She was the first one in that room with April, falling to her knees beside April’s body, her screams tearing at her throat, but Hugh was the second. It was Hugh who tried mouth-to-mouth, not Hannah, pumping desperately at April’s dead heart long after it was clear that she was gone.
Perhaps Hugh remembers what she cannot.
It is with that thought in her mind that Hannah rolls over and finally closes her eyes.
She doesn’t care what Will says. Tomorrow, she will go to see Hugh.
* * *
“I’M GOING TO SEE HUGH.” She tries to drop it into conversation the next morning while cutting a bagel, as if it’s no big deal, but of course Will knows what she’s saying. This isn’t a social call she’s suggesting. “Do you want to come?”
“No.”
“Will—”
“Look, you asked.” He puts down his cup. “And that’s my answer. I don’t want you digging into this. It’s pointless and it’s upsetting for everyone. I can’t stop you—but I’m not going to be part of it.”
“So what will I tell Hugh when he wants to know why you’re not there?”
“Tell him what you like,” Will says. He picks up his bag. “It’s your business, not mine.”
“Fine.” She struggles to keep a note of defiance out of her voice. “But I’m still going.”
“Fine.”
And then he turns and leaves, the front door banging behind him with a sound that sets the baby jumping in her belly.
She hates it when they argue—and she knows that later she will text him an apology, try to make things right. But when she gets her phone out, it’s Hugh’s profile she clicks on WhatsApp.
Hey Hugh, she types. Fancy a coffee?
She stops, reading the message back. Does it sound natural? It’s not that it’s odd for her to be meeting up with Hugh exactly, but normally it’s Will who does the running. For her to make the first contact, without involving Will… well, it’s unusual. And her message needs to acknowledge that without making a big deal out of it.
I talked to Ryan yesterday, she adds, and he was asking how you were. Made me realize it’s ages since we caught up. Hx
Hannah’s finger is hovering over the send button when her phone beeps, the leave for work reminder, and with a sudden burst of decision, she presses send, shoves her phone in her pocket, and switches off the coffee machine.
She’s halfway down the stairs to the front door, mentally running over her to-do list for the day, when her phone buzzes, and she takes it out of her pocket. It’s a reply from Hugh.
Sure. What about a quick one after work? I should be free by 6.
Her face breaks into a smile of relief.
6 is great, she taps out. Shall I call past your office?
Typing… reads the header, and then Hugh’s reply comes through.
Great. See you at 6. Hx
* * *
THE DAY IS BLESSEDLY BUSY—more like a Saturday than a Friday—to the point where at 3 p.m. Hannah realizes that she hasn’t taken a lunch break and is feeling light-headed with hunger. She gulps down a sandwich from the deli next door, and then hurries back to help Robyn with the queue. At four thirty she’s wondering if she is really going to be able to get away. It’s still heaving and she can’t leave Robyn to deal with so many customers, it’s not fair. One person can’t manage both the till and a stream of inquiries, let alone if you need the loo or something.
But at five thirty the shop empties out as if the customers are obeying a magic command, and Robyn looks up from where she’s ringing up a lone woman’s wrapping paper and sees Hannah surreptitiously checking the time on her phone.
“You off?”
“Well… it’s five thirty, but… are you sure?” Hannah asks. “It’s been so crazy today.”
“I’ll be fine, look, everyone’s gone home. Fifteen pounds, ninety-seven, thank you so much,” she adds to the woman at the desk, who nods and gets out her debit card.
“Well… if you’re sure,” Hannah says. “I’ll be here a bit longer, so if there’s a last-minute rush, I can still help.”
In the staff room she puts on her coat. The face looking back at her from the mirror is pale and worried, and she wishes she had planned ahead, thought to bring makeup. She needs something to make her feel like she’s ready to face Hugh.
The only thing in her bag is an ancient lipstick, but it’s better than nothing. Now, standing there, applying it in the cracked mirror over the sink, she thinks of April, doing her makeup at the crowded chest of drawers in her bedroom.