‘You know each other?’ Tamsin says. She almost sounds disappointed.
‘We went to art college together before I moved to Toronto,’ says Camilla.
‘Small world,’ says Tamsin.
‘Not that small,’ I say. ‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you get in touch beforehand?’
‘I didn’t put two and two together.’
‘But surely Tamsin told you that this was Nina’s book group?’
‘Everything’s been a bit of a whirlwind,’ she says.
‘But you’ve had time to join a book club?’
‘Tamsin was kind enough to offer.’
‘How long have you been back?’ I ask.
I think she says ‘a few weeks’, but it’s hard to take in because my mind reels back to the last time I saw her and the relief I felt when she announced her move to Canada. I want to know why she’s here, why now and why she didn’t attend Nina’s funeral, but I don’t want to ask her outright. I’ll dig in my own way. For now, she is safe, surrounded by a cluster of people – my friends – as introductions are made. I listen to everything she says.
I offer drinks before I get everyone talking about the book, but it’s an act (a bloody good one, considering) because I can only think about Camilla. She has a daughter. She is a real mother. She really is back.
I feign tiredness to coax everyone to leave as early as possible. I need time alone to process what her return means to me and what impact it could have on my fresh start.
‘Where’s Stuart?’ Camilla asks as I tug her jacket from a coatrack by the front door which I left ajar after the previous person left. ‘I’d like to say hello.’
‘Don’t you have a babysitter to get back for?’
‘Lulu is with my grandparents.’
Camilla was practically brought up by them as both her parents worked away often. Behind us, Tamsin walks back and forth between the living area and the kitchen carrying glasses and bowls, even though I’ve said twice that there’s no need.
‘Stuart’s exhausted, he’s probably gone to bed,’ I lie – he’s a night owl. ‘Besides, we have things to catch up on, too.’ I pull my phone out from my pocket and open our family calendar. ‘Let’s see . . . Stuart and I are free on Saturday at three. How about you come round here with Lulu, did you say your daughter’s name was? Felix and Emily would love to meet her.’
‘Yes. It’s short for Louise. I’d rather—’
‘Stuart and I would love to meet Louise, too.’ I lower my voice. ‘It’s early days still, things can be overwhelming. Saturday will hopefully be a better day.’
‘Sure. I understand.’ What else can she say?
‘What’s your number?’ I ask, adding her to my contacts as she says it out loud.
It feels strange typing her name. It jolts me into remembering that she’s the type of person with whom it pays to be firm. I pull the door open wider and shudder. I should put my car in the garage; the windscreen will be covered in ice by morning.
‘Tamsin?’ I call out.
She appears.
‘Thanks for all your help,’ I say.
Despite the cold, I stand at the door watching as they head for their respective cars. I don’t want them to feel comfortable enough to hang about and bond further by discussing my haste to get them to leave or my obvious protectiveness of Stuart. I wave as they pull away. By the time their lights disappear and I close the door, I’m shivering. I email Christian requesting an extra appointment with him tomorrow. He responds within minutes.
As luck would have it, I’ve had a late cancellation . . .
Did he really? I’m naturally suspicious. Perhaps I judge people by my own standards. I wasn’t really expecting him to come to my aid, I just like the safety blanket of mentally having someone to fall back on. He has availability at eight thirty, which will be right in the middle of the get-them-to-school mayhem. Stuart will have to deal with it alone.
Despite a long bath and a chapter of a new novel (I always download the next book club choice immediately), I can’t settle. It’s not just Camilla I think about – who, annoyingly, I discovered, still isn’t much into social media – it’s Nina, Ben and even Stuart, who remains downstairs in the study. I didn’t say goodnight, I can’t face mentioning Camilla to him yet, so I left him a note on the kitchen table.
Didn’t want to disturb you. I’ll be out early in the morning so see you tomorrow night! Mx
‘Have you ever tried journaling?’ asks Christian.
I feel stupid for making an emergency appointment because clearly there’s nothing wrong with me now; I was just unsettled at having been caught off guard in my own environment.
‘Not really.’
‘Some find that it helps. Different things can help different people. Other clients have tried art therapy, meditation or they write down their dreams.’
It sounds wishy-washy to me, but I don’t wish to appear ungrateful, so I smile and nod as though I’m giving his ideas serious consideration. As a result, I feel compelled to talk about something to make this charade worthwhile for us both.
‘I feel contaminated by Camilla’s return. I don’t like it. She’s someone from the past I don’t want around, especially not while I’m trying so hard to build a new life after Ben’s betrayal.’
‘Contaminated?’
‘It’s hard to explain without making it sound too possessive or trite, but Nina and I were a definite duo. Friends came and went, as, of course, they naturally tend to, but we were always there for each other. Camilla shoehorned her way in to the friendship. She’s a very forceful character. Nina, especially as we got older, liked to think of herself as a free spirit in a floaty, artistic, “aren’t I chill?” kind of a way, so she wasn’t always great with boundaries. It was all “easy come, easy go, the more the merrier”. Except it wasn’t merrier for me.’
‘In what way?’
‘Nina and I went on holiday to Ibiza after we left college. Camilla was there, too, although she went out earlier because she got a summer job – a seedy one, in my personal opinion – and spent her time off with us. My boyfriend at the time, Charlie, flew out towards the end of our break.’
I stop.
Christian doesn’t respond or react.
Was that the holiday that did it? Melanoma. Nina was unlucky, apparently. Her diagnosis was late; caught up in the demands of motherhood and real life, she’d neglected herself.
It is quiet. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, mute, reliving the past in my head, barely aware of Christian. I wonder how he does it, just sits there watching someone who isn’t speaking. It’s unnerving.
I lost a best friend once before, when I was young, Amelia. Her parents moved her to a new school because – apparently – I wouldn’t ‘allow’ her to be friends with anyone other than me.
Thankfully, Nina was moved to my class not long afterwards. I studied her from the seat behind. I watched what she liked to do at break time, learned what her favourite subjects were (art, PE and drama). She had a packed lunch every Monday, so I did, too, otherwise we had to sit at different tables. I invited Nina to tea one Friday and persuaded my mother to buy all her favourite foods. From then on, Nina and I were inseparable.