4:00 p.m., Tuesday, October 10
Sophie had discovered that she liked to study in dirty pubs. The cheaper the better. She drank gallons of Pepsi—she preferred it draft, from a pump—and ordered chips after she had read fifty pages, the halfway point.
Today’s topic was dose calculations. She was studying to be a veterinary nurse. She took her shoes off and sat cross-legged, her knees resting on the underside of the table. It was just the sort of place her father used to take her, this pub in particular. Here, among the barmen who called her sweetheart and the bloke who couldn’t get off the slot machine, she felt at home.
She checked her phone. Jay was at after-school football until six. She had two hours.
She heard a heavy sort of walk behind her, but didn’t turn around. She would only get distracted. That was her deal with herself: She could work in pubs so long as she didn’t get talking to anybody.
She heard a baby’s cry behind her, and a child’s voice, all at once. She reached into her bag for her earbuds and began untangling them. She had enough of children at home, thank you very much.
Just as she was untangling the final knot—how did they get so entwined?—she heard the woman’s voice.
“All right, what do you want?”
Sophie cocked an ear. That was definitely Becky, from the school. Sophie didn’t know her well. She thought she might be divorced. She was always cracking up with Xander, her son. They seemed to get on like friends.
“Coke?” Xander said hopefully.
“No way,” Becky said.
Sophie peeked a look. Yes. It was her. She didn’t realize she’d had a baby. It must have been ages since she’d last seen her. Sophie put her earbuds in, regardless. Becky was a chatterer. She’d never get anything done if she realized it was her. She’d see if they stayed quiet, and if they did, she wouldn’t need to put any music on; she could just pretend.
Right. If a spaniel weighs 18kg . . . She diligently copied down the equation that followed the preamble, even though she didn’t have a clue what it meant.
Sophie heard Becky’s tread again after a few moments, returning from the bar. And then the distinctive splash of liquid on the wooden floor.
“Shit,” Becky said.
Sophie raised her eyebrows and took another look. Wine. God knows, people had judged her when she still had a young person’s railcard and a five-year-old, and yet, she couldn’t help but judge back, sometimes. White wine in the afternoon, with two kids. Huh.
“Xander, for God’s sake,” Becky suddenly said. Sophie knew the tone well herself. She called it the bedtime tone, when she was just waiting for the minutes to slide away so she could justify being on her own. No moans of Muuum or sticky hands or random shouts at the television, no legs kicking her on the sofa as Jay, unaccustomed to his new lanky frame, tried to get comfortable, no Robinsons Fruit Shoot spillages on cushions that couldn’t be machine washed.
Sophie turned around. Xander was rocking back on his chair, teetering precariously. He wasn’t friends with her own son. Jay had once described him as weird.
Becky was definitely separated, Sophie remembered now. She had referenced it obliquely, as was her way, saying, “Oh, I don’t need to share the remote control with anybody now,” at some school social occasion. Sophie had always quite admired her. She seemed to be one of those people who really did not care what anybody else thought of her.
Sophie drained the Pepsi from her glass just as the baby started crying, properly crying. Hmm. She opened the music app on her phone and scrolled through it, trying to find something ambient and non-distracting. She wouldn’t turn around and chat. She wouldn’t.
Ed Sheeran, that would do. She found her favorite song. Right before she pressed play, she heard it.
“Xander!”
She turned around. Becky’s face was bright red. The baby was in the car seat, crying. Becky was ignoring her, which Sophie thought was odd. She couldn’t ignore that sound. Weren’t we programmed not to be able to?
As Sophie watched, Becky reached for Xander’s hands, her teeth gritted. She pulled on his wrists, forcing him forward, and his chair back onto the floor. He had to steady himself as he flew toward the table.
“Xander. If you do that again, I’m going to smack you,” Becky added.
As if it wasn’t already bad enough.