Be Careful What You Hear (3 page)

‘In no small
part down to you.’

Sophie sipped
at her coffee, seemingly embarrassed by the compliment. But she had
no right to be. In those first four months after Grace arrived,
Sophie had been a massive support – not just for Grace and me, but
also James. Sophie and James were old school friends – they’d been
through the school system together in Islington, North London, from
four years old until eighteen during the nineteen eighties and
early nineties. Their families had been close for a time too, as
their mothers knew one another from night school. They’d even
holidayed together as families during their youth, and Sophie had
delighted in pulling out a photo of a six year old James wearing
swimming trunks and beaming at the camera, huge vanilla ice cream
in hand and smeared around his mouth.

They’d lost
touch after going to university, but had been reunited again at the
first meeting of our antenatal group. Sophie and her husband,
Michael, had been at the same early stage of pregnancy as us. We
hit it off as a foursome straight away, and soon began socialising
outside of the official group – visiting each other’s homes, going
out for coffees, planning for the arrival of our babies.

And then, at
twenty-one weeks, Sophie miscarried.

They were, of
course, devastated at the loss of their first child. Not just the
loss of the baby, but the future that they had mapped out ahead of
them. James and I were naturally cautious people, and had
restrained ourselves from buying too much baby paraphernalia, in
case it tempted fate. We still didn’t have a pram, or a cot, and we
hadn’t prepared the house in any way for an impending arrival. The
most we had done was to shop around, considering what we might buy.
But Sophie and Michael had gone all out. The top of the range
pram/pushchair combo was already bought and assembled, the spare
room was filled with unopened packs of nappies, blankets, clothes
and cuddly toys, and the nursery was complete.

While Michael
closed up on his grief, Sophie threw herself into being my new best
friend. And when Grace arrived, and I began to sink into
depression, she kept things afloat. She took Grace out for walks,
helped with our meals, comforted me, and supported James by doing
errands such as shopping for essential supplies. Her self-employed
career allowed her to be there for me in a way that she otherwise
wouldn’t have been able to be. She ran a successful sewing website
and blog, and made money from selling patterns and running classes,
as well as bringing in income via advertising on her site and
referrals to companies that provided fabric and other things for
her creations. She had built up a wonderful business over the
years, backed by a dedicated following – her posts to
Instagram
were devoured by her followers, and there would be
hundreds of responses within an hour or so, not to mention even
more “likes” and “shares”. She’d never told me how much money she
made from the business, and I would certainly never ask, but once
she did mention that it was more than she had earned in her
previous role as a communications officer for a major clothing
company.

My mother and
father had passed away five and three years ago respectively, and
James’ parents now lived in Scotland, so Sophie’s availability and
unstinting support filled a gaping hole in my support network.

‘Before I
forget,’ Sophie said. ‘The meal next week, I’m afraid we’re going
to have to cancel. Michael’s got a deadline at work, so he needs to
go into the office. Sorry.’ She smiled apologetically. We’d
arranged to go for lunch in town a week on Saturday, to a new
vegetarian restaurant that had been getting rave reviews – you had
to book two weeks in advance to be confident of getting a place at
the weekend.

‘Is Michael
okay?’ I asked. ‘He looked worn out the other day.’ That was an
understatement. He had looked awful when we bumped into them in the
street – washed out, drained, and down. Michael was a shadow of the
man who had beamed with excitement at that first antenatal
class.

Sophie waved it
away. ‘Oh, just the usual. Work getting him down.’ He was a
financial manager at
Aspire Insurance
, the Anglo-American
multinational. ‘That last round of redundancies has really set him
on edge,’ she added. ‘He says he can feel the Grim Reaper over his
shoulder.’

I didn’t
dispute that work strain might be a factor, but I wondered whether
the miscarriage was a factor in his decline. I had wondered more
than once whether Sophie’s focus on me might have resulted in her
neglecting Michael. ‘Both our men are suffering then,’ I said,
taking a gulp of coffee.

‘Oh?’

‘James is
really stressed. I found him crying on the bed last night.’

Sophie’s brow
knotted, as she toyed with her cake. ‘Do you know why?’

‘Margaret’s
cancer diagnosis.’

She nodded at
the realisation. ‘Right, of course.’

‘Although,
something weird happened last night.’

‘Go on…’

I hesitated. I
thought I’d dealt with this already – so why tell Sophie? But I
valued her judgement, and she knew James. I guess I’d come to lean
on her, maybe too much. ‘I thought I heard him say something
strange over the baby monitor last night.’

‘Like
what?’

I glanced down
at Grace, feeling as though I was betraying her daddy. ‘I thought
he said that he wanted us to all go away somewhere, and he was
going to end things.’

Sophie looked
incredibly serious, saying nothing.

‘I was
half-asleep,’ I added, filling the void. ‘I think I either imagined
it, or I got the words mixed up in my head as I was waking.’

Still she
didn’t say anything. But I suddenly knew what she was thinking.

‘I’d better
go,’ I said, fishing around frantically for change in my purse. I
dropped the coins on the table and wheeled Grace away.

‘Georgina!’
Sophie called as I reached the door. ‘Please don’t go.’

But I was
already outside, and heading for the library.

4

My premature
departure from
Allemandi’s
meant that I was too early for
the Bounce and Rhyme session at the library, which started at 11
o’clock. Grace was still asleep, so I decided to head across to the
nearest park.

I stood at the
edge of the lake, looking out across the water at the birds that
were floating on its surface. It was a pity that Grace was asleep,
as she loved to watch birds and animals – seemingly fascinated by
their movements and behaviour. We would often walk down to the park
and circle the lake, trying to spot the heron that frequented the
bank on the far side. That side of the lake was reserved for the
anglers, and it seemed the heron assumed that as a master
fisherman, he had the right to be there.

Grace was
particularly taken by the pair of swans who called the lake home,
and she had perfected the art of signing “bird” whenever she saw
them swimming past. Baby sign language was a bit of a fad, and I
wasn’t convinced of its value, but after attending a class at our
local community centre for a few weeks, Grace had already begun to
communicate using it. As well as signing bird, she could also tell
us when she wanted milk, and even when she wanted to go home. This
was well before she could speak, so I’d been converted to the
baby-signing cause.

‘Thomas, watch
out!’

I turned as a
toddler on a balance bike – a small wooden bicycle without pedals –
wobbled past, coming precariously close to the water’s edge. He
righted himself, wheeling back onto the path that encircled all but
the restricted area of the lake. His concerned mother, pushing a
baby in a pram, rushed past and caught up, grabbing him by the
arm.

‘You shouldn’t
go off like that,’ she said, crouching down to give him a hug.

I turned back
to the lake, thinking about how I had run out on Sophie. She hadn’t
deserved that – not after all the support she had given me. But my
reaction had been instinctive, not premeditated. And I knew she
would understand. I would call her after Bounce and Rhyme to
apologise.

I checked the
time. It was now just twenty minutes until the beginning of the
session, and I was starting to feel the cold. I could wait out the
rest of the time in the library. Who knows, maybe I’d find a good
book.

***

As it
happened, arriving early was a good idea. I didn’t have any time to
browse the shelves for a trashy novel, as there was already a large
crowd of parents, babies, and accompanying prams in the part of the
library that hosted the singing session. The previous week had been
so popular that staff had been forced to turn away several
disappointed parents. Its popularity was understandable – it was
free, warm, and welcoming.

I parked the
pram in an outside area over to the far left – a bicycle shed for
prams – and lifted Grace out. She stirred against my cheek. It was
time for her to wake up anyway. I positioned myself on the floor,
off to the far side of the carpeted area, some way towards the
back, being careful not to step on the numerous babies that were
exploring the surroundings on all fours. I nodded a hello at a
mother whom I recognised from previous weeks.

‘Getting
busier each week,’ she said, in a broad Scottish accent – outer
Edinburgh if I wasn’t mistaken. Some of my extended family had
lived in the city, including a great aunt, and I’d visited them a
few times during my early childhood. It was still one of my
favourite places to visit – I loved the atmosphere, with the
castle, the extinct volcano of Arthur’s Seat, and the sheer history
of the place. James fully understood my love for it, and proposed
to me during a weekend away there. He brought the ring out while we
were standing at the castle wall, overlooking the city, as the sun
was just setting. I said yes, and we celebrated with a superb meal
of Wild Salmon at
The Witchery by the Castle
, a nearby
restaurant.

I looked over
as another four mothers arrived. ‘Yes, it certainly is.’

‘How old is
your little one?’

‘Six months
old. I can’t believe she’s reached that age already.’ I looked at
her child properly for the first time. He was a lovely little boy,
with a cheeky smile and a shock of red hair. ‘How about your
son?’

‘Just a little
older. Archie is eight months.’

‘He’s
lovely.’

‘Thank you. So
is…’

‘Grace.’

‘Beautiful name
for a beautiful girl,’ she said. She then looked at me again. ‘Do I
know you from somewhere?’

‘This class?’ I
tried. ‘I’ve been coming here for a few weeks now.’

And then I
realised where we had met. I felt myself flush. It had been back in
the early stages of my depression. I’d taken Grace out shopping and
had suddenly, inexplicably, broken down in tears in the local
Co-op
supermarket. I was slumped against a fridge, clinging
on to the pram for support, sobbing. I could hardly see through the
tears, but was aware that other shoppers were moving past me. An
old lady asked if I was okay, but didn’t probe further when her
question went unanswered. And then a woman of about my age, also
with a pram, put her arm around my back and guided me into the back
staff room. From there, the female manager of the store took over,
making me a cup of tea and chatting to me until I had recovered my
composure.

I thought of
pretending I hadn’t realised, but I sensed from a micro-expression
she too had already remembered. ‘In the
Co-op
. A few months
ago. You really helped me.’

‘Yes. In the
supermarket.’ She shifted Alfie so he was facing towards her. ‘How
are…things? You look really well,’ she added quickly. ‘I wondered
afterwards if you were okay.’

She didn’t seem
at all uncomfortable, or overly sympathetic, which also put me at
ease. ‘I’m fine now. I went through a really rough time. But I’m
out the other side.’ I kissed Grace on the top of her head, as she
sleepily gazed back at me.

‘That’s great
to hear.’

By the time
the singing session had begun, Grace had woken up properly. I
balanced her on my legs, which were crossed in front of me. There
wasn’t enough room to stretch them out, so for the forty minutes I
would have to stay relatively still. Grace seemed to love the
sessions. She would gaze, mesmerised at the two library workers at
the front, who were leading the singing. The two ladies also had a
range of props, including puppets. Grace was especially taken with
the rabbit, which starred in a song about sleeping bunnies. Halfway
through, instruments were handed out, and she absolutely loved
waving the shakers around.

I was only half
concentrating on the songs. In truth, my mind was elsewhere. I was
thinking of Sophie. About how I had reacted, or possibly,
overreacted. I had assumed that Sophie was thinking that what I had
heard, or thought I had heard, was potentially a return of my
mental problems. Maybe though I’d been unfair to her. It could be
she hadn’t thought that at all.

Although the
look on her face…

The session
ended and I gathered our things together, retrieving the pram and
heading for the exit. I was thinking of Sophie again when I spotted
her, nose in book, by the entrance. She looked up and smiled
warmly, immediately setting me at ease after I had run off on her
like that.

I smiled back
apologetically. ‘You’ve been waiting for me?’

She made a
point of looking at the front of the book in her hand. ‘I’m
actually getting quite into this. It’s a mystery. They’ve just
arrived at their apartment and found someone nearly beaten to
death. Oh, and someone else is missing, and they’re not sure
whether they’re the one who has beaten the other person up.’