Because I thought you might fall apart.’
‘What do you mean?’ I reply, angrily. Had he been thinking about leaving me for ages?
‘Even though everything was wrong, even though I knew there was no going back, I was scared about what would happen to you if I left. You broke down when you lost Nick, and I thought you might break down when you lost me.’
‘Don’t compare yourself to Nick. You’re nothing like him. He wouldn’t have done this to me. And besides, I can look after myself.’
‘That’s good to hear, Beth. Because I can’t look after you anymore. I have to move on.’
‘I don’t need you to look after me.’ I try to keep my voice level.
He looks relieved. ‘I’m so glad you’re feeling OK now. After Saturday, I was worried. I know how far you can spiral. I don’t want you to end up back in the psychiatric hospital.’
* * *
Richard leaves, and I double-lock the door behind him. I don’t want there to be any chance of Charlie escaping again. Another reason for Richard to think I’m not coping. When the doorbell rings ten minutes later, I’m still shaking from what Richard said, and I don’t want to answer, but I know if it rings again, Charlie might wake up. It’s probably just Richard coming back because he’s forgotten something.
I rush to the door. On the other side of the frosted glass I can make out two figures. I hesitate for a moment.
I think about not opening the door. It’s dark, I’m in the house on my own and I don’t know who it is. But whoever it is has seen I’m in. I bend down to undo the bottom lock with my key. Then I open the door a crack. My mouth drops open.
It’s Danielle. And standing beside her is the man from her wedding photos. Peter.
Twenty-Four
Danielle
Beth takes ages to open the door for our counselling session. I notice her double take as she sees Peter. She must be surprised after the weekend. I rush to explain.
‘I thought I’d bring Peter with me this time, work on the relationship together. We nearly split up at the weekend, but we’ve decided to make things work.’
Beth stares, dumbfounded. ‘I wasn’t expecting you. Either of you. Didn’t you get my message?’
I shiver as a cold wind blows my hair around my face. ‘What message?’
‘I left you a message on your phone, saying we couldn’t continue.’
‘I didn’t get anything through. Why can’t we keep going?’ I need to keep coming here. Especially now. I feel Peter’s hand in mine, a united front.
‘I felt we’d become too close.’ She looks at Peter, and I wonder if she’s going to tell him she came round to the house to help me break up with him. I pray she doesn’t.
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ I ask. ‘That we get on well?’
‘Yes and no. I felt I’d overstepped a boundary.’
I smile. ‘You just showed that you cared.’ I try to close down the conversation, not daring to look at Peter.
She looks relieved, then nods. ‘Well, if you’re happy to continue, then we can go to the room.’
* * *
Once we’re upstairs, Peter and I sit on the sofa opposite Beth and I start to relax. Peter seems tense, staring warily at the box of tissues and the candle on the table.
He turns to me. ‘So this is where you’ve been coming every week?’
I nod. ‘I find it really useful to talk things through.’
‘I’m glad you’ve had the opportunity. I think it’s helping you.’
‘I know it is.’ I look at Beth, who’s staring intently at Peter, trying to figure him out. He must seem nicer than she expected. He can be charming.
‘I’m pleased to hear that,’ she says, settling into her chair. ‘And it’s nice to finally meet you, Peter. This is the first time you’re here. Can I ask, why tonight? What’s brought you to the session this time?’
‘Well,’ he says. ‘We’ve been through a difficult time lately. We were on the verge of splitting up when—’
‘We have news!’ I interrupt suddenly, desperate to tell Beth. ‘I’m pregnant.’
Emotions flicker across her face. Shock, then confusion. She looks from me to Peter, then back again. I realise she’s not sure whether it’s good news or bad news. I frown. She knows how much I wanted a baby. How can it be anything but good?
‘We’re delighted,’ I say, taking Peter’s hand in mine, squeezing it tightly. ‘We literally can’t wait.’ According to the books, which I’ve devoured,