Even though I can’t imagine anything I feel less like doing at the moment, I somehow ended up agreeing to throw this bonfire party. Katie kept going on about it, saying how it was her first weekend off in ages, and how nice it would be to have fireworks at the house again, to do something to celebrate the baby coming, even something low-key. To fill the house with lovely memories again. I told her I wasn’t sure. The building work is nowhere near finished. The house looks a mess.
‘No one minds that,’ she said. ‘Anyway, that’s the perfect time to have a party, because it doesn’t matter if things get ruined.’
‘I thought you said it would be low-key?’
‘It will. But you want it to be a party, don’t you?’
And then before I knew it, Charlie was talking about bringing his decks and some friends from the club. I made him promise not to invite too many. I told Daniel I didn’t want the house any more ruined than it already was. But weirdly, Daniel seemed keen on the idea of a party.
‘I think Katie just thought it would be nice,’ Daniel said. ‘An old-fashioned Bonfire Night party. Like your mum and dad used to do.’
‘Mummy and Daddy used to do toffee apples and sparklers and sausages, Daniel,’ I groaned. ‘Not Charlie and his idiotic druggy friends smashing up the house.’
‘It won’t be that bad. Give your brother a break.’
‘You know what he’s like, Daniel! Say the word party to Charlie and he starts inviting everyone he’s ever met.’
I thought back to our engagement drinks, when we’d first moved into the house. I’d hoped for a small, intimate gathering, a few jugs of Pimm’s on the lawn. I was secretly pregnant, anyway, so I wasn’t drinking. Then Charlie had turned up, a whole gang of friends in tow, and insisted on starting a game of something called beer pong in the garden. By the end of the night the house was littered with drunken corpses. We’d had to have a whole section of carpet replaced.
Daniel smiled and shrugged, gesturing out of the window. ‘We could do with having a bonfire anyway, don’t you think? We’ve got all those cuttings in the garden. And fireworks are always fun.’
I cradled my mug of tea in my hands, letting the warmth seep into my fingers, and gazed out at the wasteland of our garden. I couldn’t make out why Daniel was so keen to do it. I couldn’t understand why he thought all the cuttings needed to be burned, instead of just put in the garden waste bin. I hated the thought of people in our garden, trampling on the roses. And Monty can’t bear parties, or fireworks. He’d be traumatised for weeks.
‘I don’t know, Daniel.’
‘Think of it as a last hurrah before the baby.’
He seemed to be actually excited by the idea. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d seemed excited about something. Him, Charlie and Katie. That was three against one. I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it again.
‘How about I speak to Charlie?’ he said, pulling me into a hug. ‘Keep the guest list under control?’
‘You can try,’ I muttered. Suddenly I felt too tired, too pregnant to argue.
‘And after the party, if she hasn’t gone by then, we’ll talk to Rachel again.’ He pulled away then, looked me in the eye, a serious expression on his face. ‘We’ll be nice about it, but she does need to go now. I mean, for God’s sake, Helen – our baby’s coming in three weeks. I know you’re worried about her. But she can’t just live here forever, can she?’
I sighed. ‘OK. We’ll talk to her again. After the party.’ And just like that, I’d agreed to it after all.
I rub Monty’s ears, and he purrs softly. Just for a moment, I wonder whether I could just lie down here on the bed by his side, a pillow between my aching knees. Stay here all night with my fingers in my ears, safe from the explosions. Pretend that none of it is happening.
HELEN
When I try to recall the night of the party, my most vivid memories will be of sticky floors, the smoke in my clothes, the hot air from the flames, the cold wet of the earth. And most of all, the hum of the dehumidifier.
Wherever I go in the house, I can’t seem to escape it. It seems to be gathering, rising in pitch, building to a crescendo that never quite comes. As the night goes on, I feel a dull headache spreading, growing like a tumour. Like storm clouds gathering.
The dehumidifier has to stay on all night. And no one, under any circumstances, can go into the cellar. The man who came to lay the cement was very clear on that point. I have written ‘NO ENTRY’ on a piece of paper in large red capital letters and stuck it on the cellar door.