The Love of My Life(81)

‘Not your decision to make,’ I say, quietly.

Jill pinches the bridge of her nose.

‘You’re right,’ she says. ‘It wasn’t. But I wanted to help Emma. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.’

Emma and I exchange glances. Nothing about this scene is making sense.

Jill jams the heel of her hand into her eyes. She’s determined not to cry. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I did lie to get you here. I did cause Leo a day of panic, which I regret – I just didn’t think it through. I’m sorry, Emma. For everything. I’m sorry.’

Emma is at a loss. ‘Jill, what’s going on?’ she asks, quietly. ‘What’s happening?’

After a moment, Jill crosses her arms over herself. ‘Are you really so stupid?’

Emma looks at me again. She has no more idea than I do.

‘I am pretty stupid,’ she says, cautiously. ‘Quite a lot of the time. But I don’t know what you mean in this instance.’ Her voice softens. ‘Please, Jill. Talk to me.’

‘I could have prevented all of this,’ Jill says, eventually.

‘Prevented what? What’s “all of this”?’

‘I knew David Rothschild was married. One of his friends told me. I could have told you, that night, but I didn’t, because I was jealous of you, Emma. They were all after you. All of them. I wanted to make you feel stupid and small for a minute. But then you got pregnant, and your life fell apart. And that’s on me. So yes, I’ve done everything I can to help you, ever since. But it’ll never be enough.’

She yanks at the hem of her T-shirt, which has risen up. ‘I think you should probably both go now. So you can bitch about me, and how badly I handled today, and how I ruined your life.’ She’s not even looking at us.

‘Jill,’ I say. I don’t really feel like I should be speaking, here – this is a moment for her and Emma. But I can’t just allow the last thirteen hours. I took Ruby to a police station, for God’s sake. I called the hospitals.

‘Jill, none of this explains why you shut me out of this. Why you basically kidnapped Emma. I’ve been beside myself. What were you thinking?’

Jill can’t look at me. I don’t think she has an answer. I don’t think she’s thought about any of this in a sane or rational way.

‘I was planning on telling you that it was all my fault tonight,’ she says, to Emma. ‘I wanted to say sorry. I was just . . .’ She looks around her, at the food cartons, the wine. ‘I was plucking up the courage. I’m sorry, Leo. I’m sorry, both of you. Please, do us all a favour and go.’

Before we know it, she’s walked to the front door and opened it. ‘Take care,’ she says, looking at nobody.

‘Jill . . .’ Emma says. ‘Please, stop it.’

Jill just stands at her front door.

‘Jill. Jill!’ Emma says. ‘You have to stop this! I invited him back to our house, I had sex with him. I didn’t pay enough attention to condoms. It was my body, my decision. It wasn’t on you. It has never been on you.’

But Jill can’t hear her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she says, and when we don’t move, she walks across the hallway and into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

We walk back down the corridor of Jill’s silent apartment block again, as far apart as we can be.

I don’t know what to think, or what to do. I don’t think Emma does either.

The car park is bleak, a skin of rain on the ground, no sign of life save for an exhausted-looking young man in the strip-lit gym at the bottom of Jill’s block. I look at my watch – 11.03 p.m.

I want today to be over, but I have a feeling it’s only just beginning.





Chapter Fifty-Six


EMMA


We drive across north London in silence. Drizzle swirls in the peach glare of streetlamps, kebab shops bleed neon and cheerful music. In Willesden I watch a man fly-tipping an old fridge by a wheelie bin, looking round furtively for onlookers. Leo, who would normally have something to say about this, says nothing at all.

I watch him, from time to time. I’ve always really fancied Leo when he’s driving. Not because he’s flashy behind the wheel: the opposite, really. He’s just so steady. I want to crawl into the warmth of his lap, feel his worn jeans under my legs, wrap my arms around his stripy top and fall asleep in his armpit.

‘Leo,’ I try, as we turn up Fitzjohn’s Avenue.

‘Please don’t,’ he says. And then, after a pause: ‘I can’t.’

I turn to stare out of the window again, at vast red-brick townhouses shuttered for the night, plane trees lining the street like old men, dripping and drooping.

Now I watch his clenched jaw as we turn off Frognal Rise into our road, and I know I’m going to lose him, this love of mine, just like I lost Charlie, and I’ll have only myself to blame.

*

‘I’ll sleep on the sofa,’ I say, when Olly and Tink have carried their boys into the car.

‘No . . . I don’t want Ruby to think there’s anything wrong. I’ll sleep in the shed. If she sees me come in, she’ll think I’ve just taken John out for a pee.’

I stand in the hallway, trying not to cry.