DAY 28
Forgive someone
“I think I’ve changed my mind. Can we turn back?”
“Come on. You know the saying ‘bitterness is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to die.’ And you, my dear Annie, have drunk a whole gallon of it.”
Annie scowled. She liked her poison. It was like strong coffee, dark and stimulating and keeping her going. But here she was, all the same, sitting in the Volvo Polly had borrowed from Milly. “How come we aren’t forgiving someone for you, then, if it’s so important? I bet you have someone you’re angry with.”
Polly screwed her face up. “I’m not quite ready yet.”
“I’m not ready, either.”
“You’ve had longer. And trust me, mine is an utter, utter bastard.”
“You were the one saying we have to forgive people, let go of the poison and so on.” Annie looked at her. “Is it Tom that you won’t forgive?” she risked. “Not that you’ve actually told me who Tom is.”
Polly made another face. “I’m not ready, I said. Anyway. It’s you today. Then I’ll think about me. Come on, it’s the perfect time for it. You’ve seen your old friends, they said Jane feels awful—it’s fate.”
“It’s not fate, it’s you meddling. I wouldn’t even have seen Zarah if you hadn’t set it up.”
“You’d have run into her sometime.”
Annie sighed. Useless to protest. “Fine. But I’m only going to talk to them. I can’t forgive them. Not yet.” Not ever, probably.
After a moment, Polly said, “Tom really is a massive bastard. Trust me.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Annie didn’t like to pry, but did Polly not trust her enough to share her secrets? She knew all of Annie’s. It seemed a little unfair, cancer card or no cancer card. “You can definitely drive, yes?” she said suspiciously as Polly ground the gears.
“’Course I can! Now, which way am I going?”
“Right, then next left. Look where you’re—Christ!” She winced as Polly lurched into the next lane. “Then go straight on.” She remembered the directions to the house so well she could have walked there with her eyes shut: 175 Floral Lane, Ladywell. Even the address sounded auspicious, she used to think. Because this had been her house once. It was destined to be hers when Mike had phoned in excitement, saying he’d found the perfect place, and they’d gone after work to see it, their hands sweaty in each other’s as they viewed the black-and-white hall tiles, the clutches of daffodils in the back garden—Annie’s favorite. She’d even tried to call it Daffodil Cottage for a while, but Mike thought it was daft and the postman could never find it. It had been hers when they’d found a chesterfield sofa in an antiques shop and when they’d sanded down the wooden floors with a big noisy machine they’d hired, so powerful it pulled Annie off her feet. And it had been hers when she brought Jacob home from the hospital, his rose-petal face peeking out from his bassinet.
But now it wasn’t hers; it was Jane’s. Jane and Mike. “What if they’re not home?”
Polly swung the car around the corner, almost knocking down a lamppost. “It’s Sunday, of course they’ll be home. They’ll be doing flat-pack furniture and Jamie Oliver recipes, like all suburban couples.”
“Thanks for reminding me. And watch the road! Jesus!” A small terrier narrowly avoided death under the wheels. “When exactly did you get your license?”
“Years and years ago. Relax, would you? I have cancer, car accidents hold no fear for me.”
“But I don’t!”
“Now who’s rubbing things in? Look, you’ll just say hello, and that you wanted to speak to them because it’s been a long time and you’re sorry you fell out and you think it’s time you all healed and let go of the past. Then you hug.”
“I am not saying that. They’ll think I’ve joined a cult or something.” Which she had, in a way, she thought, reflecting on the last few weeks. The cult of Polly. “Anyway, I’m not sorry we fell out. It was entirely their fault.”
“Annieeeee—this isn’t in the spirit of reconciliation, is it? You must have done something you regret.”
Annie thought of the long angry emails she’d sent them both, when she’d drunk too much wine, saying how much she hated them and hoped they’d catch ebola. “Um, I don’t know.”
“Just say you forgive them, then. It’s the greatest gift you could give.”
But Annie didn’t forgive them. And as they drew nearer to what had been her home, the familiar streets and shops, she felt the anger she still carried inside her like a dark child. But she’d come this far—she’d started something—and she knew she couldn’t be friends with Zarah and Miriam again unless she at least tried to talk to Jane. “Turn here. It’s the last one on the left: 175—175, I said.” Polly had massively overshot. Annie saw the way she was screwing up her eyes and a horrible thought occurred. “Can you not see or something?”
“It’s fine!”
“Polly!”
“Okay, okay, I’m having some sight problems. Bob is pressing on my optic nerve, that’s all.”
Annie closed her own eyes briefly. “Jesus. I’m driving home. This is it, anyway.”
“It’s cute! I love the bay windows, and the slate tiles.”
Annie used to curl up in those windows and daydream on cold winter days. She’d imagined Jacob doing the same when he was older, reading a book or watching a film. And maybe another kid or two, as well. Ghost children now, just like Jacob, never to be born. “Too bad I don’t live there anymore. Well, I guess we better get this over with. Are you coming with me?”
Polly shook her head. She’d parked with one wheel up the curb. “I’ll stay here, and listen to the top tunes of Magic FM. Life really was too short for Radio 3. I wish I’d known.”
What would she say? What if they threw her out? On the path she looked back nervously, to see Polly headbanging away to the radio. She noticed with a sort of strange mix of satisfaction and sorrow that they’d let all her flower beds overflow, weeds crowding out the delicate bulbs and seedlings she’d nurtured. She raised her hand to ring the bell but it stayed frozen in midair. She glanced back to Polly again, who had wound down the window, letting out the banging beats of the Backstreet Boys. “Cancer card!” she hollered. Annie cringed and pressed the bell.
No one answered for ages, and a terrible relief was growing in Annie’s stomach, when suddenly she heard steps approaching on the other side of the door. “Coming!” Jane’s voice. One that she’d once heard every day, on the phone if not in person. Dissecting boyfriends, jobs, Annie’s wedding plans and the plot of the latest Grey’s Anatomy.
This was a terrible idea. Then it was too late, because Jane was opening the door, and Annie didn’t know what to look at first. Her former best friend, two years older, a little more lined and gray, in pajama bottoms and a big baggy jumper. Or the swelling bump beneath the jumper, which Jane’s hand rested on, her wedding ring glinting. Oh, God. Why hadn’t Annie considered this possibility?
Jane was pregnant.
* * *
It was a strange thing, to go into a house that used to be yours and now wasn’t. The furniture and even many of the books in the living room were the same, but a framed picture of Jane’s wedding sat on top of the TV instead of Annie’s. Same groom, too. But it was a lot untidier—Annie had once been so house-proud, strange as it was to remember—and there were empty coffee cups and magazines strewn around the room. There was also a mat that was clearly for a child on the floor. It was designed like a garden, with embroidered butterflies and birds and flowers. Getting ready for their baby. Mike and Jane’s baby. When Annie spoke, her voice was thin ice on a river of tears. “I didn’t know.”
Jane looked stricken. “No. We tried not to put anything online, in case... I told Mike he should tell you. But...you know.”
We. The two short letters knifed at Annie. “I’m sorry to just turn up like this.”
Jane busied herself tidying up some magazines. “Have you come...um, did you come to pick something up?”
“No. It isn’t that.” Oh, God, how to explain. “Could I sit down a sec, Jane? I just want to chat. Is that okay?”
Jane paused, and Annie shamefully relived the last time she’d been at this house, the day she’d left, screaming and shouting on the front path about how Jane was a home-wrecker and Mike a dirty cheat. “Okay. I guess it’s about time.” She nodded to the sofa. “Why don’t you...?”
It was the same sofa. Annie had paid for this, a lovely cracked red leather, and yet the only sofa she had now was that awful pleather one she’d got from a British Heart Foundation shop. She tried not to mind as she sat down. Mike had felt so bad he’d offered her the house and everything in it, but she’d been too proud to take a penny. When she’d first moved out she didn’t even own any spoons; she’d been so determined to walk away from her old life and leave everything behind.
“Tea?”
“Um, no, thank you.” Annie wasn’t sure how long Jane would let her stay once she started talking. “So I suppose you must be wondering why I—”
“It is a bit odd, yes.” Jane bent down to pick up a dirty cup, hair hiding her face. It was still blond, but showing more gray in the roots now. Once it had been Jane on the sofa, Annie the flushed and happy hostess, getting ready for the birth of her child. It was the only time in her life when she hadn’t felt secretly jealous of Jane—who, after all, had grown up with siblings, a nice house and a father—and when she’d felt at peace. If anything, Jane had seemed slightly lost, the name of a different man on her lips every time, tears catching in her throat when she talked. And Annie was always there to listen, provide tissues and tea and hugs. Funny. When Jane stopped moaning about her love life Annie had thought she was finally happy with being single, moving on. But really she was moving on to Mike.
Annie said, “Well. I guess I’ve been doing sort of...a lot of soul-searching recently.”
“Oh,” said Jane.
“So I wanted to come and ask you...try to understand what happened. With you and me and...him.”
“You saw Zar and Miriam. Right?”
“Yeah. They said you—that you felt bad.”
“Annie, I feel so bad I could just die. But you have to know I didn’t plan it. Mike and I...” Annie winced. She used to say that same phrase. Mike and I. My husband, Mike. “You and him were already...just so broken, and so was I, and you were gone, out of reach somehow, and he just needed someone to talk to, and before I knew it we were...and now I’m...well.”
“I can see.” Annie stared at the bump. “How long?”
Jane put both hands on her belly, a gesture Annie recognized so well. “Seven months or so.”
The baby inside would be fully formed already, fists and feet curled in on themselves. Jacob’s little feet had been like that, tiny mice inside his blue and green socks. Everything safe, and cozy, and pastel. Annie swallowed, hard. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose,” she said (though she wasn’t entirely convinced). “But I’d lost everything. My baby, then my husband, my house...and you, too. I had nothing, Jane.”
Jane wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about Jakey...you know how much I loved him. I was such a mess afterward.”
Annie felt like screaming, Don’t you say his name! But she bit her tongue. Jane had been a brilliant godmother, visiting every week, taking hundreds of adoring pictures.
Jane sniffed. “It must have been horrendous for you. I can’t even imagine it. But what happened with us...it was an accident, and I didn’t mean it. I just fell in love. I know that was selfish. I just loved him so much. I fell so hard and I didn’t know what to do.”
“You’re happy? The two of you?” It would be three soon. She wondered if they were using Jacob’s room. Painting over the stencils she’d done of happy ducks and teddies.
Jane hesitated, then nodded guiltily. “I think so, anyway. I mean, I’ve been sick and knackered...” She stopped herself, as if aware of who she was talking to. “I’m sorry. I guess you don’t want to hear it’s hard being pregnant.”
“I remember.” It was hard having a baby, too. It was easy to forget that sometimes, so deep was her longing to have Jacob back. It felt like a betrayal, to even remember the feeling of walking around this very room with him, screaming in her ear, depositing snot and tears all over her, as 3:00 a.m. turned into 4:00. A deep sorrow came over Annie. “It wasn’t your fault, what happened to Jakey. But, Jane—I think it was the final straw, what you did. The final thing that broke me.”
Jane made a noise, a sort of ugly snort, and Annie saw she was crying, her face screwed up. Her own river of tears was shifting, moving dangerously under the ice. But no, she and Jane weren’t going to cry in each other’s arms, and they weren’t going back to being best friends. “I’m so sorry,” Jane said in her strangled crying-voice. “I miss you so much. I did such a terrible thing.”
Annie’s heart was so heavy it felt like a full bucket of water. “I better go.” She couldn’t stay here any longer, in this lovely house that was once hers. It was all so bloody unfair. Jane had her house, her husband and now a baby. And Annie had...nothing. For a second she imagined another world, one where Jane was pregnant with someone other than Annie’s ex-husband. How happy Annie would have been for her. The loss of it—not just Jacob but Jane, and this baby to come, too—squeezed her heart in its fist. Could she imagine a time when she was part of their life? Went to the child’s birthday parties, sent gifts?
She looked up at the ceiling. “Are you using...will you be using his room?”
“There’s nowhere else.” Jane was biting her lip. “I’m sorry. We’d have moved except for, you know...house prices and—”
“It’s okay.” Of course they’d use it—where else would they put the baby?—but all the same it hurt. It stung like an open cut.
As Annie went to the door it suddenly opened with a scrape, and standing there was Mike. He held the key in midair, almost comically, his face an O of surprise. Annie quickly took in that he, too, had aged—his hairline was farther back, and his stomach larger under his polo shirt and jeans. “Annie?” His hands were full of Waitrose bags-for-life. So he’d finally started remembering to bring them.
“Hi, Mike.”
His head swiveled to Jane. “Babe, has she...?”
Babe. That was like a blade in Annie’s stomach. She watched them have a quick silent conversation, the kind she used to have with him.
Did she cause a scene again?
No, it’s fine.
Annie couldn’t face another emotional showdown. She forced her mouth into a smile, or at least a pointing-up direction. “I need to go. Thanks for chatting to me, Jane. Con—” The word thickened in her mouth. “Congratulations. Bye.”
She left them standing in the doorway, soon to be a little family of three, and as she walked down the path she heard Mike say, “There’s some madwoman singing along to the Grease megamix in that car over there.”