Page 31 of The First Time I Saw You
I’m distracted by the sight of a woman pushing a buggy up the hill; the way her gait stops and starts, stops and starts. As I pass her, I glance at her tired eyes as she pushes a bottle into the baby’s mouth which is hidden from my view. I pull in to the car park and wonder why the woman hadn’t just fed the baby before she left.
We settle ourselves by the log burner, our drinks fizzing inside the glasses as we scan the menu and order.
‘So . . . how’s the place looking? How are you keeping? Are you having heartburn? Because you can have as much Gaviscon as you want. I should have bought some, I’ll get plenty in next time you come to visit.’ The ice cubes in my glass clink against each other as I listen to Helen’s stream of questions.
‘No, not yet and it’s great . . . the bedroom is finished.’
‘What colour have you gone for?’
‘White.’ She snorts into her glass. ‘What?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. It’s just you’re about to have a baby, and white, well . . . let’s just say baby poo isn’t white, Sophie.’
‘I’ll put the baby in another room.’
‘Right.’ She swirls her straw around the inside of the glass and smirks. ‘Of course, keeping your duvet cover blemish-free will be in the forefront of your mind when you’ve had an hour’s sleep in two days.’
I ignore her and carry on. ‘I’ve just had the kitchen redone. Actually, that’s why I asked you to come.’
‘Oh Sophie, I can’t. I’m not ready to, I don’t think I can go back there. I know you want me to, but I just can’t. I—’
‘I know. That’s not it. I mean, I do want you to come though Hel, it’s nothing like how it was before. But I understand if you need more time. I wanted to see you to ask if you could tell me about this?’ I rummage in my bag and slide the book across the table. The colour drains from Helen’s face and tears fill her eyes.
‘Where did you find it?’ she whispers.
‘It was hidden behind one of the kitchen cupboards.’
She reaches for the tag which is resting on top of the book, and her fingers follow the outline of the pocket watch.
‘I made this. I made it the day before she died.’
‘Why did you never tell me about it?’
Helen’s eyes shift from the tag and begin to scour the room, resting on the bar, the ceiling, the floor, the couple walking into the pub, looking at anything except me. I reach my hand across the table, taking her fingers in mine, but she snatches them back.
‘Sophie, I can’t, I’m not ready to explain. I need to go. I’m sorry.’ She picks up her things.
Her reaction has thrown me. I was just expecting a memory, a forgotten story, but Helen is more than a little flustered. She drops her bag, the contents spilling over the floor. I watch her scrabbling her things together.
‘Helen, stay, we can talk a bit more.’
‘I can’t.’ She shoves the last of her things into the bag, stands and grabs her coat.
‘Let me take you back into town at least.’ I pull out my keys but she shakes her head.
‘I think I’ll walk. I need to think, to clear my head—’ She pulls me towards her, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she folds me into her embrace, an embrace that is filled with the weight of the past.
I’m about to go to bed when the phone rings.
‘Do you remember that KT Tunstall song about the cherry tree?’ she asks, the word cherry sounding like sherry. ‘“Woo-hooo-ooh, woo-hoo!”’ she sings down the phone.
‘Helen, where are you? Are you home?’ I ask, the slur in her words instantly worrying me.
‘I am, safe and sound. Do you know how much faster the train journey goes when you’re drunk? I might do it every time I travel. I went into a bar and drank an entire bottle of wine on my own. Just me and the bottle, no kids, no Greg; I haven’t done that in years. I sat on the beach and watched the whole of the sunset.’
‘Weren’t you cold? It’s April.’
‘I needed to clear my head, and I didn’t stay on the beach that long. I went into a bar and had a pornstar martini. I think I might have had three, actually.’ She burps as I begin making a cup of tea. ‘Do you think he killed my mum too?’ she asks, the switch from pornstar martinis to murder fracturing the air in the room and pausing my movements: the sugar stills on the teaspoon halfway towards the cup. ‘I mean, the death certificate said she died of pneumonia . . . but what if he did something first?’
