‘Soph, can I come in? I’m desperate.’
Sophie looked up from sorting socks. ‘What’s up?’
‘We’re going for drinks with that new client and I can’t find my concealer. Can I borrow one? I’ll bring it back as soon as I get home.’
‘In my bag.’ Sophie pointed. ‘Front pocket. Take your pick.’ She resumed comparing shades of black. ‘I don’t know whether the washing machine is eating socks or generating them. Jonah always bought the same socks so it was never a problem.’ She watched Katie rummaging in her bag. ‘Have you found one?’
‘Yeh, I think the dark one’s the closest. Can I…?’
‘Can you what?’
Katie held up three slim boxes. ‘When did you change to Rigevidon? Is it as good? Or do you think that’s why you’re pregnant?’
Sophie walked over and took the pills. ‘Nothing works a hundred percent of the time.’
‘Certainly not in your case, Soph. That’s quite a collection and none of them opened.’ She folded her arms. ‘When did you stop taking them?’
‘What do you mean, I…? Three months ago. Don’t tell Sam!’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. But, if I were you, I’d flush them down the toilet, just in case he decides to investigate your bag.’
The old year stumbled to an end and became the new year without further trauma. Barbara Buckley went home to prepare for her long trip to see her daughter in Australia. And Sophie paid a quick visit to her GP who confirmed her pregnancy and reassured her that being beaten and frightened into unconsciousness was unlikely to have affected her baby, because if that were not the case there would not be so many healthy yet doomed babies born in war zones. In response to this confirmation, Jesse hassled his workforce and managed to get the penthouse repairs completed by the end of the first week of January so that Sam and Sophie were able to move back prior to their return to work and Laura’s initiation into a new crèche, which at least promised no further emotional abuse from the vile infant Hadrian.
Unsurprisingly, Katie put her apartment on the market and began the stressful task of moving her possessions into Greenfields. She received an offer of purchase within two hours, which relapsed her into a heightened state of unreasonableness. Jesse handled her mood swings with saint-like tolerance and on the Sunday evening that marked the end of their long and eventful Christmas break, he prepared a last supper of comforting fish pie and apple crumble. Over coffees and hot chocolate for one he revisited his suggestion that Sophie give up her office grind and come to work with him, planting gardens that would survive long after all those office papers had been shredded into oblivion.
‘Jesse, I’m going to be a complete physical liability in the next year.’
‘Why do you say that, Soph?’
‘Because I’m pregnant?’
‘Well, that shouldn’t stop you hurling instructions at your workforce. And when you get too large to sit behind the steering wheel of your car, we’ll arrange a driver.’ He took a mouthful of coffee. ‘Will you consider it? Instead of your four-day week in the waste paper factory?’
Sophie was confused. ‘What car?’
‘Your company car,’ said Sam, pushing a pink plastic card towards her. ‘As you can see, I’ve been opening your mail. I’ve booked lessons for you, which you’ll need to confirm.’
Sophie frowned at the Provisional Driving Licence in front of her. ‘Where did you get that photo. It’s nothing like me!’
Sam looked at his brother and shook his head. ‘It’s the one from your passport.’
Sophie continued to frown at the card. ‘Is that my signature?’
‘Yes, I forged it. I’m a policeman, I’m allowed to.’
‘But Sam, I can’t learn to drive and be pregnant at the same time!’
‘It never said anything about that on the application form.’