The Family Next Door(52)

Once the questions started, they came like a train. Nigel wanted to know everything. How it had happened, how many times, what feelings were behind it. Did she ever plan to tell him? Did she ever plan to tell Mark? (She didn’t. In an odd way, the whole thing felt like it had nothing to do with Mark.) Nigel’s mood rolled from calm to angry to shocked to upset. There were periods of silence. Then more questions. It felt like the questions would never end. They started broad and vague, and then became grotesquely specific. Did they perform oral sex? Him to her? Her to him? What was the position? How long did it last? Did she orgasm? Fran wondered if it was helpful for him to know, but she was relieved she didn’t have to be the one to decide for him anymore.

“Enough,” she said eventually. “I think we’ve covered it all. Maybe we should talk about what to do now.”

Nigel stood up and walked to the window. Fran wanted to go to him, to put a hand on his shoulder, but could she do that? Was she allowed? He looked like a statue at the window, so still she couldn’t even see him breathing. Fran wasn’t sure she was breathing herself.

When Ava began to cry, Nigel moved quickly—out of the room before Fran could even get to her feet. When he was gone, she gazed out the window. Lights were starting to come on in the street and Fran pictured the neighbors in their homes watching Netflix, brushing teeth, filling out paperwork for school excursions, paying bills. She wondered if any of the neighbors were looking back at her house, wondering what she was up to.

He’d been gone several minutes when Fran realized. Nigel was with Ava. The child she’d just told him might not be his.

She bolted.

Nigel was in the rocking chair in the darkness, with Ava splayed across his chest, exactly as she’d found him a few weeks ago, both of them blinking into the darkness.

Fran pressed a hand to her heart.

“You thought I might have hurt her,” he said with a sneer.

Fran didn’t respond. Obviously it was what she’d thought. But suddenly she saw how ridiculous that was. She slid down onto the carpet and rested her back against the wall.

Nigel met Fran’s gaze, dead-on. “Do you think she’s mine?”

“I don’t know.”

“I know you don’t know. I’m asking what you think.” He watched her steadily. He’d stopped rocking the chair now. Ava’s eyes had closed and her breathing was loud in the silent room.

“I can’t answer that,” she said. “What does it matter what I think?”

“It matters to me.”

And clearly it did. The reason she could hear Ava breathing, she realized, was because Nigel wasn’t.

Fran took a moment to think. “Some days I do. Other days—”

“For fuck’s sake!” Nigel’s calm snapped like worn elastic. It occurred to Fran that during their marriage, she had only seen him angry a handful of times. Even when he was depressed, it was rare. She hadn’t looked for a husband with a gentle temperament. She’d looked for several things, but that part had been sheer good luck.

“Fine! I do think she’s yours. If I were forced to guess, I’d say she was yours. But—”

“But you don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

Silence. Oblivious to what was happening around her, Ava let out a contented sigh.

“We’ll get a paternity test,” Fran said. “Now that you know … we can do that. And then we’ll know.”

“We’ll know what?”

Fran understood what he meant. They could find out the paternity of Ava. But there would still be so much they wouldn’t know. Like how they would move forward after this if she wasn’t his child. How they’d move forward, if she was.

“Do you know what the worst part is?” Nigel said. “Worse than you having an affair or a potentially illegitimate baby? Worse than becoming a part-time dad to Rosie and possibly losing Ava altogether? It’s that because of all this I might lose my relationship with you. And you are the one thing I don’t think I can live without.”

It was the loveliest knife she’d ever been stabbed with in her life. Fran closed her eyes and rested her forehead against her knees.





37


ESSIE


It was dark outside now and Isabelle still wasn’t here. Essie stood by the window, catching her own reflection. Her hairdresser was right, her hair did suit her face shape and coloring. She’d changed when she’d gotten home, into a tank top and long skirt so she could feel the breeze around her ankles, but she still felt hot and bothered. Where on earth was Isabelle?

Essie stepped from foot to foot, unable to stand still. She felt vaguely breathless and her heart hammered in her chest. Was it was normal to feel like this at the prospect of a visit from a friend? She hadn’t had a lot of good friends in her life, so she wasn’t sure. She also wasn’t sure about some of her … other thoughts. Women admired each other’s bodies, of course. (“You skinny bitch,” or “I’d do anything for your boobs.”) But was it normal to think about reaching out and stroking the line of your friend’s jaw? Was it normal to wonder what it would be like to kiss the pink cupid’s bow of her lips?

Lights flashed into the street and Essie watched as a motorbike drove up Isabelle’s driveway.