‘There’s something a bit off about Stella.’
‘Off? How do you mean, Laura?’
Annabel was wearing the green dress with the scoop neck that Laura liked so much. A childish part of her couldn’t help wishing she’d worn it with the gold earrings Laura had bought her for her birthday. The two would go so well together. But Annabel was funny about gifts. She’d practically had to force her to accept them. It was tricky to know where one stood with Annabel.
‘She’s so damaged, you know. They all are. But with Stella it goes so deep she’s like a stick of holiday rock – do you know what I mean? – where the writing goes all the way through?’
Annabel nods. Just the slightest of movements.
‘I’ve been seeing her a lot one-to-one. Little bits of light hypnosis. Just on the quiet. Informally. It helps her sleep.’
Annabel smiled. ‘You’re so kind, Laura. How lucky they are to have you.’
Annabel’s praise was hard to come by, and Laura found herself dangerously close to tears. What on earth was wrong with her at the moment? She was like a walking sac of saline, forever on the brink of springing a leak.
‘Have things settled down at all?’ Annabel asked. ‘After the two deaths?’
Laura shot a sharp, questioning glance at her, then wrinkled her nose.
‘Not really. Roberts is worried. One of the clinic’s patrons just resigned. He said it was because of time commitments but Roberts is convinced it’s because of Sofia and Charlie. New referrals are down and, obviously, the families of existing residents are nervous. I’ve had Hannah Lovell’s mother in to see me a few times.’
Annabel frowned. She was one of those women who can look striking one minute and quite plain the next. But Laura loved that about her, that she was always unashamedly herself.
‘No surnames, remember? You must be more careful, Laura. If anyone heard you talking about your clients out of the clinic you’d get into trouble, wouldn’t you?’
‘I only talk to you, Annabel. But you’re right. I need to be more discreet.’
Laura held up her own hand with the fingers down and gave it a playful slap.
‘It brings up such complicated emotions. Talking to mothers who are so protective about their daughters, like Corinne H—, like Hannah’s mum. I can’t help thinking of everything I missed out on.’
‘That’s only natural, Laura. What things in particular do you think about?’
‘How it would be to have somebody fighting your corner. Instead of always feeling so alone.’
She wondered if Annabel would contradict her, remind her that she wasn’t alone, because she had her. Then she continued:
‘I keep remembering those three years in the foster home. Liz did her best. She was kind enough. But she wasn’t a mother. And we always knew her biological children came first. Then Gino, because she’d adopted him when he was still a baby. I remember when I had the lead part in the Christmas play at primary school. I was so proud. All the other kids had parents there for one or other performance, and loads of them came to both. I begged Liz to come, but it clashed with Gino’s Nativity one day and her oldest son playing in the school concert the next. He only played recorder or something. There was no one there to take pictures or record me making a tit out of myself or cheer when I came on. My form teacher came to both performances and presented me with a bunch of flowers at the end because she felt so sorry for me.’
‘That must have been tough. Do you feel that, maybe, you’re still trying to plug that gap, all these years later? Still seeking that validation?’
‘Isn’t everyone?’
Laura liked these kinds of conversations. Annabel always helped her question her own motivations and actions. She eased off her suede boots and settled back into the blue sofa, tucking her feet under in their brightly coloured socks, and waited for Annabel’s response.
Ber-ring.
The noise of the doorbell cut through Laura’s good mood. Annabel’s house was usually so quiet, but any disruptions were an unwelcome reminder that Annabel had a life outside of her. In the beginning, Laura regularly used to suggest they went out for coffee, so that they could give each other their undivided attention, but Annabel was never keen.
‘Sorry, Laura.’ Annabel stood up, smoothing down the creases in the green dress. ‘I won’t be a moment.’
Laura heard the door open and a woman’s voice shout, ‘Well, hello!’ Then Annabel must have told her she had company because, after that, their voices were lowered to a mumble.
Laura crept to the doorway on her stockinged feet and peered out.
Annabel was standing in the hallway with a short, rotund woman dressed in a long raincoat, which emphasized her spherical shape, and brown hiking boots. They were so close together that some strands of Annabel’s greying hair stood up where they were brushed by the edge of the raincoat’s hood. The woman was pressing a card into Annabel’s hand. It looked like an invitation. There was a dog, on the end of a red rope lead, a large Labrador covered in mud as if fresh from a long walk. The end of the animal’s tail left a dirty mark on the wall. Laura saw Annabel glance at the mark then look away again. ‘Thank you. I look forward to it. Look, I’d better go.’ Annabel nodded her head in the direction of the sitting room, where Laura was.
The short woman leaned forward and gave Annabel a quick embrace, then opened the door and was gone.
Laura quickly ducked back inside and was installed on the sofa by the time Annabel reappeared.
‘Now, where were we?’
The interruption couldn’t have lasted over three minutes, but it seemed to Laura that the mood was broken. She couldn’t recapture the intimacy she’d felt, that urge to probe further. Now all she could think about was the stiff card of the invitation. The knowledge of life being lived without her.
‘I’d better be off now myself,’ she told Annabel. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’
‘No, but—’
‘I’m looking after Mum tonight, as Katya has a family do.’
‘OK. If you’re sure.’
Laura was touched and gratified that Annabel looked genuinely taken aback to see her leave so abruptly.
It was raining again and puddles were forming on the neat, quiet road where Annabel’s house was, gleaming in the gathering dusk. As Laura drove slowly out of the modern estate, her headlights picked up the woman who’d been at the door, walking along with her dog, her raincoat billowing behind her. There was a large puddle just ahead and, as the woman came level with it, Laura put on a burst of speed so that her tyres sent out a heavy spray of dirty water. When she looked in her rear mirror, the woman was standing still, her arms held out to her sides. Even through the dim, slate-grey light, Laura could tell that she was soaking wet. The woman gazed after the receding car with an expression of profound disbelief.