‘So why doesn’t Dominic take a career break to look after Leo when you go back?’ There were sharp edges to Bea’s words, as though she had honed them to a point before letting them out.
‘He earns more than I do. It wouldn’t make financial sense.’
‘But you’re not seriously considering turning it down? You’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for years. You have to take it. And anyway, what does Dominic expect you to do – sit around at home going out of your mind with boredom until Leo starts school?’
Bea’s voice was combative, and Livvy allowed herself a moment’s pause. Her sister’s antipathy towards Dominic seemed to have shifted into a new, heightened gear recently. After Bea’s birthday dinner, she’d told Livvy she thought it presumptuous and arrogant, Dominic making a toast when some of her friends had known her for almost forty years. When Livvy had defended him, explained he was just trying to be nice, Bea had shaken her head, insisted it had been inappropriate. Livvy hadn’t mentioned it to Dominic, didn’t want to add fuel to an already combustible situation. But sometimes she wondered whether Dominic was right, whether Bea might be jealous of their relationship; she knew Bea had no desire for a partner or children of her own, but Dominic had pointed out that it might still be hard for her, adjusting to Livvy being married and having less time for Bea than she used to.
‘I just need to figure out how it’ll work, with childcare and everything. I don’t really want to be one of those mums who only sees her child at the weekend.’ She could hear the tension in her voice, feel it in the muscles in her throat. It had been over an hour since Livvy had walked away from Dominic’s mother at the urban farm, but still a sense of disquiet flickered inside her, like static from a badly tuned radio. The same image kept appearing in her mind: the rapacious expression on Imogen’s face when she’d first laid eyes on Leo, as though, if Livvy had turned her back for a moment, Imogen might have grabbed the buggy and disappeared with Leo forever.
‘Is everything okay, love? You seem a bit . . . on edge?’ Her dad put down his iPad and switched it off.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure?’
Livvy nodded. ‘Honestly.’ She thought about her promise to Dominic not to discuss his familial issues with anyone else. ‘It’s nothing.’
Bea looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘It’s obviously not nothing. Come on, tell us. What’s wrong?’
Looking at Bea’s expression, Livvy knew her sister wouldn’t let it go. And even sitting here now, Livvy couldn’t help worrying that she might get home to find her estranged mother-in-law camped out on her doorstep.
Before she knew it, the whole story emerged: the doorstep visit last Friday, the surprise appearance at the urban farm this morning, the awareness that Imogen must have been watching the house, following her, finding out when Dominic would be absent.
‘Jesus, that’s really creepy. What does Dominic say?’ Bea declined their mum’s offer of more bread.
‘I haven’t told him about today’s ambush yet. I want to wait until he gets home tonight.’
‘But do you think Dominic knows that his father’s died and has just kept it to himself?’
Livvy contemplated her mum’s question. For the past couple of hours, speculations had raced through her mind as to why Dominic might have chosen not to tell her about his father’s death. Perhaps his head was so full of the new job that he simply couldn’t process it. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted to share it because he’d known she would worry about him being in Sheffield alone. Perhaps the news had overwhelmed him and he’d buried it deep in a corner of his mind until he was ready to excavate it, examine it, reveal to himself how he felt. ‘I honestly don’t know. Things are so complicated with his parents . . .’ Livvy allowed her voice to trail off.
‘We don’t want to pry, love, but it is quite hard for us to understand. All these difficulties between Dominic and his family – is there really no hope of a reconciliation?’ Her dad knelt down, picked up the toy plastic keys Leo had thrown out of reach, handed them back to him.
‘I don’t think so.’ Livvy was aware of a flurry of furtive looks passing across the wrought-iron garden table.
‘I do feel very sorry for Dominic. It’s such a difficult situation to be in, having no contact with his family. And he’s so wonderful with Leo, it’s a shame he can’t share that with them.’ Her mum drank from her glass of water.
Bea let out an audible sigh of frustration. ‘Look, obviously you know Dominic much better than we do, but it does seem pretty dysfunctional. What actually happened between Dominic and his parents to make him hate them so much?’
Livvy hesitated. A part of her wished she could confide in her family. The secrecy was oppressive. But Dominic had asked for her discretion and she couldn’t betray his trust. ‘I can’t say. He’s asked me not to, and I need to respect that.’
Bea leant back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest. ‘So you’re being stalked by Dominic’s crazy mother, but you’re not allowed to tell us the reason why?’
‘I’m not exactly being stalked—’
‘Well, that’s what it sounds like.’
‘I was just a bit freaked out. But it’s fine. Dominic and I will sort it out.’ There was a definitive full stop in Livvy’s tone – more brusque than usual – and her mum tactfully changed the subject, asked Bea about the new young vet Bea had taken on at the practice where she was a partner.
As she listened to them talk, Livvy found herself silently cursing Imogen for having arrived unannounced in their lives and for opening a can of worms she knew Dominic would rather keep firmly shut.
ANNA
LONDON
A light breeze brushes my cheeks, the sun warming my scalp. It feels good to be breathing air that has not been circulating inside the same eight hundred square feet of our house, good to be looking at trees, sky and grass rather than whitewashed walls and wooden floors. The park is quiet, too early yet for the lunchtime crowd. For now, it is just retired people, parents with preschool children, and whatever category I fit into.
For the past two days I have kept my promise to Stephen. I have stayed at home, trying to read novels I once loved but now seem unable to enjoy, prepared dinners from cookbooks in which brightly coloured Post-it notes mark the pages of favourite recipes, none of which I recall ever having made before. I have watched the woman in the house behind ours stare at her laptop screen, tap busily at her keyboard, and speculated about what work she is doing. I have wondered when I’ll be able to work again, whether it will be the library services to which I’ll return or whether I’ll have to reinvent myself entirely. I have napped copiously, like a newborn baby, falling asleep for an hour or two in the armchair when I’m supposed to be reading, or taking myself upstairs to bed and slipping gratefully under the duvet.
But today, I couldn’t bear being trapped at home any longer. The past two days have felt stifling, the dimensions of every room seeming to narrow with each passing hour.
I didn’t leave the house until after Stephen’s call this morning: he phones as soon as he gets to the university, again at lunchtime and often in the afternoon. He is not due to phone again until long after I plan to be home.