November did not end well. Sophie was disturbed from her Wednesday lie-in by raised voices. Indistinguishable words. Anger. She felt for her phone: 8:15. Laura was grumbling next door; there were more indistinguishable words. Sophie slipped out of bed and hurried through to her daughter, who was trying to reach through the cot bars to retrieve her bottle of milk which she’d lobbed out onto the floor, probably in response to the shouting. Babies have a heightened ability to detect anger. Sophie picked up the milk and returned it just as the front door slammed so loudly that the house shook. She briefly wondered whether Jesse’s wall-less planning could withstand such a tremor. But the upstairs didn’t seem to be collapsing into the downstairs, so she hurried over to the window just in time to see the Z4 disappearing down the drive, leaving a spray of fine shingle in its wake. She ought to investigate. She carried Laura downstairs and found Sam sitting in the kitchen, glaring at a half-eaten boiled egg. ‘The trouble with no doors,’ she said, ‘is that you can’t shout at each other without waking the people on the top floor. Have you and Jesse had a row?’
Sam looked up from the egg. ‘No. Yes.’
‘What about?’
‘Nothing.’
‘It didn’t sound like nothing. Did the boys get off to school OK?’
‘Barbara collected them. Do you want tea?’
‘Yes please. Why were you and Jesse shouting at each other?’
‘It’s nothing. Just a trivial brotherly disagreement.’
Sophie inserted Laura into her chair and sat down beside her. Watched Sam making tea, recycling the remains of his breakfast into the organic waste. ‘Was it about me and Laura staying here? Co-habiting always causes tension.’
He spun round. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Jesse loves having you here.’
‘Me and my criminal intrigue? A cheated woman and her illegitimate daughter pushing his hospitality beyond reasonable limits when he’s trying to court probably the most difficult woman he’s ever met?’
Sam returned to the tea-making. ‘That’s mostly what’s wrong. Jesse and Katie have had a lovers’ spat and he’s taking it out on everyone else.’
‘What did they fight about?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Everything’s about nothing, is it?’ She watched him avoiding eye contact. ‘I’ll find out if you’re lying, Sam.’
He sighed with exasperation. ‘I’m not lying. Katie’s not coming over this weekend. She said she needs her own space.’ He handed her a mug. ‘I’d better get going. I’ve got a class at eleven.’ He stooped to kiss her cheek. ‘Hamlet for the disinterested.’ Then he was hurrying away, up the stairs.
Laura mumbled something. Probably an infant declaration that her mother’s consort had, in the last fifteen minutes, failed to engage with her. Sophie handed her a stray slice of toast and recognised the stirrings of panic rising within her. Sam was lying to her, she was sure of that. And there was no way she would accept another round of being lied to. She’d leave rather than let that happen. She watched Laura dismantling the toast and, for the first time, acknowledged the truth of her situation. Her mother’s house was currently occupied by a criminal madman. She had nowhere to go. She heard Sam hurrying back downstairs, watched him hurry over to kiss Laura.
‘Soph, I’ll be back about four. Leave all this. The cleaners will be here any minute. I’ll pick up something special for supper. Love you. And I’d never lie to you, OK?’ A quick peck on the cheek and then he was gone.
And, as usual, Sophie believed him.
That evening Jesse was with a client so Sophie fed all three children and packed them off to their beds, leaving Sam free to mark a pile of mostly unexceptional essays on the influence the Decadent Movement had had upon British literature of the late nineteenth century. She discovered him, papers spread across the dining table, pen poised in one hand, raking his hair with the other. He glanced up. ‘This kid has written the most fantastic essay about homoeroticism in The Picture of Dorian Grey.’
‘Isn’t that where the main character has a portrait in his attic that does all the ageing while he stays young and handsome?’
‘Yes, but it’s also about aestheticism and moral perversion. A falling away of values. Art for Art’s sake.’
Sophie sat down at a safe distance from his essay classification system. ‘Jesse’s viburnums are full of flower. And the Ilex berries will be fantastic by Christmas.’
Sam sat back and frowned. ‘Are you suggesting we have nothing in common, Ms Denham?’
‘Possibly, Mr Barnes.’ She glanced dismissively at the piles of paper. ‘Have you spoken to Jesse since this morning?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I’ve tried contacting Katie all day but she’s been incommunicado. I’ve just got a text from her to say she’s thinking her way through a situation. What did they quarrel about?’
‘Soph, let it rest! I’ll catch up with him later. Try and talk him through it. Do you need me to clear all this away or can we eat in front of the TV?’
‘Have you got time to eat?’
‘Not really.’
‘OK. I’ll eat in front of the TV. You eat on top of that lot. Get it finished so you’ll have enough time to catch up with your brother.’
Things at Greenfields remained tense and unexplained for the next two days but, fortunately, by Friday evening Katie had obviously succeeded in thinking her way through her situation and was back in residence and resigned to merely bickering with Jesse about which ski resort to visit for the boys’ next half-term.
December began uneventfully. Sophie tested Sam’s shopping tolerance to the point of crabbiness, assuaged only by her promise that, if he behaved himself, Santa would bring him the definitive DVD collection of Basil Rathbone’s Sherlock Holmes. She decorated their modest penthouse tree as soon as she could get Sam to collect it from the garden centre and Jesse erected a giant Nordmann fir in the main living area. Sophie had to admit that the absence of walls really did enhance its splendour. Then, on the second Thursday of the month, Sophie was in her office, eating her lunch and avoiding the season to be merry when her phone vibrated beneath the proofs of the Special Christmas Edition of Biowise. It was Suzie. She was sobbing so much that Sophie could barely make out what she was saying. She was phoning from the emergency department of the Royal Surrey Hospital. Sophie immediately feared for the baby. She was, what, twenty-three, twenty-four weeks? Too early. Lots of babies survive as early as that but lots of them don’t. And the ones that do are tiny, at-risk little things, with fragile lungs not ready to cope with air.
‘Suzie, try and stay calm. Tell me what’s happened.’
‘Jonah pushed me.’ More sobbing.
‘What? Is the baby all right?’
‘I think so. They’re monitoring him and he seems to be OK. I was only unconscious for a few minutes and the doctors said that wouldn’t affect him.’
‘Jonah knocked you out? Why? What happened?’
‘I stayed over. And this morning, over breakfast, I asked him about my money and he went crazy and yelled at me because I gave the police his laptop. And then he pushed me and I fell against the sink. I went next door and Mrs Davies called an ambulance. I told her I fell over. Sophie, I’m scared to go back there.’
‘Well don’t go back there!’
‘But my car’s parked on the back road.’
‘I’ll get Sam to collect it. Where’s Jonah now?’
‘I don’t know. He wasn’t there when I came round. Sophie, I’ve been so stupid. I didn’t know who else to call.’
Sophie took a moment to consider that last statement. Sophie Denham, the woman stupid people call when they find themselves in crisis. ‘Suzie, listen, just try not to worry. I’ll get Sam to drive me over after work. And phone your mum and ask her to come and look after you. Mums do that. And, for now, just lie there listening to the monitor because that’s your baby telling you he can’t wait to meet you.’
‘Thanks, Sophie. Sophie, my car keys are beside the toaster.’
Sophie texted Sam that there was a crisis involving Suzie. He phoned back straight away and she gave a summary of the situation. He said he’d pick Laura up early and ask Jesse to watch her while they were away. ‘So, where is the bastard right now?’
‘She doesn’t know.’
Sophie spent the afternoon trying to write enthusiasm into the biographies of the year’s finalists for the employer of the year award. Three men and two women from various departments whose day-to-day commitment had caused them to shine above all others. On the other hand, Sophie’s day-to-day commitment was currently plummeting well below zero. Her daughter was being terrorised in an expensive nursery; her friend, albeit a friend who was her ex-lover’s other woman, was in extremis; and Christmas was coming and she had some impossibly important gift ideas to conjure up out of nowhere. Yet she was sitting in a claustrophobic office, three days a week, churning out garbage. She glanced over at Viola, who was engrossed in her latest copy of Marie Claire. She should have been working on the Section Manager’s Christmas message. Heaven forbid, if she didn’t get that finished in time. What were they both doing with their lives? Answer: wasting them.
Suzie had been moved to a ward and was still attached to a monitor when Sophie and Sam walked into the small side room. She seemed to be asleep so they waited in silence but after a few moments she turned her head towards them and opened her eyes. Sophie gasped at the bruising down the side of her face.
‘Suzie, did Jonah do that to you?’ said Sam.
Suzie’s eyes filled with tears. Sophie hurried to her side. ‘Are they keeping you in?’
‘I don’t know. The nurse says my blood pressure is high. I’m waiting for the doctor to tell me whether I have to stay in overnight. I’m sorry if you’ve come here for nothing.’
‘Suzie, we’ve come to see you. Have you contacted your mother?’
‘No, I don’t want to worry her.’
‘That’s ridiculous. She’d be angry if she knew you were like this and not telling her.’
‘I don’t think he meant to hurt me, Soph.’ She glanced over at the door. ‘I think that’s the doctor.’ She grabbed Sophie’s arm. ‘They’ll make you leave.’
‘No, they won’t.’
The door opened and the ward sister stepped into the room ahead of a young doctor. ‘Can we ask you both to step outside whilst the doctor sees to Miss Kay?’ she said.
‘I’m her birth partner,’ said Sophie, in a moment of inspiration.
The sister acknowledged Sophie’s newly-conceived status then escorted Sam outside. The doctor shook Sophie’s hand and introduced himself as Simon Grant. He checked the monitor then examined the side of Suzie’s face. ‘Suzie has taken a bad fall. The damage is superficial, but her blood pressure is quite high at the moment, quite possibly unrelated to the fall. It was slightly raised at the last antenatal visit.’
‘She’s been trying to do too much,’ said Sophie.
‘That’s not unusual. So much to prepare. Sister will contact you if it becomes necessary.’ Sophie’s stomach churned: did he think she might go into labour? He continued. ‘Although there’s no sign that anything drastic is going to happen. Baby seems quite happy where he is.’ He smiled at Suzie. ‘We’ll keep you in for a couple of days. Make sure you don’t take any more tumbles.’
Sophie had no intention of letting that lie continue. ‘Dr Grant, Suzie was pushed over. By the baby’s father.’
Simon Grant’s brow furrowed. ‘Is that the case, Suzie?’ Suzie started to cry. He turned back to Sophie. ‘Does she have somewhere else to go?’
‘Yes, she has her own place.’ She patted Suzie’s hand. ‘Suzie, we’ll sort this out. Just think of the baby and let everything else just happen around you.’
‘Good advice,’ said Dr Grant. ‘Suzie, we’ll get you fed and watered and give you something to help you sleep, OK?’ He took another look at the monitor then left.
A few moments later Sister returned to take Sophie’s details. So, for the moment, Sophie was the official birth partner for her ex-lover’s latest mistress. On the way home, Sam said that he had spoken to the doctor, who said that the cause of Suzie’s injuries was now on record and that they were obliged to inform the police.
‘Let’s hope this will finally sever the hold he has on her,’ said Sophie.
‘Yeh. Unfortunately, domestic violence rarely ends as easily as that.’
Back in the attic, Sophie hurried through to check Laura whilst Sam cleared sufficient space on the dining table to accommodate two plates. She returned to find him apron-clad and reading the proofs of the Christmas edition of Biowise. He glanced up. ‘Did you write this?’
‘Most of it. It’s one of the brain-numbing things my contract requires of me. Please do not offer a critical analysis.’
‘It’s extremely well-written crap.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So, remind me what your company actually does.’
‘It produces biopharmaceuticals. Testing kits, immunological agents, things like that.’
‘And Jonah set up their computer system?’
‘Yes, I told you. It’s when we met. He maintained it for a couple of years.’
‘But not more recently than that.’
‘I don’t think so.’