I’d drunk too much wine last night. Wanting to blunt the sharp edges of the truth. Nick and I had skirted around each other, pretending everything was fine as we’d prepared a lasagne neither of us could eat, draining a bottle and a half of Shiraz between us, as though this was normal Monday night behaviour. Nick was edgy. Distracted. We dined amongst the ruins of our marriage, staring at Nick’s mobile, which sat between us, dark and silent, along with the Parmesan cheese and the secrets. A last supper, of sorts. As I was getting ready for bed the back garden was suddenly bright. Something had triggered the security light. Or someone. I had stared out of the window watching the bushes sway. A shadow move. But rather than fear I’d felt a certain inevitability. It was always going to fall apart. I was only surprised it had taken ten years.

‘Morning.’ Nick shuffles into the kitchen, smelling of stale alcohol, as I probably do, yawning although he seemed to sleep far better than me. Each time I drifted off, the sound of laughter, of a baby crying, grew louder and louder until I rolled over and pressed my mouth against the pillow and screamed. Nick didn’t stir. Now, he runs a hand over his chin, as though he can’t quite remember whether he has shaved. He hasn’t.

‘Morning. I feel rough.’ That, perhaps, is the only truth I will speak today.

‘Me too. Don’t know what possessed us. On a school night, as well!’ he says as he drops bread into the toaster.

His throwaway comment sets my teeth on edge. There will never be a school run for me. The early morning panic. Pulling together PE kits, locating homework.

Outside, a plane trails a frothy white tail across a clear blue sky, and in the cold light of day I’m beginning to doubt myself. Have I got it wrong? It seems incredible to think Lisa has lied. Growing up there were times she was mischievous, secretive, sometimes, but never malicious. Never cruel. And yet grief bends and breaks the people we were. Moulds us into the people we never wanted to be. Soon I will know, one way or the other, and if Lisa has lied, I don’t know what I’ll be driven to. After all, I’ll have nothing to lose.

‘What are your plans today?’ Nick asks.

It’s a perfectly innocent question but concern bubbles under every word, and I wonder if he wants me out of the way so he can see Clare. See Ada. It stings to think I am no longer the centre of his world, if I ever was. I need to confront him, I know, but I can only deal with one thing at a time.

‘Lisa is coming.’

The toast pops and Nick spreads peanut butter on a slice, thick and crunchy. ‘That’s nice. I’ll try and get home early. Look, I know I’ve been distracted lately but I’m happy about the baby, really. Excited even. It’s getting nearer now. It seems more real somehow.’ He turns to face me. ‘I’m sorry I’ve not been as involved as I should have been. The problems with work… they’re over now. It’s over now.’ He says it with such regret and, as he crosses the room and wraps his arms around me tightly, my resolve crumbles. I find myself hugging him back, hard, and our embrace shouldn’t feel so full of love, but somehow it does.

My skin is pale, tired. I dab foundation on with a sponge. Colour my cheeks a little too pink. Make my lips a little too glossy. Painting on a veneer. The doorbell rings. This is it. Don’t let your mask slip.

Lisa waddles through the door, and I hug her hello, trying not to recoil as I feel her bump hard and round. I can’t believe it is real.

Fake.

Everything about her is fake, I think, as she recounts her journey, the renegade sheep that brought the traffic to a standstill. Her laughter peals as she tells me about the overweight businessman who tried to shoo it back into the field, face beet red, turning on his heels and running back to the safety of the car when the sheep started to chase him.

‘Of course I couldn’t help,’ she says, and I nod my agreement as I fill the kettle. Spoon coffee into mugs.

I study her as we sip our drinks.

‘How’s work?’ I ask, and she nods.

‘Good.’ But she doesn’t elaborate further, and when I ask her to tell me about her favourite patient she changes the subject. Why have I never noticed how evasive she is? She shifts in her seat and the chair creaks.

‘Hope the legs don’t break.’ She grimaces. ‘I’m like a baby elephant now.’ She tells me how she can’t stop eating at the moment. Savoury things. Salty. I wait for her to slip up. Waiting for a sign. But she speaks about the pregnancy as though it is real, and it isn’t until I mention money her eyes bounce around the room, as she looks at everything but me.

‘Do you need more? Are you okay?’ I lean forward. Rubbing her arm reassuringly.

She cups her bump, shaking away my touch. Wincing.

‘He’s kicking like mad!’

Quickly I move to her side. Place both hands on her bump, ignoring her attempts to brush me off. There’s nothing to be felt. No movement. Just this solid, unnatural, mound.

We wait for a moment, trapped in this pretence, until she sighs and says: ‘He’s settled down again now.’

I jerk my hands away as though her words have hurt me, and in a way, they have.

She yawns. Rubs her eyes. ‘Sorry. I’m shattered. Work is so busy. I need to get back this afternoon.’

‘Can’t you stay?’ I pull a face. ‘I miss you.’ Something tugs at my heart as I say this and I know I miss the person she was. Not the person she is now. This Lisa I do not know.

‘I wish I could…’ She looks wistful, and something passes between us. An undercurrent. An understanding? A flicker of what might have been if things had turned out differently.

‘Why don’t you go and have a bath while I make some lunch. It will relax you after your drive.’

‘Oh no. I couldn’t—’

‘Of course you could. I’ve got some Jo Malone bath oil and body lotion I’ve never used. We can catch up properly this afternoon.’

‘It’s tempting. Everything aches.’

‘That’s settled then.’ I stand, urging her to do the same. ‘There’s plenty of hot water so keep topping it up. Lunch won’t be ready for a couple of hours so take your time. You can get changed in the guest bedroom. There’s a spare robe on the back of the door.’

‘You might regret saying that. I could stay in there all day’ Her hands move to the small of her back as though it is sore. ‘Thanks, Kat. You do spoil me.’ She hefts herself to her feet.

‘Oh, Lisa.’ I smile warmth into my words. ‘What was it you said to me? We always get what we deserve.’

* * *

My ear presses against the bathroom door and, once I hear the water slosh, Lisa’s groan of relief as she lowers her body into the tub, I hurry into the spare room and locate her handbag amongst her discarded clothes and tip the contents out on the bed. Tissues, purse, brush, lipstick, car keys, phone. I press the button on the top of the handset and am invited to use touch ID or enter my password. Without consciously thinking I key in ‘0509’ – her birthday – Jake’s birthday – and for a second I am transported back to candle wax on paper plates, mouth crammed full of chocolate sponge with too-sweet-icing, the pass-the-parcel Lisa would always win.

Perching on the bed I open up Lisa’s emails and type ‘Stella’ in the search bar. She’d said Stella sends her updates of Gabrielle and surely she wouldn’t have deleted those. No results are found. My stomach sinks a little lower and I realise I’d still been holding on to a kernel of hope that I am wrong. I open up the photos and type baby in the search bar. The image springs up that Lisa first showed us. The baby in the pink polka dot sleepsuit, starfishing in her cot and there is not a smidgen of doubt in my mind she is the same baby as in the frame upstairs. Next, I scroll through her texts. Names I don’t recognise. A name I do. Aaron. I open the message.

Lisa had texted:

Aaron’s reply.

What has Lisa been lying about since Jake died? I know what she is lying about now: pretending to be pregnant. Her and Aaron must be in it together. How they must have laughed as I blindly handed money over each month, forking out for extras, never questioning what it was for. Or has Aaron forced her somehow? Blackmailed her? What has she been keeping a secret? I think back to these past few months. The times when Lisa has let her guard down and we have reminisced over Desperate Housewives and Curly Wurlys. Bacardi Breezers and Snow Patrol. I can’t believe all this is borne of spite. If I ask her why, she’s not likely to tell me, and I need to know. I need to know what was worth destroying me over, because the bottom has dropped out of my world and destroyed is what I feel. I must keep it together. I don’t have much time.

I rattle off a text to Aaron.

I pace as I wait, tallying the things that could go wrong. Aaron could refuse, if he even gets the texts at all. He could be at work. Not have his phone. There’s a rigidity spreading through me, frustration turning my muscles to stone.

The minutes seem endless but at last the phone vibrates in my hand.

I add my address.

The handset stays silent and dark. I think I’ve gone too far, but I can still claw it back, if he’s desperate to keep Lisa quiet. I send another text.

From the bathroom next door I hear the running of taps as Lisa tops the water up. My heart pounds. I’m hot. Mouth dry. But at last a message comes through.

I hurry into my en suite and turn on the tap and, tipping out our toothbrushes, I fill a glass with water before removing Lisa’s SIM card. I drop it into the glass and slowly swill it around before fishing it out, shaking off the droplets of water before patting it with a towel. Minutes later it feels dry. It looks normal. I slide it back inside the phone, press the power button and smile before I drop the handset back into Lisa’s bag.

Aaron should be here in an hour.

And so it begins.