When I finally manage to set a date for lunch with Katie, I find myself looking forward to it much more than I normally would, a little bright flag in my otherwise blank diary. Even so, I find myself a bit jangly on the morning of it, for some reason.
As I walk to the station, I wonder whether to tell Katie about the note I found in Rory and Serena’s bathroom. Katie is good at digging around, finding information. She’d be able to work out what Rory was up to.
As I walk past the bookshop I see Katie coming out of the station in her leather jacket, her headphones in, a coffee cup clutched in one hand and a faraway expression on her face. Katie is only eighteen months younger than me – the same age as Charlie. She was his little friend from down the road when we were growing up, and then she became mine, as the gap grew to feel less and less important in our teenage years, then university and beyond.
But looking at her now I have the sudden sense that she is much younger than me again. After all, there is so much more than a year and a half separating our ages – a marriage, a house, the babies, the pregnancy. Looking at her now, I feel old.
I wave and her face breaks into an astonished smile. She bounds over and hugs me.
‘Jesus, Helen. You’re huge!’
‘Oh, thanks!’
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. You look great. It’s just … I suppose it’s been a while, hasn’t it?’
The observation feels heavier than it should. I try to meet her eye and smile, to tell her it’s all right. She smiles back, a look of relief on her face.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ she says. ‘I’m starving.’
We walk through the park, where the giant horse chestnut trees are just starting to shed. An early smattering of golden leaves have sailed out of the iron gates and onto the pavements, collecting in rusty pools in drains and doorways. Some people are sitting on the outside tables at the pavilion, bathing in the disappearing warmth. They sit in coats, but with their faces to the sun, eyelids closed, enjoying every last drop. A waitress weaves around them, clearing the tables, balancing coffee cups and crumb-strewn plates on her tray, her pale grey apron tied in a little bow at her waist.
The inside looks full. I ask, but the waiter shakes his head. No tables free. Do we want to wait? Katie says she doesn’t mind. My feet are hurting, my stomach starting to groan. I cast my eye over the inside tables, try to work out if anyone will be leaving soon.
When I see her, my first instinct is to quickly avert my eyes, pretend I haven’t. But it is already too late: our eyes have met, and Rachel is grinning at us. She is sitting by the window, a newspaper spread out in front of her. She starts waving frantically.
‘You again!’ Rachel folds the newspaper up and rushes over, still carrying it, bumping into the backs of people’s chairs. She is wearing a gold sequinned skirt, oversized black T-shirt and green trainers. ‘How funny!’ She launches herself at me with a hug. I feel myself go slightly limp in her grip. Katie looks at me, expectantly.
‘This is Rachel,’ I say, when she releases me. ‘Rachel, this is my friend Katie.’ They smile at each other. I pause. ‘Rachel and I met at our antenatal class.’
‘And now we just seem to keep bumping into each other!’ Rachel laughs loudly at her own joke. In the cafe, heads turn to see what all the fuss is about. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘We were planning to have lunch,’ Katie says. ‘But it looks like they’re full.’
‘Come and sit here, with me!’
I glance at Rachel’s table. She has bagged the best spot in the cafe, right by the window, exactly where I had hoped we could sit. But the thought of her joining us makes my heart sink.
Rachel looks at me and her face clouds over, as if she has read my thoughts. ‘Oh, I’m sorry – I’m barging in.’ She forces a fake laugh, looks down at the floor, starts to fold the newspaper up in her hands. ‘Here,’ she says, gesturing jerkily at the table. ‘You two take it. I was going anyway. I can pay at the counter.’
Rachel keeps folding the newspaper until it is too thick and won’t fold any more. There is something about her movements that makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
Katie takes a step towards her, places her hand lightly on her arm. ‘Don’t be silly, Rachel,’ she says warmly. ‘It would be lovely to have lunch together. If you are sure you don’t mind us joining you?’ She looks at me. ‘What do you think, Helen?’
Rachel looks at Katie, and then at me.