I’d arrived ridiculously early, dressed carefully in my new jeans and leather jacket, aiming for the right image of relaxed and trendy, an interesting person to get to know, hoping the nerves bundled inside me were well hidden. One of the lecturers – scruffy suit and shiny bald head – ushered me in, leading me across to the only other person on her own in the room, who turned out to be Amy. Her artificially red hair was a mass of soft shoulder-length curls, and denim dungarees flattered her curvy figure. She was a local, she told me as she sorted me out with a drink, one of the rare breed of students who hadn’t strayed too far from home. Her single mother was an academic – ‘not here at Bucks, thank God, way too embarrassing’ – and she loved the area, so why spend money travelling when there was a good university on her doorstep? She was living on campus for the first year in order to get the most out of university life. When I got to know her better, I learned her mother hadn’t been able to work for months due to health issues, and relied on Amy for support. Bucks was the only university she had applied to. Conversation flowed between us, and by the time I’d finished my drink, the room had filled up around us and I felt as if I’d known her forever.
I turn my attention to the motorway and spend most of the journey overtaking vehicles in the slow lane. The car moves smoothly and I enjoy the feeling of control and independence that driving gives me, relieved that I don’t have to suffer Theo’s erratic driving style, holding my breath whenever he overtakes and arriving at our destination a bag of nerves. After his initial enthusiasm for the weekend, I sensed some reluctance, but he insisted it was all in my head, showing me his train booking for Saturday morning.
The satnav tells me to turn off at the next exit, and I slow down before deftly moving into the left-hand lane, the indicator clicking along with my thoughts. I wonder what the cottage will be like. When Amy received the letter from the solicitor, she was convinced it was some kind of joke, unaware that her aunt had owned any property in the area. She’d imagined a run-down shack in the middle of the forest, but the reality was apparently quite different – the solicitor had sent her some photographs – a picture-book cottage with a thatched roof and a bright yellow door. It had been well looked after, as her aunt had rented it to a friend for the last few years.
By the time I pull up at the cottage, it’s late morning and I’m in need of a coffee. Amy must have heard the car crunching over the gravel, because she emerges from the front door, resplendent in a flowery jumpsuit, her red hair curling around her face, almost as long now as she used to wear it before the chemotherapy. Her face breaks into a wide smile and she hugs me to her. I feel bones that used to be covered and hold her tighter.
‘How was the journey?’
‘Great, thanks.’ I fetch my case from the boot. ‘The traffic wasn’t too bad and it only took two hours.’ I step back to study her. ‘You look really well. I’m so pleased to see you.’
‘Me too,’ Amy says, putting her arm through mine. ‘Shall I give you the tour?’
‘Coffee first,’ I say, and she laughs.
‘Of course.’
‘Although … I’ve brought along some decaf.’ I feel my cheeks colour up, not ready to share my news just yet. ‘I’m on a bit of a health kick at the moment.’
‘Decaf’s fine by me.’
The cottage is as pretty as she’s told me, and the yellow door stands open. I sit at the large wooden table in the country-style kitchen as Amy pours water into a cafetière and puts it on the table between us. The smell of baking hangs in the air, and two fresh loaves sit on the side.
‘What a delicious smell. You have been busy,’ I say. ‘It’s a lovely place.’ She’s put her stamp on the cottage already: a glorious red teapot and a set of mugs painted with poppies brighten up the counter, and a huge vase of pink and white tulips sits on the table.
‘Isn’t it?’
Sun is pouring through the window, filling the kitchen with light. It’s only small, but it feels homely. We both look out at the view of the back garden, and my eyes are drawn across the newly cut lawn, down the stepping-stoned path and beyond the small wooden shed, pulled as if by a magnet to the edge of the forest visible in the distance. A thick mass of tall trees lurks, the treetops huddled together, protecting the darkness contained between them. The sun slips behind a cloud and a dark shadow falls on the lawn, and I shiver as if I’m standing out there, experiencing the sudden drop in temperature.
Amy turns to face me.
‘You’re thinking about Hannah, aren’t you?’
Chapter Four
I push the filter down hard onto the coffee grounds to avoid Amy’s gaze. ‘I can’t help it,’ I say. ‘Mention Blackwood Forest and Hannah’s face springs into my mind, and not Hannah as I remember her, but that wretched photo the newspapers plastered everywhere – she hated that one.’
I pour coffee into the two mugs Amy has placed between us, and add milk. I sip at my drink, needing warmth.
‘But let’s not talk about that just now. Tell me about the weekend. The others are coming, aren’t they?’ My voice sounds hopeful, but part of me still hopes for a cancellation, a last-minute reprieve.
‘As far as I know. They should arrive later today, so I thought we could eat out this evening. I’ve got some activities planned for tomorrow. Lots of catching-up to do, chilling out, drinking …’
‘Sounds good to me.’
‘Have you talked to either of them since we last spoke?’
‘Kat, yes, a few times. We’ve got a lot closer over the last few months. She’s been so supportive over this stuff with Theo.’
Kat was there for me at one of the lowest points of my life. I’d accidentally found a note in Theo’s jacket pocket, when I was looking for a lost key. If it had just been the note, I might not have taken it seriously, but I’d had my suspicions for months that he was seeing someone else. There were the usual clichés: late nights at the pub after work; a sprucing-up of his wardrobe; rolling over and claiming tiredness whenever I attempted a caress or a kiss. A hint of unfamiliar perfume in the air. So many nights I’d lain awake staring at his broad back, seeing it as a wall between us, when once we’d been so close. How had this happened?
The note led to a confession, almost as if he wanted to be found out. The words came spilling out and I could see he was mortified at what he’d done. I insisted he move back to his old flat for a while to let me mull things over, and it was during this period that I last saw Kat, when I had a monumental decision in front of me. I drove to her studio and chewed over my dilemma with her. Should I give him another chance? Or throw away five good years? At the age of thirty-five, could I face being single and childless? This was not how my life was meant to pan out. My dream of being a mother was floating away, and I felt washed up, a failure. It was this, and my belief in Theo’s remorse at what he’d done, that helped me make my decision.
I felt better after pouring my heart out over a bottle of wine. I left my car and walked home reassured by Kat’s words and the warm atmosphere of her studio, with weird sculptures dotted around the space and colourful abstract paintings on the walls. Kat lives in one of those uber-trendy live/work spaces in an old warehouse conversion. One half of the large open area is her art studio and the other is where she eats and sleeps. Despite her life being a whirlwind of social activity full of fellow creatives, she made time for me, and it meant a lot.