‘Oh God.’
‘What was I supposed to do?’
‘Don’t bring my children into it!’
‘I’m sorry. I was in shock; I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘She won’t believe it. I would have mentioned something like that to her before meeting you.’
It is clear then that Seb might be many things, but he isn’t good at lying.
‘Rosie messaged me this morning,’ she continues.
Seb looks up. ‘What did she say?’
‘She invited me and the girls over on the weekend and, no, I haven’t replied yet.’
‘What are you going to say?’
‘I’m not sure yet.’
‘Don’t – please don’t be flippant. This is my life, our lives we’re talking about.’
Abi’s about to ask whether he’s referring to him and her or to him and Rosie, but her eyes catch movement outside the window. The traffic warden is walking away from Lotte now, shaking his head, Lotte waving her arms, still ranting behind him.
They don’t have long.
Abi closes her eyes briefly. The veil between her old and new worlds is, in this moment, gossamer thin. She needs this to stop.
‘Look,’ she says softly but clearly, ‘we’ve got the same problem. It would be better – much better – for us both if no one finds out what happened.’
Seb nods. ‘I agree. I completely agree.’
Cool relief washes through Abi’s body.
‘I need you to distance yourself from my wife.’ Seb adds, ‘Please. No more messages, no more walks and no more invites to dinner.’
Anger ripples through her. She hates him, hates any man, especially this kind of man, dictating what she can and can’t do, but she concedes with a bow of her head. Friendship with Rosie – real, true friendship – is no longer possible anyway. How could it be when she’d previously washed her husband’s semen from between her legs? Another wasted relationship to add to the pile. But Rosie isn’t Abi’s focus now.
‘What about Lily, school?’
Seb puffs out his cheeks, glances briefly at the ceiling. ‘I’ll be professional.’ He looks Abi in the eye as he says, ‘I promise I won’t treat Lily any differently because of all this. She’s a good kid, talented; she’s got nothing to do with any of this.’
Abi looks back at him and for the first time she thinks she might cry; kindness has always moved her more than cruelty. But she reminds herself now, looking at Seb, that kindness can be just another act.
‘Don’t ever tangle my girls up in another lie.’
He nods. ‘I’m sorry I did that. I won’t do it again.’
Then he lifts his hand to his face, and he starts to sob again, little whimpering sounds.
The whimpering turns into a kind of growl before he does something unexpected: he moves closer, towards Abi.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
She’s confused. What’s he apologizing for? For the unfair distribution of luck? Or is he apologizing for something more mundane, more familiar to Abi; is he apologizing for the ugly thoughts he has about her? Or for wishing she didn’t exist, because the very fact of her reminds him of what he’s capable of, his duplicitous nature, the part of himself he has to work so hard to smother in all his fucking goodness?
She doesn’t know and, really, it doesn’t matter. Let his thoughts be his own. She wants nothing more to do with him. They both turn to see Lotte walking back towards the restaurant, her face gripped in anger, a yellow parking ticket twisting in her hand.
Abi takes a step back, away from Seb. ‘OK.’
She wants him to leave now but he asks again, needing more reassurance, ‘You won’t say anything?’
She looks at him one last time, directly into his pitiful, scared eyes. ‘No, Seb, I won’t. Just know that I’m protecting my children in this – not you. Is that clear?’
He nods and she’s glad he can’t say anything else even if he wanted to because Lotte’s back, a ball of spitting outrage as it turns out the laws of the land also apply to her and her Land Rover.
Neither Seb nor Lotte notices as Abi walks away from them both, back into the cool darkness of the kitchen.
Chapter 4
Rosie knows as she walks down the stairs – even without seeing her or hearing her – that Eva has arrived. The air feels calmer, and the kids have stopped bickering; they talk rather than whine and have become the kind of children Rosie imagined having before she actually had any. Today, Eva’s arrived with a jigsaw puzzle she kept from Seb’s childhood, and the four of them are already gathered round the table sorting out the pieces. The kids kneeling on the chairs, bums in the air, hovering over the table.
‘Min skat,’ Eva says when she sees Rosie, reserving her Danish words of endearment for those she loves best. Rosie bends to kiss her mother-in-law’s soft cheek. It’s as soft as the kids’ skin but no longer springy, more like something worn and loved for a long time. She smells of fresh air and shortbread.
‘Thanks so much for this, Eva.’
Rosie is digging through a pile of dirty washing, left in a heap outside the machine, to see if her swimsuit is hiding in there.
‘I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be,’ Eva says, acknowledging Greer with a nod as she passes her a corner piece of the puzzle. After more than five decades in the UK, Eva still sounds Danish, her accent warm like hot chocolate poured over words. They all adore her. Even though she’s faced a few hard things in life – fertility issues, grief and living away from her beloved Denmark – she is still determined to experience joy whenever it comes her way. She’d met Seb’s dad, Benjamin, when she’d sat down in one of his economics lectures at UCL, having got lost on the way to her English lecture. He’d drawn her a little map of where to go so she wouldn’t make the same mistake the following week and, in a moment of uncharacteristic bravado, he’d written his number at the bottom. Seb had the map framed after Benjamin died, peacefully at home, from cancer. He’d never seen Eva sob the way she sobbed when she unwrapped the frame. Now it hangs in her bedroom, above the side of the bed where Benjamin slept next to her for so many years.
Rosie discovers her swimsuit at the bottom of the washing, curled and limp like discarded skin, and decides it’s best not to smell it before putting it in her tote bag along with her towel. ‘I’ll only be a couple of hours.’
‘Take your time, elskede. Don’t rush for us.’
Rosie puts her hand on Eva’s shoulder and Eva squeezes Rosie’s arm. Now Eva is here, the need to leave suddenly seems less urgent. Having Eva in her life is like having a second chance at being a daughter. But Anna will be waiting, so Rosie kisses all four of them again before she leaves, her heart aching with love as they call out their goodbyes.
At Anna’s gym, Anna strips her clothes off in the communal area while Rosie dips into one of the cubicles.
‘Ro, there’s no one here!’ Anna laughs, muttering, ‘Prude,’ as she undoes her bra, her breasts pouring into her hands. Rosie peers at her friend like she’s snooping on a bathing nymph. Anna’s naked body spills and sways and sinks as she rummages in her bag for her swimsuit, but the main difference between them is that Anna wears herself proudly, luxuriously, while Rosie beetles around, eyes swivelling in the shadows. Rosie bets Anna masturbates regularly. Anna would probably tell her if she asked, not that she ever would. Rosie is sure friendship is easier, clearer when some things, intimate things, remain private.
Rosie comes out of her changing room while Anna’s bent over. She’s stepping into her costume, pulling it up, groaning ‘Bloody thing,’ at the twisted straps, the complicated design.
Rosie moves forward to help and they’re both soon shaking with laughter as Anna puts her head through the wrong hole so when she pulls the costume up, her enormous breasts are forced out either side of the fabric. They’re hanging like water balloons, almost under her armpits, and Anna slides her goggles on and while Rosie doubles over, stamping her foot and shaking with laughter, Anna says, ‘Perfect! Let’s swim!’