London, the Nineties
It was David’s seventh birthday, a Friday. Artemis had spent the morning finishing the cake and running errands ahead of supper to be held at theirs after school. They would be celebrating the following day with a few of David’s friends, at the cinema in South End Green followed by lunch at Ed’s Diner in the village, but tonight was for close family friends, which meant Jeff and May, and Clive’s old university pal Clarissa together with her new girlfriend, Eliza. Clarissa and Eliza had been trying to conceive, unsuccessfully, through IVF, and May had decided, in an uncharacteristic show of empathy, that it would be fairer on them if she and Jeff left their children at home.
The decision struck Artemis as odd, but so much about May baffled her that she didn’t think to question it. Not today of all days. David’s birthday was a time for family and celebration, and she wouldn’t let May ruin that. Artemis had worked hard over the years to push aside the feeling of unease she had initially felt after that overheard phone call, and, perhaps in part thanks to the sessions she had been doing with Dr Blackman, it had paid off. It had been a misunderstanding, that was all – one she had never bothered, or perhaps dared, raise with Clive.
It had been a perfect morning, in many ways. Artemis had slept well, as she often did now, thanks to the cocktail of pills that Dr Blackman prescribed, pills she relied on a little more liberally, perhaps, than he intended. She had risen first, blowing up a bag of balloons with which she filled the kitchen: green and red – David’s favourite colours – and the sight of them cheered her as she listened to the birds through the window, preparing pancakes and fruit and coffee for a family breakfast.
For once, Clive had taken the day off work, and the easy sound of domestic co-existence rang through the house: the putting away of cutlery in drawers, the radio drifting out from the bedroom, reminding Artemis, for all its flaws, of the world they had created together. She held high hopes that the party would go well, everything just as planned.
May arrived early, an enormous gift tucked under her arm, clearly intent on demonstrating her best godmotherly behaviour when it counted, her lips plastered a startling shade of orangey-red, blue eye shadow smudged effectively around small, piercing eyes. Jeff would join them once he’d escaped the shackles of the office, she joked.
‘Don’t worry, you head off. I’ll help Clive with these,’ she added, pointing to a half-finished tray of canapés which Artemis had prepared with the help of the Nigel Slater cookbook Clive had given her for Christmas. ‘You don’t want to keep David waiting at the school gates.’
Artemis paused only for a split second before stepping out of the house. The sky was a perfect blue, a single trail of cloud like the trace of a bullet running over the top of the house.
Walking down the hill, Artemis breathed through her nostrils, enjoying the coolness of the air as it reached her chest. She thought of David’s face that morning shining with glee at the sight of his presents stacked neatly on the table. She had been unsure what to buy him. He was growing up so quickly and the toy selection at Woolworths on Kentish Town Road no longer seemed sufficient to Clive, who was willing to throw in snarky comments about her choices but not offer any proactive suggestions. In the end she had settled on a red Power Ranger, which she found at Hamleys on Regent Street. She didn’t want to raise a brat, not that David displayed any brattish tendencies, despite all his privilege, and this present, she felt, struck the right balance. It was such a relief when he opened it and it was instantly clear that he couldn’t have loved it more.
The tips of the trees were turning brittle again, she noticed as she skirted the Heath next to the Freemasons Arms. David was such a kind boy, thoughtful in a way that made her proud, but he was also sensitive, which made him both vulnerable and aware of other people. One of the first things he had said after opening the red Power Ranger was that his friend, Irfan, would like to play with it, too.
Shit.
Artemis stopped in her tracks, remembering the conversation from earlier that morning. David had pleaded with her to let him take his new present to school and she had refused, on the grounds that pupils weren’t allowed to take toys in. He had been so cross with her, the depth of his rage surprising, and she had promised she would bring it with her at the end of the day, to show to Irfan.
David would be devastated if she let him down. But it was OK, she told herself – she was only a few minutes away from the house; she still had time to go back home and make it to the school before the final bell rang. Picking up her pace, she turned and walked briskly towards home. Rushing up the front steps, she fiddled with the key in the lock and when the door finally opened, she left it ajar while she ran quickly inside. The Power Ranger was in the living room and she would only be a second, after all.
Turning left into the living room, she spotted the toy and leaned down to pick it up.
She was about to call out to Clive that it was only her, that she was heading straight out again, when she looked up and saw them through the open doorway into the kitchen: her husband and May, her hands on his shoulders, their faces inches apart.
She stood there in the living room for a moment, watching them, her feet soldered to the spot. It was as though time had stopped; she felt her breath drag through her lungs, unable to pull her eyes away. And then she felt herself move backwards, slowly, stealthily, as if away from a dog that would pounce if she dared break eye contact, her hand still clutching the Power Ranger.
In the hallway, the front door to the street was wide open.
Stepping out, she gulped at the air, holding her hand against the doorway to steady herself. Across the street, she saw the flicker of a net curtain from the upstairs window and she turned, as if part of a performance, to shut the front door behind her. She pulled it to quietly, sealing it with such precision that she might have been trapping a spider under a glass. Leaving it there to consider later, once she had worked out how it might be safely released.
Moving quite calmly down the tiled steps, she turned left again. This time as she passed the Freemasons Arms and onto the high street, nothing had changed. There was the Coffee Cup on one side, still with its burgundy reds and creams, mothers with prams double-parked outside. Opposite, in the window of Morgan de Toi, pistachio-green lycra and silver hooped earrings clung to emaciated mannequins. They looked dead, she thought, their bodies contorted and featureless, like staged corpses left out as warnings to others by some despotic regime.
* * *
She was amazed by her own performance the evening of the party as she welcomed her husband’s guests, watching David’s face light up as he received his presents.
May. She allowed herself the thought only once she was a safe distance from the house. She had been right. All these years since that phone call, she had convinced herself she’d imagined it and now here it was, the evidence she couldn’t ignore.
David’s grin stretched from ear to ear. Her heart wrenched as she leaned down and kissed her son, breathing in the scent of him as he took the Power Ranger from her hands and ran towards his best friend. By the time they left the playground, David’s rucksack bobbing against his back slightly in front of her, she knew she wouldn’t say anything to Clive. What good would come of it? She couldn’t think of a single thing, though she could think of plenty of bad. How could she risk him leaving her? This wasn’t about her and her feelings, it was about David. He deserved a better family life than the one she’d had, and she would let nothing put that in jeopardy.
That evening at the party, she moved through the room as if the volume had been turned down, sipping from a single glass of champagne. The scene in the living room was slowed down to the point of contortion, bared teeth frozen as laughter rippled across the table. David, dressed in a bright red polo shirt, moved in real time, his face in tight focus, happy and awkward in the manner of a child who didn’t understand the jokes and was doing his best to mimic the reactions of the grown-ups. Only when he looked up at her did his face break into a proper smile.
Clive and May remained on different sides of the room for the rest of the party. It wasn’t until David had gone to bed that she allowed the image to form again in her memory. Once it did, it stayed there, exactly where she left it, not daring to poke at it for fear of what else might crumble around her if she did.