Seven Days of Us(83)
“Mmm. He’s lost weight. And he still has the Haag rash, so he looks pretty rough. But he’s just weak really. Once he was awake, he was totally lucid. Talking, eating, everything.”
“And you told him the happy news?”
“Yup. I woke him up with it.”
“Did you? Terrific. He sounds like a very decent chap. Perhaps I could do, I don’t know, some sort of interview with him for The World—once he’s fully recovered. Set the record straight, sort of thing. Such a lot of rubbish was written. Just a thought anyway. Your call.”
“Maybe,” she said. He couldn’t tell if she liked the idea or not. After a moment he added, “I’m sure he’ll be an excellent father. Better than me.”
He glanced at her, but she was staring at the windscreen. He’d always thought she had the misfortune to look like him and not Emma, but she had Emma’s nose, he realized—straight, guileless. It was Phoebe who’d inherited his beak, albeit in miniature.
“You’re not that bad!” she said, looking round as if he’d been joking.
“I could have been better. Almost missed Jesse altogether.”
“There’s plenty of time. You’ve only just met.”
“There is, there is,” he said. “With you all,” he added, in a half mumble.
They sat at a red light.
“And where does Sean live when he isn’t in Liberia?” said Andrew.
“Dublin. But we talked about that. He’s going to move here in the spring, ready for the baby. There’s room in my flat for now.”
“Good for him,” said Andrew. But he was thinking, She’s staying put. She’s not trying to escape anymore.
? 10 ?
New Year’s Eve 2016
Emma
THE HALL, 34 GLOUCESTER TERRACE, CAMDEN, 2:00 P.M.
? ? ?
It was early afternoon before Emma got round to the snowdrift of post by the front door. On top of the late Christmas cards and Oxfam flyers about Haag was a white, bill-shaped envelope, addressed to her. She knew it was her test results, before she had seen the “Private & Confidential” stamp or Dr. Singer’s address on the back. She stood looking at it for ages, not wanting to know what it held. She would open it alone, she decided, in the loo on the landing. She was still holding it when Olivia came down the stairs. “Is that your results?” she asked, as if she was psychic. Or perhaps she’d just seen enough patients in Emma’s position to know the signs. She was wearing the jumper Phoebe had given her, not her usual hoody.
“Mmm,” said Emma. “Yikes!” It was meant to sound cheery, but it came out strangled.
“Why don’t we open it together in the kitchen?” asked Olivia. “Then we can look at your options.” She sounded different to usual, sort of professionally positive. It was rather nice. Like a doctor, thought Emma, before remembering that her daughter was a doctor.
“Um. Yes,” she said. “Yes, OK then.”
? ? ?
“Happy Noo Year’s!” boomed Jesse, coming into the TV room holding brown paper grocery bags, like the male lead in a rom-com. Somehow, it was already teatime. Emma and Olivia had slouched on the sofa for hours, while the others flitted in and out, offering cups of tea. “Hey, guys, I found my favorite tofu balls!” said Jesse. Phoebe had sent him to Whole Foods on Parkway for a vegan alternative to the chicken Andrew was preparing. He looked disproportionately thrilled by this outing. “Man, London is so beautiful! I just walked to the top of Primrose Hill. Seriously, it reminds me of that movie 101 Dalmatians. I love this time of year! It’s, like, a chance to start fresh.” He was right. Emma felt galvanized. A new baby was something to live for. She looked at Olivia, her face the most relaxed Emma had seen it in ages, despite the daunting chat they’d had earlier over her results. Still, the plan Olivia had drawn up for her chemo, down to designated drivers for Emma’s appointments, was better than the limbo of the past days. Better, too, than Jesse’s well-meant but rather cranky-sounding theories. All Nicola’s fighting talk around cancer suddenly seemed appropriate. I may lose my eyelashes, she thought, but it’s a small price for knowing my grandchild.
“The hill’s so pretty at sunset, isn’t it?” said Emma.
“Incredible!” said Jesse. “How’re you feeling, Olivia?”
“Better, thanks,” she said. “Though I have new sympathy for pregnant women.”
“Right! So, Andrew and I are waiting on you ladies tonight. You two need to rest up. No helping, Emma. We’ll take care of everything.”
He left. Olivia and Emma looked at each other, and for once she felt like they were sharing a joke.
They carried on watching Poirot in easy silence, until Phoebe appeared in the doorway, wearing a kimono. Her hair was wrapped in a towel turban, eyes pulled into slants like a bad face-lift. She managed to make even this look rather chic. “Mummy, really sorry, but I don’t think I can stay for dinner now. Party starts earlier than I thought, so . . . Plus I’m getting ready at Lara’s.”
“Oh, Phoebs! That’s a bit rotten. The boys are doing everything specially. D’you have to get there right at the start?”
“No, but I’m meeting this guy first. He wanted to take me for dinner, but that seemed a bit intense, so we’re going for a drink and then on to this party. Anyway, I haven’t been out for a week. Literally. Or a date, for six years.”