I sit down and drink, until I hear a creak from Ruby’s room.
‘Daddy? Daddy . . .’
Chapter Nine
EMMA
I call Jill on the way home, to tell her I’ve just had dinner with her.
‘I see. And what did we eat?’ she asks. It sounds as if she has her mouth full. Jill has put on quite a lot of weight in the last few years. It worries me, but I could never bring it up – we both just pretend it’s not there.
‘Whatever you’re eating now,’ I tell her. ‘That’s what we ate.’
‘I’m gnawing at a leftover chicken bone, like a hound.’
‘Perfect.’ I pull my cardigan around myself. It’s cold for a June evening; an offensive wind swerves between the old houses of Hampstead Village, pushing down crooked alleyways. ‘Let’s say we went to that chicken place in King’s Cross.’
‘The waffle one?’
‘Yes, perfect.’
‘Might it be too much to ask that we actually go there together?’ she asks. ‘Soon? I haven’t seen you since the late medieval period.’
‘What? We had film night two weeks ago!’
‘Fine. Early Tudor period.’
‘Stuart period at minimum.’
Jill laughs. ‘You’re hard work, Emma.’
‘Not as hard as you.’
The 268 whines slowly down Heath Street, buffeted by the wind. I clutch my handbag to myself for warmth and make a mental note to organise a real dinner for next week.
‘How’s work?’ I ask. Jill now consults on deep sea fisheries and hates her boss.
There’s a pause, while she swallows her chicken. Someone in a grossly expensive sports car roars needlessly up the hill. Jill says, ‘I’m still planning to resign someday. But never mind that; are you OK?’
‘I’m . . . No. Not OK.’
‘I take it you went to see him?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
I hesitate. I don’t want to talk about it with anyone, even my oldest friend, but Jill’s had my back from the start. When we were just two students at St Andrews, heads full of foolish dreams, wallets empty of money, she saved me. Through the years that followed, she was there. And then, when I got myself into trouble during a trip to Northumberland four years ago, she not only covered for me with Leo but did a thirteen-hour round trip by car to rescue me. No matter what ditch I fall in, Jill has always been there to pull me out.
The least I can do is tell her about tonight.
‘As difficult as you’d expect,’ I say. ‘Worse, possibly. Some awkward small talk, followed by a very uncomfortable conversation about his wife.’
There’s an intake of breath down the line. ‘Really? What did he say about her?’
‘Mostly just grilling me. He was obsessed with the idea that I’d been in touch with her. I told him I wouldn’t dream of it, but I’m not sure he believed me.’ I hold my hand out in front of me. It’s shaking again.
‘What makes you think he didn’t believe you?’ Jill asks. ‘Was he angry?’
I think about this for a moment. Not angry, exactly, but I was frightened, sitting opposite him. He was intense; all over the place – it had felt like an interrogation, not a conversation. I had plenty of fears of my own about the situation, but I hadn’t dared voice them.
I try to explain this to Jill, but it’s difficult to convey.