‘It was me who suggested Ibiza,’ I say out loud. ‘And me who insisted on staying on the beach all day. I tan easily. Nina never did.’
‘You sound like you blame yourself for a lot.’
‘Nina told me that the holiday ruined her life.’ When I tried to remind her of all the good times and how she wouldn’t have met Stuart if we hadn’t chosen that particular trip, or the bar where we first met him (true serendipity), or as a result of their meeting have had her beautiful children, she was dismissive.
I falter. I don’t know why I’m talking about this, it’s so long ago. It’s Camilla, she’s riled me.
I glance at the clock. Thank God we’re nearly out of time, because I know how it works. Christian will gently discourage me from getting into anything too upsetting at the eleventh hour. Since I know I won’t have the opportunity to dig too deep, or elaborate, I take a breath and get something off my chest.
‘The end of the holiday was truly dreadful, though. Perhaps it was inevitable that it eventually soured everything, in one way or another.’
Delighted when the session is finally over, I leave the past behind with Christian, an exorcist with my ghosts.
The future – Felix and Emily – are what matters. I don’t want to dwell on loss any more, I’ve been surrounded by too much one way or another. I’m going to be brave and start putting pictures of family life on social media. I thought that it would be insensitive and too soon, but why should I hide my pride and joy? If I fade into the background, it’s giving the impression that I have something to be ashamed of. Which I don’t. Nina didn’t hold back when it came to sharing things and she didn’t ask me not to. I should celebrate their lives and achievements.
I stop at a supermarket, a more expensive one than my usual. As I push my cart around the aisles, I feel absurdly content. I’m going to cook us all a special family meal tonight. As I consider all the products Nina would’ve bought – she was big into brands – a thought occurs.
I replace ‘her’ choices back on the shelves and instead, select all the ingredients I need for cottage pie, substituting the mince with a vegetarian alternative. No one will notice because I’ll use one of Nina’s recipes. I made it often enough when I babysat. While Nina got ready (she was rarely on time for anything), I’d take over in the kitchen. Stuart would sometimes assist, one of us would stir, one would chop, and we’d have shared at least one glass of red by the time Nina appeared.
I pick up a behaviour chart and pop it in among the groceries before I head for the checkout. Hopefully, it will encourage Emily to become a nicer child. I’ll continue to put these small, yet positive, changes in place. I love thinking like a mother: the children’s welfare always at the forefront of my mind. It’s no longer all about me, and that can only be a good thing.
My phone rings.
‘Hi, Stuart.’
‘Felix is ill, he’s got a temperature. I’ve picked him up from school, but he’s really not well. I’ve got an emergency appointment at the doctor’s. Are you OK to pick up Em?’
‘Of course. Poor Felix, keep me updated.’
I pay for my shopping, shove everything into bags and rush to the car.
Emily is unusually quiet. She helps me prepare dinner, I give her little jobs, which she usually enjoys, but she is half-hearted and abandons stirring the carrots and onions halfway through.
‘When will Felix and Daddy be back?’
‘Soon,’ I say.
‘What if they don’t come back?’
‘They will, darling. I promise.’
‘I want my mummy.’
I force back my tears and give Emily a hug, but she pulls away. She rushes upstairs. I follow quietly behind, uncertain what to do. Leave her for a few minutes or comfort her? I stand just outside her door. She is lying on her bed, face down, sobbing.
I want Nina back, too, no longer for me, but for her daughter. What if I can’t do this? There’s so much to learn, so many things to get wrong. The vibrant undersea mural Nina painted on Em’s wall is exquisite. I couldn’t paint anything nearly as good. Self-doubt gnaws. It’s not too late – yet – to gently back off, ease myself out, but the thought of venturing out again into the unknown, possibly throwing away my one chance at being a mother, is terrifying. Why risk it? I must consider the long-term.
Outside, I hear a car on the gravel. It must be Stuart and Felix, thankfully.
I rush downstairs and fling open the front door, but there is no one there and no car. Wishful thinking has played tricks on me. Except . . . I know what I heard.
It’s as I shut the door that I see it: a blank white envelope. Assuming it’s a random advertising ploy, I pick it up intending to place it straight in the recycling. Yet, curiosity takes hold. I open it. It’s a photo of this house with Nina sitting on the stone steps leading up to the front door, both arms around younger versions of Felix and Emily. She’s smiling, happy. For such an innocent picture, its delivery method turns it into something sinister, a seemingly unmistakable message to me that I don’t belong.
I stand still, staring.
‘Marie!’ Emily’s voice.
‘I’m coming,’ I shout back automatically, folding the picture in two before shoving it into my jeans pocket.
I read Emily a story, but my mind most definitely is not on wizards or witches.
‘They’re home,’ I say to Emily when I hear the front door open.
She has stopped crying but has exhausted herself, so remains on her bed.
Stuart is carrying a sleeping Felix upstairs in his arms.
‘It’s just a viral infection,’ he says quietly. ‘He’ll be fine. He needs to sleep it off, apparently.’
I help slide off Felix’s shoes and put him into his pyjamas before Stuart goes and settles Em.
Stuart and I are both quiet over dinner. It’s not the time to mention the photo. I’m horribly aware that if I wasn’t around he’d give in to his grief. He’s going through the motions of eating dinner, being civilized. I need to give him time alone. I wasn’t privy to Stuart and Nina’s final conversations and wishes, obviously. Stuart has seemed fine on the whole, yet this evening has been a wake-up call. There’s so much to adjust to and it has made me reassess. Fresh determination to look out for and nurture Nina’s family takes hold. It’s reassuring to realize quite how much they all need me here.
‘I overreacted,’ he says. ‘Nina was amazing with them when they were ill.’
‘So are you. We’re both a bit shaken by this evening,’ I say. ‘But it will be OK.’
Stuart gives me a weak smile. His face is pale and he looks like he needs a decent sleep.
‘You go to bed,’ I offer. ‘I’ll clear up down here.’
‘I think I’ll take you up on that. Thank you.’
As he stands up, I feel afraid of being left alone downstairs. The photo has shaken me because I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it, and I’ve got a horrible feeling that it’s not going to be a one-off.
‘I’ll set the alarm,’ I say, before quickly adding, ‘Deborah told me that it wasn’t the first time someone had tried to break in.’