Page 13 of The Mistake

‘OK. I’ll think about it.’

‘Nat, you’ve got a beautiful family in there – you are so, so lucky to have them all. I don’t want to see things fall apart for you. Promise me, you’ll make an appointment.’

‘Sure.’ Natalie wants Eve to go now. It’s not fair of her, saying things like that and making Natalie feel guilty for having a family, and she seems to have taken against Pete more than usual lately. It’s not Natalie’s fault Eve can’t have children, and she listened to her before, when Eve said she shouldn’t have an abortion. Eve kisses her cheek and walks away. Natalie closes the door before she even reaches the end of the path.

After Eve has left, Natalie baths Erin and feeds her, and as she moves to the bedroom window to close the curtains, Erin begins to cry again. Desperately, Natalie grips the fabric of the curtains as she stares out on to the woods below. The trees shake and twist in the wind, as if being bent by the force of Erin’s screams, and Natalie has a horrible sense of déjà vu. She thinks about the nightmare she’s been having on repeat ever since Erin was born, where the doctor can’t stop the bleeding in the delivery room, of the way it makes her feel as though she’s fading away to nothing, leaving behind a soulless husk.I don’t know how much longer I can do this for, she thinks. She doesn’t know what she’ll do if Erin doesn’t stop crying.

Pete

The printer whirs into life and Pete takes a moment to rub his eyes, scraping his hands down and over the stubble on his chin. Tapping his phone screen, he sees it’s almost seven o’clock and his heart sinks. Another night that he’s worked too late to get back in time to help Natalie bath Erin and help get Zadie to bed. He opens the next drawing on the list and sends that to the printer, too. He’s still got to pop in on the show house before he leaves. They’re having a little opening ceremony – just drinks for the site team – before they officially start showing potential buyers around tomorrow. He doesn’t really fancy it, but he’s going to get it in the neck from Natalie anyway, so he might as well go.

Twenty minutes later, Pete makes his way up the path to the show home. He doesn’t want to blow his own trumpet or anything, but it really is spectacular, and pride straightens his spine as he pushes the front door open. Who would have thought that Pete Maxwell, that scrawny kid from the other side of the village (the side with the smaller houses and the mums who nattered over the front garden fences, cigs hanging from their mouths) would be the one to build West Marsham’s most prestigious housing development?

‘Vanessa.’ Pete smiles as Vanessa appears in the doorway. She’s wearing a fitted red dress that Pete knows the boys on site will have talked about today, and her dark hair tumbles down her back.

‘You made it! Though you’re a bit late, I’m afraid.’ Vanessa gestures behind her towards the darkened kitchen. ‘The lads all swooped in for a few beers, cheered themselves, and then went to the pub for Fatmir’s leaving drinks.’

‘Ah, bugger. I didn’t realise they were leaving this early.’

‘I could still show you round the house, though?’ Vanessa raises her eyebrows. ‘Come on, you should at least see the finished product. You did build it, after all.’

Pete grins. ‘Yeah, go on, then. I suppose I should see what you’ve done with the old place.’ He follows her into an immaculate sitting room, the walls a calming shade of taupe, with a huge flat-screen TV on the wall in front of two sofas that look far too expensive to sit on. There are no sticky handprints on the wall, no toys cluttering the plush rug, and the only sound is the hiss of a discreet air freshener that puffs the scent of jasmine and rose into the air. It’s certainly a more calming space than the one Pete returns home to after a long day at work.

He follows Vanessa into the kitchen – gleaming appliances, white cupboard doors and a strategically placed bowl of exotic fruit on the worktop – through a laundry room and into a spacious garage, before heading upstairs. The master bathroom is just as opulent as the rest of the house, and when they reach the master bedroom Pete pauses on the threshold.

‘You’ve done a cracking job,’ he says to Vanessa. ‘This is just … God, what I wouldn’t have given to grow up somewhere like this when I was a kid.’

‘It wasn’t all me,’ Vanessa says, blushing slightly. ‘I had a few ideas, but it was down to the interior team to execute it. And what are you on about? I remember your house being brilliant fun. Your mum always had something nice in the oven, and your dad was so funny.’

‘Yeah, it was a bit of a madhouse.’ Pete looks at his phone. He had forgotten how much time Vanessa spent at his house when they were seeing each other. They were only teenagers, and Vanessa’s mum always seemed more than happy to let Vanessa have dinner at theirs. It’s weird to think about it, but Vanessa had probably spent more time with his mum than Natalie has in all the time they’ve been married. ‘Thanks for showing me round, but I should probably get off home.’

Vanessa glances at the slim Cartier watch on her wrist. ‘Oh gosh, me, too.’ She pulls a face. ‘I’m supposed to be going to a yoga class in twenty minutes but to be honest, I’d rather just have a glass of wine.’

Pete laughs, but secretly he feels the same. The thought of a nice, cold pint sounds like heaven, and he’s late already.

‘Tell you what.’ Vanessa pauses as they walk down the front path together after locking the house up. ‘Why don’t we stop in the pub for a quick drink? If you don’t mind giving me a lift, that is? The lads are only in town, and Fatmir did say he was hoping you’d pop in to say goodbye on your way home. I’d be more than happy to skip yoga for one night.’

Pete hesitates for a moment. He should go home, back to Natalie and the kids. But last week when he was late home, Natalie had shoved a screaming Erin in his arms before he’d even managed to get through the door properly, before marching upstairs and disappearing into the bedroom. He’d had toast for dinner at about ten o’clock that night, once Erin had gone off to sleep.

‘Let me make a phone call.’ Pete lifts his mobile and dials Natalie’s number, exhaling with relief when it goes to voicemail. ‘Nat? It’s me. Something’s come up at work, and I need to sort it before I can leave. I’m not sure what time I’ll be back.’ He pauses. ‘Love you.’

The popular gastropub chosen for the leaving do is packed with people, and Pete’s site team are more than a little rowdy when he and Vanessa walk in. Pete buys a round, clapping Fatmir on the back – he is genuinely going to miss him; they’ve worked together since Pete first started the business – and then joins Vanessa at the table she’s managed to snag in the corner.

‘Cheers.’ Pete clinks his pint against her glass of white wine.

‘They’re a good team,’ Vanessa says, her eyes going to the rest of the lads. ‘They work really well together, and they’re exactly whatI was hoping for when I sent you the tender. I’ve heard nothing but good things about you guys.’

‘We try our best.’ Pete has wondered more than once why Vanessa chose to send the contract to him to price, and even more why she gave the contract to him. He knows he isn’t the cheapest around. Something eases in his chest now at the realisation that it’s got nothing to do with their past. Of course it never did. It’s his reputation.

‘So …’ Vanessa takes a sip of wine, her eyes closing briefly as the alcohol hits her tongue. ‘God, that’s good. How is Natalie? I can’t believe I still haven’t met her. All this time both of us have been living back in West Marsham, it’s hard to see how we haven’t run into each other somewhere.’

Pete thinks Vanessa probably frequents slightly different parts of West Marsham than he and Natalie do. He can’t see elegant Vanessa in her classy suits and red lipstick queuing up for a kebab on a Wednesday evening. ‘Nat’s good,’ he says. ‘Tired, you know. New baby and all that.’

‘I bet it’s lovely, having a tiny baby about the place now the other girls … Emily and Zadie, isn’t it? Now they’re a bit older.’

‘Well, swings and roundabouts, you know?’ Pete has only drunk half of his pint, but he skipped lunch and it feels as if it’s gone straight to his head. ‘You forget how tough it is … the night feeds, feeling knackered all the time.’

‘Ah. Things feeling a bit tough?’

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