Cat stumbled, grabbing her stomach as she dry-heaved. Swallowing that tablet like that had been a bad idea. Then another wave of nausea hit her, and this time it wasn’t stopping in her gullet. She pitched forward and vomited on to the thin strip of parched grass at the edge of the stone path.
‘Ew, gross.’ Ginny took a step back. ‘Are you ill? Oh god, have you got that norovirus or something? I really don’t want to catch that, it sounds absolutely awful.’
Cat stood up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘I notice you haven’t actually asked me if I’m feeling OK? You just want to make sure you don’t get it. That’s typical of you . . .’ Her sentence trailed off as she felt another lurch in her stomach and doubled over to puke again. ‘Urgh. I actually don’t know what’s wrong with me. I keep getting these little waves of dizziness then this urge to be sick, and it had mostly gone away until now, when I stupidly swallowed that tablet dry.’
Ginny stared at her. Her mouth curved into a smirk. ‘You’re preggers, aren’t you? I called it earlier – you not drinking late like us . . . these weird symptoms . . . it’s all stacking up.’ She rocked back on her heels, looking pleased with herself. Then winced and rolled forward on to her toes. ‘Jesus, my feet really fucking hurt.’
Cat shook her head. There she goes again, she thought, it’s all about her.
‘You should drink some water,’ Ginny said. ‘I’ll call on the boys. Get them to come back. You should have Paul with you.’
Cat just nodded, glad that her sister had found a little compassion at last. She sat down on the path and Ginny strode off. She looked uncomfortable in her painful shoes, but she kept on, calling out and waving, trying to get the attention of the others.
Cat took a sip of water, and hoped the nausea was under control for now. Her heart rate had slowed, and she felt much calmer. She was starting to understand why Ginny popped so many pills. It really must make her life much less stressful.
Cat looked up at the next part of the walk. Was she actually going to make it up this sharp incline? Should she be exerting herself like this, if what Ginny had suggested was true? It couldn’t be, could it? She was on the pill. Had been for years. That was the one medication that she had no qualms about taking. As for if she even wanted kids – she and Paul hadn’t broached the subject of pregnancy since early on in their relationship, when people had those sorts of conversations. It was as if they both instinctively knew that neither of them really wanted it.
It was just not something that ever crossed her mind. Cat hadn’t thought for a moment that she might be pregnant, and after what had gone on at home, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted a baby. At least, not with Paul.
Not after what he’d done.
But more than that . . . she’d barely let Paul near her since he’d been accused of assaulting his work colleague. So if he was the father, it was going to be big news for them both.
Twenty-One
SUNDAY AFTERNOON
Pigalle and Marchand have retreated to the back office and turned the volume up on the TV. The football is on. It’s PSG vs Marseille, but Thierry has never really been much interested in football. Annoyingly, Séb, being originally from Paris, is a PSG fan and has decided that watching the match is a reasonable compensation for having to come into work on a Sunday.
‘We’re not in here to watch this shit. You do realise that, don’t you, Séb?’ Thierry sighs and rolls his seat away from the desk, swivelling around to watch the other screen. The computer monitor is flicking between the reception area and each of the interview rooms. Later, he will fix it so that all three screens are visible at the same time, but it involves some fiddling with the settings, and he can’t quite remember how to do it. They don’t usually have to worry too much about the CCTV in this place, because nothing ever happens. The bigger police station in Aigle is where most of the action takes place. They’ve been talking about closing this small branch altogether, and Thierry hopes that they will, so that he can ditch this job and retrain in mountain rescue instead. Sandrine thinks this makes no sense because it will cause him to have to work more, not less, but Thierry is only forty-five and he’s not sure he can stomach another twenty years of this dull existence.
‘Goal!’ Séb jumps out of his seat and punches the air.
Thierry swivels back around to face him. ‘Look at them, Séb.’ He’s pointing at the man and the woman in the reception area. ‘Look at their body language . . . Merde! Can you fix this so it just shows the reception?’