‘Really?’
She could hear Annabelle breathe in noisily and the sound of a door closing in the background and she wondered if Chris had walked in or out of the room. Or maybe it wasn’t Chris at all, Kate found herself thinking; maybe it was Marisa.
‘Yes, why wouldn’t I be? I mean aside from the unrelenting stress of this entire situation.’ Kate gave a sharp burst of laughter. She had meant to be funny, but the joke landed more bleakly than she’d anticipated. ‘No, but honestly, Annabelle, that’s so sweet of you to check in. Thank you.’
‘I’ve been worried about you,’ Annabelle said, her tone unchanged, almost as if Kate hadn’t said anything. ‘I love my son, but I’m also aware that he’s been a bit …’ She paused meaningfully. ‘Distracted, shall we say?’
Kate didn’t know how to respond. It was true that Jake had been more distant than normal, but this was between the two of them. There was no reason Annabelle should have known. Unless, she thought with a lurch, Jake had been talking to her about their issues?
‘He’s beensucha support to Marisa,’ Annabelle was saying, ‘and it’s clear how well they get on, and of course he’s been a wonderful support to me too, as he always is. But I do hope he hasn’t been neglecting you, dear Kate.’
Annabelle was one of the only people who could use the word ‘dear’ as a weapon.
‘No, no, not at all,’ Kate said, ignoring her own disquiet. ‘He’s been great.’
‘Oh,’ Annabelle said, with a light note of surprise. ‘Oh,good, I’m so glad to hear it.’
Reflecting on that phone call now in the grip of her own anger, Kate refills her glass and steps back outside. Jake has not moved from the bench. She sits back down beside him. She knows that the only way to prove Annabelle wrong is to be calm.
‘I’m sorry for shouting,’ she says. ‘I just don’t want Marisa’s needs taking priority over mine. She’s carrying my son, after all.’ There is a pause. ‘I am the mother.’
Jake, immediately contrite, draws her in close.
‘Of course you are,’ he tells her, kissing the top of her head.
She expects him to say more, but he doesn’t, and after a few minutes of silence she unfolds herself from his arm and sits up, tilting the wine glass to her mouth so that the liquid hits the back of her throat. She downs it.
‘Look, let’s go down this Saturday,’ he says.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, why not? I’ll let Mum know we’re coming.’
‘OK, great. Thanks.’
He turns to smile at her.
‘It’ll set your mind at rest.’
She has always thought that this is such an odd phrase: to set one’s mind, as if it were clay that needed to be fired into a state of stasis.
‘I’m sure it will,’ she replies, even though she isn’t.
The visit is cleared with Annabelle and they head to Gloucestershire that Saturday, listening to a podcast series on the journey down so that they don’t have to talk to each other. Kate is tense, made even more so by her efforts not to show it. Her face is drawn and a speckled patch of grey hair has sprouted along her parting. She has never had to dye her hair before and is curiously reluctant to do so now. Let it grow, she thinks to herself, what does it really matter?
Jake, by contrast, looks well rested and glossy with good health. He’s been taking a new herbal sleep supplement that he swears by and getting up early each morning to do a session with the straps before going to work. She’s aware that it’s all part of his distraction strategy – a way of staying sane in the most pressurised of circumstances – butshe resents it. He is balanced even when it comes to managing imbalance, which makes her appear unpredictable and sketchy by comparison. Next week, he has ordered a three-day juice cleanse. She is already planning the unhealthy takeaway meals she will eat in deliberate protest. Pizza one night, a cream-laden curry the next, perhaps rounded off with a double cheeseburger with fries. Kate, who has always been a conscious eater, a woman aware of the importance of getting her five a day, a person who owns a blender in which she used to mix together kale and celery and coconut water, is now struck by the absurdity of expending so much energy on things that make no perceptible difference. Her thoughts are so crowded with the reality of what is happening that she barely has time to think of anything other than their baby and the need to keep their relationship together while ensuring Marisa is looked after. Spending time on herself is the last thing she wants to do.
This is her mindset when they clamber out of the car and walk back into the red-brick house where Annabelle ushers them briskly through to the kitchen.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t made anything special. It was such short notice,’ Annabelle says pointedly. ‘So I’ve just got some veg soup on the go.’
There is a burnt orange Le Creuset on the Aga, the lid rattling and emitting a steamy, earthy smell. Annabelle has pinned her hair back and is wearing a high-collared lace shirt underneath a cashmere navy jumper. A pair of reading glasses hangs from a gold chain around her neck. She puts them on as she takes the lid off the saucepan and stirs the contents.
‘Delicious,’ Jake says. ‘Exactly what I feel like.’
‘Lovely,’ Kate adds. ‘Sorry to put you to such trouble.’
‘Oh it’s no trouble,’ Annabelle says in a way that suggests the opposite. ‘Chris is off buying some wood for the fire and various bits and pieces. Feeding an extra mouth means we’re running through groceries rather rapidly.’
