Page 74 of The Fall-Out

‘I agree with Abbie,’ Rowan said. ‘Honestly, Zara, I know it’s tough for you. We’ll all be here for you. But you can’t blame Naomi for what happened. She’s said she would never have deliberately set out to hurt you and I believe her.’

‘I believe you too, Nome,’ Kate said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t for a while. It was unfair of me.’

Zara’s eyes darted round the table, not still like glass any more but like dragonflies in flight, skimming over the surface of water. For a moment, I felt as if I was able to step inside her head, think what she was thinking.

They’ve chosen Naomi. They’ve chosen her over me, same as Patch did.

It wasn’t true, but I could see why she felt that way. Perhaps I’d have felt like that too, in her position.

‘Really, Zara.’ I half-stood, reaching my hands out to her. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so very?—’

‘No, you’re not.’ Her chair scraped back at she got to her feet, the table tilting and the glasses slipping as she leaned over to me, her lips twisted with anger. I could smell cigarette smoke on her breath and perfume on her hair. ‘You’re not one bit sorry. I know women like you – you act like a timid little mouse but you’re a snake. You’ve got what you wanted now. Wait and see if it makes you happy – I know where my money is.’

‘Zara, come on,’ Kate interjected. ‘I know you’re upset, but try and calm?—’

‘Calm down? You’re seriously expecting me to calm down after what she’s done? And all of you falling in line because sweet little Naomi deserves to get what she wants? I’m not going to calm the fuck down and I’m not going to be part of this pathetic little clique for one more minute.’

Zara’s hand swept over the table and for a second I wondered whether she was going to send all our glasses crashing to the floor, like a magician’s trick gone horribly wrong. But she didn’t.

She picked up her bag and drained the last of the wine in her glass, perched her sunglasses on top of her head and looked at us.

‘Girlfriends’ Club,’ she spat. ‘My God. You women wouldn’t know friendship if it bit you in the arse. And it will – just wait and see.’

She wheeled round on her high heels and stalked away, straight through the crowded room to the exit door and out into the street.

There was a moment of dead silence after she left. Then Kate burst into shocked, almost hysterical laughter; Rowan started to cry; Abbie embraced her and found her a tissue. Everyone asked if I was all right, and I said I just hoped Zara was all right. We talked of little else that evening – what we could have done differently, whether Zara would change her mind and whether the friendship could ever recover if she did, whether we should contact her and if so who, and when.

I don’t think I contributed much to the conversation, though. I was torn between guilt, relief and an overwhelming shadow of fear: what if Zara wasn’t done with me yet?

TWENTY-SEVEN

I woke early the next morning, feeling the warmth of Patch’s body in bed next to me, then hearing the trill of his alarm and the rustle of the sheets as he stretched over to snooze it. Still half asleep, I lay still, conscious that something was different – something had happened.

My first realisation was of what hadn’t happened. My house hadn’t burned down. And my children hadn’t woken up in the night.

The idea that the two things might somehow be connected made me sit bolt upright in bed, fear waking me more effectively than any alert on a mobile phone could have done. The events of the previous night came rushing back to me – my talk with Patch, Bridget’s panicked call, the dash home, the discovery that everything was all right. But what if it wasn’t? What if some sort of toxic fumes had been released into the air, and poisoned the twins in their sleep?

I pushed my feet into my slippers, snatched my dressing down off its hook on the back of the door, and stumbled to the children’s room, opening the door slowly and fearfully.

They were both in bed, where I’d left them the night before. As I watched, Meredith turned over, flinging one arm above her head outside the covers. Toby muttered something, reached for Blue Bear, found him, and burrowed deeper under the duvet.

Bewildered, I returned to our room and found Patch sitting on the edge of the bed, yawning, his phone in his hand.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. I mean – nothing’s wrong. It’s just weird. The kids slept through.’

‘What? Are you sure?’

‘They’re both still sparko. This literally never happens.’

‘You don’t sound very pleased about it.’

‘I am. Obviously. But – seriously, how do we even wake them up?’

‘God. You’re right. I have no idea.’

We looked at each other, then started to laugh. Of all the things I’d learned how to do as a parent – change nappies, breastfeed without flashing my tits to all and sundry, pick my battles, all the rest of it – this was a skill I’d never had to acquire. Of course, there might have been the occasional night when one or the other of them hadn’t interrupted my sleep, but they’d always come into our room before I was fully awake, or called for us, or otherwise jerked me out of bed, grumbling and exhausted.

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