‘Mum, that’s not—’
‘I just can’t believe that you’ve invented this ludicrous … conspiracy,’ Annabelle continues. ‘And you’re lashing out at me –me! I’ve done so much for you, even if I haven’t always understood you. I … I … just don’t know what more I could havedone.’ Annabelle’s eyes are moist now, welling with self-pity.
Oh she’s good, Kate thinks, she’s very good.
Annabelle wobbles backwards, as though she is about to faint, but she collects herself just in time to ensure she collapses onto the sofa where she leans against the cushions, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead.
‘Mum, please don’t do this,’ Jake says.
‘Annabelle, there’s no need to get so upset,’ Chris adds.
But neither of them, Kate notices, moves towards her. Kate bends closer to Annabelle so that there can be no escaping what she is about to say.
‘I am perfectly sane, Annabelle,’ she says, her voice breaking. ‘How fucking dare you suggest otherwise.’
Annabelle is clutching her necklace now, pushing her head further into the sofa cushions, trying to turn away from the intensity of Kate’s face, trying to imply it’s Kate who she needs protection from rather than the other way round.
‘Chris,’ Annabelle is whimpering. ‘Help me, please. I don’t know what she’s going to do to me.’
Then, out of nowhere, a voice.
‘She’s not going to do anything to you,’ the voice says.
Annabelle flinches and her eyes flicker to the left. A shadow passes over her face. When Kate looks in the direction of Annabelle’s gaze, she sees Marisa standing in the doorway.
‘What was that?’ Kate asks.
‘I said that you’re not going to do anything to Annabelle,’ Marisa repeats. ‘Because I heard exactly what she said to you back there.’
Marisa’s face is calm. She is lit up from behind, golden hair glowing.
‘In the kitchen,’ Marisa explains. ‘I heard exactly what Annabelle said to you.’
On the sofa, Annabelle goes very still.
‘I came out into the corridor. You can hear everything there. It’s why we always close the kitchen door, isn’t it, Annabelle? That and to keep the draught out.’
Marisa’s voice is flat but clear, like a teacher wanting to make herself heard at the back of the class.
‘And you did say all those things, Annabelle,’ Marisa says, mouth twisting. ‘I’m sorry, but you did.’
Annabelle doesn’t speak. Her necklace glints in the light.
‘You said that Jake and I had been getting close and that we were going to be together with the baby. You said the baby was mine and that I was better suited to Jake.’
Annabelle emits a low noise, halfway between a growl and a sob.
‘But the truth is, Jake has been coming here on his own because I’ve felt so ashamed of what I did to Kate. I’m the one who hasn’t been able to face her.’
Jake reaches for Kate’s hand. She allows him to take it.
‘I’m sorry about that, Kate,’ Marisa says, head bowed and still unable to look at her. ‘Annabelle told me it was better that way. She told me you weren’t—’
‘It’s OK,’ Kate says. And then again: ‘It’s OK.’
Relief surges through Kate like a cold wave. So Jake didn’t betray her. He has been doing it to protect her. She turns to meet his gaze. His face is so stricken that she knows Marisa is telling the truth.
Jake shakes his head. ‘I would never …’ he starts, then stops, then starts again, his voice hoarse. ‘I wouldn’t do that to you … I was just … trying to manage it all …’
