to see the bright lights of the supermarket, the line of trolleys outside under the fluorescent lighting, people milling around. I grab a trolley and the automatic doors open for me, drawing me into the warmth. It’s good to have people around me, even if it’s just strangers wandering down supermarket aisles.
I decide to pick up a few other bits while I’m here, to delay going back out into the cold night. I’m trying to find Peter’s favourite brand of granola when I see her. At least I think it’s her, her trolley drifting past the end of the aisle. Beth. I jump and my face flushes. Everything she said at our last session rushes back to me. She’d questioned whether I’d be able to cope as a mother, made me feel unsure of myself. I’ve been trying not to think about what she said about her fears for my mental health. I wasn’t expecting to see her here, to be reminded of my worries. Not in the place where I pop in for a pint of milk or a loaf of bread. Not in a place where I feel secure.
I wait a couple of minutes, pretending to study the back of a cereal box before I move on. I turn left at the top of the aisle, the opposite way to the way she went. I can leave the other shopping, just pick up the alcohol and get out of here. I find the wine aisle and I’m searching for the champagne when, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see her again. I glance up. It is her. She’s browsing at the end of the aisle. I pretend I’m deep in concentration, looking at the wines. She moves away into another aisle. Has she seen me? And what is she doing here? I think about how I’ve felt like I’m being watched lately. But I must be projecting my worries onto her. She hasn’t even seen me.
I want to get out quickly. I’m overheating and I’m not sure if it’s nerves or pregnancy or both. I abandon the trolley, bow my head and rush out into the fresh air. Outside, I struggle to catch my breath. I can’t believe I reacted like that. I should have just said hello. I wonder if it’s my hormones making me feel so fearful or if it’s something more. I remember the feeling of being watched as I walked to the supermarket. Perhaps that’s why I’m so on edge. What if someone had been following me?
Thirty-Nine
Beth
I stand in the corner of the kitchen sipping my wine as I watch the couples touring my house, casually dismissing the kitchen we remodelled just before Charlie was born.
‘We could rip this out,’ a tall man says to his pregnant girlfriend, indicating the kitchen cupboards that I’d painted myself when money had been tight. ‘And knock that wall down, open up the space.’
David, the estate agent, appears behind them. ‘This house has so much potential,’ he says. ‘You can really put your own mark on it.’
‘We need a bigger place for the little one,’ the man says, glowing with pride, as he looks admiringly at his girlfriend.
David doesn’t miss a beat. ‘This place is perfect for a family. Three good-sized bedrooms upstairs. And the seller’s very motivated. He’s found somewhere else already. So he might consider offers under the asking price if you were interested.’
I take a gulp of wine as I spot a woman looking at my photo collage on the wall. It’s been there so long I’d almost forgotten it was there. Richard and me on holiday in Spain before we had children; cocktails in the sunshine, lying by the pool, outside churches and museums. She’s staring at the pictures so intently that I feel like going over and pulling her away. Perhaps I should have taken it down. It’s the house that she’s thinking of buying, not my whole life.
Beside me I hear a cupboard door open. A man holds the door, revealing my rows of crystal glasses.
I cough. ‘What are you doing?’
He frowns at me, irritated at the interruption. ‘Just checking for damp. You never know what might be lurking in the backs of the cupboards.’
The pregnant woman comes back in and asks to get past me to turn the kitchen taps on. ‘I want to check the water pressure,’ she explains. I nod. Something about her manner and her assertiveness reminds me of Danielle. I tense at the