I HAVE TO get out.
It’s ten o’clock, and Kate is in the bath, Thea has gone back to sleep, and Fatima is working, her laptop open on the table in front of the window, her head bent as she ploughs intently through her emails.
Freya is sitting plump-bottomed on the floor, and I am trying to play with her, quietly so as not to disturb Fatima. I am reading to her from the flap book that she loves, with the little babies playing peekaboo, but I keep forgetting to turn the page, and she bangs the book with her hand and chirrups at me as if to tell me, come on! Turn faster!
‘Where’s the baby?’ I say quietly, but I’m distracted, not properly entering into the game. Shadow is still lying unhappily in the corner, still licking at his muzzle, and all I want to do is snatch Freya up and hug her against me and get her out of here.
Outside I can hear the whine of insects, and I think again of the spilled guts of the sheep, spattered across the walkway. I am just opening the flap to show the baby’s surprised face peeking out, when I see, right by Freya’s chubby, perfect leg, a jagged splinter of wood sticking up out of the floorboard.
This place, where I have spent so many happy hours, is suddenly full of threat.
I stand, picking up Freya who gives a hiccup of surprise and drops the book.
‘I might go for a walk,’ I say aloud. Fatima barely looks up from the screen.
‘Good plan. Where will you go?’
‘I don’t know. Salten village, probably.’
‘You sure? It’s a good three or four miles.’
I suppress a spurt of irritation. I know the distance as well as she does. I walked it often enough.
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ I say evenly. ‘I’ll be fine – I’ve got good shoes, and Freya’s buggy’s quite sturdy. We can always get a taxi back if we’re tired.’
‘OK, well, have fun.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say, letting my annoyance break through, and she looks up and grins.
‘Oops, was I doing that thing? Sorry, I promise I won’t tell you to wear a coat and make sure you’ve done a wee.’
I crack a smile as I strap Freya into her buggy. Fatima could always make me laugh, and it’s hard to be pissed off while you’re grinning.
‘The wee might not be bad advice,’ I say, pulling on my walking sandals. ‘Pelvic floor ain’t what it used to be.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Fatima says absently, tapping out a reply. ‘Remember those Kegels. And squeeze!’
I laugh again, and glance out of the window. The sun is beating down on the glassy, glinting waters of the Reach, and the dunes shimmer with heat. I must remember Freya’s sunscreen. Where did I pack it?
‘I saw it in your washbag,’ Fatima says, speaking around the pencil gripped between her teeth. My head jerks up.
‘What did you say?’
‘Sunscreen, you just muttered it as you were looking through Freya’s nappy bag. But I saw it upstairs in the bathroom.’
God, did I really say it aloud? I must be going mad. Perhaps I’ve got so used to being alone with Freya on maternity leave, I’ve started talking to myself, voicing my thoughts aloud to her at home in the silent flat?
The thought is a creepy one. What else might I have said?
‘Thanks,’ I say briefly to Fatima. ‘Keep an eye on Freya for a sec?’
She nods, and I run upstairs to the bathroom, my walking shoes clomping on the wooden stairs.
When I try the door, it’s locked, and I can hear sloshing from within, and belatedly I remember that Kate is in there.
‘Who is it?’ Her voice is muffled by the door, and echoey.
‘Sorry,’ I call back. ‘I forgot you were in here. I’ve left Freya’s suncream inside – can you pass it out?’
‘Hang on.’ I hear a rush of water, and then the lock clicks, and a slosh as Kate gets back into the tub. ‘Come in.’
I open the door cautiously, but she’s fully submerged beneath icebergs of foam, her hair drawn up into a straggly topknot showing her long slim neck.
‘Sorry,’ I say again. ‘I’ll be quick.’
‘No worries.’ Kate sticks a leg out of the tub and begins to shave it. ‘I don’t know why I locked it anyway. It’s not like it’s anything you lot haven’t seen before. Are you going out?’
‘Yes, I’m going for a walk. Maybe to Salten, I’m not sure.’
‘Oh, listen, if I give you my card, could you get out two hundred pounds so I can pay you and Fatima back?’
I have found the suncream now, and I stand, twisting the cap in my hands.
‘Kate, I – look, Fatima and I … we don’t …’
God, this is hard – how to say it? Kate has always been proud. I don’t want to offend her. How can I say what I’m really thinking, which is that Kate, with her crumbling house and broken-down car, clearly can’t afford two hundred pounds, whereas Fatima and I can?
As I’m scrabbling for the right words, an image flashes sharply into my mind, distracting as a jab from a stray pin when you’re dredging for your purse in your handbag.
It’s the note, slick with blood. Why don’t you throw this one in the Reach too?
I feel suddenly sick.
‘Kate,’ I blurt out, ‘what really happened out there? With Shadow?’
Her face goes suddenly blank, unreadable. It’s like someone has drawn a shutter down.
‘I should have shut the gate,’ she says flatly, ‘that’s all.’ And I know, I know she is lying. Kate has become as remote as a statue – and I know.
We swore never to lie to each other.
I stare at her, half submerged in the cloudy, soapy water, at the uncompromising set of her mouth; thin, sensitive lips, clamped together, holding back the truth. I think about the note that I destroyed. Kate and I both know she is lying, and I am very close to calling her on it – but I don’t quite dare. If she’s lying, it must be for a reason, and I’m afraid to find out what that reason might be.
‘All right,’ I say at last. I’m conscious of my own cowardice as I turn to go.
‘My card’s in my wallet,’ Kate calls as I shut the door behind me. ‘The PIN’s 8431.’
But, as I clatter down the stairs towards Fatima and the still-sleeping Freya, I don’t even try to remember it. I’ve got no intention of taking her card, or her money.