“Morning.”
She stops, turns back, hugging her dressing gown around herself. It is cold outside the covers, the first snap of winter in the air.
“Morning.” She feels a little uncertain, their recent row still hanging in the air. “Sorry, I was trying to be quiet.”
“It’s okay.” He sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What time did you get home last night?”
“Not that late. About ten. But you were asleep—I didn’t want to wake you.”
There’s a minute’s silence and then he says, “I’m sorry I was such a dick,” at the same time that she says, “Do you—do you want to know, what Hugh and I talked about?”
They both laugh, a little shakily, and Will gives a little rueful smile.
“Honestly? Not really.”
She nods. He doesn’t want to dig up painful memories, and she understands that, it’s how she’s felt for more than ten years. But the fact is that Neville’s death has jolted her into feeling differently—even if she can’t fully explain why.
“Look, I have to get up,” she says now, glancing at her phone. “But let’s make a plan for tomorrow. Something fun. A walk maybe—Arthur’s Seat?”
“Sure,” Will says. He smiles, and she understands that he’s trying to make it up, repair the hurt they caused each other. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
* * *
ON THE BUS TO WORK she checks her emails. There’s one confirming delivery of a maternity bra and some leggings she bought online. Another from her and Will’s favorite restaurant offering them a coupon valid throughout November.
Then there’s an email from her mum, subject line Weekend of the 12/13?
Han, lovely to talk to you the other day. Quick question—how would the weekend of the 12–13th be for a flying visit? I’ve got those clothes I was talking to you about and you might as well have them before you have to buy new. Reduce, reuse, recycle! Mum x
Hannah suppresses a smile and is about to tap back a quick response when a new email alert flashes up on her phone, and the sender ID makes her stomach flip. It’s from Geraint Williams, and the subject line says Update.
Ignoring her mother’s message, she opens up Geraint’s, feeling the baby inside her give a little shuddering jolt as she does. Her nerves are affecting them both.
Dear Hannah, hope you are well and that our conversation the other day didn’t stir up too many difficult memories.
I’m sorry to email again, but you did ask me to let you know if I found out anything I felt you should know and—well, I’ve found something. Someone, in fact—November Rain. I think you should meet her as she has some information about the autopsy results that could be important. I’m nervous about putting too much in writing—and I think it would be better for you to hear it from the horse’s mouth anyway as you may have questions.
I know this is short notice, but I wondered if you could make today? The reason is, November is London-based, but happens to be in Edinburgh at the moment for work, however she is flying back this evening. So this is probably your last chance to meet face-to-face for a few weeks.
Please let me know. I am also in Edinburgh all day today and could make any time. November is working, but tells me she could make space for a meeting anytime before 5 p.m., when she leaves for her flight.
Please let me know.
Geraint
Fuck. Hannah closes down the phone and stares off into the middle distance, chewing her nail furiously. Fuck. Geraint probably doesn’t know what he’s asking—he would assume she has Saturdays off like everyone else. And yet—a chance to find out what happened at the inquest, a chance to discover whether April really was pregnant, maybe even who the father was—who is this November? Is she a pathologist? Hannah certainly can’t google. The name sounds completely improbable—more like a drag queen than a forensic expert, although she supposes even pathologists can have Axl Rose fans for parents. Even so, Dr. Rain would seem more appropriate for a professional contact. November sounds like a friend—or a colleague. Maybe it’s another journalist. The thought makes her uneasy. Is she being lured into an interview she doesn’t want to give?
Hi Geraint, she writes back, and then stops, pondering her next move. I am actually working today, could you tell me a little bit more about this? Is there a reason you can’t explain over the phone? Hannah.
There’s a pause, and she’s just about to return to her mother’s email when a reply pops into her inbox.