Leila sat at the kitchen table and wondered how she was going to tell him.
It had been a beautiful winter’s afternoon and now the last light of a blue and yellow day blazed across the walls, glancing off her face and hands, making her hair glow. How could nature rejoice?
The radio was still on. She’d been listening to it when the call came, but now she was barely aware of its carefree chatter. A lorry had jackknifed on the M25 and spilled its load, and the tailback was fifteen miles long because everyone was trying to get somewhere. All those people, all those weekends. So much irrelevance.
How could she tell him?
His key was scraping in the lock. She stood up, sickened by dread.
‘Hello, my lovely!’ he called cheerfully, using his Welshman voice. He was in a good mood, she could tell, and that made it worse. ‘All well in the world?’
Standing in the kitchen doorway, she took a long breath. She felt as though she were hiding a knife behind her back. ‘I’m afraid not really, Davie.’
He froze warily in the act of hanging up his overcoat. His hair fell across his brow, and he pushed it back distractedly. ‘They’ve rung?’
She gulped, overcome. She shrank from saying it aloud.
David’s eyes were shadowed depths in the dim light of the hall. ‘They like her.’ His voice had deadened.
Leila swallowed hard. ‘The baby is to be placed with her birth family.’
David’s coat missed its hook, scraping down the wall before crumpling in a desolate heap on the floor. He left it there. Taking a step towards Leila, he peered into her face. ‘Is this definite, though? They’ve messed us about before. They might change their minds again.’
Bleakly, she shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. The court hearing’s next Thursday. Linda says everyone . . .’ A sob rose up in her throat; she forced it back, covering her mouth with one hand. ‘She says everyone’s agreed, and the hearing will take two minutes.’
‘Two minutes.’ David laughed shortly and then smashed his hand against the wall. ‘Everyone’s agreed, are they? Nice for them. I don’t remember being asked.’
He sank down onto the stairs, eyes wide, staring straight ahead. He looked dazed, as though he’d just been coshed. ‘That’s it, then.’ After a silence he added, ‘Not unexpected.’
Inevitably, the telephone rang. Like a sleepwalker, Leila went to answer it. David pushed himself to his feet and limped into the kitchen. He hobbled gracelessly, on stiff legs, as if he had suddenly grown very old. Perhaps he had.
The voice on the other end was subdued and hesitant, as though the young man had been plucking up enough courage to call.
‘Um . . . is Reverend Edmunds there? We’d like to organise our baby being christened.’
Not now. Not now. Leila’s fingers seemed to lose their strength; the receiver slipped a little in her hand.
‘Hello?’ The voice gained confidence. ‘Have I got the right place?’
No. This is definitely the wrong place. With an effort, Leila cleared her throat. ‘Mr Edmunds isn’t in, I’m afraid. Let me take your number . . .’
After the call, she unplugged the telephone from the wall. Then she moved to David’s side, as he stood gazing sightlessly out of the kitchen window. The sun left them, creeping pitilessly away below a pale horizon. Shadows slipped gleefully into the room, and a draught numbed their souls.
David stirred, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulders. ‘Can we give up now, please, Leila?’
She looked out at the last of the light, bleeding away. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes. We can give up now.’
And, very briefly, she meant it.