Five Winters(41)

“No, not until the New Year. The undertaker’s coming tomorrow to discuss the arrangements with Sylvia.”

“How’s she taking it? Silly question, I suppose. She must be devastated.”

“She is. But she’s all right, I think. I mean, she’s still functioning in a stunned sort of way. Still thinking about everyone else. I guess it will really hit her after the funeral, when it’s all over, and it’s just her in the house.”

“God, yes.”

“It’s just so hard to take in, Naomi. That we won’t see him again. He was always there, you know? Even when I didn’t see him very often. And I hadn’t seen him very often lately, what with living in Ely.”

Naomi took my free hand in hers. “Listen, sweets, don’t be feeling guilty about that. He wouldn’t want you to. You had your life to lead.”

I sighed. “I know that, but I just think if I’d seen him more often, maybe I’d have noticed something. I don’t know, some clue he had a heart condition.”

“Sylvia saw him every day, though, didn’t she? And presumably she didn’t notice anything.”

“She says not, apart from him being a bit tired. But nothing too much, not really.”

“Well then.”

Across the room, Bembe was sitting up, shouting, and banging a toy train with a toy brick.

“Guilt is all wrapped up in grief, and you’re grieving, mate.”

Tears began to run down my cheeks all over again. I put my coffee down and fumbled for a tissue. “How did you get to be so wise?”

“Some of us are just born that way, I guess.”

I smiled. “I guess.” It was good to speak to her. Very good. I’d spoken to Mark and Rosie, of course, but that was different somehow because they felt every bit as bad as I did.

“How’s everything going, anyway, in Ely?” Naomi asked, and I sighed.

“All right.” I wasn’t at all sure that was true, to be honest. But I was completely sure I didn’t have the strength to talk about it just now. “How about you? How’s it working out for you, being back at work part-time?”

“Ah,” Naomi said with a strange expression on her face. “About that. I might not be back at work for much longer.”

“Oh?” I said. “Is it too much for you?”

“It is, if I’m honest. Dashing about, getting Bembe ready to leave for the childminder on time. Feeling guilty because he’s playing with something and doesn’t want to go. Not being able to concentrate because I’m so damn tired. But I’d probably be able to cope with all of that if it weren’t for the other thing.”

I frowned. “What other thing?”

Bembe crawled over, having abandoned his bashing game, and Naomi pulled him up onto her knee. She was grinning all over her face as she looked at me, and suddenly I knew what she was going to say.

“You’re not pregnant again?”

“I am. Four months. Talk about timing, eh?”

I thought of lucky Bembe, having a sibling close to his age. “It’s not bad timing—it’s perfect. Oh, congratulations! I’m so pleased for you.”

“Thanks. I’m not sure Clive agrees with you about it being good timing, though. I think he’s shell shocked. Especially as the girl they got in to replace you hasn’t worked out very well. Not sure she’ll be sticking around for much longer. Kind of hope not, to be honest. She’s never fit in.”

She looked down at her son and was suddenly very absorbed in pulling up his left sock, which was hanging off his foot. I knew my Naomi. Knew how hard it must be to stop herself from saying anything else. So hard it would take her until lunchtime to get Bembe dressed in the mornings if she put as much attention into his other clothes as she was putting into adjusting his sock. You can go back to your old job if you want to. That’s what she wanted me to know, but she wasn’t going to push it. She was going to leave me to draw that conclusion myself, even if it drove her crazy to stay silent.

Suddenly Bembe began to cry. Lustily.

“Sorry,” Naomi said. “He probably wants a nap.”

I got up. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“You don’t have to. He usually goes down quite quickly.”

“I’m going to have to face the flat at some point,” I said, zipping up my coat. “But it was wonderful to see you. Thanks for listening.”

She hugged me. “Oh, sweetheart, anytime. You’re always welcome here. You hear me?”

“I hear you. Thank you.”

As my feet took themselves along the familiar roads to my flat, I noticed some changes—apart from the Christmas trees and decorations on display in people’s windows. A new pair of yellow curtains in the window of the big house on the corner, some spray-painted graffiti on the postbox. But some things were the same. The plastic flowers in the window box at number fifty-eight. The pride-and-joy BMW that rarely left its parking spot outside number sixty. And then I was there at number seventy-six, going down the stone steps to the basement. Putting my key in the lock and turning it.

I’d known it would be cold—the tenants had been gone three weeks, and it had been bitter this December. There had even been ice in the fountains at Trafalgar Square—I’d seen it on the national news. But though I’d expected it to be cold, the icy air still hit me like a wall as I went in. Walking along the hallway, I could see my breath. I switched on the light—this part of the flat had always been dark—and immediately frowned. The large mirror was askew, as if someone had knocked into it. And when I straightened it, I noticed a long scuff mark along the wall, as if something large had been dragged past it. With my heart sinking at these signs of a lack of care, I walked on towards the main room and pushed the door open. And immediately gasped in horror and despair.