like that any more. He’d been trying to get her into bed at the time. Well, he’d been trying to get his hand inside her knickers on his parents’ settee while they were next door having drinks. Like a fool, she’d believed him.
Clare wasn’t sure what happened exactly. They’d always been careful. Originally, she only went on the pill because she didn’t think condoms were enough. After Will stopped using condoms, Clare never, ever missed a pill. But a vomiting bug went around college, and that was enough, apparently.
Everyone, from her mum to Will and Will’s parents told her to do the sensible thing, and ‘get rid of it’. Even her dad would have had an opinion, Clare was sure of it; if he’d ever bothered to show an interest in what she did, or even sent a birthday card in the five years since he’d left.
‘What do you mean? You want to have it?’ Will said, sitting in the recreation ground not far from her home. Clare watched the ducks try to navigate a Tesco shopping trolley masquerading as an island in the middle of their lake.
‘I want us to have it,’ she said. ‘Us. It’s our baby.’
Out of the corner of one eye she was aware of Will staring at his knees. Once, his curtain of hair would have hidden his eyes, but he’d had it cut shorter and removed his earring for a round of medical school interviews.
‘Our baby,’ she said, turning to stare at him. ‘We would have had one eventually, wouldn’t we?’
Will refused to catch her eye.
‘Wouldn’t we?’
It was only later she realized he’d never answered the question.
‘If it’s our baby, then it’s our decision,’ he said, trying to harden his voice. But Clare could hear it tremble as he spoke. ‘And I don’t want a baby. I’m too young, Clare. We’re too young. What about university? What about those novels you’re going to write? And me? Seven years of medical studies. How can I do that with a baby?’
‘We can manage,’ Clare promised. ‘Both of us, together.’
She was fighting a losing battle. She knew it, and Will knew she knew it. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘We can’t manage. And I won’t do it.’
Hurtling into the kitchen, Louisa threw her skinny arms around Eve. ‘Hello Auntie Eve,’ she said. ‘Mum didn’t say you’d be here.’
‘That’s because Mum didn’t know,’ Clare said.
Louisa raised her eyebrows.
Eve had known Lou since she was a baby, and been an honorary aunt—the kind whose job it was to provide presents, play-dates and an impartial ear—almost as long. But it always amazed her how unlike her mother Lou looked. Where Clare was stocky, Louisa was wraith-like. Taller, lankier, olive skinned, with eyes so dark they were almost black, and a curtain of shiny black hair that kept falling into her eyes. A black T-shirt carrying the logo of a band Eve didn’t recognize, black jacket, skinny jeans and a pair of sneakers that were almost Converse. The girl had emo written all over her.
‘Mum,’ said Louisa, heading to the fridge. ‘What’s for lunch?’
‘Lunch was two hours ago and if you think I’m cooking again you’ve got another think coming. If you’re hungry, you can have what’s left of last night’s risotto or make a sandwich.’
Her daughter’s nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘A sandwich?’ she said, sounding like Edith Evans playing Lady Bracknell in The Importance of Being Earnest, her last school play. ‘I’m going to look like a sandwich if I eat any more. Anyway, there’s nothing to put in one.’
‘I’ll do a shop tomorrow. For now, there’s cheese, peanut butter, marmite, jam…’ Clare recited a list of jars in the fridge and hoped the cheese hadn’t yet developed a crust.
‘They’re all empty. And you know I don’t eat cheese,’ Louisa said, spotting the bottle. ‘Can I have a glass of wine?’
‘You know you can’t,’ Clare sighed. ‘Have orange juice.’
Louisa opened her mouth to object.
‘Don’t even start. Auntie Eve and I are trying to have a conversation. A private conversation,’ Clare added pointedly.
It was no use.
As the mother-daughter combat bounced back and forth, Eve listened as Clare negotiated her daughter down to marmite on toast now, plus a glass of orange juice, with the promise of a takeout pizza later as a Saturday night treat. Apparently, Louisa didn’t regard mozzarella as cheese. Eve couldn’t imagine ever having a conversation like this with Hannah.
‘Kids,’ Clare said, as Louisa bounced out, orange juice sloshing as she went. ‘That’s all they are you know. A mess of emotion done up to look scary.’
It was Clare the schoolteacher speaking.
‘I know…I know.’ Draining her glass, Eve reached for the bottle and topped herself up to the halfway mark, before emptying the rest into Clare’s. ‘And I can’t begin to imagine what Ian’s have been through. But the eldest, Hannah, I don’t think she has any intention of giving me the slightest chance. It’s like she’s already decided to hate me.’
‘How old is she again?’
‘Twelve, going on twenty.’
Clare shot her a warning glance. ‘A year younger than Louisa,’ she pointed out. ‘Can you imagine how Lou would react to a new man in my life? Not that that’s going to happen any time soon. She’d hate it.’
‘You think?’
‘I know,’ Clare said firmly. ‘Hannah doesn’t hate you. She hates the idea of you. She’d hate any woman who threatened to come between her and her dad.’
Looked at objectively, Eve could see Clare was right.
‘But right now,’ Eve protested. ‘I’m just a friend of her dad’s.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Clare rolled her eyes. ‘Of course she knows. How many of their dad’s friends have those children met since their mum died? I mean, think about it. How many times have they traipsed into London to meet someone and then been taken to Hamley’s or Topshop as a reward for good behaviour?’ She looked at Eve questioningly.
‘Zero, nada, zilch. Am I right?’
‘Oh bollocks,’ Eve said. ‘D’you think so?’
‘I know so. They might be children, but they’re not stupid. Certainly not Hannah. The little ones might take you at face value, for now, but Hannah? Twelve going on twenty, as you put it? No way.’
Eve took a gulp of her wine. How could she have been so naive?
‘To be honest,’ Clare said. ‘I’m surprised Ian was dumb enough to think she’d fall for it. Lou wouldn’t, and nor would any of her friends.’
Eve could have kicked herself. It had seemed such a good plan, but with the benefit of hindsight, its flaws were glaring.
‘Still, at least he tried. I’ve told you about Lily’s boyfriend, Liam?’
Lily was Clare’s sister. Nine years younger and a lot closer to Louisa in looks than she was to Clare. Eve hadn’t seen her for years.
‘The divorced one? Sports reporter?’
‘Not-quite divorced. But yes, that one. He just threw Lily in at the deep end. Her and the kid, and his ex. I don’t know who was more traumatized. If that wasn’t bad enough, a couple of months later, she has to field his kid for an entire afternoon by herself.’
‘God,’ said Eve. ‘Why?’
‘His shift changed and he had to cover the FA Cup.’ Clare mimed inverted commas around