Semi-Sweet (23 page)

Somewhere behind Hannah a woman began sobbing bitterly. Feet shuffled, people coughed and sneezed and blew noses and cleared
throats, and a woman cried her way through the Mass of the Angels.

A choir from Jason’s school sang “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands” at the offertory. A teenage girl played Eric Clapton’s
“Tears in Heaven” on the violin while everyone filed up to Communion. Jason’s Aunt Una walked onto the altar and struggled
through a terribly maudlin poem about little angels that caused a renewed rustling and sniffling.

And all through the ceremony, Hannah felt a desperate sadness that she knew to her shame was only partly in response to the
little boy’s death. She mourned Jason, of course, she deeply regretted the shocking waste of his passing, but kneeling in
the too-warm church, responding automatically to the familiar litanies, she realized that she was also mourning Patrick’s
absence, and the children they might have had if things had gone differently. She wanted to howl at the tragedy of her ruined
relationship, the death of the dreams that seemed so foolish now.

She glanced at her mother, kneeling beside her, whispering prayers. Imagine if she knew what was going through her selfish
daughter’s head.

And then the Mass was over, and they all got to their feet again and shuffled toward the top of the church to pay their respects
to the bereaved family. When she eventually reached the front pew, Hannah took Claire’s limp hand in hers and said, “Claire,
it’s Hannah Robinson, I’m so sorry,” and the girl looked emptily back at her, and the man beside her, who Hannah assumed was
Jason’s father, shook with sobs, head bowed, as she pressed his hand.

She sympathized with Mrs. Connolly, dry-eyed and haggard, and shook hands with the next two people, whom she took to be Jason’s
other grandparents, and a couple of distraught teenage girls who might have been aunts. She hugged Una, weeping at the end
of the pew, and she shook hands with Claire and Una’s father in his wheelchair in the aisle.

On her way back down the church, Hannah saw her mother with an arm around the shoulders of the woman who was still crying
helplessly, and she realized it was Alice.

Nora Paluzzi had been a PA for three hours and twenty-seven minutes. She’d made coffee for her new boss (strong, black, two
sugars) and met some of the journalists and secretaries who worked for the newspaper, none of whose names she remembered now.
She was given a desk in a kind of anteroom outside Patrick’s office and shown by one of the other females (Hilary? Andrea?)
where Patrick’s filing cabinet was and how he liked his files to be organized.

She’d been introduced to the diary in which she was to record Patrick’s schedule, and she’d been shown the database of contacts
she’d need when arranging meetings, making hotel reservations, and the like.

She’d been brought to the staff room where they could make coffee or tea and eat lunch; the toilets had been pointed out to
her on the way, and the password to access the newspaper’s computers had been divulged.

An e-mail address had been assigned to her. She’d had her photo taken for an identity card, and she’d been given forms to
fill in, looking for tax numbers that meant nothing to her—Adam would help there.

On her desk were a dark green phone, a computer, an intercom pod, a spiral-bound notebook, the hard-backed diary, and a selection
of pens. In the top desk drawer, she found a stapler and a half-full packet of staples, a solar-powered calculator, a bottle
of correction fluid, a box of paper clips, a pair of scissors, a roll of sticky tape, a safety pin, a box of rubber bands,
a three-pack of highlighter markers—one missing—and two brand-new yellow pencils with pink rubber tips.

Behind her desk there was a wooden cabinet on which sat a coffeemaker, coffee and filters, a bowl of sugar lumps, and six
mugs, with a bundle of spoons poking from one. Presumably, if Nora wanted to make coffee for herself, she’d have to go hunting
for milk.

Nobody had complimented the black wraparound dress or the crimson jacket. Patrick’s eyes had flicked over her, but he’d made
no comment. He’d disappeared at ten—“Off to meet a colleague, back later”—and she hadn’t seen him since. She hoped nobody
would come looking for him, as she’d forgotten to ask him where he’d be or what “later” meant. She hadn’t thought to get his
mobile number, which surely his PA should have.

Nobody had rung. For three hours and twenty-seven minutes, the green phone had sat silently on her desk, except for when she’d
phoned Adam.

What’s happening?
he’d asked, and she’d told him,
Not much,
and they’d arranged to go for a drink that evening.

She debated ringing Leah and decided against it. Leah was being cool, no doubt about it. She needed to get used to the idea
that Nora was working for her partner, that was all. Give her a week or two.

She wondered if Leah’s pregnancy had been deliberate or accidental. Had Leah engineered it so Patrick would leave Hannah?
And what would Hannah make of this news, coming so hot on the heels of his leaving her? She wondered without much interest
if Adam had told Hannah about the baby yet.

“I’m bored,” she said aloud, to the empty room. She leafed through the diary, reading past entries in some other woman’s handwriting.
She got up and opened the door of Patrick’s office and wandered in. If he came back, she’d say she was looking for anything
that needed filing.

His office smelled of his aftershave, which she found a bit heady. An orange scarf dangled from a coat stand in one corner,
and a black umbrella hung from a lower hook. A silver-framed photo of Leah and himself in what looked like a hotel lobby stood
on his desk—she wondered if Hannah had occupied the silver frame originally. A jumble of papers was scattered across the walnut
surface, but she had no notion of sorting them.

His first-floor window overlooked the street. Not much doing out there, as usual. She wondered if her impulse to leave the
United States had been a bit premature. Of course, now that she had her green card, she could go back anytime. Maybe she’d
try the West Coast next. L.A. might be interesting, or San Francisco.

She checked her watch: a quarter to one. Nobody had mentioned lunchtime, so she assumed it was up to her when she took it.
She wasn’t particularly hungry, but it would be something to do. She left Patrick’s office and ripped a page from the spiral-bound
notebook. She wrote,
“Gone to lunch—Nora,”
and left it on his leather swivel chair. He might miss it on the desk, with all those papers.

She took her bag and jacket from her desk drawer—no coat stand for the PA—and walked headlong into Patrick as she turned the
corner for the elevators.

“Oops—” He caught her arms to steady her. “Had enough already?”

His aftershave swept over her. “I thought I’d go to lunch,” she said, “since there isn’t a lot to do right now.”

“Good idea.” He turned toward his office. “Hang on a minute and I’ll join you—I was going to take you out anyway, for your
first day.”

“Lovely.”

As she waited, she pulled out her lipstick and her handbag mirror. That was more like it, a decent lunch with a good-looking
man across the table. She was glad now she’d chosen the wraparound. He’d enjoy a bit of cleavage when she leaned across to
tell him what she and Leah had gotten up to as teenagers. He’d enjoy that too—she’d spice it up a bit for him. And if he told
Leah afterward, what could she say? Wasn’t Nora only having a laugh, sharing a few harmless memories with him?

She tucked her lipstick back as he reappeared. Yes, things were definitely looking up.

“She’s riddled with guilt, poor thing,” Geraldine said. “She says she’ll be into work tomorrow, but I can’t see her being
able. I told her I’d open up and she could play it by ear.”

Hannah sipped her tea and made no reply.

“And those poor parents,” Geraldine said. “Completely brokenhearted, the two of them. I don’t think they knew what was going
on.” She shook her head. “It’s just terrible, the whole business, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“There was no sign of Tom when I dropped Alice home after the funeral. I haven’t seen him since it happened—he’s probably
ashamed to face anyone. God, imagine being responsible for the death of a child. It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?”

Hannah shook her head.

“Of course I knew he liked a drink—we all knew that. But I never would have taken him for a drinker—not a serious one, I mean.
He was definitely a bit…the worse for wear at the dinner-dance, but you’d think by the next morning it would have worn off,
wouldn’t you?”

“Mmm.”

“He’s taken leave from the dental clinic. They’re looking for someone to replace him for a few weeks. Alice says he’ll have
to go to court. That’ll be awful, for both of them.”

“It will, awful.”

Geraldine paused and studied her daughter. “Are you all right, love? You seem a bit quiet. Are you upset about the funeral?”

“Sorry,” Hannah said. “It’s not the funeral—I mean, of course that’s terrible, but that’s not what’s bothering me right now.”
She lifted her cup and drank again.

“What is it then?”

“Ah, it’s nothing really…” She laid down her cup and laced her fingers together, and regarded them. “It seems so trivial,
compared to…” She took a deep breath. “It’s just that I saw Leah Bradshaw today.”

Geraldine made a dismissive gesture. “Oh, what do you care about—”

“I think,” Hannah broke in, lifting her head to look at her mother, “at least I’m pretty sure, that she’s pregnant.”

“Oh,” Geraldine repeated more softly, putting a hand on Hannah’s arm. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Hannah said quickly. “I’m fine, really. I just got a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

It had taken her a minute, on her way back to the shop from the funeral, to recognize the slight, blond-haired woman across
the street. She’d glanced at her and then away—and something, some flash of memory, had made her look back. And there she
was, the woman Patrick had left her for. Standing at the edge of the path, scanning the oncoming traffic.

And as Hannah stared, the anger rose in her, so palpable she could taste it. She glared across the street, willing the other
woman to see her, on the point of storming across the road and slapping her—and then Leah raised her arm to signal to an approaching
taxi, and the movement stretched the fabric of her jacket against her body and clearly outlined the swelling underneath her
bust.

Hannah watched, incredulous, as Leah got into the taxi and disappeared.
Pregnant,
Hannah thought.
She’s pregnant with his child.
Trying to assimilate this startling new discovery as she made her way slowly back to the shop. Leah was pregnant; they were
going to have a baby. Sometime in the next few months, Patrick was going to be a father. He might have known—he must have
known?—before he’d left Hannah. Each fresh realization causing another shiver of disbelief.

And as the clock on the wall crawled toward five, she remembered with mortification all the times she’d almost texted him,
craving his return, ready to beg him to come back. Imagine if she’d done it, imagine that.

“It’s just so soon,” she said to Geraldine now. “It seems so quick.” Reaching for a ginger nut, cracking it in two. “Doesn’t
it?”

It’s early days,
Patrick had said every time the subject had come up.
We’re in no hurry, are we? Plenty of time.
And Hannah had accepted it: no point in arguing if it wasn’t what he wanted. So they’d taken precautions, and no babies had
happened, and she’d waited for him to be ready.

“She must have been pregnant when…he was still with me,” she said, tapping the half biscuit against the side of her cup. “She
wouldn’t be showing yet if…” She searched her mother’s face. “Do you think it was an accident?” she asked, knowing as the
words were uttered that it was wishful thinking, not wanting to accept that maybe Patrick had wanted children after all—just
not with her.

“Well—” began Geraldine.

“Doesn’t matter,” Hannah broke in swiftly. “No point in ifs and buts. It was just a shock, that’s all.”