‘Mostly he loved you,’ Luke continues. ‘He loved your ethnic-minority-inclusive work environment. Your constant efforts to reduce your carbon footprint. He even loved those silly little labels you insist must be made from recycled paper.’
I drop my handful of loose pearls into my dressing-gown pocket and sigh. ‘I wish I could have been there.’
‘I know. But you’re supposed to be taking it easy. You know what the doctor said. Please tell me you spent today relaxing?’ Luke stands up. He sets the champagne and glasses down on the vanity unit behind me and reaches his hand out to help me up. On my feet again, he gathers me into his arms, taking care not to crush my enormous belly between us.
‘What about the gala dinner tonight?’ I say, realising for the first time that Luke is wearing his tuxedo.
‘I made an appearance, and then I hopped in a taxi home. It was painfully boring; a bunch of stuffy middle-aged men congratulating themselves on being millionaires. And once the deal was done with Buckley . . .’
I shake my head. ‘It’s not done until he signs on the dotted line, Luke. You really should have stayed at the party. It’s important to network.’
‘C’mon, Darcy, you know you’re the charming one – not me.’ Luke smiles. ‘Besides, I missed you. I was worried about you.’
‘And worried about the baby,’ I add, hating that it comes out snappy.
‘My amazing wife and soon-to-be amazing mother.’ Luke dots a kiss on the top of my head.
I grimace, not wanting to talk about the baby again and have another argument about maternity leave. Luke seems to think I need months off to look after our child. I’ve told him countless times, that, all going well, I could be back at work a week after the baby is born. He laughed, and I took that as an insult. I told him he could take time off to look after the baby. He laughed more and it really pissed me off. I didn’t tell him that Darcy’s Dishes is my business, my baby – the only baby I’m really interested in. I didn’t say it because Luke would be horrified to know how I really feel.
‘I popped into work for a little while today,’ I admit, knowing if I don’t mention it that one of the staff will probably let it slip anyway.
‘Darcy,’ Luke groans.
‘It was just for a couple of hours. I’ve been fine today. No dizzy spells, I promise.’
‘And the baby?’ Luke asks.
‘Kicking up a storm.’
‘Okay.’ Luke smiles, and I feel his tense arms relax. ‘But tomorrow is all about chilling out. No work. For either of us. Netflix and bed. All day. The new series of—’ Luke pauses dramatically and pulls away. There’s sudden panic in his eyes. ‘You’re bleeding,’ he gasps, pointing at a patch of bright-red blood on my dressing gown. ‘Oh Darcy. Sit down, honey. You need to sit.’
I shake my head. ‘It’s okay. It’s just my hand,’ I say, turning my palm over to show him. ‘I cut it on a broken tile on the sink. I think. It stings a bit but I’m fine. And the baby is fine.’
I turn to investigate where the broken tile must be. I hope the sink bowl isn’t chipped – that could be expensive to fix and without the investment from Mr Buckley we are so far in the red we are not only in danger of losing the business, we could lose our house too.
‘Just your hand,’ Luke says.
I nod.
Luke reaches for me again. ‘Okay, let me see. If it’s deep it might need stitches.’
‘It’s not deep, it’s just . . .’ I gulp, looking into the sink.
‘What? What is it?’ Luke says.
‘Oh God. Oh God,’ I exhale.
‘Darcy, you’re freaking me out. Will you just sit down?’ Luke cups my elbow in his hand. ‘Here, let me help you.’
‘Look,’ I say, trembling as I shake him off and point into the sink. ‘It’s the soap tray. It’s broken.’
Luke nods, looking. ‘Okay. No worries. I never liked that thing anyway. We can get a new one.’
‘I . . . I—’
‘Is that how you cut your hand?’ Luke asks, reaching for me again.
‘It wasn’t broken earlier,’ I say, staring at the shards of sharp, colourful china in the sink. ‘It was beside the taps when I started running a bath.’
‘Darcy.’ Luke uses the same tone every time he tries to pacify me.
‘I’m serious this time, Luke. I ran a bath and the tray was there. I saw it. Then I went back into our room to undress and Jinx—’
‘There you go.’ Luke nods. ‘That bloody dog probably knocked it.’
I exhale. ‘That’s your answer for everything. The dog. Blame the dog.’
‘He hates me, Darcy. Didn’t you hear him barking his head off when I came home?’
‘Yeah, but I thought—’
‘You thought it was someone breaking in to murder you.’ Luke rolls his eyes. ‘I know. We’ve been over this. Things moving by themselves. Thinking someone is creeping around the house in the middle of the night. Now, the soap tray. This is why I came home early. To take care of you. The doctor says it’s the stress. Your blood pressure is low, it’s making you light-headed and paranoid. I hate seeing you so worked up . . . if you’d just take it easy—’
‘My blood pressure didn’t move the goddamn soap tray, Luke!’ I snap, fed up that my husband’s answer for everything lately is blaming my difficult pregnancy. It’s been seven months of hell: chronic sickness that was supposed to go away after the first trimester, but I’m still puking at least once most days. Low iron, extreme fatigue and random dizzy spells and all the while trying to maintain a glowing outer image.
‘Do you hear that?’ I ask, as a loud bang sounds downstairs – a door closing.
‘It’s just Jinx,’ Luke says. ‘Listen. He’s scratching at the door. He probably needs to pee, again. I really don’t know how that bloody puppy pees so often.’
I loosen my dressing gown around me, the steam becoming irritating as it clings to my skin and hair, making me feel damp and clammy. I’m dizzy as I reach into the sink to gather up the broken china. Maybe I really did drop the tray into the sink. I’ve had a lot on my mind today, I was worried about Luke’s pitch and I’m always so on edge in this creepy old house when I’m alone. And with Tina on my mind . . .
‘Leave that, honey,’ Luke says. ‘I’ll tidy up. Let’s just get you into the bath, eh?’
Chapter Seven
TINA
Saturday 15 June 2019
Frank Sinatra’s ‘My Way’ plays in the background of the hotel bar. I sit in a comfortable armchair swirling dark-burgundy merlot that I don’t intend to finish around my glass. I smirk, listening to the lyrics that seem to sum up my life. I do what I have to do.
It’s hard to believe that in less than fifty minutes by car I’ve left the hustle and bustle of Dublin behind and swapped it for this tranquil spot at the foothills of the Wicklow Mountains. I haven’t been somewhere this luxurious in years.
I really need to get out more, I decide. After this I’m definitely going to take up a hobby. I’ve recently signed up for Pilates. It wasn’t intentional. Last week at the gym, an overzealous staff member asked if she could help me. I was staring through the slender glass panels in the door watching the pregnancy Pilates class and she caught me off guard.