THE KITCHEN, 34 GLOUCESTER TERRACE, CAMDEN, 8:18 P.M.
• • •
The raw chicken sat on the side, naked and chilly-looking. It had been ready to go in the oven just as the news broke, but would have to be binned now. Olivia had begged to be left alone, but it still felt wrong for them to feast as planned downstairs. Andrew had no appetite anyway. Seeing him look at the bird, Emma seemed to remember to act like herself—or a caricature of herself. She jumped up as if she’d sat on something hot and yelped: “The chicken! It’ll never cook through in time—quick, put it in, Andrew!”
“But we aren’t going to do all that now, surely?” he said.
“We still have to eat,” said Emma. Her eyes had the alarmed look they got in airports. “Especially Wiv, in her condition. She has to keep her strength up. I can take her a tray—or maybe she’ll come and sit with us later.”
Andrew doubted that Olivia would welcome Emma’s tray of food. Or that she’d come down tonight—or even tomorrow. All the same, his wife’s faith in roast chicken was touching.
“But won’t she, uh, mind us all carrying on as normal?” he said. He knew how quick Olivia was to take umbrage, and wouldn’t blame her if she resented them tucking in downstairs. Their new rapport still felt fragile.
“Of course she won’t. Rituals are comforting,” said Emma.
“Emma, really, I don’t think . . .” He tailed off. “Couldn’t we just put it in the fridge, have it another day? I couldn’t eat a thing myself.”
“But it’s darling Jesse’s last night!” she said, turning to give him a clutchy embrace. The brandy must have gone to her head. Still, it was rather a shame to part on such a bleak note.
“Jesse?” he said.
“Guys, please, don’t do anything on my account,” said Jesse. “Although Emma’s right, I guess, rituals can be grounding.”
Andrew realized it was up to him to make a decision. It was a novel feeling.
“Right, well, since it’s all done, we may as well stick it in and have it cold tomorrow,” he said.
“Good-oh,” said Emma, yanking open the oven and nearly dropping the whole chicken in her hurry. She straightened up, looking for the next task. “Would she like a bath? Jesse, perhaps you could start running it. I’ll go and tell her,” she said.
“Wait,” said Andrew quickly. “Better she’s left alone for now, I think. But Jesse, do see if you can track down your younger sister—you’ve got her mobile, haven’t you?”
And as he said so, he realized it was the first time he’d thought of Jesse as a brother to his daughters.