‘God, I’m jealous.’
‘I won’t send you a postcard. Just pics of white sandy beaches, clear blue sky, turquoise sea. If I get chance between a few rounds of golf, water sports, caviar and cocktails at the pool …’
They joke for a few moments, the smile back on Nick’s face. Dan feels Seb’s body move away. ‘Nice to meet you, Geri,’ he hears him say. ‘Back in Manchester now. Got your number. Be catching up with you very soon.’
Dan takes a deep breath before standing. The tone of Seb’s words was just friendly, wasn’t it? Bloody hell; bloody hell. Why do they feel like a threat?
Penny
Gritting her teeth, Penny knocks.
The woman is fairly young, late twenties or so, the same age as her. She puts a clipboard on the desk, holds out her hand and gestures to the chair next to hers.
‘Thanks for coming in, Penny. I’m Debbie, a therapist in your care team. How are you feeling today?’
Almost holding her breath, Penny nods, ‘Fine, thanks.’
She doesn’t like this; she doesn’t want to be here. It’s embarrassing, humiliating, unnecessary, but she has to do it for Will. She wants to stop him from worrying with that anxious strange stare.
The woman smiles and makes eye contact. ‘Well, fine is a good start. Do you know why you’re here today?’
Doesn’t the woman know she did a medical degree? Well, almost. But she has to behave and answer the questions like a very good girl. ‘Psychological therapy,’ she replies politely. Then, as though reading from the script, ‘Helping me find out what happened and why. Helping to find ways of coping, so it doesn’t happen again.’
The woman sits forward, her face open and interested. ‘What did happen, Penny?’
Penny breathes, remembering the paranoia, the voice, the certainty. They feel distant now, thank God. ‘A panic attack, I suppose,’ she says eventually.
Far more than a panic attack, she knows. She let Will down badly. Bad, bad Penny. Did all the things she promised herself not to do. She can picture it now, like a film in slow motion. Will’s shaking hand in hers, his unreadable tight face. The guests trying not to stare as he led her out to the car.
The woman nods to her notes. ‘I only have the bare bones. Tell me more. Where were you?’
‘At a friend’s wedding reception.’
‘Go on.’
‘It was in a hotel. I went to the room and I opened the window to call my husband.’
The woman waits for her to speak, but she doesn’t want to describe the stupid certainty, the rhythmic, coaxing tune in her head.
‘What happened then, Penny?’
‘He thought I was going to jump. Maybe it looked like that but …’ Taking a deep breath, she tries for a smile. ‘He was mistaken. Maybe I got too close to the window … I might have stood up, just to look out. You know, a beautiful view …’
Oh God, she’s talking too much. Stop and breathe, stop and breathe.
‘And then?’
‘He came to the room with …’ Oh God, the shame. ‘With a friend and they kicked in the door.’
‘Why did they do that, Penny?’
‘They thought I was going to jump from the window, I suppose.’
She waits for the woman to ask the question, but she just nods sympathetically.
‘I wasn’t,’ Penny says. How many times must she say it? To her mum and dad and the doctor and Will. Especially Will; her Will, her Will. ‘I had no intention of jumping. I’m not suicidal. Really. That wasn’t why I was there.’
Confused, delusional, she knows. But she doesn’t want to say it.
‘Why were you there, Penny?’
She stares at her hands. Paranoid too. Can she say that? Can she say she was convinced Will was lying? It makes her sound unbalanced. She’s not; she’s not. She’s really not crazy.
‘A nursery rhyme got stuck in my head. The one about rain.’ She looks up to the woman and sighs. ‘It had been raining all morning but it stopped. I don’t know why, but I was convinced it was still raining. So I opened the window to tell Will.’
‘Why did you want to tell Will?’
Penny turns to the window. Why did she do it? Why do the very thing that will push him away? She sees the fear in his eyes when he looks at her. She has to fix it, get their marriage back on track.
Going back to the woman’s frown, she smiles. ‘Because I tell him everything! I love him. He’s not just my husband, he’s my closest friend.’
And friends don’t lie to each other. Do they?
Dan
His head propped on his hand, Dan slouches at the kitchen table, unshaved. The pine table still wobbles and the floorboards feel cold beneath his bare feet. He can smell yesterday’s omelette, but none of those things are the problem. The house is old and retains odours; he likes it that way.
Wearing her dressing gown, Geri stretches and yawns as she enters, then starts with surprise. ‘Oh Dan! I thought you’d gone to work. Sorry, I dropped off again. What time is it?’
He shrugs and pushes his half-eaten breakfast away. The cereal was soft and tasteless. He wasn’t hungry enough to make the effort with toast.
‘Eight? Eight fifteen?’
‘Shouldn’t you be dressed by now? Is someone else opening up today?’
‘Nope.’
Geri rakes her fingers through his uncombed hair. ‘Then, shouldn’t you …?’
‘None of the other staff arrive until half past nine. And why should they? No one looks at properties at the crack of dawn. I’m just the idiot who turns up an hour before everyone else because a conveyancer’s lot is not a happy one. And as for bloody Salim—’
‘A sleeping partner who sleeps?’ She looks at him thoughtfully. ‘Are you OK, Dan? You’ve seemed a bit jaded this week.’
He pulls her gently towards him, his face meeting her protruding belly. Resting his head against it, he plants a soft kiss, inhaling a comforting smell he couldn’t describe if he tried. ‘I’m just jealous. I want to stay at home with you and Henrietta.’
‘Henrietta? Very Jane Austen. So, the baby is a girl today?’
‘Yes, she told me this morning when you were sleeping.’
‘Well, Henrietta says it’s time for Daddy to get shaved and dressed.’
He puts his hand to his chin, feeling the bristles for a few moments. He has what Jen Kenning always describes as ‘Irish stubble’, black and soft but persistent. He can’t be bothered to shave. ‘How about a beard?’
‘A beard?’ Geri says slowly, then laughs. ‘OK. Let’s see how it goes.’
When Dan arrives at the estate agency, Maya Ahmed