Greenwich Park by Katherine Faulkner (read book txt) 📗

at us both. ‘Best bath ever. It’s so comfy!’

This was odd. I tried to catch Helen’s eye again, but couldn’t. Daniel had picked up the sports pages, and was holding them out in front of him so that I couldn’t see his face, like a child attempting to hide.

‘Well.’ I eased myself off a stool, deciding that whatever was going on here, I’d be best off out of it. I smiled at Helen, as if this had all been lovely, rather than hideous. ‘I’ll see you at Rory’s birthday dinner tonight – right?’

‘Yes,’ she said, glancing nervously at Rachel. ‘Of course.’

Rachel’s head had popped up.

‘Oh, are you doing something tonight? Helen didn’t say.’

We both stared at Rachel. I tried not to react.

‘Just a dinner, for my husband’s – Helen’s brother’s – birthday.’

‘Oh,’ Rachel said. ‘I see. Quiet night in for me then, I suppose.’

I glanced at Helen. Her cheeks and neck had coloured, and she was staring down at her breakfast plate. The silence was too much to bear. It had felt unavoidable.

‘You’d be very welcome, Rachel. If you’re not doing anything.’

‘Great.’ Rachel said, grinning. ‘That sounds lovely. Thanks, Serena. Can’t wait.’ Helen looked up at me in horror. But by then, it was too late.

Now Helen has arrived, hours early, alone. She is lingering in the kitchen with me, nibbling at her thumbnail. I decide to give her a job. ‘Please could you set out some more champagne glasses?’

This is not really necessary, but it is the only thing I can think of for her to do. Helen always likes to come early and help when we are having a dinner. I always tell her there is no need, but she invariably insists. I am not entirely sure why she does this. Perhaps she believes it confers on her a special status, like a co-host.

‘Is Rachel coming later, then?’ I ask her.

Helen doesn’t reply. She seems to be unable to set out the glasses without clinking them together. Sooner or later, she is going to smash something.

‘Helen? What is it?’

I look at her in her maternity party dress, teetering on her uncomfortable heels. Her ankles are swollen, her belly enormous. She looks rather unhappy. In fact, she looks like she might be about to cry.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mutters. A single fat tear rolls down one cheek, and she paws at it miserably. There is the sound of a knock on the door.

I go to Helen’s side, hold her hand.

‘Rory will get it, don’t worry,’ I tell her. ‘Do you want to sit down?’

‘I’m OK.’

I sigh. ‘What are you upset about?’

Helen shrugs hopelessly. ‘It’s Rachel,’ she says, burying her head in her hands. ‘I think maybe I made a mistake, saying she could stay with us.’

‘I did wonder what all that was about this morning. She’s your new friend from the antenatal class, right? Why is she staying with you, all of a sudden? How long for?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, how long has she been there?’

‘Only about a week or so,’ Helen murmurs. ‘She just turned up one night.’ She rubs her eyes. ‘It was the night of our anniversary. I thought she was in some kind of trouble. Did you see those marks on her neck?’

‘You can hardly miss them. What happened to her?’

‘Well, she wouldn’t say exactly but … she was so upset. I felt so bad for her. I felt I couldn’t say no.’

‘I can see that,’ I say carefully. ‘But now – what? She’s driving you both bonkers?’

Helen laughs half-heartedly. ‘No – I mean, well, yes – she is – but it’s more than that.’ Her face clouds over. She brings a cardigan cuff to her mouth, starts chewing on a thread. ‘The thing is, I think – I know this sounds mad, but – I feel like she might have another reason for being here.’

‘What do you mean, another reason?’

Helen looks away, colour rising to her cheeks. She places her hands together, as if in prayer, drops her head. A confession is coming.

‘I know I shouldn’t have, OK,’ she mumbles into her sleeve, ‘but I went into the room where she’s staying and looked in her suitcase.’ She flicks me a guilty glance.

I shrug. ‘And what?’

‘And …’ She stops, covers her mouth, as if she doesn’t want to let the words out.

I try to sound firm. ‘Helen, what was in her suitcase? What are you worried about?’

Helen winces.

‘Serena, I think Rachel might … I think …’

Just then, I hear Rory. ‘Only a delivery,’ he calls. ‘You know, darling, I think I will pop out and get more champagne.’ I can tell without looking that Rory is studying himself in the hallway mirror, smoothing his hair down at the sides. When he steps into the kitchen, he sees Helen.

‘Ah, sis!’ He grins widely, plants a kiss on Helen’s cheek. Helen closes her eyes. ‘Where’s my present?’ Rory jokingly pokes her in the ribs. She makes a stab at a laugh but manages only a sort of cough. She brushes at her eyes with her cuff. Rory looks at my face, then back to Helen. His smile wilts slightly. ‘What are you two looking so serious for?’

Helen straightens her spine, shakes her head.

‘Forget it,’ she says, giving Rory a strange look. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

HELEN

Serena and Rory’s living room is empty, as I had hoped it would be. It looks even lovelier than usual – the high ceilings, the huge bay windows looking to the front and the back. There is a grand piano at the garden end, and a courtyard of sofas at the front, arranged around a mango-wood coffee table holding architecture books with gold-embossed spines and the bowls they bought in Morocco.

Serena has made up a log fire; the kindling crackles and spits softly, a plume of smoke rising. It doesn’t seem possible that it is the time of year for fires, already. The thought of winter fills me with gloom. I think of the early darkness, the layers of scratchy clothing, of