Page 49 of The Fall-Out

‘It’s a start,’ I told myself, closing my laptop and putting it back in the drawer where it had languished for so long. As I closed the drawer, I gave its aluminium casing a pat and whispered, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back.’

Then I put on my coat and hurried out to walk to nursery, my mind already on what I was going to feed the twins and, later, Patch and myself.

A few hours later, the dishwasher gurgling softly in the background, we were on the sofa, Patch flicking idly through the channels on the TV. I’d had a couple of glasses of wine, Patch’s arm was around my shoulders, and I found myself overwhelmed with an urge to confide in him about my worries.

‘Patch, there’s something weird going on.’

‘What, with the kids? Why didn’t you?—?’

‘Not with the kids. Well, no weirder than usual. With the Girlfriends’ Club.’

‘Really?’ He found a football match, a replay of some European game that neither of us had any particular interest in watching – certainly not me – and turned the sound down a bit.

‘You know how we chat every day on WhatsApp? Just about how our days are going, stuff like that?’

‘Look at that. Blatant foul. That referee needs to go to Specsavers. Yeah, you chat every day and stuff.’

‘Recently, it’s been kind of quiet. It’s like…’ It’s like all the usual chat is going on somewhere else instead. Somewhere I don’t know about. But I could barely articulate that thought, even to myself – it made me feel all strange inside, cold and sick and frightened.

‘People are busy. Hell, we’re busy.’

Except I wasn’t busy. No busier than usual, anyway. And as far as I was aware, my friends weren’t either.

‘It’s like, since Andy’s funeral, something’s different.’

‘Of course it’s different. It’s a lot to process, right? Losing a mate, at our age. That stuff’s not meant to happen yet. Not for years and years.’

‘Sure. But normally, after something big like that, we’d talk more, not less.’

‘But there’s no “like that”, is there? It’s not like this has ever happened bef— What a goal! Get in!’

My voice small, I said, ‘I don’t think it’s about Andy. You know, next week’s the second Wednesday of the month and no one’s made plans for the Girlfriends’ Club. That never happens. I think it’s something to do with Zara.’

Like always, I said her name cautiously, as if she was Lord Voldemort. It was a habit I’d developed early, and sustained so long it was automatic now.

‘What about her?’ Patch asked, equally warily.

‘I’m worried that now she’s back, they’ll want to be friends with her and not want to be friends with me any more.’ As soon as I’d said it, I realised how pathetic it sounded.

‘What, and you’re also worried Mrs Jones will put you in detention because you got caught smoking behind the bike sheds?’

‘Stop it. I know it seems so childish and dumb but it feels real. You know what Zara’s like – you know her better than anyone. She’s used to getting what she wants and I know her – she might still be mad at me because of what happened way back when, and if she decides she wants to take things that are mine then she will.’

I sniffed and pulled a tissue out of the sleeve of my jumper to wipe my nose. I’d wiped Meredith’s with it earlier, but that didn’t seem to matter much right now.

‘Nome, you’re being ridiculous. Come on. Zara’s just a girl – a woman, even – she’s not some wicked fairy going to turn up at the feast and curse everyone. Or however it goes in those stories that give the kids nightmares.’

‘She did though. She turned up at Andy’s funeral.’

‘And have we been cursed?’

‘I don’t know yet.’

‘Come on,’ he said again. ‘Come here.’

I edged closer to him on the sofa and he put his arm round my shoulder and pulled me against him. The warmth of his body felt comforting, but also not – the fact I felt like I needed to be comforted and protected was unsettling in itself.

I turned my head and buried my face in his shoulder, so when I spoke my voice came out all muffled. ‘I’m worried she wants you back.’

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