like? Maybe Tim could come along too. And you could both think about having an actual baby, instead of a to-do list.”
“Yes,” says Hannah. She heaves a heavy sigh and I can see her eyes traveling about the little room as though seeing it for the first time. “Yes. That would be good. That would be great, in fact. Thanks, Fixie. I’ll call Nicole.”
“I can talk to her,” I volunteer. “If that’s easier?”
“No, I’ll do it,” says Hannah, as I knew she would, because she’s like me—she does things for herself.
“Come here.” I pull her in for a hug. “I want you to relax. Both you and Tim. And you will.”
“What about you?” asks Hannah as we eventually draw apart. “I haven’t even asked about—”
“Oh, you know,” I cut her off hurriedly. “Nothing to see. All over.”
It’s nearly two weeks since that mortifying night at 6 Folds Place. I haven’t seen Jake or Leila since the morning after and I certainly haven’t heard anything from Ryan.
“Well, you know what I think,” says Hannah. And I nod because I do, and we’ve said it all, both of us.
* * *
—
I know Tim’s on his way home from work and I suspect Hannah wants to have a long talk with him, so I don’t stay for supper, even though she offers. As I step outside her front door, the air is so freezing, I gasp. It’s the coldest October on record and they’re talking about snow.
Greg loves it. He kept going outside today to survey the gray sky knowingly and using the word Snowpocalypse. I had to turn down suggestions from him that Farrs should stock balaclavas, sleds, and urine bottles (urine bottles?) from some activewear catalog that he adores.
“People are going to need this stuff,” he said about twenty times. “You wait.”
The more he pestered me, the firmer my resolve became: I am never, ever stocking a urine bottle. I don’t care if it is the Snowpocalypse. I don’t care if they were used on a genuine polar expedition, I don’t want to know.
(I must admit, I did wonder: What about girls? And I would have asked Greg, except he would have given me some frank and terrible answer which would have lodged in my brain forever.)
I walk briskly through the streets of Hammersmith and I’m nearing the tube station when I get an incoming call from Drew. I haven’t heard from him for a while.
“Drew!” I exclaim. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m good, thanks,” he says, sounding preoccupied. “Is Nicole with you, by any chance?”
“No,” I say in surprise.
“It’s just that I keep trying her phone, but she’s not picking up.”
“Oh,” I say warily. “Well, maybe her phone’s broken or something.”
“Yeah, maybe. Maybe.” Drew exhales and there’s a short silence. Quite an expensive silence, I can’t help thinking, what with him being in Abu Dhabi.
“Drew,” I venture, “is everything OK?”
“Well, not really,” says Drew heavily. “Here’s the thing. Nicole keeps saying she’ll come out and visit me here in Abu Dhabi. She promises she’ll get a flight. But then she doesn’t. Has she mentioned it to you at all?”
“No,” I admit. “But then, we don’t talk that much.”
“I know she’s really busy, being the face of Farrs and doing her yoga and all that,” he says. “And I respect that, Fixie, I do. I’m proud of her. But when I first came out here, we planned that she’d come over soon for a visit. Well, that was months ago!”
“Maybe she’s making plans I don’t know about,” I say evasively.
“Fair enough.” He sighs. “Well, sorry to bother you.”
He rings off and I walk for a while, my brow crinkled. Nicole’s never even mentioned going to Abu Dhabi. Which is pretty weird, now I think about it. Why wouldn’t she go and visit her own husband who she misses so much?
I’m just reminding myself that other people’s relationships are a mystery and there’s no point speculating about them, when my phone bleeps with a text. I look down, expecting it to be Hannah or maybe Drew again—but it’s from him. Seb. And it’s just one word:
Help.
Help?
I stare at it, disconcerted, then ring his number. It rings and rings and I’m expecting it to go to voicemail, but then suddenly his voice is in my ear.
“Oh, hello,” he says, sounding taken aback and kind of strained. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you. D’you mind— I’m slightly in the middle of something—”