it, it made me panicky with fear. But then somehow, gradually, as the days, and then the weeks had crept by, I’d managed to control the panic. I’d force myself to think positively, think of people who’d survived this lack of parenting, myself included. Peggy, whose father had died young. I’d even begun to feel that in some small way I was winning: that we’d be all right, Clemmie, Archie and me. What I hadn’t accounted for was my own sudden reduction. The shrinking of my own soul as I’d opened that door, looked into a past I didn’t know I had, and realized I wasn’t a proper person at all.
6
She was called Emma. Emma Harding. I remembered her coming up the road through the village. Remembered her little black Mini. A Mini Cooper. A cool car. One that in a vague, unformed sort of way, not that I was particularly into cars, but if I was, I’d quite like, if you know what I mean. And I’d seen it clearly, because I’d been dusting the windowsill at the time, lifting a lamp. It stopped outside my house. Out got Emma, pretty, petite, blonde, her shoulder-length hair swinging as she turned to shut the car door behind her. A white smocky top, jeans, beaded mules. Oh, and a flimsy sparkly scarf round her neck, pale blue and silver: nice. Sort of Monsoony. I watched as she came up the path, surprised it was my house she was approaching. She saw me through the window: stopped and waved uncertainly. I went to the door. I remembered her smile. Shy. Nervous. She was ever so sorry to call unannounced, she said, hands fiddling with the strap of her shoulder bag; she knew this was a terrible time for me.
I frowned. ‘Sorry, do I … ?’
‘My name’s Emma Harding. I was a friend of Phil’s. A good friend.’
I didn’t think anything of it. She followed me through to the sitting room, and as I turned her eyes finally met mine, so nervous, like a scared rabbit. And I motioned her to sit on the goose-poo sofa and then sat down opposite her, duster still in hand. And in that instant, I knew where I’d seen her before. At the funeral. She’d been crying a lot. Head bowed, hanky to mouth, in a black wool suit, quite elegant. And someone had an arm protectively around her shoulders, one of Phil’s cycling friends. His wife, perhaps, I’d thought. Perhaps not. And I’d been rather ashamed because I wasn’t crying. Not like that.
She started to speak, in a low, unsteady voice, hands twisting. She and Phil had met at work. They’d tried not to … you know. Had resisted each other for ages in fact, denied the attraction, but at a conference in Manchester … well, it all got out of control, seeing as how they were away from home. And then over the last four years … well, they’d completely fallen in love. And of course there was their cycling, which they did at weekends. Nearly every weekend. And she, Emma, knew it was so wrong, but she wasn’t married, you see, wasn’t betraying anyone. And Phil was so lonely. So sad.
Emma looked anxiously at me. White-faced. Scared. Fingers in her sparkly scarf in perpetual motion.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ I managed. Found my voice which was hidden deep in my ribcage. Cowering there.
‘Because I know Phil provided for me. I know, in his will, he made a provision, because we’d been together so long, and I want you to know,’ her voice began to tremble, ‘I want you to know I don’t want any of it.’
I stared straight ahead into the school playground where I was standing right now with Archie in his pushchair, waiting for Clemmie. My eyes felt dry and gritty with lack of sleep. I remembered her eyes, though: full of grief. Full of proper mourning. And I’d been humming as I’d dusted the window ledge that morning. Just a little bit, but still.
‘Mrs Shilling?’ Miss Hawkins was beside me suddenly, her anxious face in mine. ‘Mrs Shilling, have you got a moment?’
Clemmie was by her side, holding her teacher’s skirt. Eyes downcast she was sucking her thumb, something she hadn’t done during the day for ages. Luckily, Archie was crying in his pushchair; had been for some time.
‘I just wanted to talk to you about the other day,’ Miss Hawkins was saying, having to raise her voice over Archie’s