Page 22 of The Women at Ocean's End

‘Ireland, eh?’ Philip said, and the tone of his voice held a mixture of surprise and disdain. He’d never been a man to seek adventure outside his immediate postcode.

She looked at him now, taking in his overall appearance, and she realised she might easily have passed him by in the street if she hadn’t been paying attention. He’d put on weight and there was that thing where you saw someone out of their normal context and somehow they looked different. He’d gotten older without her noticing it and she found herself putting her hand to her hair and wondering if he thought the same about her. Philip had changed. Then, maybe she only really remembered how helooked from years ago. Living and working with each other for so many years, they’d become almost invisible to each other long before she realised it.

‘Heather.’ A second familiar voice emerged from the path. Charlotte Turan – she hadn’t seen her since they’d sold on the shops. Charlotte had intended to stay on, hoping to become manager once the new owners took over.

‘Charlotte, oh my goodness, fancy seeing you here too, it really is like a reunion of…’ And then, something dawned on her. Charlotte and Philip, together. Together, walking along on this street – what were the chances that could be just a coincidence?

‘You look well,’ Charlotte said, dragging her coat closed and unsuccessfully attempting to cover a medium-sized baby bump.

‘As do you.’ Heather tried to find firmer ground. It suddenly felt as if she’d stepped off the edge of familiar territory and she looked from Philip to Charlotte as if they might pass her a life ring. ‘And you’re both…’ she started. She was vaguely aware of the woman on the stall moving away from them, obviously tuning into signals that must have been as loud as sirens to anyone passing by their little unexpected group.

‘Together,’ Philip said and he had the good grace to look embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I should have said something,’ he began, but then he looked between the two women, one the past, the other obviously now the future. After twenty years of marriage, Heather could read him like a book. He was torn, between apologising and gushing; he truly had found the most awkward position between rock and hard place. She wanted to tell him he should have told her, but pride wouldn’t let her utter the words.

‘And you’re…’ The most basic but crucial words seemed to evaporate from Heather. It felt as if the fundamental ability of speech had deserted her when she absolutely needed it the most.

‘Having a baby.’ Charlotte smiled. It was the sort of smile that Heather had always pinned down to a certain smugness thatpregnant women managed to hold over their childless sisters. ‘Yes, isn’t it wonderful news, we’re over the moon.’ She let her coat fall open again, as if it was a big surprise and bound to make Heather’s day.

‘Well, that’s…’ Oh, God, she thought she was going to be sick, right here across Charlotte’s obviously expensive coat and shoes. ‘Congratulations.’

She didn’t want to know when the baby was due or what they were going to call it, or whether they had moved in together or any of the finer details. Suddenly she just wanted the path to open up and swallow her. But at the same time a little part of her knew that later in the day, or maybe in a few weeks or months, it would drive her nuts that she hadn’t asked. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t give me a call, to let me know, Philip,’ she managed to say through gritted teeth.

‘Well… I did think about it, but Charlotte said…’ And there it was. He was still ayesman. They’d been together for some time before she realised she had married a man who was happier to do what he was told, far more than ever leading the way. He looked across at Charlotte. She was one of those forgettable people who passed through the florists, except, she never passed through. She’d stayed on and worked in the Covent Garden shop for five years. She was still as clueless about flowers when they sold the shop as she had been on her very first day. Her true calling to the business had always been the ability to talk rich clients into spending more money than they had intended to. Looking at her Miu Miu coat and Celine trainers, it seemed she hadn’t lost her touch. Heather wondered if they’d have so much in common after she’d spent Philip’s nest egg.

‘And when are you due? You must be so excited.’ Heather turned towards the positively preening Charlotte, who was hanging onto Philip’s arm proprietarily.

‘Oh, we have a little ways to go yet, but yes, I’m really looking forward to it.’ She sounded as if she was about to launch into telling her about the shopping they’d obviously been doing for the baby, because it was only now Heather spotted that Philip was carrying a bag from La Coqueta. Even Heather knew that their babywear was out-of-this-world expensive.

‘Surely not that long, unless you’re having twins.’ And Heather heard her own laugh, but it was high-pitched, nervous, yes, maybe even a little hysterical.

‘Please Heather…’ Philip said, clearing his throat as if he somehow held the higher ground here.

‘Right… I didn’t mean…’ Heather breathed, but it felt as if the air had been pulled out of the whole city around her and she might drown if she didn’t make one final gasp. ‘So…’

‘You aren’t on the WhatsApp group, are you?’ Charlotte shook her head as if this was some terrible oversight.

‘Sorry?’

‘We set one up, well, I set it up, just to keep everyone in touch, you know, all the gang from the shops. I’ll add you to it…’ she promised, as if it was the one thing that would settle everything.

‘That’s Charlotte, always organising everyone…’ Again, it sounded like an apology.

‘Aww, darling,’ Charlotte said and she reached up to kiss him. Inwardly, Heather shuddered.

‘Well, I hope it all goes well for you both,’ Heather said. And it was a confirmation of sorts: there was nothing more to keep her in the city. She looked back at the woman on the stall who had been listening from afar.

‘So, I’ll see you when you get back, yes? From that big event you have in Ireland.’

‘Oh, I don’t think I’ll be back again for quite a while,’ Heather said but she wanted to run behind the little bookstand and throwher arms around the woman for being everything that Charlotte was not.

‘So, youaregoing to Ireland, I did hear you right at first?’ Philip said, trying his best to disentangle himself from Charlotte, but she was like bindweed, clinging to him.

‘Yes, I’m going to Ireland.’

‘Ireland? Oh dear, what’s in Ireland, apart from leprechauns and shamrock?’ Charlotte laughed at her own bad joke.

‘Quite a lot as it turns out.’ Heather hoped she managed to sound a little mysterious, even though her stomach was turning over with a million butterflies. ‘My new start, for one thing, and I’m really looking forward to it,’ she said before stalking off with as much dignity as she could muster.

God knew how she made it back to her mother’s house in one piece. She really wasn’t sure how she managed it, because even though she didn’t cry, it felt as if the very core of her had been mined away and she was just hollowed out, like an empty sarcophagus pretending to be a real person. She moved from street to street as if on automatic pilot and, all the while, all she could think of was, she was going to Ireland.

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