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By Root 1718 0

body and soul together and how lucky I was to be cruising. Well, not cruising now, obviously: pretty much in the eye of the storm. But this morning had at least taken my mind off the storm; off what was happening in town. I glanced at my watch. Yes, right now. One o'clock. My stomach tipped. And with it, that familiar sicky feeling that soared up my throat like a high-speed elevator, so that by the time I got back to my house I realized I shouldn't have come home. Should have stayed longer at the farm, taken Caro up on her offer of lunch. Shouldn't have come back here to wait, to stew, to listen for their key in the door, hear their hushed voices in the hallway. I should have gone… well, where? Not into town – I might see them. And they might see me, think: what's she doing – spying? And I couldn't go back to the farm, not now.

Well, they wouldn't be long, I reasoned. I'd turn on the television. Or read. No, turn the telly on.

Upstairs in the bedroom, I flicked on the one we never used – Ant couldn't bear it; ‘the dreaded lantern’, he called it – so an illicit pleasure. I'd find a soap opera, like I used to years ago, something frivolous to take my mind off things. Oh, and eat chocolate.

The television was on only ten minutes, though, and I found I couldn't even eat chocolate on account of my sicky tummy. Instead I sat hunched and watchful at my dressing table, which had a view of the street, so I'd see them coming. I sat there and waited. I looked at the framed photograph of Ant and me on our wedding day; at the one of Anna in her christening robe: the familiar perfume bottles and brushes, the pottery house Anna had made in Year Two. The cross-stitched mat from Year Three. I sat, and I waited.

I was still sitting there, when, an hour later, at half-past two, my hands clenched and sweaty on my lap, I saw them coming down the street. They were laughing and joking. Anna was swinging her tapestry bag, and Ant was grinning. My heart plummeted. Oh dear God. The key went in the door and I heard their voices in the hall. Not hushed; not quietly relieved that that little ordeal was over, but bubbly, buoyant. I went to the top of the stairs, feeling my way. My legs full of pins and needles from having sat in one position for so long, I was a frail, shadowy figure, like something out of a Hitchcock film: the slightly unhinged woman at the top of the stairs.

‘How did it go?’ I managed.

They broke off their chatter and glanced up.

‘Oh, hi, Mum.’ Anna unwound a beaded scarf from her neck. ‘Actually it was fine. They were great.’

My heart, which, as you know, had already plummeted, slipped through my shoes and tumbled down the stairs. On the landing table beside me was a vase. I nearly seized it and hurled it after my heart.

‘Good. Well, that's good.’ I executed a tight smile. ‘Relieved it's over, I expect?’

‘Oh, no,’ she smiled up at me, eyes shining, ‘it was cool.’

Ant was watching me anxiously as I slowly descended, hand on the rail in case I fell, knowing he had to temper our daughter's enthusiasm.

‘It went much better than we expected,’ he explained.

‘Stacey – Anastasia – is really sweet and really good fun and soo pretty, Mum. Really tall, with this long blonde hair – she was spotted by Storm Models in the mall in Sheffield – and she's really clever too. She's here because she's got an interview at Trinity, and she's only sixteen. I was like – omigod, a year early!’

I couldn't speak.

‘And Bella – that's her mum – God, she's soo nice, just your type. Really sweet, you'll really like her, and she's a writer. You know those historical romance books Granny likes? Bella Edgeworth – that's her!’

I stared as if I didn't recognize her. Bella Edgeworth? Yes. Yes, I'd vaguely heard of her. Anna was clattering through to the kitchen now, tossing her bag on a chair, running the tap at full pelt so it splashed everywhere, which I hated, reaching for a glass in the cupboard above. I followed dumbly. Ant was slowly taking his jacket off behind me. Anna filled the glass and glugged her drink down noisily.

‘Aahh… that's better.