‘Marisa. I’m talking about Marisa. You seem very –cosywith her all of a sudden.’
Annabelle gives a quiet exhalation of laughter.
‘You seem to have forgotten that she’s been living here for months,’ Annabelle says, her voice level, each word delivered with cool precision. ‘Becauseyoucouldn’t cope with the mess you’d got yourself into—’
‘That’s not the case—’
‘Do me the courtesy of letting me finish.’ Annabelle slams the water bottle onto the table. She is angry, her lips pale and drawn, the veins in her neck sticking out. Kate has never seen her angry, she realises. She has only ever seen Annabelle in a state of controlled passive-aggression, tracking other people’s tender points from the sidelines like a sniper, but never once demeaning herself by showing uncontrolled fury. Until now, that is. Now she is incandescent. And Kate, who finally has her attention, is no longer sure what to do with it.
‘Chris and I did everything we could, putting ourselves in God knows what sort of danger, and we nursed that poor girl back to health—’
‘That poor girl?’ Kate asks, incredulous.
‘Yes. That poor girl. Who you took advantage of because of yourdementedobsession with having a baby.’
Kate, shocked, feels tears begin to form.
‘That’s not true.’
‘Yes it is. Jake’s told us how impossible you’ve been, how he doesn’t feel he can ever satisfy you.’ Annabelle is getting into her stride now,the words delivered like the rapid staccato gunshots of a firing squad. ‘It must have been quite obvious Marisa wasn’t in a fit state, but you insisted on moving her in with you to keep an eye on her and then you acted surprised when it all got too much for her. I mean, honestly, Kate. What were you thinking?’
Kate hangs her head. Annabelle is right. She should have known. She had pressurised Jake into doing it. She had wanted to believe in Marisa’s perfection so badly that she had ignored any signs that contradicted it.
Annabelle does not comfort her. Instead, she takes two long steps towards her so that she is inches away from Kate’s face. Her voice drops to an almost-whisper, which feels far more menacing than shouting.
‘That child isn’t yours anyway,’ Annabelle says, the words delivered in a fine spray of spittle. ‘Not biologically. It’s quite clear to everyone else that Marisa and Jake are far better suited than you two ever were.’
‘What …?’ Kate shakes her head, as if to rid it of the buzzing noise.
‘Well just look at them, dear,’ Annabelle says, her lips twisting upwards in a strange little smile. ‘They’re two peas in a pod, aren’t they? You must have noticed!’
Kate steps backwards, so dizzy that she is sure the kitchen floor must have dissolved underfoot. Her back thumps against the wall and the impact causes the pages of Annabelle’s calendar to flutter. She remembers seeing the initial J there on multiple different days. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about what it really meant but somewhere, in the unacknowledged grimy pit of her denial, she had known.
‘He’s been spending an awful lot of time with her,’ Annabelle says, as if reading Kate’s thoughts. ‘You can’t be that dense, Kate. Come on. He’s been down here most weeks and the two of them have been getting on like a house on fire.’
‘What? But I thought she didn’t want us here …’
Annabelle tilts her head in a pose of sympathy.
‘She didn’t wantyouhere, Kate. Jake and I had a long chat about it and decided it would be best.’
Kate remembers the spa weekend and Jake’s early departure. He must have come here, she realises. All those unexplained absences forwork. He was here all along. With Marisa. She presses the palm of each hand against the wall, wanting it to break open and swallow her. Annabelle is still speaking.
‘… and it’s been lovely to see. Marisa is so easy to talk to, don’t you find? It’s only a matter of time until Jake realises …’
She stops then, as if aware she has gone too far. Annabelle doesn’t need to complete the thought. Kate can do it for her. It’s only a matter of time until Jake realises he should be with Marisa, the mother of his child. It is only a matter of time until Kate loses everything.
Kate turns her head to one side, pressing her cheek against the clamminess of stone. She shuts her eyes, tears leaking out. She wishes she could stop crying, but she can’t. She wishes she could drown Annabelle’s voice out but she can’t. She wishes she had the strength to stand up for herself, but she feels consumed by the truth of what Annabelle is saying. She has never been good enough or bright enough or charming enough or blonde enough or fertile enough or sweet enough to be Jake’s equal. Annabelle’s words are confirmation: she is not worthy of being Jake’s girlfriend and not worthy of being the mother of his child – or, indeed, a mother at all. She is damaged, faulty in some way that she cannot define, and Annabelle has known this from the very beginning, scenting her weakness like blood and chasing it until Kate has nowhere left to run. Yes, she thinks, yes, you’re right about it all. I don’t belong here. I never have.
She slides onto the floor. She has no more energy, she realises. She can’t fight this any more. This last year has sapped her of all her dwindling strength and for the briefest of moments, Kate imagines her total erasure. How much simpler everything would be if she ceased to exist.
Ignoring her, Annabelle busies herself around the kitchen, calmly finishes preparing Marisa’s drink, then smooths her hair behind her ears, a warrior queen readying herself for the final assault.
‘Marisa and I have become close because that girl hasn’t got a mother,’ she says, standing over Kate like a shadow. ‘It should be perfectly clear,’ Annabelle pauses, checking she has Kate’s total attention. ‘Or maybe you can only see that kind of thing when you’ve had a child yourself.’
Annabelle takes the glass of elderflower and walks past Kate, her dress swishing as she goes. Kate sits on the floor a moment longer. And then she feels a sharp twinge in the side of her belly. It is a deep, muscular ache and it reminds her of those interminable scans she used to have when going through fertility treatment; the way the consultant would sweep the ultrasound wand from side to side, angling it to get a better view of each ovary. The sensation was unlike anything else she had ever experienced. It was less the presence of pain and more a hollowing out of it.
The ache would spread across her stomach and down into her groin, the soreness making her clench her teeth until she felt on the verge of passing out, and then the wand would be removed and the consultant would give her tissue paper to wipe herself down, and the memory of pain faded immediately.
