s tea sloshes over the edge of the cup as she puts it in front of him. She sits back in her chair, cupping both hands around her own tea, lifting her bare feet to the lip of her chair, so her knees press near her chin.

  Marcus leans forward, puckers his lips for a sip and winces; it’s too hot for him.

  ‘So why did you cancel?’ Cassie persists, sure eventually he’ll click.

  Marcus shrugs. ‘Too much on, I suppose, Cas. Just too busy.’

  Cassie frowns, but he doesn’t see. What is he talking about? He’s too busy with what? Reading the papers? Doing his weekly shop? If anything, his life isn’t busy enough. Maybe that’s what’s up, maybe he’s just bored?

  ‘Marcus, is everything—’ but he interrupts her before she can ask him if he’s all right. His face lights up and he turns to her, sparky suddenly, as though he just had a wonderful realisation.

  ‘I spoke to Lindsay recently, Cas,’ he says, jumping in. ‘We talked about that murder-mystery weekend your mum organised, remember?’ Marcus tells Cassie the well-told story of the muddled weekend where April got all the characters and costumes confused so Marcus ended up playing a murderous vicar dressed as a racing jockey. He tells the story as though Cassie wasn’t even there. His clumsy reminiscing, especially about April, makes her feel itchy. The table jolts to the right as she leans her elbow on the surface and rakes her fingers through her shoulder-length hair.

  There used to be a time when she’d talk, really talk to Marcus. She remembers once she told Marcus how abandoned she felt, essentially an orphan with no dad and now no mum, no living genetic relative that she knows about anyway. He didn’t say anything, just hugged her, which was, she realised later – with a lick of guilt that she hadn’t mentioned the fact she has him in her life – the perfect response. She felt her loneliness was complete, a bespoke pain, designed especially for Cassie. But that will change; she won’t be on her own forever. She thinks of the small life, the size of an acorn, inside her. Jack picked her up when she told him, twirled her around the kitchen. He’d already started talking about names.

  Marcus has finished with the costume story; he’s looking at Cassie, frowning again and says apropos of nothing, ‘You know I’m always here for you, don’t you, Cas?’ The table lurches again as he cups his hand around the back of Cassie’s. ‘I want you to know you never have to feel alone.’

  Even though she doesn’t fully believe the words, she can hear the love in his voice, the care, and she smiles at him because suddenly she does feel a little safer. Maybe she could tell him about the baby? Maybe that would help with his strange grief?

  But she doesn’t have time because suddenly they both turn towards an unexpected voice across the garden.

  ‘I thought I heard voices.’

  Jack walks around the side of the house holding a bunch of sunflowers, April’s, and therefore Cassie’s, favourite flower. He’s undone his tie and taken off his jacket, but his suit trousers and light-blue shirt are still incongruous, out of place in the garden. Beneath his light tan, he looks tired; one of the two project managers at work has been off sick for two weeks now, and it’s doubled Jack’s workload. An impenetrable aura of stress surrounds him. As Jack kisses Cassie she smells his busy day, a grabbed sandwich at lunch, too many coffees, Jack rushing from warm meeting room to warm meeting room.

  ‘I thought I’d come home early to see how you’re doing, love, but clearly I’ve been beaten to it.’

  Marcus stands, and the table wobbles as he uses it for balance to shake Jack’s hand. They smile at each other but the lack of warmth from Jack towards Marcus is like a presence itself.

  ‘Do you want tea, Jack?’ Cassie asks, keeping her voice light.

  ‘You know what, I think I’ll grab a beer from the fridge,’ Jack says, giving her a kiss.

  She takes the flowers from him. ‘I’ll get you one.’

  ‘Thanks, Cas,’ Jack says as she walks towards the kitchen and just before she reaches the door she hears Jack asking Marcus, ‘So what brought on this surprise visit?’

  She rolls her lips between her teeth as she walks back across the dappled lawn towards them with the sunflowers in a vase a couple of minutes later, condensation from the cold beer wetting her other hand. Marcus is nodding, a polite, worried smile on his face, as though he’s trying not to be rude to an overfamiliar stranger who thinks they’re acquainted. Something’s not right. Could it be he’s just nervous? Marcus and Jack haven’t seen each other since the wedding, after all. Jack said they hadn’t spoken then, so it’s the first time they’ve spoken since the magazine row.

  ‘I wanted the weekend to celebrate my wife, April, but you know Cassie –’ he looks up and smiles as Cassie approaches the table ‘– this lovely young woman, my stepdaughter, was too busy so I binned the idea.’

  ‘Are we still talking about this weekend?’ Cassie says, putting the sunflowers on the table and handing Jack his beer. She rattles around her head for something else to talk about, maybe the Fruit and Face portraits or the murder-mystery costumes again?

  Her stomach drops as she recognises Jack’s mood. He’s not his usual measured self. He’s querulous and stressed; always a bad combination.

  Jack shakes his head at Marcus. ‘Oh, come on, Marcus. Don’t put the whole weekend on Cas. If she didn’t want to go, she didn’t want to go. You could have gone ahead with it without her. End of.’

  Marcus shrugs and frowns. ‘She said she was just too busy,’ he repeats.

  ‘But that’s fair enough. You can’t put the fact you cancelled on Cassie. You wanted to have the weekend and you chose to cancel, not Cas. Is that why you’ve turned up here like this? To try and prove she isn’t busy?’

  Marcus’s frown deepens. He shakes his head. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Jack …’ Cassie still standing, puts a quietening hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t know how strange Marcus has been acting and she can’t tell him now, in front of Marcus. But Jack can’t feel her trying to calm him. Her hand falls away as Jack leans forward in his chair towards Marcus.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. It’s not fair, Marcus.’

  Marcus lifts his hand to his forehead and massages his temple with thumb and middle finger. Cassie had forgotten he does that when he’s tired or confused by something.

  ‘I just came to see Cassie, my stepdaughter, not you.’ Marcus’s voice is quieter than Jack’s but Cassie can hear how much effort he’s putting into not shouting.

  ‘She told you she was busy today, Marcus. Jesus, can’t you take a hint?’

  ‘Jack, calm down,’ Cassie says, but she can see the muscle in Jack’s jaw bouncing and she knows he won’t calm down.

  ‘Cassie,’ Marcus says, glancing at Jack, ‘this isn’t right. I don’t know exactly what, but I know something isn’t right here.’

  ‘That’s enough, Marcus. You don’t get to turn up at my home and start saying shit like that to my wife when this is a tough day for her already.’

  ‘I think I should go,’ Marcus says, his thumb and forefinger back to his temples as he stands surprisingly quickly, upsetting the table. Making the teacups chatter against their saucers.

  ‘That’s the only sensible thing you’ve said so far,’ Jack says.

  Marcus keeps his head bowed as he starts to shuffle away.

  Cassie stands and calls to him, ‘Marcus, wait don’t go!’, but he doesn’t turn back; instead he keeps shuffling forward across the grass. Cassie feels a bruise settle over her heart.

  She turns to Jack. ‘What the fuck was all that about?’

  ‘I’m just fed up of him walking all over you. Look at you, you’re shaking.’

  ‘That’s because of you getting involved, not because of Marcus.’ Her voice is shrill. She doesn’t care if Marcus hears them. She hasn’t felt
this angry for months and it feels fucking wonderful. ‘Something isn’t right with him, Jack.’

  ‘Yeah, I know, he’s a fucking weirdo.’

  ‘No, Jack, for god’s sake, I mean I think he’s not well. He’s never been like this before. I was just going to ask him, suggest he goes to see a doctor, when you come storming in stressed from work and immediately having a go at him.’

  Jack stands, kicking his chair away with the back of his leg. It topples back on the grass like it’s just given up. The muscle in Jack’s jaw pops as he says, ‘I was just trying to defend you, Cas, stand up for you like I always do when you won’t stand up for yourself; you never used to be like that.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off, Jack.’ Cassie turns to go after Marcus.

  ‘With pleasure,’ Jack responds, and swigs from his beer bottle as he stalks into the kitchen.

  Cassie and Marcus’s abandoned teacups sit on the table, the saucers are full of tea. She never saw the point of saucers before, but now they suddenly make sense to her; many an argument must have started over a cup of tea. She has a powerful urge to smash the cups and fucking saucers against the side of the cottage. The sunflowers lean against their vase, their faces turned away as if shamed by what they’ve just seen here. Never has she seen such a pretty flower look so sad.

  She hears Marcus start his engine and she desperately wants him to stay suddenly, to show him April’s paintings like she said she would, to try and find out what’s wrong, help if she can.

  She runs round to the front of the cottage, calling his name, stumbling again on the pebbles but she’s too late; he’s already indicating out of the small drive and, as he turns away, an invisible force winds Cassie, like a strong gravitational pull on her lower abdomen, dragging. She clutches her stomach; it twitches and she knows something’s changed, and that whatever it is it can’t be good, because where she once felt a beginning, now all she can feel is the empty certainty of an ending.

  13

  Alice

  ‘Please, call me Elizabeth,’ the Obstetrics Consultant says, as I open the door for her into the family room. She has a homely Scottish accent at odds with her well-tailored suit. She reminds me of Jess and I wonder if people often misread her as I know they do Jess. I boil the kettle for tea as we wait for Jack and Charlotte.

  ‘Actually, can I have coffee instead?’ Elizabeth asks. ‘We’re in the middle of the terrible twos at home and you know what it’s like when you just can’t get the little imp to sleep. I’m running on caffeine.’

  I smile and nod like I understand but I turn away from her so she can’t see my face as I try and think of a way to change the conversation that doesn’t seem rude, or force me to confess that, in fact, I don’t know what it’s like, not really. I’ve learnt most of the time it’s easier to go along with peoples’ assumptions.

  ‘We’re completely wrapped around her finger, of course. I’ve been told it won’t last for long …’ It sounds as though she’s looking for reassurance from me.

  I don’t make eye contact as I hand Elizabeth her coffee, and thankfully, there’s a knock at the door before I can answer her.

  Jack’s wearing a dark-blue navy suit and tie. He’s recently shaved; a different man to the one I first met. Charlotte is behind him in jeans and a fitted stripy shirt. She holds a black coat over her forearm and has a dusty pink scarf around her neck. They’ve met Elizabeth before so we keep the introductions and pleasantries brief and Jack tells us he has to go to a client meeting in half an hour. His team has been covering him at work, but this meeting is too important for him to miss. I tell him to leave whenever he needs to; either Charlotte or I can fill him in on anything later.

  Jack and Charlotte listen intently to Elizabeth, their heads cocked to the right at the same angle. Charlotte occasionally writes what Elizabeth is saying in a notebook. The gist hasn’t changed. Cassie’s just the same; the swelling around her brain has only decreased a little. The tube’s been removed and Elizabeth has put Cassie on a vigorous physiotherapy schedule. The baby’s growing well and we’re going to prepare for both a natural birth and a C-section.

  ‘We obviously want the baby to remain in utero for as long as possible,’ Elizabeth says, ‘but full term is unlikely. As the baby grows, it will place more stress on Cassie, but we really want to avoid the baby being born before twenty-seven weeks.’

  Charlotte traces her finger down her notebook, reading aloud from her notes. Her questions are detailed, hinting at sleepless nights researching. She asks about the effect of anti-coagulants on the foetus, and if Cassie needs painkillers, how will they affect the baby? If Elizabeth is impressed with the line of questioning, she doesn’t show it; she’d never presume to be so patronising. Jack sits silently next to his mum, like her overdressed assistant, strangely listless. Something’s wrong. He scowls when his phone rings, interrupting Charlotte’s list of questions. He cancels the call, but doesn’t apologise. Probably his work. I’ve never seen his face so cloudy.

  ‘Oh, yes, one more thing.’ Charlotte glances at her son for confirmation. ‘We’ve decided we’ve had enough surprises and so would like to know the sex of the baby.’

  Jack nods and drains his tea. He stands as Elizabeth replies.

  ‘We can tell you for sure when she’s sixteen weeks in a couple of weeks’ time.’

  The meeting’s over quite abruptly and hands are once again held and gently pumped before Jack kisses Charlotte on the cheek.

  ‘See you later, Mum,’ he says, and I catch him as he whispers ‘love you’ in her ear before leaving for his meeting. Elizabeth, with a quick smile and bow of her head follows him.

  Charlotte sits back as if she’s just got home to her sofa after a long day. She snaps her notebook shut, breathes out and closes her eyes briefly. There often comes a moment with relatives when they start talking without filter. Some do it to fill the silence, cover the beeps and ticks from the ward; others do it because they think we’ll look after their loved one better if we know more about them. Charlotte is neither of these. I have the sense she talks because she has to, that she needs to unburden herself.

  ‘You know the police have charged Jonny, don’t you?’ she says, her eyes still closed.

  I nod and move my chair a little closer towards her. ‘The police said they knew each other well. Cassie and Jonny, I mean?’

  Charlotte laughs, a tight laugh that suggests I don’t know the half of it. She raises a palm to her temple.

  ‘Oh, Cassie liked him, I think. He helped her with the jam business, drove her around, carried boxes, that sort of thing. He lived in a cottage on the farm. He was their closest neighbour. He moved from London just a few weeks after Cassie and Jack. It was good they all got on, but I always suspected it wasn’t entirely platonic from Jonny’s side. You know he was the one who got her the dog? Maisie?’

  Suddenly Charlotte stops talking, she shakes her head, as if trying to shake out the thoughts that have settled there.

  ‘Jack said she was a rescue?’ My voice is gentle; I don’t want to spook her.

  ‘She is. Jonny helped Cassie get her from the same rescue centre just outside Brighton where he got his own dog. It was good of Jack to let Cassie adopt Maisie. Jack’s allergic, you see.’

  Charlotte picks up her tea; it must be cold now. She takes a small sip. I can tell she’s finished talking about Jonny and Cassie. Her amber eyes flicker, like she’s rifling through her thoughts, desperate to find one that has nothing to do with either of them. My arms are resting in my lap, my hands facing towards my lower belly; I don’t realise until Charlotte’s eyes cast down to where they rest. I pull them away and am about to offer to make her a new cup of tea when she asks, ‘Are you not feeling well, Alice?’

  She asks with the quiet motherly confidence of someone comfortable showing people they don’t know well that they care.

  I look away from her, know if I look into her amber eyes, I won’t be able to fob her off. I don’t realise I’m smiling until it’s
too late.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, Alice, but have you got some news?’

  I let my smile take over my face, as I turn to look at her.

  ‘Oh, Alice, I thought you might be. You blinked every time Elizabeth mentioned Cassie’s baby and your hands keep going here like a reflex.’ She lifts her hands to her tummy. She leans forward towards me in her chair and pats my knee. I hold her hand briefly in both of mine.

  ‘What wonderful news,’ she says; her smile softens me and I feel the full weight of my joy again. ‘Is it your first?’

  I nod, and as I do, a tear I didn’t know was there falls from my eye and lands with a tiny splash on the knee of my polyester uniform.

  Charlotte fishes a tissue out of her sleeve and hands it to me. ‘Congratulations, Alice.’ She stands, and my lower back immediately warms as she places her hand there.

  ‘Oh, Charlotte, sorry, sorry.’ I wipe my eyes with the tissue. ‘It’s just because I’m still only four weeks so I haven’t told anyone yet, not even my mum or my husband. It’s just lovely to be able to tell someone.’ It’s not true, of course; Jess knows and so does Frank, but Jess made me feel guilty, as though I’d willingly made myself ill, and Frank, well, Frank can’t say anything at all. Telling someone new – someone who isn’t worried for me, who isn’t afraid to call my pregnancy ‘wonderful news’ and mean it – feels amazing.

  ‘I think Cassie must be a good omen,’ I say, holding Charlotte’s tissue in my hand.

  ‘Perhaps you’re good omens for each other,’ Charlotte says with a smile and she pats my hand before she sits down opposite me again.

  ‘Alice, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but why haven’t you told your husband?’

  I start shredding the tissue between my fingers. The moment’s past; the warmth cools. It’s time for me to tell her the truth – this wise, kind woman, who seems to see the world in a way the rest of us miss.

  ‘I haven’t told David, my husband, yet, because I, we’ve, had a few miscarriages. Well, more than a few actually.’ I look up at her briefly; she’s looking straight into me. ‘Eight in total.’ I’m surprised how easy it is to say those words, those three little words, too neatly summarising the eight times hope ended in horror.