We Own the Sky(26)

You normally hate this kind of thing.”

It was a launch party for Lola’s  Raw Food Mamma recipe book. “Admittedly, it’s not my favorite thing in the world,” I said, “but if we don’t go, we’re just going to sit and worry.”

Anna looked at me from across the kitchen table. “I just...just, God, I can’t, I don’t even want to think about it...”

“Sweetheart,” I said, reaching across the table and putting my hand on her arm, “I know what you’re doing, but you can’t think like that. Remember what the doctor said. Only in a very small number of cases, it would be a tumor. And even then, it would most likely be benign. They’re just being careful, that’s all.”

Anna didn’t respond, and I could see that she was grinding her teeth. “C’mon, we should go. Jack’s looking forward to seeing India.”

“You’re right,” Anna said after a pause. “It will take my mind off it.”

  *

“Hello, poppets,” Lola said, as we walked into the converted warehouse in Hackney Wick. We were standing under a wrought iron staircase that didn’t lead anywhere. Next to us, two men wearing pipe-cleaner glasses were sitting on a sofa that looked as if it had been rescued from a dumpster.

Lola was wearing a jungle-print onesie. “Oh, wonderful, you brought Jack.

India will be delighted.”

“Hello, Auntie Lola,” Jack said.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite boy,” Lola said. She bent down to kiss Jack’s head and next to me I could feel Anna flinch. “You all look so well. Right, let me show you through. Now, you won’t be surprised to hear that everything on offer tonight is all my own creations. It’s all raw, all organic—of course—and there are absolutely no chemicals in anything.”

I smiled, wondering whether I should interject with my standard response that everything was a chemical. Our bodies, Lola, your onesie, your amber necklace, your free-range apples, your tarragon orange sliders, are all made of chemicals.

“Thanks for coming, Rob,” Lola said, squeezing my arm. “I know it’s not

exactly your thing.”

“I don’t know, Lola. Maybe it might be. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it and all that, right.” Lola looked pleased, still holding on to my arm. “And besides,” I said, taking a chipped antique glass of champagne from a wallpaper table, “we can always stop at McDonald’s on the way home.”

“Don’t you bloody dare,” Lola said, but she was already looking over my

shoulder, ready to greet the next guest.

Jack ran off to play with India, and Anna and I stood next to a table loaded

with food and drink.

“You okay?” I said.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Can you stop asking if I’m okay?” Anna snapped.

“Sorry, I just...”

She turned away and took something from the table that looked like a patty made from compressed oats.

“Do you want a drink?” I said.

“I’m driving, Rob.”

“You don’t have to drive. We can get a taxi back and leave the car.”

“I’m not so desperate to have a drink that I’m going to leave the car in

Hackney.”

“Okay.” I went over to look at a painting on the wall. There was nothing I could do when she was like this. When I came back, Anna was still eating. The patty was falling apart, crumbling into little bits in her hand.

“Is it good?”

“No,” she whispered, moving closer to me. “It’s horrible, like eating sawdust.”

I sniggered, spluttering my champagne a little.

“I want to get rid of it, but I don’t know how.”

“Isn’t there...”

“No, I’ve looked. There’s nothing, no trash cans, dirty plates, anything. How can they have no plates?”

Anna was still looking for somewhere to put her patty and her face was taut, a deathly pale, and I remembered that face from the days after the miscarriages.

The tightened skin on her forehead; the slight movement of her cheeks as she ground her teeth.

“I’m going to check to see if Jack’s okay,” Anna said.

I stood for a while next to the table, not really knowing anyone and not

knowing what to do.

“Ah, and I thought you were trying to avoid me,” I heard as I was getting another glass of champagne. I turned to see Scott, standing with a tall woman with brown hair.

“Hello, mate. I didn’t know you’d be here,” I said, smiling at him and his friend. “I was going to call you tonight.”

“Right,” Scott said.

“Didn’t know this was your sort of thing,” I said brightly. “Raw food...”

“I get out and about, Rob...” I hadn’t seen him like this before. He was openly hostile. He had called and emailed a few times about the code I was supposed to be writing, the little script that he hoped would seal the deal with the Chinese company and end his money troubles. But I had ignored him, fobbed him off, bought time—and now with everything with Jack, I hadn’t given it a moment’s thought.