The It Girl(59)

“I know,” Hannah says. She picks up a bag of organic rice, looks at the price, and then swaps it for normal. “But it’s not just that—I’ve got the midwife again tomorrow, and I feel like I should be putting my feet up.”

“Of course,” Will says, and now the puzzlement has been replaced by concern. “Are you not feeling great?”

“I’m feeling fine, honestly. I just want a quiet one in front of the TV. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Will says again. “Quiet one it is, then. Love you.”

“I love you too,” she says, and then Will hangs up, and she is left standing there, staring at the pasta, Geraint’s words ringing in her head.

April was pregnant. April was pregnant? If it’s true, it changes everything. It opens up a whole mess of motives and possibilities that have nothing to do with Neville. There’s Ryan, of course—the supposed source of this information. If it’s true—if April really did tell him that she was pregnant, and Ryan really did believe her—Hannah can think of only one plausible explanation, unlikely though it is on the surface: Ryan must have been sleeping with April. Why else would she tell him first, out of everyone in their group? April didn’t even particularly like Ryan, so the prospect of her picking him as a confidant is totally outlandish. But apparently she did choose him. And when she really considers it, Hannah can imagine April sleeping with Ryan. Or sleeping with someone, at least.

Because it wasn’t just that one morning, when she found Will in the dining hall when he should have been in bed with April; there were other times. Nights when she heard footsteps padding across the sitting room followed by hushed whispers and giggles floating across the hallway. Afternoons when she caught a scent of cigarettes that Will didn’t smoke coming from April’s room. Mornings when she found shoes that weren’t his by the front door as she headed out to early lectures.

And there was always something between April and Ryan. Not friendship, definitely not. But it is all too easy for that prickly antagonism to mask a very different kind of attraction. Hannah remembers the strange electrical charge that crackled between them the night April pranked Ryan, and the weird energy the first night of April’s play, and she does not find it hard to believe that Ryan was sleeping with April. Not at all.

But if that’s the case, it’s not just Ryan who is implicated—and this, this is why she is distracted and why her answers to Will are short and strained. Because if it’s true… if it’s true it gives someone else a motive too.

Will.

It’s absurd, of course—she knows Will like she knows her own heart. But if this comes out—and if Geraint is digging, it still might—it would destroy Will. She has caught glimpses of them—the articles on the internet making snide references to De Chastaigne—who is now married to April’s college roommate—as though their happiness were somehow bought at the cost of April’s death. It’s always the boyfriend is a cliché, but clichés are clichés for a reason. With this new information, the internet gossip boards would go wild. Her and Will’s life would once again become a misery of paparazzi doorsteppers and newspaper speculation.

How can she keep this from him? It feels impossible—but then, asking him whether he knew and concealed something so momentous feels equally impossible. It would be like asking him whether he has lied to her all their relationship—and admitting to him that she thinks he may have done so. How do you ask someone something like that? And what if he tells her—

Her phone pings and she looks down, realizing that she is still frozen in the middle of the aisle, holding it out like a compass. It’s a text from Will.

Han, I’m sorry I hadn’t remembered about the antenatal appointment. I’m a horrible husband. Please don’t stress—I’m sure it’s all fine. Our baby is fine. I love you x

A wave of guilt washes over her as she realizes what she has just done—she has used this appointment, used their baby, as an alibi for her own stress over Geraint.

She is just trying to think what to reply when her phone buzzes again.

Why don’t you take a day off so you’re properly rested? Really put your feet up xx

You’re a LOVELY husband. And good idea, Hannah texts back. Love you x

She puts the phone away, picks up the rice, and goes across to the queue for the checkout, but the sinking feeling in her stomach tells her that this isn’t over. She has to find out if Geraint is telling the truth, if April really was pregnant, or she will spend the next ten years stressing about it. And only one person knows for sure.

She will take the day off tomorrow, as Will suggested. But not to put her feet up.

She will go to the appointment. And then she will go and see Ryan. And she will ask him about the rumors. But that means… that means she has to tell Will.



* * *



IT’S LATE—OR WHAT PASSES FOR late for Hannah these days. They are in bed. Will is scrolling through his phone, and Hannah is reading a dog-eared copy of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. She picked it up because she wanted a familiar comfort read, but she knows the clock is ticking and that she cannot put this conversation off any longer. She owes to it Will.

She puts the book down on the bedside table.

“Will…”

“Mm?” He barely looks up. She can see he’s on Twitter. He doesn’t tweet under his own name—they’ve both learned the hard way that’s not a good idea—but he has an anonymous account under the name Two Wheels Good where he retweets indignant blogs about poorly designed road junctions and articles about vintage motorbikes.