although DC Devine had made it clear he knew I’d deceived him with my ever-changing story.
Jodi had named her son Eric – a Teutonic name – and cut herself off from all of us. My baby gift had come back return to sender. I wasn’t sure if I would ever see her again. I wanted to tell her I didn’t blame her, that none of us had seen what Callum was. But I wasn’t sure she’d listen.
I gave Cassie a squeeze. ‘Have you started packing? The van will be here soon.’
She gave a small eye-roll, and I was happy to see it, a trace of her old self. ‘We’ve ages yet.’
‘Not really, it’ll take hours to sort this place.’ There was a crunch of gravel in the drive, and I looked up to see the large moving van manoeuvring in, and beside the driver, waving to us, was Bill. ‘He’s here,’ I said to Cassie. ‘Come on, let’s get ready.’
Jodi
‘Shh, shh, baby. It’s OK. Mummy’s here.’
It was early – before 5 a.m. still. Time had lost meaning now it was just her and the baby in the house. Her son. Finally, after so many years. At the sound of his snuffling cries, she eased him from his crib, so close to her own bed she could feel his breath on her outstretched hand, and put him to her breast. A smile broke over her face as he tugged, and latched. Her baby. Fifteen years after she’d expected him, here he was.
As she touched his downy cheek in the grey morning light, she found herself wondering once again had she done the right thing. If she could go back to that night, the night of the party, and make a different choice, was there a way to change the outcome? Maybe not. She lay back against her pillows and let herself remember what she’d been suppressing ever since it happened.
Something had woken her. It happened all the time since she’d got pregnant, shooting awake in the middle of the night, every hair on her body standing on end, her heart trying to pound right out of her chest. And there was always nothing. A shadow across the bed, maybe, or a car passing in the street outside. Her body was on red alert for any danger to the child in her belly. Now, disorientated, she took a few minutes to understand where she was. Ali’s spare room. The unfamiliar smell of her washing powder. The silence of the country, the dust under the bed where it wasn’t vacuumed properly. Except it wasn’t silent. There’d been a noise. Her ears might not have known but the nerves in her spine were sure. She got up, lumbering to the window that looked over the vast, dark garden. It wasn’t fair. Her own London house had only a small patio area, despite costing close to a million pounds. Anxiety pounded through her as she passed a hand over her stomach. To soothe the baby, or soothe herself, she wasn’t sure. It would all be OK. Cal had escaped all that nasty business at work, the girl had been paid off, and he’d promised Jodi it would be fine. Jodi wanted to give this child everything, and that included a mother who didn’t work. Ali hadn’t worked. She could do the same.
The lawn was illuminated by a ghostly half-light from the kitchen, and she thought again how dark it was. In London, a street light outside made their house as bright as noon sometimes. Here there were shadows deep as ink, and she could hardly make out the figure on the lawn. A flash of bare leg told her – Karen. Jodi made an audible tut with her tongue. Karen had been ridiculous this evening, in a dress that would have been too short for Cassie, throwing her legs up on Bill’s knees. Poor man. Anyone could see he’d never been interested in Karen. Bill wasn’t like that. He was quiet, kind. He’d offered Jodi his arm to cross the lawn to the table they’d eaten at, made sure she was OK.
What was Karen doing? She lifted the curtains aside to watch. Karen seemed to be weaving across the lawn, feet bare on the grass, a bottle dangling from her hand. Jodi had seen her this way before. That night. The ball. A burst of anger flared up under Jodi’s solar plexus at the memory. Maybe someone should go out to her, put her to