And then she simply nods, turns, and walks back inside. Simon follows her, closing the door behind him, and the garden goes quiet.
I turn to Caleb. “Who the hell is Andrea?”
—
It’s probably the first time I’ve ever confronted someone about an argument I’ve witnessed by eavesdropping, which must be why I get it so wrong.
I catch Tash as we’re clearing up in the kitchen. Dylan’s enduringa painful comedown from his sugar high in the living room with Mum, sobbing about some boy who kept snatching his deck of cards, while Caleb’s helping Simon dismantle the decorations.
“Tash,” I say, clumsily, glancing over my shoulder to check nobody’s hovering behind us, “who’s Andrea?”
The stack of paper bowls in her hand goes limp as she stares at me. “Have you been talking to Sarah Meadows?”
“No, I—”
“Where did you hear that name, then?” she says. Her eyes have gone weak and watery. In this moment, she looks utterly broken—and it breaks me to see it. My instinct is to put my arms around her, but I have a sense she’d shake me off. Her sadness has a particularly angry edge to it.
I’m unsure how to answer without revealing our presence in the garden earlier. For some reason, I can’t bring myself to confess we heard the whole thing. Probably because right now, she doesn’t seem as though she’d take it too well.
Luckily, her question seems to be rhetorical. “I don’t want to talk about it, Lucy.”
“I just want to know if you’re okay—”
“I’m okay. We’re okay. But please don’t say her name again. I mean it.”
Go
Tash and I agreed beforehand, over a series of scantly worded messages, that we wouldn’t sit down to talk until after Dylan’s birthday party was over. Fortunately, the abundance of people makes it fairlyeasy to avoid her until Dylan’s safely in bed being read to by Simon, and Tash is leading me to the new garden office she’s had built beneath the silver birch at the end of her garden. It’s so far from the house I have to squint to see it at first.
Surprisingly large inside, the space is simply furnished, with a desk, printer, potted plant and bookshelf, and a sofa with two matching chairs arranged around a dormant wood burner. The air is thick with the lingering scent of damp grass and the freshly cut timber of the roof and walls. There are several monochrome canvases of Tash, Simon, and Dylan on display, grinning between various poses, the best shots from a photography session Mum got Tash for Christmas last year.
I’m not sure if Tash sees me smiling sourly at the sight of them, but she passes me a throw (cashmere, of course—“In case you get chilly”), then gestures for me to sit. I take the sofa next to the glass wall facing the garden, so she perches on a chair, tucking her feet up beneath her like a child. She’s wrapped herself up in a vast black cardigan that comes down to her knees, completely covering the minuscule silver playsuit she’s been wearing all day. I’m relieved, since this means I no longer have to look at her bare skin and picture Max stroking it, or take in the sight of her trim legs and imagine them wrapped around him.
Still, Mum was right. She has lost weight, an alarming amount. Her clothes are so big on her now she looks like a child playing dress-up.
“Thank you for coming,” she ventures, our eyes locking properly for the first time since she doorstepped me two months ago. “I know how hard it must have been for you.”
“Well, I’m glad I did.”
Her expression lifts. “That’s good.”
“Dylan’s... None of this is his fault.”
She swallows. “No. He wasn’t even born when all this happened.”
I nod agreement.
“And... thanks for his present,” she says. “You really didn’t have to spend that much.”
I bought Dylan a pricey box of Lego in my lunch hour on Thursday, barely even looking at what was in it, just wanting to get him the best set I could to make up for not having seen him for so long.
“Do you want me to explain more about that night?” Tash says. “Or—”
I shake my head.
“Would it help if I told you... I know how you feel?”
I frown at her, confused. “Well, unless I’ve somehow slept with Simon without realizing, I don’t think you do, actually.”
