Page 44 of The Women

‘Sorry.’ Samantha slides the phone into her pocket, though not before reading Aisha’s reply.

Next week then!Great class by the way. Jenny and I think you’re fab.

Despite her misgivings, she feels a flush of pleasure. Aisha really is so generous and supportive. This would all be lovely and flattering were it not tinged with horrible, poisonous suspicion.

As they approach the crèche, she sees Suzanne heading for the car park.

‘Suzanne,’ she calls out, but Suzanne is too far away to hear and doesn’t turn around.

‘Who’s that?’ Peter peers after her.

‘Just Suzanne, one of my students.’

Peter nods. ‘Shame I missed them. I would have liked to say hello.’

A knot tightens in her chest. Peter claimed to be here to pick her up, but now she wonders at the real motive behind his romantic impromptu appearance. It is quite out of character. Is it possible that he has read more into the rogue homework than he claims? Did he see in those pieces of writing, just as she did, the ghost of an ex-girlfriend? And did he come here to see not Samantha, but Aisha?

Nineteen

On the way home, Peter is talkative, funny even. If he did come to the college to see if he could catch his old flame in the act, then he doesn’t show any disappointment that he didn’t, and Samantha begins to feel like a paranoid basket case, incapable of reading innocence into any situation. Even if Aisha has been writing insidious notes, using enough guile to disguise her intelligence, that doesn’t mean that Peter has done anything wrong. Ninety-nine per cent of her knows this, of course. It is the one per cent that prevents her from mentioning Aisha’s name.

They pull up outside the house, the wisteria that usually covers the front fence little more than a muscular stretching arm waiting for green shoots to disguise its cracked and greyish bark.

Peter leans over and kisses her deeply on the mouth.

‘Wow,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’

‘A down payment.’ He grins. ‘I’ll settle up later.’

She shakes her head. ‘You’re really quite cheesy, you do know that, don’t you?’ She gets out of the car and lifts Emily out of the back. Peter is opening the boot. He pulls out the pram chassis.

‘Go inside,’ he says. ‘It’s cold. I’ll bring the rest in.’

She goes inside shivering, towards the kitchen, where she pops Emily in her car seat on the table and flicks the switch for the kettle.

‘Will you be late?’ she asks, returning to the hall as Peter pushes the pram in through the front door.

‘Shouldn’t be. If I am, I’ll text. Sure you don’t want me to call Harry, by the way?’

She follows him back out to the car. ‘Sure I’m sure. I think the nonsense has stopped now. As you said it would, you wise old man.’

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her again. Playfully she hits him with her gloves.

‘Whatever will the neighbours think?’

‘They’ll think, “There’s a lucky bastard.” That’s what they’ll think.’

‘Thought you didn’t objectify women?’

‘I don’t. But they might.’

She rolls her eyes and waves. ‘Cheese,’ she calls after him. ‘Pure cheese.’

She waits until he’s driven off to return indoors. The pram already set up in the hallway, she decides to stretch her legs and catch the last of the day. She heads back down the hill towards town, and when she sees the specialist cheese shop, she has the idea of going in and buying some for Peter, for a joke. Like most of these deli-style food and wine places, he knows the manager – in this case, Jim. And it is Jim who lets her try a selection of expensive vintage Cheddars. She selects a ‘mellow, nutty’ piece, thinking that when she gets home, she will write a witty label for it, something to do with Peter being both cheesy and vintage. They can have a few cubes with their wine.

She reaches the house as the last of the sun dies away. It is around half past five and she is thirsty and tired. Emily is awake, however, and needs a feed, so instead of tea, Samantha turns the heating on and pours herself a long glass of water before settling on the sofa, still in her coat. Emily sucks hungrily, her eyes closed in concentration. Samantha closes her own eyes and tries to be still and in the moment. But just as she attunes to the calm and the silence, she hears a door latch click. Her eyes open wide.

‘Hello?’

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