Pulling the laptop onto her lap, she made a conscious decision to change the subject and avoid an argument when Dominic wouldn’t be home for another four days. ‘Let’s not row. Tell me how the meeting with the developers went this morning.’
The screen blinked and then froze, Dominic’s face static, eyes closed, mouth wedged open as if sitting in a dentist’s chair. Livvy checked her internet connection, saw it was at full strength, waited for Dominic to return.
‘For god’s . . . bloody . . . shit . . .’
Livvy wiggled her cursor as though it were a magic wand with the power to conjure Dominic back.
‘This . . . me . . . unstable . . .’
She waited, swallowing her frustration. There had already been an evening last week when an erratic internet connection had soured their video call halfway through.
‘Is that better?’ Dominic’s face re-emerged fully focused, irritation lining his forehead.
‘Perfect.’
‘I’m having to sit on the windowsill with the computer on my knees. This bloody office. The Wi-Fi’s appalling.’
‘I’m sorry you’re still there so late. It’s annoying you can’t call from the flat. At least you’ll be home on Friday.’
Dominic shifted position, his face blurring for a second before sharpening back into focus. ‘That’s what I wanted to tell you before the internet connection went ropey. There’s an issue with the plans for one area of the supermarket – not my fault, the architect’s. But it means I’m going to have to reconfigure a whole bunch of calculations on top of everything I’m already juggling. There’s no way I’m going to get home on Friday night.’
Disappointment curdled in Livvy’s stomach. ‘You’re really going to have to work that late?’
‘It’s not ideal, I know. But I’d rather get it done here than bring it home with me. I’ll head off as soon as I’ve finished on Saturday morning. I’ll be back in time for lunch. We’ll still have most of the weekend together.’
Something in Dominic’s voice, like an interrupted cadence in a phrase of music, made Livvy ask the question before she was even aware of thinking it. ‘Is there something else?’
She watched him readjust the laptop on his knees.
‘I was going to tell you at the weekend, but you’re too good at picking up when something’s wrong.’ He paused, took a deep breath. ‘It looks like the timeline on this build was a bit optimistic. Talking it through with the team this morning, we think a two-month extension is pretty likely.’
Dates flipped in Livvy’s head like departure times on a railway station board. ‘But that’s after I’m due back at work.’
Dominic raised a pair of defeated eyebrows. ‘I know. But what can I do? Projects like this are always at risk of over-running.’
Livvy scrabbled to assemble her thoughts. ‘But how are we going to manage my return to work if you’re away? I can’t do drop-off and pick-up at nursery every day. It’ll be impossible.’
Dominic shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Would it really be the end of the world if you took another couple of months off?’
Irritation prickled Livvy’s skin. ‘Of course it would. I’d lose the promotion. They’re already holding Aisha’s job open for a month for me. I can’t expect them to wait any longer. Christian can’t be without a Policy Director for three months.’
The computer connection stuttered again, the picture freezing and then returning.
‘I thought you hadn’t definitely decided to take it anyway?’
Livvy frowned. ‘What gave you that idea?’
‘You did. You said it was still up for discussion.’
‘When?’
‘When we talked about it on Zoom, the day they offered you the job.’
Livvy wracked her brain, trying to recall the specifics of their previous conversation. ‘I don’t think I did.’
Dominic shifted the laptop again, the picture pixelating momentarily. ‘You did. You said that nothing had been decided yet and it was all still up for discussion.’
‘That was about childcare.’
‘No, it wasn’t. You definitely gave the impression you weren’t sold on taking the promotion.’
Before Livvy had a chance to respond, the image on the screen juddered and then stalled, leaving Livvy staring at a static picture of Dominic, forehead furrowed, lips parted, as if cryogenically frozen mid-sentence.
She stared at the screen, waited for Zoom to re-animate, a minute ticking by without any movement. Beside her on the sofa, her phone pinged and she opened WhatsApp, found a message from Dominic.
I don’t think the internet is going to be kind to us tonight, sweetheart. I’ll call you in the morning. And let’s talk about the work stuff when I’m home at the weekend. I’m sorry that delays here make things tricky for you. But surely if Christian and Aisha rate you that highly, they’ll consider giving you another two months off? Like I’ve said before, it’s not as if a year’s maternity leave is unusual. Anyway, let’s talk it through on Saturday. Speak in the morning. I love you. xxx
Livvy snapped closed the laptop, frustration pulsing at her wrists; whatever Dominic’s cavalier attitude, she knew that Christian wouldn’t keep the job open for another two months, and she was damned if she was going to give it up now.
ANNA
LONDON
It is early in the park. Too early, even, for parents with young children. An elderly man walks a limping black Labrador. Two young women run side by side in black Lycra leggings and fluorescent tops, each with headphones pressed against their ears. A middle-aged woman power-walks past the bandstand, elbows thrusting back and forth as she strides along.
The morning breeze winds its way around my shoulders, slips beneath the open collar of my jacket. I fasten the zip, pull it up to my neck. The sun is making valiant attempts to burn through the clouds but is yet to gather its strength for the day.
Glancing over my shoulder, I scan each of the paths, left and right, but there is no sign of them yet. Looking down at my watch I see that it is not yet nine-thirty, tell myself to be patient. A part of me feels foolish, waiting for a woman I have spoken to only once, a woman who does not even know I am here. I cannot explain this need to talk to her, to tell her what I have learnt. Only that, since finding out about my parents’ death last Friday, I have felt a need to confide in someone, as though perhaps only the act of telling another person will enable me to comprehend it fully myself.
When Stephen got home from work last night and asked about my trip to the V&A, I almost fibbed and told him I remembered visiting it before, just to avoid our collective disappointment. But instead, I told him the truth, and he wrapped his arms around me, said he was sorry, reminded me that it’s still early days. He urged me not to get too despondent, reassured me that my past would return soon enough. I want to believe he is right and yet, with each passing hour, my faith in my recovery seems to wane.
‘Hey.’
I turn around, feel a rush of relief.
Zahira lowers herself onto the bench beside me as Elyas runs straight for the sandpit. Zahira is dressed casually – skinny jeans, a loose-fitting white t-shirt, navy blazer rolled up at the sleeves – but she looks elegant, poised, and there is a sense of calm about her that seeps into me as if by osmosis.