The Drowning Lesson (3 page)

Sofia was washing up in the kitchen, ponytail swinging as she jigged from foot to foot in time to loud pop music. She was responsible for dusting the children's rooms. I switched the radio off and she turned, her dark eyes round with surprise.

‘Sofia, do you know how Alice's Russian dolls got broken?'

Her face reddened. There was a pause. She met my gaze for a second, then looked down, shaking her head.

The blush and her silence were telling: she must have broken them but wasn't going to own up. The dolls were special to Alice – she used to play with them all the time, making little family groups, the larger dolls arranged in a ring around the smaller ones, with the baby in the middle.

‘Well, please take Zoë up to bed now. Perhaps you could mend them tomorrow.' Despite her carelessness, I needed Sofia. ‘There's ceramic glue in the right-hand cupboard in the utility room.'

She shrugged, pulling off rubber gloves, her face wiped of expression.

I bent to kiss Zoë. ‘Night, sweetheart. I'll be up later.'

Zoë held up her stuffed dog for a kiss, then trailed after Sofia.

Adam was writing at the large desk in his study. His face looked empty. When I'd told him we wouldn't be coming to Africa he'd been disbelieving, then angry. Now, three weeks on, it had finally sunk in.

‘How's it all going?' Laminated maps were stacked in tidy piles on the surface in front of him, and the invoices lay in ordered rows. My own desk was deep in layers of paper. He was annotating a list in neat red capitals: blood bottles, syringes and centrifuging kit, mosquito net, trekking boots.

‘Anything I can do?' Close up, I could see the eczema flaring in a red line along his collar.

‘It's coming together.' Then he put his pen down and stared up at me. ‘Though I still wish you were all coming. Em, are you completely sure?'

‘We've been through this a hundred times. You know I can't leave.' I felt giddy and sat down quickly on the sofa, wishing I'd eaten lunch. ‘Let's not tell the girls you're going till nearer the time – Alice might worry. I saw her teacher this morning.'

I described the meeting with Mrs Philips. As Adam listened, his fingers were constantly moving, stacking papers edge to edge, and placing pens in parallel rows.

‘I don't think she needs more discussion about stealing,' he said, when he'd heard the story. ‘We ought to simply –'

‘Do nothing? Let things completely unravel? She'll
get isolated. Kids don't like it if their stuff gets nicked, even if she has given it back.' I glared at his hands arranging his phone and calculator side by side, like little black soldiers. ‘Can you stop fiddling? It drives me insane. We ought to simply what?'

‘Love her, I guess,' he said. His fingernails raked under the edge of his cuffs. ‘Make home a safe place for her to be.'

‘For God's sake, stop scratching.' I felt winded with hurt. ‘How can you imply I don't love her? She knows she's my top priority –'

‘Which particular top priority, Em?' Adam stood up, patting his pockets for an inhaler. ‘There are so many: operations, clinics, research …'

‘That's a fucking hypocritical thing to say. It's exactly the same for you. And now you're completely preoccupied with this Botswana project.' My cheeks were burning with fury. ‘When did you last really talk to Alice?'

‘This very evening. I went up when she was practising her violin.' He inhaled a couple of puffs of Ventolin, then leant back against the desk, frowning. ‘I noticed all her Russian dolls were broken. She did it on purpose.'

‘She didn't do it, Adam. Sofia did. It was an accident, I'm sure, but Sofia looked so guilty when I asked her, it must be her fault. Alice might be taking the blame to protect her.'

Adam looked doubtful. ‘My guess is that it's less complicated. Alice is bidding for attention. Negative attention is better than none. Maybe she needs more of our time … Perhaps she doesn't realize how much we love her.' He paused, scratching his neck.

‘Of course she does.'

‘How?' He sounded genuinely curious.

‘I tell her all the time.' That wasn't true, though. I never told her. I took it for granted she knew. ‘I show her as well.'

Did I? When? Amid the hurry to school in the morning so I could get to work on time, or in the evening's rush to catch up with paperwork? She couldn't read my mind. She might not realize she was loved. Adam could be right.

I turned my back on him and stared out at the streetlights. In the silence, the rain started again, hitting the study window like handfuls of tiny stones. Six thousand miles away the sun would be shining on an emerald landscape. It would be hot. Adam had emailed some pictures the other day, in an attempt to change my mind. One showed a large flat-topped tree by a lake. The water had been shimmering in the sun, and under the tree the grass had looked thick and soft. I closed my eyes and let myself imagine sitting in the shade with Alice. There would be the sharp scent of young grass and the peaceful calling of birds across the water. Alice would have bare feet.
We both would. There wouldn't be a briefcase in sight.

Adam came up beside me, staring at the drops sliding down the dark glass. ‘I booked Provence today. Same villa, same fortnight. You're not getting out of that one.'

Sunshine and peace for two weeks. I took his hand and brought it to my mouth, turning it over to kiss his wrist. The rash felt hot and bumpy under my lips.

I slid the cold probe over my pelvic skin while looking at the screen by my head. I was lying on the carpeted floor of my office, doors locked and blind pulled down; this was just a quick check. Missing periods happened with stress, with exhaustion, with not eating enough. I'd been so busy recently that any of these could apply.

At first I thought it was a mistake, that the dense curved shape in the uterus was a scrambled image of some kind. I ran the probe backwards and forwards, pressing deeper each time. It wasn't a mistake. There was a tiny beating heart in the darkness, small blocks of vertebrae, the thick umbilical cord. No wonder I'd been emotional recently – even now, tears were sliding down my cheeks. This was a baby, ours. A few moments later concern cut into the unfolding sense of gladness. I had let this happen. Six weeks ago there had been a moment when I could have drawn back but I'd chosen not to. What would Adam say? I closed my eyes. He'd be pleased. Of course he would.
He'd been desperate for another child. There would be a second of disbelief, he might struggle to take me seriously, but then his face would break into a smile. He'd remember this was exactly what he'd longed for.

A door closed softly. Sarah had arrived in the adjoining office. Muted steps sounded across the floor, followed by a brief clanging tune as she started the computer. The ridged carpet was uncomfortable now; I'd have to get up soon and carry on as if unchanged. But, then, I hadn't changed. I still wanted everything; everything exactly as it was. Family, work, achievement. I wiped the tears away. I'd be going back to work once this baby was born; I couldn't afford to be emotional, now or later.

‘Emmie?'

I stuff my jersey into my mouth but he hears anyway. He comes into my room.

‘
Stop that now
.'
He sits down on the bed. ‘She wouldn't want you to cry.'

Mum wouldn't mind: whenever I cry she holds me … held me.

‘The funeral's in two hours. I need you to help me. Look at me when I'm talking.'

His face is puffy. His eyes are red and small. My chest hurt. So he's been crying too.

‘Emotions pull you under. Be strong,' he says, and wipes his
scratchy thumb over my cheek
.
‘The only thing that lasts is you. It's called survival.'

A week later, he takes me to the quarry for the first time.

I had to hurry. I examined the measurements on the screen. Crown—rump length: 1.46cm. Heart rate: 164. Limb buds: present. On course at six weeks. I wiped the sticky trail of blue gel off my skin, got to my feet and printed off the scan, slipping it into my briefcase.

The room felt smaller than usual; stale, as if the cleaners hadn't been in that week. I wanted to open the window but the heavy glass pane had no hinges. Light poured into the room but not air. If I wanted fresh air I had to go down in the lift, along corridors and make my way through the ambulances into the crowded car park and stand on the tarmac by the rubbish bins where the smokers gathered. Somewhere there was a huge sky, a sweep of sun-lit grass, flat-topped trees. Peace.

My mobile sounded. Adam. Six weeks ago, I'd let Fate decide, thinking if a pregnancy happened it might help in some way. I hadn't worked out exactly how, which was unusual for me, but Adam's plan had thrown me. I'd been tired, a little drunk. Now I had to focus. I put my phone down unanswered, and after a few seconds the ringing stopped. If I told him I was pregnant he'd leave for Africa sooner than planned to
be back in time for the birth. My fingers drummed on the sill. He mustn't leave at all. Alice needed him. I needed him. Already I was more tired than usual. In fourteen weeks, the pregnancy would be five months along. I'd tell him then; leaving at that point wouldn't be worth his while. Africa would be cancelled. Life would continue as normal. He'd be delighted about the baby so he'd forgive me. He'd have two weeks off at the birth as he'd done with the girls; I'd go back after six. Now, as well as after the baby was born, we'd continue as normal, together.

All morning I carried the secret as tightly and silently as I was carrying the tiny nub of life inside me. It was my half-day but I decided to stay on to start collecting the research papers for an umbilical-cord clamping project that interested me.

My secretary had to knock twice. ‘Your husband's on the phone.'

‘Darling?'

His hesitant, about-to-ask-a-favour voice: he knew it was my afternoon off. As I waited, I wanted to blurt out the news but I couldn't. My skin tingled with guilt.

‘I've left some scans I need at home. I'm in a meeting I can't get out of, and then it's the neuro-oncology clinic when I need them for the first patient.' I heard him turn away from the phone and sneeze. Asthma again. Stress.

‘And?'

‘They're on the table in the dining room, or maybe the floor by my desk in the study. Megan said she'd go over now if someone could let her in, but it's Sofia's day off.'

‘Can't you give her a key?'

‘I almost did, but then I thought if you were around to offer her a cup of coffee, it would make it seem less of a favour. Have you got time?'

I stood to pack the papers away. ‘You owe me one.'

‘You're an angel. I'll fetch the girls today.' He rang off.

I'd met Megan once in the hospital car park. Middle-aged, hair pulled back tightly, she'd seemed tired, slightly remote. She'd always refused invitations to our Christmas party; I was never quite sure what I had done wrong.

The woman waiting on our doorstep took me by surprise: younger than I'd remembered, auburn hair curling to her shoulders, her smooth face lit up when she saw me. She stepped forward. ‘Thank you so much for coming back specially.'

‘It's kind of you to rescue Adam. Coffee?'

She hesitated, glancing at the neat watch on her wrist.

‘I'm sure he can spare you for another ten minutes. The neuro-oncology clinic starts at two, doesn't it?'

‘You're right. I'd love a quick cup.'

She followed me to the kitchen. ‘I should have sent a reminder last night, but he's normally so careful.'

‘Adam is beyond careful.' I glanced at her as I flicked the kettle on and pulled out two gold-rimmed mugs, the last of a wedding-present set. ‘Does he line his pens up on his desk at work as well?'

She raised her head from unbuttoning her coat. ‘Yes!' Then she blushed: she was wondering if she'd been disloyal.

‘Don't worry.' I took her coat. ‘I won't tell.'

The colour of her dark gold shirt matched her hair exactly. As I put the mug in front of her, I caught the echo of expensive scent. Was this for Adam's benefit? I wondered if he knew. I appraised her again: lovely skin and clear brown eyes, a dimple on her left cheek. Wholesome, self-contained. Not his type, though that was unfair: Adam didn't have a type. As far as I knew he had never glanced at another woman. I saw Megan taking in the polished Aga, the gleaming granite surfaces, the neatly stacked china in the dresser. The mess of the night before had been tidied away. The slate floor was spotless. Sofia was good at making a room look tidy.

‘Lovely house.' Megan's voice was warm.

For a moment I was tempted to pretend I did it all but the truth was easier. Megan had a busy life, she'd understand about priorities. ‘I have help. The kids leave a mess but I never have time to deal with it in the mornings.'

‘Alice and Zoë?' She was studying the large black and white photo of us on the wall taken a couple of years ago. We looked slightly unreal. My hair had been carefully tousled – I could have been in my twenties, not late thirties. The camera had caught Adam as he was laughing. The children were between us, beaming adorably. Megan's eyes tracked rapidly back and forth between the images. ‘Beautiful children.' Her tone was serious.

‘I'm straight out of the door with them in the mornings so … well, you know how it is …' But Megan didn't have children. Wasn't there some issue with her husband's health? Adam must have told me and I'd forgotten.

‘My husband's always at home,' she said and I caught a flicker of emotion in her tone. Defensive, embarrassed.

‘Lucky you. Adam's never here to help. Sometimes I think it's easier without him.'

‘Easier?' She sipped her coffee.

‘If he's not here to help with the kids, at least it means one person less to cook for … kind of cancels out, with the added advantage of no sex when you're tired.' I caught myself. What was I saying? I hardly knew her: my guard must be down. I wasn't used to friendship from women. I didn't know many.

She leant forward. ‘You'll have help in Botswana, I know. I grew up out there.'

So Adam hadn't told her that I wasn't going with him. Was he still hoping I'd change my mind?

‘I've still got some contacts,' she said eagerly. ‘Adam told me he'd be very grateful for anything I could arrange.'

My thoughts flickered between possibilities: was this an innocent offer, or did she know I'd decided not to go and was seeing if she could persuade me? Was this something she was doing for Adam? Maybe why she was here?

‘Actually, Megan, I won't be going,' I said crisply. ‘Adam knows I couldn't possibly uproot the children or take a year away from my job.'

‘Ah. He hadn't told me. I'm sorry.'

It might have been those simple words, her smile or even her hand, which was lying loosely open on the table, but in the little silence that followed, something inside me seemed to unlock. ‘I can't take time out simply because it suits Adam. It's been tough to get to this point. I've had to sacrifice time with the children …' Though last night I'd left the hospital early to catch Alice before bedtime. I sat on her bed as she read; she glanced up and smiled. ‘I thought about you today, Ally,' I said. ‘I had a patient who needed help for her little girl to be born. She had black hair, like you. When you arrived you were so tiny, Dad put you on my tummy.'

Alice pretended to vomit. ‘Yuk. Disgusting.'

I watched her eyes return to her book. ‘Darling, you do know how precious you are …'

But she put her hands over her ears, and burrowed into the pillow. I stroked her back. Normal behaviour, but I sensed we needed days together, weeks probably, time I didn't have. I was organizing the summer conference in obstetrics this year. I'd just have to find extra moments like this where I could.

‘I was made consultant three years ago and I've got research planned.' My voice sounded brittle in the peaceful kitchen. ‘My father made me promise –' I broke off. In a moment I would be telling her I was pregnant.

‘You must feel that everything you've achieved is threatened. I know exactly what that's like.'

Did she? With her round eyes and buttery skin, she seemed sealed in an invisible envelope of calm. It was unlikely she fought the kind of battles I did every day. In the mirror earlier, my face seemed made of angles and shadows. I'd been surprised by the thin lines round my mouth and the strain in my eyes.

‘Andrew worked in the path lab at the hospital while I was studying law, but he kept dropping test tubes and lost his job so …' She gave a little shrug. No wonder they didn't come to parties. I was wrong to think she was unscathed; she'd faced far worse battles than me.

She looked up, smiling. ‘He's at home all the time now, so that's good. He helps with the animals.'

‘Animals?' Did she have a smallholding of some kind? I couldn't imagine her with muddy boots and buckets of feed.

She must have seen the surprise on my face because she laughed. ‘Knitted ones for the hospice children. Andrew chooses the wool. Let me give you a couple for the girls.'

‘Thanks. They'd love that.'

She was making light of her sacrifice, but what she had given up was so far beyond what I would be willing to that it didn't touch how I felt about Adam and Africa.

‘You could carry on working out there. If you change your mind, just let me know. I'm sure I could find someone …' She looked down: the cat had come in and was winding around her legs. She scooped him up and sat down with him on her lap. He was a stray that Zoë had begged to keep, and was usually intolerant of strangers.

‘Careful. He can be nasty with people he doesn't know.'

‘Cats love me.' Richard began to purr loudly. ‘I could look after him if you go.'

I didn't reply and she continued, ‘The children would love it in Botswana. Especially Alice. She could get away from that wretched school.'

I felt my mouth tighten.
Especially Alice? That wretched school?
How much had Adam told her about our family? There was a hovering sense of unease, of boundaries being crossed.

‘That clinic will be starting soon.' I lifted Richard from her arms as I spoke and put him on the floor.