. . . Gisele’s pregnant.
The fact of it came back to her again, ignored but not forgotten. She went to the larder cupboard and pulled down her favourite bottle of whisky from the top shelf. She poured herself a snifter in an eggcup – an old habit that wouldn’t die – and knocked it back, closing her eyes as the burn hit the back of her throat, liking it – liking it for the memories it triggered of a life when everything had been more intense, when the things she did had mattered, when nothing had existed beyond Now, when life had made sense precisely because it was framed by death. She was safe now but sometimes she felt it was this domestic version of living – so cocooned and soft and dulled – that left her feeling bewildered and lost.
She wanted another but she made herself put the bottle back and reached into the fridge for some beers instead; she considered glasses too, but thought better of it. She padded down to the ground floor and set the beer bottles on the bedside table, switching on the floor lamp in the far corner and smoothing the wrinkles off the bedspread. She looked around at the little scene just as she heard the knock at the door – not the bell, just like she’d said. She didn’t want Jasper to be disturbed.
She checked the time. It wasn’t yet eight. She went through to the hall and pulled back the bolts and locks and chains.
‘That’s some security you’ve got going on there.’ Matteo Hofhuis grinned as she finally opened the door to him.
‘You can never be too careful, in my experience,’ she said. ‘And you’re early. Again.’
He smiled back at her unapologetically and she could see the shadow already darkening on his shaved head – the memento of their day together, the token of his trust, the reason Claudia had fled the studio in tears. He shrugged, those famous blue eyes set to full smoulder and working their magic, even on her. ‘I couldn’t wait a minute more. Giving you three hours has been bad enough.’
She felt a small part of herself come alive again, knowing she needed this. It was something to grab onto, at least for a little while. She held the door a little wider. ‘Well, I guess you’d better come in then.’
Chapter Four
‘Hurry-hurry,’ she said brightly, waiting by the front door as Jasper wriggled into his padded coat and fiddled with the buttons. She looked out at the world hurrying about its business too, commuters walking briskly, dog-walkers idling as their pets sniffed at trees and lamp posts, a jogger in gloves and hat labouring on the other side of the canal. She could see the water had begun to finally freeze on the surface. It had been coming on for the past week, the cold days clobbered by plummeting temperatures at night, and now looping swirls curled in the fragile ice, the water caught mid-twist, dead leaves and the small wooden boats tethered along the canal walls held in a tightening grip.
She hoped it would hold, that the freeze would deepen and the city would become white. She loved how it became a negative of itself in the winter – the characteristic black bricks of the buildings and the black water of the canals becoming bright and light . . .
‘Please Jazz, we’re going to be late,’ she sighed, gesturing with her arms for him to exit the building.
‘But—’ He stared at her nervously, his coat finally done up.
‘What now?’
‘I’ve left my water on the table.’
She groaned. ‘Oh, honestly! You would forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on!’
Big brown eyes blinked back at her, making it impossible to be cross. She ruffled his hair with a grin. ‘Hurry up there, then. I’m going to unlock the bike. I’ll take your bag so just pull the door closed behind you.’
He scampered up the stairs again as she jogged down the stone steps and crossed the cobbled street to her bike. Fiddling with the lock keys, she went to swing the little rucksack into the large basket at the front when she noticed something was already in there. She frowned, pulling out a tall, slim hardback book.
Odd.
It was entitled If and on the cover was an illustration of a flock of sheep in the rain, one standing alone and forlorn; it was simply drawn and undeniably charming, washed over with deeply tinted watercolours. But what was it doing here? In her basket?
‘Mama?’
She looked up to find Jasper waiting obediently on the pavement opposite, his water bottle in his hand. She startled, frightened that her attention had been so fully engaged elsewhere, away from him. She looked left and right. ‘Okay, you can cross.’
He ran over to her and held up the bottle for her to put in the side pocket of his rucksack. ‘What’s that?’ He stared at the book in her hands.
‘It’s a book,’ she said, handing it to him so she could lift him up and strap him into his seat. ‘I found it in the basket.’
‘Why is it in the basket?’
She shrugged, clicking him in and reaching for his helmet. ‘I don’t know. Someone must have lost it, I guess.’
He peered closer at the cover, pressing a finger to the illustration as she pushed his hair back from his eyes. He needed a haircut – another one; she had never known anyone grow hair as quickly as this child. ‘He’s getting wet.’
‘Yes.’
‘He looks cold.’
‘Mm-hmm,’ she hummed, bending slightly to fasten the clasp beneath his chin.
He carried on looking at the picture. ‘He should stand with the others to be warm.’
Lee pulled back and looked at him with a small smile. If. If we stand together . . .? ‘I guess that’s the moral of the picture, yes.’
‘What’s a moral?’
‘The right thing to do.’
‘Moral,’ he repeated, as though trying out the word for size; it was accentless in his little bilingual voice. ‘I like this book,’ he said decisively. ‘Can we keep it?’
‘I don’t see why not – it’s not like we can give it back to the person it belongs to, is it? We don’t know who it belongs to and there’s a lot of people living here.’ She quickly fastened her own helmet. ‘Okay. Now hold tight, we’re already wildly late. I don’t know what your teachers are going to say.’
‘They say—’
‘No, no! Don’t tell me!’ she insisted with a laugh, as she swung her leg over the top tube and began pedalling. Her day had started on a good note; she wanted it to stay that way.
She walked into the studio twenty minutes later, unwinding her scarf and pulling off her kitten hat. ‘Morning!’
Bart looked startled. ‘You’re bright today.’
She arched an eyebrow. ‘And you can tell that from a single word?’
‘It was the way you said it. All bouncy.’
‘Bouncy?’ She tutted as she hung up her coat and headed for the coffee machine. She had never been called ‘bouncy’ in her life, and she wasn’t sure she liked it. Nevertheless, she was in a good mood this morning, she couldn’t deny it. Last night had done what she’d needed – given her a brief escape. ‘Want one?’
‘Got one, thanks,’ he said, watching her suspiciously. ‘. . . Anything you want to share?’
‘I’m not giving you my coffee. I just offered you one.’