Daniel stops, his hand on my necklace.
‘What’s this?’
I feel the sinews in my shoulders clench. I try to keep my voice even, casual, but I am sure he can hear the wobble in it.
‘Just a necklace.’ I wriggle free of Daniel’s grip, my cheeks still hot. ‘I saw it in town. Don’t you like it?’ I return to the stove, start ladling more stock into the rice.
‘It’s the one Serena was wearing, isn’t it? Helen …’
‘What?’
‘I thought we’d talked about this.’
I’d seen it in the jewellery shop on Turnpin Lane, when Daniel and I were walking back from the market last weekend. It was hanging in a glass cabinet, the little charm moving from side to side ever so slowly, beckoning me. I recognised it straight away, remembered it glinting against the silk of Serena’s top.
I’d gone back the next day. With no Daniel to stop me, I’d asked the curly-haired sales assistant if I could have a look. It had been more expensive than I’d expected. But it was so beautifully made, the markings on the dog so intricate, even though it was no bigger than my thumbnail. Before I knew it I was nodding yes, I’ll take it, watching as she slipped it into a blue leather box, wrapped it in tissue.
‘It’s a lovely necklace,’ the girl had said, cutting a length of ribbon. She had a diamond piercing in her nose, jade rings on her fingers.
‘Yes,’ I’d agreed. ‘The dog is sweet.’
‘Oh, do you think it’s a dog?’ she’d said vaguely. Then she’d glanced at me and backtracked, worried she’d put me off. ‘You’re right,’ she’d gabbled, snatching my credit card before I could change my mind. ‘It does look like a dog.’
Daniel is watching me as I move around the kitchen. I switch off the gas, start piling the risotto into bowls. The match is breaking for half-time. I turn down the radio, tuck the necklace inside my jumper. I top the bowls with chopped parsley. As I set them down on the table, I feel the heat of Daniel’s gaze at the back of my neck.
While we eat, I try to talk about my day, ask Daniel about work. But we don’t seem to be able to get much of a conversation started. After a few mouthfuls, he finishes, abruptly, places his fork back in the bowl. He always eats in this manner, as if it is a chore, a waste of time. He gathers up the bowls, even though I’m not really finished, and leaves them stacked by the sink. I stare at the empty table. Is this it, now? Is this how it is going to be? Even after the baby is here?
I finish the washing up and walk into the living room. Daniel is down on his hands and knees, reaching under sofas, going through the drawers in the coffee table.
‘What are you doing?’
He glances up at me guiltily, as if I’ve caught him doing something wrong.
‘Just thought it might be under here. The laptop.’
‘I’ll have a proper look tomorrow. Can we not worry about it now?’
‘Hmm.’
‘I thought you said you wanted to watch Luther.’
‘Oh yeah. OK.’
So we sit down to watch TV, sheltering together in the one corner of living room that we’ve managed to preserve from the building work. The nicer chairs and tables are draped in white sheets like ghosts. I watch the blue light of the TV flicker on Daniel’s face, and wonder what it is that my husband is hiding from me.
GREENWICH PARK
On the high street, car headlights and street lamps flicker on. Shop shutters start to come down, like eyes closing. She watches, and waits.
The man is behind the glass, a window that stretches from the floor to the ceiling. All the other lights in the building are off. His is the only one remaining.
She shifts on her feet. The sky is darkening, the light draining out of it in streaks of pink and orange over the houses. He would normally be home by now. But something is keeping him here this evening. Something stopping him going home to his beautiful wife.
The man stands up, slings a bag over his shoulder, gathers his things. Picks up a magazine on his desk, tries to tear it in half, but it’s too thick. Now, feeling foolish, he glances up, as if he senses he is being watched. Her neck prickles – has he seen her?
But no, the man has not seen her. Of course not, she scolds herself. She is safe here, in the shadows. The man tosses the magazine into the wastepaper bin instead. Then, finally, he picks up the envelope on his desk. Here we are, she thinks. Here we are. The man takes the envelope, rips it open and pulls out the contents onto his desk. She watches, gleefully, this silent film. She feels her fingers twitch, the saliva pool in her mouth, as the bag slips off the man’s shoulder, as he grabs for the side of his desk, as if he has been tossed, untethered, into space. Into a place without air, a place without gravity.