nothing that I’ve lost my daughter?’
A knife-sharp pain rips through my temple, and lodges behind my right eye. The dogs across the hall launch into a high-pitched yapping as they hear the distress in my raised voice.
I cover my face with my hands.
‘Let me finish,’ Isaac says. ‘It’s not all bad news.’ Gently, he pulls my hands away from my face. He keeps hold of me.
‘Ben wants to take Alexandra to the funfair on the South Bank on Saturday,’ he says. ‘He’s asked me to drive them over there. I suggested we should ask you to come with us, and Ben said that would be fine.’
‘So I have to wait until the weekend?’
I sound churlish and ungrateful, but I resent the fact that I’m reliant on this near stranger, benign as he may be, for access to my own granddaughter. Isaac knows nothing of the days, the weeks, I spent sitting next to Lexi’s incubator. I was the one who stayed with her during the gruesome eye-testing, to make sure the ventilator hadn’t damaged her vision. Ben and Vivien couldn’t bear to see her suffer.
‘I think it’ll be a good place to start,’ Isaac says. ‘On neutral ground, so to speak.’
The pain in my head makes it difficult to think coherently. I remind myself that none of this is Isaac’s fault. ‘Thank you,’ I say.
But I can’t look at him. I pull my hands away and turn and fumble with my key; finally I manage to fit it into the lock. As I push open the door, Isaac places a hand on my back.
‘It’s early days,’ he says. ‘Everything will get better.’
Chapter 8
The last of the leaves turn to mush under my boots and the hems of my jeans are damp and flecked with mud as I make my way up the slope to the café in Regent’s Park.
Cleo has arrived early. She’s sitting at a table next to the window inside the round, glassed-in building. When she sees me approaching, she springs up and opens the door.
‘I’m so glad you could come,’ she says. She kisses my cheek with chapped lips.
She looks more herself today, with her hair pulled back in a rather severe ponytail, and no make-up except for her pencilled-in brows. She pulls out a chair for me and I sit down. The steel frame is cold and uncomfortable. On the round table between us there are two steaming paper cups and two plates, each with a slice of cake lying on its side.
‘I ordered you an Earl Grey,’ she says. ‘Do you still drink Earl Grey? I remember it used to be your favourite.’
‘I do,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’
Cleo talks nervously as she levers the lid off her drink. ‘I hate these takeaway cups,’ she says. ‘You can never get the lid back on again, once you take it off.’
A cloud of steam rises in the air between us. I reach for my drink, leaving the lid on. The side of the cup is scalding hot against my palm.
‘Do you remember,’ Cleo says, ‘how I would bring you your tea in bed sometimes, on weekend mornings, when you had a lie-in?’
I smile as though I do, but the truth is I have no memory of this at all.
‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed having you in my life,’ she says.
I take a sip of my boiling-hot tea through the plastic slit and my eyes well up as my tongue burns. Cleo is watching me closely, as though I am some sort of invalid.
‘I wanted to make sure everything is okay between us,’ she says. ‘I thought I picked up some tension the other night. I take it Ben hadn’t told you that I’d been over to the house?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I had no idea.’
I still can’t put my finger on what it is about Cleo that bothers me, but I feel uneasy. Perhaps it’s the sense of disquiet she carries with her.
‘Did you and Vivien ever make up?’ I say.
She shakes her head. ‘No. But when I read about what happened, I wanted to offer Ben some support.’
I begin to shred my serviette into tiny fragments. ‘How often do you see him?’
‘I try to go over there every evening,’ she says.
Now I think she looks somewhat
A knife-sharp pain rips through my temple, and lodges behind my right eye. The dogs across the hall launch into a high-pitched yapping as they hear the distress in my raised voice.
I cover my face with my hands.
‘Let me finish,’ Isaac says. ‘It’s not all bad news.’ Gently, he pulls my hands away from my face. He keeps hold of me.
‘Ben wants to take Alexandra to the funfair on the South Bank on Saturday,’ he says. ‘He’s asked me to drive them over there. I suggested we should ask you to come with us, and Ben said that would be fine.’
‘So I have to wait until the weekend?’
I sound churlish and ungrateful, but I resent the fact that I’m reliant on this near stranger, benign as he may be, for access to my own granddaughter. Isaac knows nothing of the days, the weeks, I spent sitting next to Lexi’s incubator. I was the one who stayed with her during the gruesome eye-testing, to make sure the ventilator hadn’t damaged her vision. Ben and Vivien couldn’t bear to see her suffer.
‘I think it’ll be a good place to start,’ Isaac says. ‘On neutral ground, so to speak.’
The pain in my head makes it difficult to think coherently. I remind myself that none of this is Isaac’s fault. ‘Thank you,’ I say.
But I can’t look at him. I pull my hands away and turn and fumble with my key; finally I manage to fit it into the lock. As I push open the door, Isaac places a hand on my back.
‘It’s early days,’ he says. ‘Everything will get better.’
Chapter 8
The last of the leaves turn to mush under my boots and the hems of my jeans are damp and flecked with mud as I make my way up the slope to the café in Regent’s Park.
Cleo has arrived early. She’s sitting at a table next to the window inside the round, glassed-in building. When she sees me approaching, she springs up and opens the door.
‘I’m so glad you could come,’ she says. She kisses my cheek with chapped lips.
She looks more herself today, with her hair pulled back in a rather severe ponytail, and no make-up except for her pencilled-in brows. She pulls out a chair for me and I sit down. The steel frame is cold and uncomfortable. On the round table between us there are two steaming paper cups and two plates, each with a slice of cake lying on its side.
‘I ordered you an Earl Grey,’ she says. ‘Do you still drink Earl Grey? I remember it used to be your favourite.’
‘I do,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’
Cleo talks nervously as she levers the lid off her drink. ‘I hate these takeaway cups,’ she says. ‘You can never get the lid back on again, once you take it off.’
A cloud of steam rises in the air between us. I reach for my drink, leaving the lid on. The side of the cup is scalding hot against my palm.
‘Do you remember,’ Cleo says, ‘how I would bring you your tea in bed sometimes, on weekend mornings, when you had a lie-in?’
I smile as though I do, but the truth is I have no memory of this at all.
‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed having you in my life,’ she says.
I take a sip of my boiling-hot tea through the plastic slit and my eyes well up as my tongue burns. Cleo is watching me closely, as though I am some sort of invalid.
‘I wanted to make sure everything is okay between us,’ she says. ‘I thought I picked up some tension the other night. I take it Ben hadn’t told you that I’d been over to the house?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I had no idea.’
I still can’t put my finger on what it is about Cleo that bothers me, but I feel uneasy. Perhaps it’s the sense of disquiet she carries with her.
‘Did you and Vivien ever make up?’ I say.
She shakes her head. ‘No. But when I read about what happened, I wanted to offer Ben some support.’
I begin to shred my serviette into tiny fragments. ‘How often do you see him?’
‘I try to go over there every evening,’ she says.
Now I think she looks somewhat
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