Greenwich Park(42)

‘I read your piece today,’ Rachel is saying now. ‘About those scumbag rapists.’ I startle at her language.

‘You know, I reckon they should just hang blokes who do stuff like that to women.’ She takes a swig from her mug. ‘Or, you know, firing squad, electric chair.’ She pops an olive into her mouth. ‘Whatever. Just as long as they’re fucking dead.’

To my relief, Helen appears in the kitchen. She heads to one of the cupboards, and then starts filling up bowls of nuts and crisps, as if this is her house, and not Rory and Serena’s. When she sees me, she smiles, then eyes Rachel warily, her smile slipping. Her nose and eyes look pink, as if she has been crying. Her bump looks so heavy under her dress.

I hug her. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Hmm? I’m fine.’

‘Your eyes look a bit red.’



She shakes her head. ‘I’m fine,’ she says again.

Charlie appears through the open veranda doors. ‘Hey you.’ He leans in to kiss me on the cheek and misses. Instead he catches the bottom of my ear, the side of my neck. He smells of tobacco and shampoo and something else, something that is uniquely him. I glance out at the garden behind him. I wish we weren’t standing in this hot kitchen. I long to be outside, in the cool. Charlie shoots me a curious look. Helen looks cross. Rachel is staring at me. No one is saying anything. Drinks, I think. I will get us all a drink.

‘Right,’ I say. ‘Does everyone want a drink? Are you, um, all right, Rachel?’

It turns out that everyone has a drink, and Helen doesn’t want one. All I’ve done is draw attention to Rachel’s coffee mug of wine. The four of us all look at the mug, the dark red liquid inside half drunk. The silence is deafening.

‘I’ll have a top-up,’ she chirps.

It feels odd, filling up a mug of red wine for a pregnant woman.

‘Cheers,’ she says, lifting up her mug. Everyone smiles politely, tilts their glasses to the middle. Rachel extends hers, insisting on a loud clunk with everyone before taking another gulp. It is all deeply uncomfortable. Charlie seems to be staring at Rachel, an odd expression on his face. Helen is looking nervously at me, as if hoping I will resolve the situation. I grasp at the only other passing person I recognise – Lisa, who works with Daniel and Rory.

‘Rachel, have you met Lisa?’

Lisa spins round when I say her name, as if I’ve caught her doing something wrong. As usual, her dress is elegant, expensive for a PA – though perhaps she just has a good eye. High at the front, bare on the shoulders. The kind of dress not many people can get away with. I suspect she spends a lot of time in the gym.

‘Hi, Rachel,’ Lisa says. She puts out a hand to shake Rachel’s. It feels a bit odd, overly formal, as if she is still in work mode, welcoming a client to the Haverstock offices.

Rachel looks at Lisa’s hand like it might be a trick. Then she takes it, but doesn’t shake it. Then she lets it go again.

‘Have we met before, Rachel?’ Lisa’s face is somewhere between a smile and a frown. ‘At the office, maybe?’

Rachel shakes her head, bemused. ‘Rory’s office? I don’t think so.’

Helen is staring at Lisa. Lisa looks at her, then back to Rachel.

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Right. My mistake.’

‘I’ve been reading about Haverstock. About your latest project,’ Rachel is saying now, loudly. Lisa’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, like an animal scenting danger. I can’t decide whether to cringe or stifle a laugh. No one else would dream of broaching the subject of Rory and Daniel’s latest project – not with the coverage it’s been getting lately.

‘Sounds like a lot of people are pretty unhappy about that estate being knocked down, doesn’t it?’ she blunders on.

‘Yes, well, housing in London is quite a complicated issue,’ Lisa breathes. Her tone is a warning, but not one that Rachel can hear.

‘Complicated? Hardly,’ she snorts. ‘Do you know how long the list is for a council house in Greenwich?’ She looks around. ‘Anyone know?’

Everyone else in the room has studiously turned away now. Even Charlie looks awkward. The atmosphere feels heavy, as if a storm is coming. I realise I’m holding my breath.

‘Eighteen thousand people,’ Rachel announces triumphantly. ‘And you’re knocking down a load of council houses for a few fancy apartments with a gym.’ She rolls her eyes, grinning, as if this is all hilariously funny, instead of hideously uncomfortable. ‘I bet most of it is foreigners, isn’t it? Buying from abroad? I bet half of them won’t even live there.’

Lisa’s expression hardens from lukewarm to glacial.

‘Lovely to meet you, Rachel,’ she says. ‘Excuse me.’

She turns to join another group who have gathered around the kitchen island. Charlie excuses himself too, says he is going for a smoke. Rachel’s eyes follow him out of the room.

The space around Helen, Rachel and me seems to be getting smaller, filling with noise and elbows. Arms reach into cupboards for spirits, extra glasses. There is a pop of more champagne corks. I glance again at the doors to the garden.

‘So, Helen,’ I say, ‘have you decided on whether to do the fireworks this year?’

A fireworks party at Helen’s house is an old tradition. When we were little, the Haverstocks used to have one every year, with the most amazing bonfire. When Helen and Daniel moved back into the house, she told everyone they were going to bring her parents’ tradition back. But then, with everything that’s happened over the past few years, I don’t think she’s felt up to it. I was hoping this year might be different.