I hope he didn’t think that I meant him to join in. We’re a tight-knit bunch; his presence might upset the balance, despite his link to the group. As I rehearse a tactful let-down should the need arise, Stuart emerges downstairs. He surveys my careful preparations: black-and-white skeleton cakes, ghoul-shaped crisps to go with the dips and orange napkins. He helps himself to a carrot stick. The crunching grates; I hate the sound of people eating.
‘Wine?’ I say.
‘God, yes,’ he says. ‘Emily just asked about Nina. It stabs every single bloody time. I know it’s good that she feels able to ask questions, but it’s so utterly heartbreaking, and there’s nothing I can do. Nothing! I’m her father, I’m supposed to be able to make anything and everything better.’
‘It’s bloody unfair,’ I say as I hand him a glass. ‘I remember after the funeral I was shocked to emerge from the relative darkness of the church into the daylight and see life going on as normal for everyone else. It made me so angry.’
There’s really nothing else remotely comforting I can think of to say that hasn’t been uttered so many times. I’m an arm-patting, ‘there, there’ type of person, not a natural hugger. A change of subject is my preferred method of grief and anger management.
‘I’m going to leave the door on the latch like Nina used to, so the doorbell doesn’t disturb the children,’ I say.
‘Yeah, fine.’
There’s a brief silence before he joins in with my avoidance.
‘What’s the book?’ he asks, taking a large sip of a French Malbec.
The aroma hits. I’d love one, but I genuinely do believe that I’m pregnant, despite four tests telling me I’m not. It’s still too early to be accurate, so it was a complete waste of money and energy – as Ben didn’t hesitate to tell me – but I couldn’t help myself.
‘A ghost novel,’ I reply.
Guilt hits at my insensitivity, before reason takes over. Of course Stuart doesn’t think of Nina as a ghost. How ridiculous. I’m doing the exact thing he hates: people behaving abnormally around him. Not for the first time I notice that he touches his beard more when he’s feeling awkward.
‘Sounds seasonal,’ he says.
Silence hangs until I realize that this is the perfect opportunity to broach a delicate subject. Nina’s promises have been unsettling me more than usual lately because I’m now her sole voice. My latest fear is that her words will distort and mist further over time and the importance of her promises will fade when more immediate priorities automatically take precedence. Some gentle but legitimate detective work is required.
Every time I mull things over, the more obvious it becomes that Nina was overly concerned about her future reputation for someone in her situation. She was trying to tell me something without spelling it out. I’m not too worried – there can’t be anything bad to unearth – she’s hardly likely to have been the local drug dealer or involved in some elaborate scam. Still, theories worm away at my consciousness, along with the frustration that I missed my cues to delve deeper when I had the opportunity.
‘I’ve been thinking of the best ways I could help out more. I’m happy to do even more of the admin and everything else in relation to the running of the guesthouse,’ I continue, pleased at how natural I sound. ‘Deborah does her best, but she doesn’t update the website or reply to comments,’ I say.
‘The trouble is, she enjoys it. It gives her a purpose.’
‘Understandably, but I promised Nina I’d do everything I could. I’ll act carefully, make sure she doesn’t feel like I’m treading on her toes.’
Before he can respond, there’s a distant thud coming from upstairs.
‘Shall I go and check on them?’ I say. ‘It’s probably one of Emily’s books.’
He smiles. ‘Yeah, probably. She has a pile even bigger than her mother’s was. Go ahead, shout if you need me.’
He turns around and walks off in the direction of his study, shutting the door behind him. He really isn’t himself. Stuart has excellent manners and is a good host, he’d never usually have a drink without offering me one, but still, it saves me having to pour it down the sink when no one is looking.
Upstairs, I peek into Felix’s room first. His Batman bedside light shines yellow. He’s asleep. A snow globe is lying on the carpet beside his bed, thankfully intact. Nina gave it to him to shake and watch the flakes settle if he ever needed a calming prop.
I sit beside him and stroke his hair like I watched Nina do so many times; he can’t have been asleep long. The burst of love I feel for my godson is overwhelming. I can’t imagine loving my own child more than this. I gently rub my stomach. It’s not flat – it never has been – but already it feels rounder. (Rationally, I know it’s not.)
‘Night night, lovely boy,’ I whisper.
I kiss his forehead before I stand up and switch off the light. He likes sleeping in the dark, but Nina always insisted that he didn’t. When I gently mentioned that perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to pass on her own fears, she’d turned on me.
‘What would you know, Marie?’
That stung because I know a lot, actually.
The doorbell chimes. It plays out an unnecessary, long-winded tune, which I’ll suggest to Stuart he change. I open Emily’s door, all appears calm. I blow Emily a kiss and rush downstairs. Stuart has beaten me to it.
‘Hi, Tamsin,’ I say to Felix’s best friend’s mum.
We hug. It’s quite a huggy group. I’ve got used to it.
‘Sorry,’ I mouth to Stuart. ‘You go back to whatever you were doing.’
He obeys.
‘Come in,’ I say to Tamsin, leaving the door on the latch and leading her towards the living room. ‘Help yourself to wine. I’ll be through in a minute with some snacks.’
I pick up a bowl of crisps and other nibbles before I join her.
‘How are you?’ I say.
‘All right,’ she replies.
She looks around. Cobwebs drape over the mantelpiece, pumpkins grin in front of the fireplace and ghostly images stare from the large mirror hanging above. ‘You’ve done an amazing job in here, it looks so . . . welcomingly scary.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I can’t believe she’s not here. Was it strange getting ready without her? I feel like I’m being . . . unfaithful somehow.’ She takes a large sip of Prosecco. ‘I was sure Stuart would rather we all met at mine or down the pub.’
‘I’m used to being here,’ I say. ‘Nina and I were friends for so long that even when she met Stuart, nothing much changed. We almost became a threesome, although not in that way obviously,’ I add. ‘I find Stuart easy to talk to. He’s a good listener.’
Tamsin is looking at me as though she has something to say, although I can’t guess what. Nina would approve of tonight; it was her baby.
‘Hello?’ says a voice – Sharon – (mother of a friend of Emily’s) walks in, followed by several women: mums at school, friends and neighbours, Miriam, Abigail and a man, Greg, who lives on the other side of the village. As the room fills, I sense a danger of the evening becoming too sombre because no one wants to be the first to seem too lively. In hostess mode, I do my best to lift the mood, but my repeat reassurances that ‘it’s what Nina would’ve wanted’ and that ‘Stuart has no issues with it’ frustrate me.