Greenwich Park by Katherine Faulkner (read book txt) 📗

‘Rachel, why don’t you come and sit down?’ I suggest, when she doesn’t join us.

Rachel looks up, closes her magazine. ‘Oh, sorry. I was miles away.’ She sits down and takes the piece of toast that Daniel has just buttered, spears a piece of bacon onto her fork. ‘Thanks,’ she says. She takes the ketchup and empties it onto her plate, a huge red pool. The smell makes my stomach churn.

‘Rachel, we were wondering.’ My voice is reedy, my mouth slightly dry. ‘How are you getting on with finding somewhere else to live?’

‘Oh, really good actually!’ Rachel looks up, smiles at us. Daniel and I are silenced.

‘Really?’

‘Yeah! I found a flat. It’s great. And they said I can move in really soon.’

I glance at Daniel. I don’t remember her going to any flat viewings.

‘That’s great, Rachel.’ I pause. ‘When … When exactly did they say you could move in?’

Rachel opens her mouth wide, presses her bacon sandwich inside, tomato ketchup seeping from the bread. ‘Oh,’ she says through a mouthful of bacon, ‘um, like mid-November?’

I try to gauge Daniel’s reaction. He is frowning slightly. I suspect that, like me, he is unsure quite how to react. On the one hand, the fact that she is moving out – that we don’t have the anticipated battle on our hands – is unexpectedly good news. On the other, that means two and a half more weeks with her in our house. It feels like a lifetime.

‘Listen,’ Rachel says, wiping her face, looking from me to Daniel, then back to me again, ‘you’ve both been so nice to let me stay. Thanks so much.’ She glances at Daniel, her eyes narrowing slightly. ‘I’ll keep out of your hair for the next couple of weeks.’ She waves her hand in the air. ‘You won’t even notice me. I swear.’

Daniel looks away. Nods. ‘All right,’ he says eventually.

Rachel beams. Then, before I can say anything, there is a knock on the door.

SERENA

Helen is leaning on the kitchen counter, fiddling with the pile of napkins, avoiding my gaze. ‘I suppose I just wish you hadn’t invited her tonight, that’s all,’ she mutters.

‘I’m sorry, Helen. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to. Could you pass that bowl, please?’

I am not really listening to Helen. I am thinking about the canapés, and whether we’ve ordered enough lamb racks, and whether I should have bought that second case of champagne, and how many people might want elderflower instead. I am keeping an eye on the pale sky, checking whether it looks like rain. Counting napkins, squeezing ice cubes into the water jugs.

I hadn’t intended to go round this morning. God knows I had enough to do. But Helen had been asking for ages to borrow a book I’d been reading about hypnobirthing, and as I was passing her house I realised I had it in my bag.

When I’d knocked on the door, it wasn’t Helen that answered. Or Daniel. It was her. That pale face, black hair, that strange smile showing off little pointed teeth, that sticky-out bump. For a mad moment, I wondered whether it was my body wash she had been using – the entire hallway smelled of rosemary.

‘Hello, Serena.’

She had one of Helen’s fluffy white towels twisted on her head like a turban. Another was tied around her like an indecently short dress. I’d glanced over her shoulder, hoping Helen or Daniel might arrive with an introduction, an explanation. Rachel had tilted her head to one side, shaken her wet hair free of the towel.

‘Are you here to see Helen?’

She asked it as if this was her house, too – as if it were equally possible I’d come over wanting to see her. She twisted her hair up with her finger, piling it onto the top of her head, revealing a pattern of angry purple marks around her pale throat. I winced. They looked painful. As I followed her into the kitchen, I saw that they spread all the way around the back of her neck.

Once we reached the kitchen, Rachel turned to look at me, as if she’d caught me staring, even though she couldn’t possibly have seen. The room smelled of bacon. Helen and Daniel were sitting at the table. When they saw me, they looked up as if they were being held hostage.

‘We’re all having breakfast,’ Rachel said. ‘Can I get you a coffee? I was just about to make one.’ I noticed the skin around her eyebrows was red, as if she’d been plucking them. They were pencil-thin.

Rachel flicked the coffee machine on and reached up into a cupboard for mugs. I sat down next to Helen. ‘Hi, darling.’ I had to raise my voice above the sound of Rachel grinding and banging at the coffee machine, the hiss of steam. ‘I just came to drop that book off.’

‘Thanks,’ Helen said. ‘That’s so nice of you.’ She paused, glanced sideways towards the coffee machine. ‘This is Rachel.’

‘We’ve met,’ Rachel trilled. She started placing coffees in front of us all. ‘Just now, I mean,’ she added quickly. ‘Sorry, there wasn’t much milk. Let me see if I can find some sugar.’ Helen took her cup and peered into it warily, before placing it back down on the table. While Helen was distracted, Rachel shot me a theatrical wink.

I took the book out of my bag, slid it across the table. ‘This is the one you wanted, isn’t it?’ Helen didn’t reply. She was staring at Rachel’s wet hair, which had fallen out of the twist and was now hanging lank over her shoulders, dripping puddles onto the kitchen tiles. I saw Helen’s eyes trace the line of watery footprints that had followed Rachel from the stairs, down the hallway and back into the kitchen. I tried a different subject.

‘I didn’t know your bathroom was finished, Helen.’

Helen opened her mouth to answer, but Rachel had got there first.

‘Oh my God, it’s a-ma-zing.’ She grinned