Just then Marielle walks briskly out of the house. She’s wearing a gingham apron, which is at odds with her neatly coiffed hair, her immaculate make-up that hasn’t sweated off, like mine has, and her well-cut dress. She’s wearing kitten heels and looks as if she’s about to go out for a champagne lunch. It’s almost as though she’s quickly thrown on the apron to give the impression of domestic bliss. Non-threatening.
Did she come out to see me?
‘Lena. Lovely to see you again.’ There’s something in her tone that makes me wonder if she saw me tailing themyesterday. ‘Henry, lunch is ready.’ And then she glances down at my outstretched hand and frowns. ‘What’s this?’
‘Lena found it in our garden,’ says Henry.
‘Well, my dog did,’ I clarify, not wanting Marielle to think I’ve been snooping around her property. ‘Sorry, the bear got a bit chewed. Just wondered if it belonged to you?’
‘Oh, yes, that’s –’ begins Henry.
At the same time Marielle shakes her head, ‘No, that’s not ours.’
I glance from one to the other, trying to read their expressions. ‘Are you sure?’
‘It’s not ours,’ repeats Marielle, firmly. She shoots a glance at Henry. Is it my imagination or is that fear I can read in her eyes?
‘No,’ agrees Henry. ‘No, I don’t recognize it.’
‘Okay.’ I slip it into the pocket of my dress. ‘Well, nice to see you both.’
When I get to my front door I look back to see Henry has stalked into the house, Marielle trailing after him. He’s left the bucket on the pavement, his precious car half washed. I recall Drew’s story about his sister being followed by someone in a blue classic car and, despite the blazing sunshine, goosebumps pop up on my arms.
I’m surprised to see Rufus and Kit in the kitchen. Rufus is strumming his guitar with an expression of intense concentration, his fringe falling into his eyes. I can see the nodules of his spine through his T-shirt and a surge of love threatens to overwhelm me. He’s taller than me, basically a man, but he’ll always be my little boy. I turn towards thesink to hide the tears that have filmed my eyes. This is ridiculous. He’s growing up. It’s normal. I just wish I’d appreciated every single minute, cherished it, because it’s all so fleeting. Nearly eighteen years of my life gone, just like that. I wish I’d been more patient, less stressed, more grateful for the little moments, the moments that had felt insignificant, but now, under the magnifying-glass of passing time and regret, mean everything.
‘Oh, hi, aren’t you supposed to be in college?’ I say, my voice thick. I fetch a glass from the cupboard and pour myself some water. Pull yourself together, Lena, for crying out loud.
‘Lecturer is sick, so we have the afternoon off,’ Rufus says, without looking up from his guitar as he plucks the strings with a plectrum.
‘Hi, Mrs Fletcher.’ Kit smiles kindly and, from his expression, I can tell he’s noticed that I’m a bit wobbly. He runs a hand through his boy-band hair and there is something instantly recognizable about the way he does it. Again I get the feeling I’ve seen him somewhere before.
‘Please, call me Lena. Can I get you a drink? I doubt Rufus has offered you one!’
‘We were just finishing,’ says Rufus. ‘I’m trying to get this riff …’
‘It’s good,’ I say. ‘Is that “Seven Nation Army”?’
Rufus turns his face to me, eyes alight. ‘Yes!’
‘I’d love some water, please,’ says Kit, getting out of his seat and coming towards me.
I reach for another glass and turn on the tap. ‘I’m sorry it’s not very cold,’ I say, handing it to him. ‘I wish I had one of those fridge water-dispenser things.’
Kit takes the glass with thanks. He has a pleasant face, I think. Smiley. ‘I don’t mind it room temperature,’ he says, and takes a glug. He sits down again, placing his glass on the table, then slides his guitar into its case, which is plastered with stickers: WWF, Barnardo’s, Amnesty International, as well as bands like Muse, Kings of Leon and Led Zeppelin. Rufus is still strumming.
‘Are you in a band, Kit?’ I ask.
‘Yes, just me and some uni mates. We do a few local gigs, but we’re not like Moderation or anything.’ He sounds impressed by Charlie’s band. ‘To get a record deal would be the dream …’ He shrugs, his cheeks pinkening. ‘I know it’s a long shot.’
‘It’s great to have dreams,’ I say.
‘Do you, Mrs … I mean, Lena?’
I jolt in surprise at the personal question. Kit’s watching me carefully and I can’t tell if he’s just being polite or if he’s really interested in knowing the answer. ‘Well, I’m a bit long in the tooth for all that now,’ I say, waving a hand dismissively.
‘Nonsense. You’re still young. Rufus told me you used to be a nurse.’
‘Well, not quite. I was a student midwife and then … I realized it wasn’t for me.’ A whoosh of heat travels up my body when I remember everything that happened at the hospital where I did my training.
