Greenwich Park(35)

‘Am I interrupting?’ she asks. ‘Say if I am.’

‘No, no,’ I say hurriedly. ‘Of course you’re not.’ Daniel glares at me.

Rachel buries her head in both hands and seems to sob, her shoulders convulsing, her breathing coming out in heaves. She rocks back and forth on her heels, ash dropping onto the floorboards.

I shuffle closer, place an arm tentatively around her shoulder. Without looking up, she grips my hand.

‘Helen,’ she says, ‘can I stay here tonight? A couple of nights, maybe?’

I find myself answering even before I have computed what the words will be.

‘Of course. Of course you can.’

Her face is so full of gratitude that I am forced to turn away. I dare not look at Daniel.



‘Rachel, why don’t you sit here for a second? We can all have something to eat.’ I glance at Daniel. ‘Maybe Daniel could find you a bag of peas or something for your … the swelling.’

Wordlessly, Daniel returns to the kitchen. I persuade Rachel onto the sofa. She lights another cigarette, her hands shaking less this time. I fetch a side plate from the laid table, and slide it under the ash dripping from her cigarette.

When I return to the kitchen, Daniel spins round, hands outstretched, the sinews in his neck visible, as if he is struggling to keep his head fastened to his body.

‘What is going on, Helen?’

I shush him. ‘She’ll hear you.’

‘I don’t care! What is she doing here? Can’t you just tell her it’s our anniversary? Asking for fucking ice and lemon!’

I stare at him, stunned. ‘Are you serious? She’s upset! Someone has assaulted her. Can’t you see what’s happened to her neck?’

‘That doesn’t mean you had to say she could stay here! For fuck’s sake, Helen!’

‘Daniel! Stop swearing! Can you just try and find something cold in the freezer, please? I can’t bend down that far.’

Daniel kneels, pulls a freezer drawer out too forcefully. It falls onto the kitchen floor in a smash of ice and plastic. I can’t understand why he is quite so angry.

‘Jesus, Helen. Are there even any peas in here? Do we even buy peas? Why are these drawers so full? What is all this stuff?’

He holds up a handful of freezer bags, shakes them like pompoms.



‘It’s chicken casserole,’ I say weakly. ‘The book says to batch-cook a selection of healthy meals. You know, for when the baby comes.’

Daniel just stares at me, at the bags, and then at me again. I might as well have just told him they contain human body parts. I kneel down next to him, holding on to the kitchen sideboard to lower myself.

‘Come on. There are definitely some peas in here somewhere. Let me look.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Helen. I don’t care about peas or fucking … casseroles!’ He slams the freezer door shut.

‘Daniel, she’s a friend of mine. She’s young and pregnant and alone and … vulnerable.’

‘Yes, but –’

‘Just calm down for a moment. She needs a bit of help. I can’t just turn her away, can I?’

‘Why not? You said yourself you thought she was a nutcase.’

Suddenly, both our heads jerk to the side. Rachel is in the doorway.

‘I didn’t say that, Rachel,’ I say quietly. ‘I promise I didn’t say that.’ I glance at Daniel. He is scowling, but I can see he has been shamed into silence.

‘I’m the one who should apologise,’ Rachel says, looking at Daniel. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go. I was just after those peas. Or whatever. Anything. Anything cold.’ She presses a palm to her forehead, one eyelid flickering slightly. She looks like she might be about to faint.

I open the freezer drawer and dig out the peas. Daniel snatches them up, gets to his feet, closes the freezer door and hands her the bag. On the hob, the onions that Daniel had been frying lie still in the pan, oily and grey. Pools of ice are melting on the floor. I’m worried the casseroles will start defrosting if I don’t replace them, but it feels inappropriate somehow to start putting them back.

The smoke alarm beeps and there is a smell of burning. Daniel rushes to the oven door, whips the tea towel off his shoulder and opens it, but it is too late. A cloud of black smoke fills the kitchen. Rachel screws up her eyes and coughs, loudly.

‘I was doing sweet potato chips,’ Daniel mutters, slamming the door shut.

‘It doesn’t matter about the dinner.’ I mean it kindly, but when I hear how it sounds, I instantly regret it. Daniel glares at me.

Rachel exhales, a serious expression on her face. She picks up an apron that is hanging off the back of a chair, ties it around her waist. ‘Let me help,’ she says in a resolute voice, as if we are first responders at a terror attack.

‘There is no need, really,’ Daniel tells her. His teeth are clamped together, his jaw tense. He touches his glasses where they sit on the bridge of his nose.

‘I insist.’

Rachel bends down, deftly, mops up the pools of water, slides the freezer doors shut. It is clear that Daniel and I are equally stumped as to what we should say.

When the mess is cleared up, Rachel turns to me.

‘Do you want me to go?’ she whispers, glancing at Daniel, who now has his back to us.