Greenwich Park(52)

He shakes his head, takes another drag of the cigarette.

‘No,’ he says. ‘She didn’t.’

The fire crackles in front of us. I study his face in the flames, but I can’t make out the expression on his face. I have never asked him how he feels about the terms of the will. I got the impression it was pretty simple in the end – that Rory would get the family firm, that Helen would get the family home, and that Charlie would get everything else, a sort of cash equivalent. I have sometimes wondered whether he got the raw end of the deal. But for all his faults, Charlie has never been bothered about money.

‘Rachel seems nice,’ I say carefully.

He frowns, looks at me, head tilted to one side.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean she seems nice.’ I pull my jacket around myself. ‘I saw you talking to her, that’s all.’

Charlie stubs the cigarette out on the tree at the back of the garden.

‘I see.’

‘Oh, do you?’

‘Yes.’

We sit in silence for a moment. Charlie cranes his neck, trying to catch my eye.

‘Oi.’ He is laughing at me. ‘Come here, will you? I’m cold.’

‘No, you’re not,’ I say, shrugging his hand off my shoulder. ‘There’s a great big fire right in front of us.’

‘I am. I’m freezing.’ He slips his fingers in between mine. Pulls me towards him, forces me to meet his eye. Then he kisses me on the mouth. Despite myself, I smile in the darkness.





SERENA





When I walk into the kitchen, Helen is leaning over the sink, gripping its porcelain edge, her face dropped down between her arms.

‘Helen?’

She turns round. A stripe of sweat glistens across her forehead; her eyes sit in deep blue-grey hollows. She looks hot and cold at once; flustered, haunted. When her eyes focus on mine, I realise her pupils are dilated. It is as if she takes a moment to register that it is me.

‘Serena.’ She sounds relieved. ‘I didn’t see you.’

She pulls a shaking wrist up to her face, wipes her nose with her cardigan cuff.

‘Are you all right? You’ve got a bit of tree in your hair.’

I reach out to twist the twig out of the stray hairs on the top of her head. It is extraordinary, Helen’s hair. Such a vivid red. Russet, I think you would call it. Helen looks up gratefully.

‘I was in the garden. I thought I saw Monty near the fire. I was trying to bring him inside but …’ A look of confusion crosses her face, briefly, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. ‘I think I disturbed someone. Or rather, two people. Down at the bottom, in the … at the back.’

I cringe, smile sympathetically. I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Between the fire and the emptying of Helen’s parents’ old spirits cabinet, the party has taken on something of a bacchanalian air. The garden is foggy with bonfire smoke and the smell of weed, the dining and front rooms have become dance floors. Ironically, as parties go, Helen’s has been something of a triumph. People are starting to trail away now, though. Just a few strange characters are still wandering around, slumped in her armchairs, smoking in the bushes.

I comb Helen’s hair with my fingers, tuck a loose strand behind her ear, like one might do to a child. She seems hardly to notice. She is still staring out at her garden.

‘My dead babies are down there, Serena,’ she murmurs. ‘Did I ever tell you that?’

She didn’t. But Daniel did. The little funerals they held, alone in the rain, clinging to one other. The four tiny packets of ashes they had scattered with their trembling hands among the flower beds. And the four climbing roses they had planted there. One for every missing heartbeat.

I don’t say anything. Instead, I run my hand up and down her back, from her shoulder blades to the base of her spine.

‘I had the most terrible row earlier,’ she blurts. ‘With Rachel. I told her to leave.’

I glance up at the kitchen clock. It is past one.

‘Don’t worry about it now, Helen,’ I tell her. ‘It’s late. Let’s have a drink.’

She sniffs. ‘Not for me,’ she mumbles automatically.

Poor Helen. She has been through so much. I turn so that I am standing square on to face her, take her hand.

‘Helen,’ I whisper. ‘You are very strong, stronger than you think. Your baby is strong, too. And he is going to be fine. You are not going to hurt him now. Even if you have this glass of wine with me.’

Helen smiles at me, weakly. But she is surprisingly firm.



‘Really,’ she says, looking me in the eye. ‘I’d rather just have a tea. I think I’ll just have a cup of tea and take it up to bed.’

So, the tea it is.





KATIE





When I head back inside the house, it is later than I thought. The music seems to have stopped. The gauntlet of builders’ waste, still-hot embers and broken glass sobers me up. Poor Helen. She was right. It does look like things got a bit out of hand. Perhaps it was thoughtless of me to encourage her to have a party when she is so pregnant. And Charlie should never have invited so many people.

Serena is the only one in the kitchen. To my surprise, she appears to be cleaning. She has washed up all the glasses, and is wiping the kitchen surfaces down, scrubbing out purple rings of wine. She has piled her long hair onto the top of her head in a scruffy bun and stuck a pair of Helen’s Marigolds on. They look comically large on the ends of her long, skinny arms. She has collected cans and bottles into a green recycling sack. Maybe I’ve misjudged her.