They certainly found plenty to chat about over dinner, all of it revolving around me, and how subsumed I’ve become by Iris; the solitary walks I’ve kept taking in the woods; the strangehabit it’s apparently been noted I’ve developed of peering into the sky, frowning at nothing.
Ana even took Mum up to Iris’s room.
Told her about the flares she teased me for imagining on my first night here.
I assumed she’d forgotten all about that.
‘She did,’ says Mum, stirring half a sugar into her tea. ‘At first. But –’ her brow pinches – ‘it’s been preying on her, because of all the rest of it.’
‘Well, it sounds like it made for an interesting conversation at least,’ I say, irritable to my own ears. But it’s horrible thinking of the three of them picking me apart like this whilst I was oblivious upstairs. ‘Have Felix and Ana been talking to Nick too?’
‘Yes,’ says Mum, without apology. ‘And Emma. They care about you, Claude. They’reworried … ’
‘Please.’ I hold up my hands, which are trembling. ‘I can’t keep listening to what a worry I am.’ That banging’s started upstairs again. I don’t want to look at it, in case Mum notices. ‘I really can’t … ’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being a worry, my darling, as long as you’re open to help. But look at you. You’re furious that the people closest to you evenwantto help.’
‘I’m not furious.’
‘Yes, you are. And Felix said you were extremely anxious about going into Heaton last week.’
‘Of course I was anxious. I’d just had the details of my miscarriage broadcast across the globe.’
‘You don’t need to defend yourself. I’m not attacking you. Far from it. I couldn’t have faced up to that. Not anywhere, and certainly not there.’ She places her spoon on her saucer. ‘I gather you’re going to be filming in the village on Monday.’
‘Yes.’ The banging is really loud, louder than it’s ever beenbefore, and Mum hasn’t so much as glanced at it. ‘They’re closing it all off for the day. It’ll be fine.’ I have no idea if it will be. ‘Just some scenic shots.’
‘Have you been into the village yet?’
‘No, I haven’t had time.’ By an effort of will, I keep my focus on her. ‘I’ve only been to Bramble Lane.’
‘Where you hugged that woman.’
‘Yes,’ I say, distracted, briefly, by the thought of her kindness. I don’t even know her name. I have looked for her among the women who’ve been standing shoulder to virtual shoulder online (and I’m pleased, I really am, that this mess has at least produced the silver lining of them being able to seek comfort in one another), but she’s remained silent, so I guess is a social media recluse too. I’ve been worried that someone from the press, or village, might attempt to out her, but, thankfully, no one has. I’m sure she must be relieved too, and feel even more grateful, now I realize how private she obviously is, that she put herself out to help me the way she did. ‘I actually want to find her,’ I say. ‘Thank her.’
‘Maybe you could talk to her about it all. It might help you both.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Do you know whereabouts in Heaton she lives?’
‘No.’
‘It might be Bramble Rise.’
‘Might be.’ The banging seems to have paused.
Mum toys with her spoon. ‘You really weren’t curious to see Nan and Grandad’s house?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s like you always say, they’re not there.’
‘And you honestly didn’t go to the cemetery?’
‘No, I’d have told you. But … ’ I pause, wondering if I should go on.
‘But?’ she prompts.
‘Well …’ I frown, hoping I won’t upset her. ‘I did want to go, when I saw it. Iwantto.’
