The next few days were difficult between them. Ben was tight-lipped about the extra shift but mumbled, when he got home unusually exhausted and a little hotter and sweatier than normal, about having to do it again the next week, looking odd about the whole thing – a sort of embarrassed secrecy or something. Which was strange, because he usually loved any chance to do overtime for the extra cash.
Even though he’d promised her nothing was wrong… nothing at all… he was distracted and quiet.
She could hardly say she was any better. The blood test had been easy, but the waiting was killing her. More for Lissa than herself, because the counsellor had said the likelihood of them finding anything unusual or significant in Charlotte’s DNA was remote. Not that she could tell him any of this, she just had to work through it herself. Which meant she was being quieter than normal too.
Life. So complicated all of a sudden. One little, benign lump had led her down a path away from her friends and family and towards something unknown and uncertain. Something that had her second-guessing everything. But she could make things right again. She could.
So, it was the measure of just how much she felt things needed fixing that she was standing astride her rusty old bike, strapping her helmet onto her head and plastering a smile on her face. If the man wanted to go on a bike ride on his day off instead of decorating, who was she to disagree?
They’d parked the car round the corner from Finsbury Park station, where the track started, and wheeled their bikes to an overbridge painted in bold blues, reds and oranges. Ahead of them the path, a disused railway line, was almost flat, and nice and wide, and stretched out for miles.
‘Ready?’ Ben snapped his helmet on and hoisted his leg so he, too, was straddling his bike. The tight, bright-green lycra cycling shirt he wore hugged all kinds of rippling muscles, which pulled her eyes to him. When he’d suggested doing this she’d almost baulked, but he’d looked so enthusiastic about doing something together, away from paint fumes and wedding things, she’d just had to say yes. And if it meant they got to spend some time together doing something different, then that had to be a good thing, right? Even if he was still clearly unimpressed with her and she was still bloody angry at him. Which never happened. Which made her feel a zillion times worse about everything.
He carried on talking, ‘Watch out for pedestrians. The Parkland Walk is very popular with families and they don’t always look where they’re going – especially down by the tunnels where there’s a lot to see on the walls.’
‘On the walls? What does that mean?’
‘Graffiti’ He shrugged. ‘Also known as urban wall art or something. Apparently it’s good stuff. Strange, really. You can do it here and get rewarded… whereas usually I’m just arresting or cautioning kids for doing it elsewhere. Doesn’t make sense.’
Not a lot did these days, to be honest – not least, things between them. ‘Okay. Well, if it’s good we should definitely look.’ Normally she’d agree with him and laugh it off, or disagree and tease, but now there was a veneer of politeness and minding p’s and q’s between them that was stiff and difficult.
She pressed down on her right pedal and pushed off; all the upset of the last few days was enough to heft a good deal of effort into her movements. She started with a flourish and quickly found her rhythm, but the path was wide enough for them to ride side by side and he clearly had much more strength than she did as he caught her up after two turns of her wheel.
The route took them behind rows and rows of Victorian terraces, just like theirs, but overlooking gardens a lot neater and more established. Further along, embankments rose at either side of the track where fledgling trees and flowered borders made Charlotte think she was almost – almost – about to cycle into the bliss of countryside. If only the toots and horns of London transport weren’t there to snap her immediately back to being in one of the busiest cities in the world. But here, hidden by nature, she felt almost as if she could breathe better already.
They pootled along, flanked now and again by tunnels and walls covered in flamboyant, bright, jagged drawings and writing that gave the whole area a vibrant, edgy feel. The sun beat down on their backs and they got into a steady rhythm that was bearable – if hunching forward on a pointy seat while moving your legs up and down fast could ever be described as bearable.
Presently, Ben slowed to talk. ‘Oh, forgot to say; keep an eye out for the ghost when we get to Crouch End.’
‘Chasing ghosts? I didn’t sign up for that. I thought we were just going on a boring old bike ride.’
‘Mwahaha! You never know what’s going to happen when I’m around.’ He tipped back his head and laughed. It was the first time she’d heard it in days. It was lovely. Hopeful. Okay, maybe a little forced. Clearly he was trying to shatter the tension too, possibly a little too hard. ‘Expect the unexpected.’
‘Don’t worry, I always do.’ She kept her eyes peeled for a jokey, sheet-covered prankster or something, her heart edging just a little faster, even though she didn’t imagine for a second that the ghost would be real. But who knew? London had plenty of ghost hunters and ghost trails… she shivered, suddenly cold, and pedalled a little faster.
She was the first to see it. Protruding from a wall high above them was a mossy-green-coloured gargoyle figurine carved out of stone, made to look as if it was climbing out of the bricks. ‘There! There’s the ghost! Or at least, a figure. Is that it?’
‘I reckon it is.’ Ben laughed. ‘Word is, they had a real ghost here back in the day and kids used to dare each other to come and scare themselves half to death trying to catch sight of it.’
‘I’m not surprised they were scared to death if it looked like that.’ She regarded the face of the man, almost imp-like with curly horns. ‘Creepy smile.’
‘Popular, though, like I said.’
There were plenty of people mooching about, stopping periodically to look at the figure, meaning Charlotte had to swerve more than once to avoid a collision.
‘Whoa!’ She swung her bike to the right as a small child veered across her path, then toddled off happily back to his mother as if a near-death situation hadn’t just happened. The boy’s mum waved an apologetic hand and Charlotte tried to wave back, wobbled and nearly hit the bank. ‘Yikes!’
With her heart hammering hard she pulled on the brakes and stopped, and Ben did the same. His face was ashen. ‘You okay?’ He grabbed a water bottle from its holder and offered it to her.
She put a hand over her heart to slow it. ‘I thought I was going to kill him. Talk about scared to death.’
Her man smiled. Genuine. ‘You did good. The mum looked terrified too, but I bet she’ll keep hold of his hand from now on. Must be hard with a baby slung across her middle and a little one.’
Charlotte’s bumping heart pinged at the thought of the baby. Lissa came hurtling back into her head, the desolate look in her eyes at the thought of being pregnant. The way she’d flinched as the needle had punctured her skin. The words the counsellor had used to both of them. Don’t think about the outcome until you get the result. Don’t worry about things you have no control over. Try to live your normal life and we’ll deal with everything when you come back.
She shoved it all away. Today was for her and Ben, and that smile that said let’s try harder and make things better.
Thing was, they’d never had to try before. Things had come so naturally to them. She was exhausted with trying to make things better, exhausted with trying to find out more about who she was, and exhausted with thinking. The only thing she knew was that she loved this man with all her heart, but she could see him slipping away from her and that was the one thing in the whole world she didn’t want to happen. She was torn between being true to herself and true to him.
After she’d slaked her thirst she tossed the bottle back to him. ‘So, where does this track end up?’
‘Alexandra Palace, but we go through Muswell Hill first… oh, and Highgate.’ He was watching her reaction, examining her face… trying to hide it, and failing. Thank God he wasn’t a detective yet; the poker interrogating face needed work.
Highgate. So close to Carol’s. Fingertip distance. Was this a test or something to see how Charlotte would react at being near her birth mother? See if she’d go off on a tangent? She decided she resolutely wouldn’t. ‘Oh, Alexandra Palace? Gosh, I haven’t been there in years.’
He looked patently relieved. ‘Yeah… I think the last time was the darts tournament a few years ago, right?’
But test or not, her head was tiptoeing back to the café. To her mum’s face. To the questions. The blood test results tomorrow. Charlotte tugged her focus back. ‘Yeah. Great night. Lots of fun.’ She watched a group of older walkers stop to look at the gargoyle, laugh, then tramp on by. ‘So, how did you find out about this track?’
‘Mouse.’
‘Of course, good old Mouse.’ Just the mention of Malachi O’Brien had her grabbing on to something mutually familiar. A benign subject that wouldn’t cause any ruckus and would hopefully unite them a little; Ben’s best friend from primary school. Somewhere along the way he’d been given the nickname Mouse and it had stuck. She never had really understood the why. Just like Ben, he’d come over from Ireland and stayed and was as much a part of Ben’s life as Lissa was of Charlotte’s. ‘That man seems to know everything about everything.’
‘Which is why he’s my best man. Who else would I put in charge of organising the stag weekend? Or keeping the rings safe?’
‘And keeping you safe. At least with Mouse in charge I know you’ll get back home from Dublin.’
‘Not necessarily in one piece.’ Ben’s eyebrows rose. ‘But I’ll be home.’
Other than complaining about not going on the naked cruise Ben hadn’t talked much about the stag weekend, insisting the wedding was far more important. Charlotte sat down on the embankment siding, stretching her legs out in the dappled sunlight. ‘Are you looking forward to it?’
‘Of course. It’ll be grand to go back to all our old haunts.’ Squeezing the bottle back into its holder he smacked his lips together. ‘Er… actually, I was wondering about Mouse and Lissa… you know… best man and chief bridesmaid. Just putting it out there.’
‘Well, they have to walk down the aisle together after the service, and they’re both witnesses. They get on okay, don’t they? I mean, they’re not best buddies or anything but I think they tolerate each other. At least, she’s never said anything either way, good or bad.’ Actually, Charlotte had the impression Lissa thought Mouse was dull but safe, but she wasn’t going to say that to his best mate. Mouse was the polar opposite of Lissa in every way. ‘She’s a bit intimidating, I’ll grant you. But she’ll be fine. I’m sure she knows wedding etiquette and, if not, I can have a quiet word with her.’
‘I wasn’t meaning whether they’d get on. More… get it on, if you know what I mean.’ Ben’s pupils flared. ‘Mouse hasn’t been himself since he broke up with Tasha. He’s moping about and I thought… you know, wondered…whether it was a possibility? You know… him and her. Could you suss her out?’
Men. Seriously. No class. ‘Has he asked you to do this?’
‘No. I just… well, I thought…’ Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t know what I thought.’
‘Lissa and Mouse? Really? Absolutely not. No. Not at all.’
‘He’s not a bad-looking bloke. Is he? How would I know? But he’s not terrible.’
‘No, he’s not terrible.’ She thought about tall, shy Mouse and his IT job that kept him inside all hours. His pale complexion that was in desperate need of sunshine. How he was more comfortable with numbers than nubiles, with a Word document than spoken words – especially where talking to women was concerned. Apart from the fact he was so not Lissa’s type in any shape or form, there was the DJ guy to think of and… the pregnancy. ‘He’s really not her type. And I’m not sure a goth-inspired, strong, opinionated woman is his either. Let’s leave the matchmaking to the experts, shall we?’
‘You’re probably right.’
‘She’d eat him alive.’
‘Yes, and he’d probably like that.’
‘I have no doubt. But Lissa wouldn’t.’ What was she going to do about the pregnancy? Was she even pregnant? Charlotte had never seen her looking so depressed and now Ben wanted to throw a completely inappropriate man at her. ‘It’s a stupid idea, actually. She wouldn’t be interested in Mouse… or anyone at the moment. Just leave her alone.’
Ben’s eyes flashed as he sat back in his saddle and regarded her, his hands crossed over his chest. ‘Hey… you don’t have to take that tone. It was only a suggestion.’
She hadn’t realised she’d taken any kind of tone. ‘Oh? What tone?’
‘You’re so on edge at the moment.’
‘I wonder why, with you snapping at me.’ Just like that, the moment of peace and harmony dissolved.
She should have told him about going for the blood test. She should have talked to him about it all instead of Lissa. In fact, she shouldn’t have gone in the first place – and hiding the little round plaster for a few hours under a long-sleeved T-shirt had felt like a double deception.
They wouldn’t find anything; there was nothing to find. Her blood mother was still alive, after all – and clearly well. There was nothing to worry about.
But still she was worried.
And then there was Lissa…
Ben’s eyes widened. ‘I’m either walking on eggshells these days, or talking to a brick bloody wall. I thought a trip out might be nice, but here we are again growling. You’re so stressed and quiet but you won’t offload. That’s what I’m here for, right? What the hell is…’ He flashed a fake smile at a lady walking a tiny dog who was staring at Charlotte and Ben as if they were providing entertainment free-to-air. Ben turned back to Charlotte, palms raised. His face said it all, then his words hit home. ‘I’m at a loss these days. Honestly. Completely at a loss as to what to do.’
Charlotte looked down at her feet and felt the swell of sadness roll up through her gut to her throat. Everything would be fine, she’d thought, if they shifted out of their rut, if they changed up what they did and came on this bike ride. Everything would be fine if they spent some time together, just the two of them, and steered away from awkward subjects. But everything was not fine. Lies lingered and guilt swallowed up her positivity and worry ate at her. She still didn’t know what was going on with the overtime, but she suspected he wasn’t being exactly honest about that and she didn’t know why – it wasn’t like him. But she wasn’t being honest either. For good reasons.
Maybe he had good reasons too. He was a good man. They had a good thing going here. Most of the time. She reached deep for a reassuring, apologetic tone. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t even know I was snapping.’
He sighed. ‘It feels like I just irritate you, or that you don’t want to be with me half the time. Or you’d rather be alone with whatever’s going on in your head.’
‘Don’t be silly, of course I want to be with you. I’m sorry. It feels like I’m saying that a lot these days but I genuinely mean it. And I’m sorry if I annoyed everyone at the pub the other night too.’
A shoulder rose. ‘Nah, they take it far too seriously. I’ll have a word with them if you like, get them to lay off you?’
‘Oh no. No. Niamh was right. My head was somewhere else. I guess I have to do that live-in-the-moment thing. If only the moment wasn’t filled with so many lists.’ And secrets and lies and babies and blood tests…
Ben straightened up. ‘Well, only a few more weeks and there won’t be this pressure. It’ll just be the two of us. On honeymoon. In Crete.’ He didn’t say it, he didn’t have to, but they both thought it. Eating marshmallows and salt and vinegar crisps. Always, those thoughts tugged them closer.
Except now.
She thought about the zigzagging of their conversation and the heightened tension and quick reactions and didn’t feel much closer to him at all.
This was terrible. Her throat filled with regret and longing at their lost way. She fitted on a smile. ‘I cannot wait for Crete.’
‘Me neither.’ There was a long pause and she wondered what was going through his mind and knew it would be very different to what was going on in hers. Was he wondering how they’d get on after the wedding? Was he thinking about the suspicious overtime? There was so much distance they needed to breach. She supposed they should have got back on their bikes – she had a class to get back for after all, but she didn’t want to move. Didn’t know what to do for the best. But after a few minutes he said, ‘Okay, hop on your bike. Let’s get going or you’ll be late for work.’
‘Okay.’ She dragged herself from the bank, her limbs feeling heavy and slow like her heart.
He waited for her to hitch back into the seat then began to pedal next to her, nice and steady. It seemed they were better at talking when they were side by side doing things, rather than opposite each other examining each other’s gestures and tone. ‘Right, Charl, let’s try this in-the-moment thing. We had a seminar about it at work – supposed to help with focus or concentration or something. Just made me sleepy, to be honest. But… okay, d’you know what I’m grateful for?’
She was grateful for the fact he was still trying to make things better, that he wanted to. ‘No, Mr Mindful… what? The sunny day? Having two good legs to pedal your bike? Living in a great city that lets people draw on the walls and calls it art?’
‘Oh yes. All of the above. But there’s more… a lot more.’ There was the ghost of a tease in his eyes. She loved that he could do that; could forgive and try to move on. ‘I’m glad we didn’t do that let’s wait until we’re married stuff before we had sex. I don’t know how other people do that. There is no way I could have waited.’ He let her pass him and whistled softly. ‘I mean, just look at that great ass—’
‘Benjamin.’ She craned her neck to look back at him, feeling tentative seeds of hope. ‘You’re supposed to love the inside me. The outside could change. Probably will if we have kids. Definitely will as we get older. Who knows what’s going to happen?’
‘Nah. I’ll still fancy you. Whatever.’ He ran his hand across his belly. ‘But will you still fancy me in my fifties and still wearing lycra?’
She pulled a face. Trying to lift her mood. Trying. Trying. The more he tried, the more it hurt. ‘God help us all if that’s going to happen. I’ll fancy you for ever, but just so you know… I like the inside you more.’
‘Er… honey…’ He pointed to his pecs, lower… a lot lower. ‘I know exactly what you like… okay? And it is most definitely on the outside.’
Her cheeks burned but she laughed. It felt as if they’d been waiting too long to flirt. She squeezed the brake a little and slowed down until they were side by side again. ‘And I know what you like too…’
‘In which case, I cannot wait until tonight.’ He grinned, winked. Blew her a kiss. A promise. And even though the bike was wobbly, things felt just a little more steady in her heart. If only she could forget all those things in her head that reminded her they were far from on an even keel. That he’d been irritated by her more times in the last few weeks than any at time in their relationship.
He did a dramatic inhale, filling his lungs and huffing out, looking rather pleased with himself. ‘Feels good to be outside, right?’
‘Yes. It does, actually, and nice to look at all the different plant colours instead of staring into a white paint pot.’ She inhaled deeply too, drew the fresh air deep into her lungs and made herself smile. They’d work their way through this. ‘Great idea to come and do this.’
‘I know. I have them a lot.’
‘Good ideas? Yes, you do.’ Apart from the one that involved risking his job. ‘Most of the time.’
Seemed he was on her wavelength. ‘Yeah. I know. I did a stupid thing and, looking at it from your point of view, I get that it seemed like I had a trust issue or something. For the record, I don’t. I do trust you. I’m just… I don’t know, confused, left out of your life at the moment, left behind… things seem to be going off at a tangent and I’m not good with that.’
‘I know. I don’t want to go there again, and I understand you did it out of good intentions… but don’t ever dare do anything like that again. I know what I’m doing.’
If she’d known what hackles were, she’d have seen them rising on his back, or shoulders, or wherever hackles rose. ‘Okay. I know. It’s over to you. I’m backing right away on this one.’
‘I mean… we’re going to be so close to Carol’s café and I did think about calling in. You could meet her…’ As soon as the words came out she regretted them. The eggshells were crunching as she verbally tiptoed over them, fracturing the fragile entente cordiale they’d created. That he’d created, really. ‘I…’ She shook her head, brushing some loose hair back underneath her helmet. ‘Silly idea.’
‘Can’t we just have one day where… no, no clearly we can’t… I thought we were making progress. I was trying… this is so hard.’ His eyelids fluttered closed in irritation. ‘Talk about chasing ghosts. You’re chasing bloody ghosts, Charlotte, left, right and centre. Ever since you saw her you’ve been quiet. Weird. Secretive almost. I don’t know, I can’t explain it. But something’s not right.’
Because of the shock of meeting Carol. The blood test. The pregnancy test. Keeping it all away from both Ben and Eileen. And then there was the strange overtime thing that didn’t add up. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Is it?’ He looked uncertain. Searching. ‘Because if you want to spend time thinking about Carol, and stuff you can’t change, instead of the bloody wedding favours, then fine. Do that. But...’ He didn’t seem to know what to say. He didn’t understand.
She gripped the handlebars until her knuckles were white. Fighting and fighting the tension rising inside her. But she couldn’t keep it locked away like she did with Eileen. Ben had a track right to her very core. She had to make him understand. ‘I’m not thinking about Carol. Well… not all the time. I’m thinking about me. About my future. About what kinds of things I can tell our kids about who we are. I want to fit my jigsaw puzzle pieces together. You’re all right, you have all your pieces neatly in place. I just want to know who I am.’
He huffed out a long, deep sigh. ‘We’ve been over and over this, Charl. You know who you are.’
‘So, why does it feel like there’s parts of me missing? Why were you so against me finding Carol? Why are you so scared?’
He reared back. ‘I’m not scared. I admit I was wary at first, because I didn’t want you to get more stressed on the back of the whole lump thing right before your wedding. Thing is, you once told me you keep a part of yourself away from Eileen because you don’t want to upset her. You keep the peace. You work so hard at it that you’re not honest about how you’re feeling half the time.’ His jaw clenched as he thought. Then he spoke carefully. ‘I reckon it’s because you feel rejected by Carol and don’t want the same thing to happen with Eileen. But now you want to get to know the very person who’s the root cause of that.’
So he kind of understood, wanted to understand, he just didn’t like it. He didn’t want Eileen’s boat rocked, but he didn’t want his own rocked either. ‘I know, it probably sounds crazy.’
‘You tell me. You’re not the first to want to do it, and you won’t be the last.’ He looked confused all over again. And hurt. ‘What is crazy is how much of your time you spend thinking about it. How much you let it distract you from everything else. From us, Charlotte. From Eileen, from your friends, and yes, from the stupid pub quiz. And I get to wondering whether you’re being fully honest with me too. Because it’s like you wish you were somewhere else. With someone else. With some imagined family or something. Like I’m not enough for you.’
We’re a family, he’d said. Isn’t that enough? And she hadn’t agreed with him. By looking for more parts of her she’d hurt him.
He threw her a look that was part sad, part angry, and all kinds of desolate, then jabbed his heel down onto his pedal and sped off.
They’d almost made things better. But now she was left feeling worse than ever.