I grunt to myself.
When Mabel’s with me, she’ll have a bedroom fit for a princess, all pink and glittery, with a mural of rainbows and unicorns on the wall. I’ll stick stars on the ceiling that glow in the dark and hang a silver moon for her to gaze at as she drifts gently off to sleep.
I pull open the drawer of her changing unit. It’s full of sleepsuits, socks and little vests, all stuffed in together like a jumble of rags. I choose a couple of things at random and hold them against my cheek, inhaling deeply. The cotton feels rough and there’s no scent of fabric conditioner. When I’m in charge of Mabel, I’ll dress her in the softest, prettiest baby clothes that smell of lavender and roses.
Something’s bleeping … An alarm? The sound is coming from the kitchen. I put the clothes down and go to investigate.
To my relief, it’s only the washing machine, announcing the end of its cycle. Bending down, I open the door and take out a few items, rejecting anything that belongs to either Amber or George and removing a few of Mabel’s clothes. I want to hang them on the airer, iron out the creases before the fabric dries stiff and hard. But I can’t, of course. Not until I’m in my own place.
I check the time – nine minutes have passed. It would be foolish to risk staying here much longer. I stuff all the washing back into the machine and close the door. Just one more thing to do before I go …
I untie my string necklace and remove the door key. Where shall I put it? It can’t be anywhere too obvious or Amber will smell a rat. However, it needs to be left somewhere it will be easily found – just in case she was planning to call a locksmith. I have to stay in control of the situation, have to make her believe her world is safe. Looking around, I eventually choose a place. I wipe off any fingerprints and place the key in the saucer of a plant pot containing a spiky cactus.
Time to go. I walk carefully down the stairs so as not to alert the neighbours beneath, then, taking a deep breath, open the door and march confidently out of the house.
I have made a copy of the key, of course.
Chapter Nine
Three days before
Amber pulls open the heavy front doors of the Queen’s Head, holding them with her back as she manoeuvres the buggy inside. It’s a family-friendly pub, one of several in ‘the village’ that compete to provide the healthiest children’s menus, cleanest high chairs and most positive attitude towards breastfeeding. This is where the mums from her antenatal class meet for lunch every other Thursday.
Polly, Kendra, Hanima, Cora and Louisa. They were randomly brought together about nine months ago when they attended the same weekly evening sessions at the local community centre. Some women turned up once or twice and were never seen again, but the six of them stuck it through to the end.
Amber was the first to go into labour. As soon as Mabel was born, the women were texting and calling, demanding the inside track on the experience: did the breathing exercises work? Did she have to resort to pain relief? Did she use the birthing pool? Were the midwives supportive of her birth plan? Did she have stitches and did they hurt? Were there any shortcomings at the maternity unit they would need to look out for? But her elevated status only lasted a few days, because then Polly gave birth.
Polly works in quality assurance, heading a large department in one of London’s universities – she went on maternity leave only days before her due date and is taking her full year. Within minutes of popping Belinda out with no pain relief whatsoever (or so she claimed), she knew everything there was to know about childbirth and soon had motherhood down to a fine art. Or was that a dark art? It was her suggestion to carry on meeting so that they could support each other, but Amber suspects she just misses bossing people about. She has lots of uncharitable thoughts about Polly.
At first, their conversations were supportive. Everyone (apart from you-know-who) openly admitted how tired they were feeling, how they didn’t know what day of the week it was, how they’d forgotten to get dressed and spent the whole day in their pyjamas. But recently the conversations