‘And they do give you a four-hour lunch break, don’t they?’ Jessica said.
She was wide-eyed with concern. There was an innocence about her that both her siblings lacked, as though she had been spared most of life’s sharp edges. The middle child, buffered by the presence of the big sister and the baby.
Megan just smiled. It was true that her morning surgery ended at twelve, and her afternoon surgery didn’t begin until four. But her morning surgery usually overran by almost an hour – she just couldn’t seem to get her consultations down to the required time – and before afternoon surgery began, she was expected to make her round of house visits.
‘I’ve got us a table in J. Sheekey’s,’ Jessica said. ‘Is fish all right for you?’
Fish and a few glasses of something white would have been fine with Megan. But she really didn’t have time for an elaborate lunch in the West End. In truth, she just about had time to grab a sandwich at the nearest Prêt à Manger, but she didn’t want to cancel lunch with one of her big sisters.
‘It’s not really all lunch break, Jess,’ Megan said gently. ‘I have to see someone in their home before surgery starts again.’
‘You mean sick people?’
‘Sick people, yeah. I’ve got to see a woman this afternoon. Well, her little girl.’
‘You visit sick people in their homes? Wow, that’s terrific service, Meg. I thought they only did that on Harley Street.’
Megan explained that the sick people with a doctor on Harley Street didn’t need someone to come round to see them. Those people had cars, taxis, spouses who drove, even chauffeurs. Her patients in Hackney were often afflicted by what was known as no means. No cars, no money for cabs. Many of them were stuck at the top of a tower block with a bunch of screaming kids, and all this stuff in their heads about it getting worse if they sat in a doctor’s waiting room. So house calls were actually far more common at the bottom end of the market.
Megan didn’t tell Jessica that the older, male doctors at the surgery all hated making house visits, and so farmed the majority of them out to her. Despite being four years younger, Megan had always felt the need to protect Jessica from the horrible truth about the world.
‘Somewhere closer then,’ said Jessica, trying not to sound disappointed.
‘Somewhere closer would be good.’
They bagged the last table in Patisserie Valerie, and after they had ordered, the sisters smiled at each other. Because of Megan’s new job, it had been a while since they had seen each other. They both realised that it didn’t matter where they had lunch.
‘How’s Paulo and his business?’
‘Good – business is up eighty per cent on last year. Or is it eight per cent?’ Jessica bit her bottom lip, staring thoughtfully at the mural on the Pat Val wall. ‘I can’t remember. But they’re importing a lot of new stock from Italy. Maseratis, Ferraris, Lamborghinis, all that. People here order them. Then Paulo and Mike go and get them. How’s Will?’
‘Will’s sort of out of the picture.’
Jessica flinched. ‘Oh, I liked Will. He was really good-looking. For a short guy.’
‘He wasn’t so short!’
‘Kind of short. I suppose it’s hard to keep a relationship going when you’re both working so hard.’
‘Will’s never done a day’s work in his life. It’s actually hard to keep a relationship together when one of you is a slut hound.’
‘Oh. Oh, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Best to find out these things before – you know. Before it’s too late. Before you go and do something stupid.’
‘But you loved Will, didn’t you?’
‘I think I was grateful that somebody seemed so interested in me,’ Megan said. ‘Especially such a good-looking short guy.’ They laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it. Really. It was never one of the great love matches. Not like you and Paulo.’
‘Still – it’s sad when people break up. I hate it. Why can’t things just stay the same?’
Megan smiled at her sister. Jessica – last of the great romantics. She was exactly the same when they were growing up. Jessie always had Andrew Ridgeley on her wall, and some unreachable boy she had a hopeless crush on.
‘You look good, Jess.’
‘And you look worn out. Nobody would guess that I’m the ill one.’
‘You’re not ill!’
‘Got this bloody test coming up. Where they drill a hole through your belly button, for God’s sake.’
‘The laparoscopy. Who’s doing it?’
Jessica named an obstetrician and an address on Wimpole Street.
‘He’s good,’ Megan said. ‘You’ll be fine. Everything okay with Paulo’s sperm?’
A businessman at the next table turned to look at them. Megan stared back at him until he looked away.
‘There’s a slight mobility problem.’
‘Motility problem. That’s not the end of the world. It just means some of them are lazy little buggers. You would be amazed what they can do with lazy sperm these days.’
The businessman stared at them, shook his head, and signalled for his bill.
‘I’m not so worried about Paulo.’ Jessica idly ran her fingers through some spilled sugar on the table in front of her. ‘What I’m worried about is me, and what they are going to find when they cut me open.’
Megan had her own ideas about what they might find when they looked inside her sister. But she smiled, taking her sister’s sugar-coated hands in her own, saying nothing.
‘I feel like I’ve got something wrong with me, Meg.’
‘You’re lovely. There’s nothing wrong with you.’ Megan shook her head. Nobody who looked like her sister should ever feel this sad. ‘Look at you, Jess.’
‘I feel defective.’ Jessica gently released herself from Megan’s grip, and considered the small crystals of sugar stuck to her fingertips. ‘That I don’t work the way I should work.’ She carefully placed her fingers in her mouth, and grimaced, as if the taste wasn’t sweet at all.
‘You and Paulo are going to have a beautiful baby, and you’re going to be the best mother in the world.’
The waitress arrived with Jessica’s pasta and Megan’s salad, and that’s when the wave of nausea struck. Megan pushed back her chair, shoved her way through the crowded café, knocking aside an authentically French waiter, and just about made it to the toilet before she threw up.
Back at the table, Jessica hadn’t touched her lunch.
‘What’s wrong with you, Megan?’
‘Nothing.’
Jessica stared at her with a sullen stubbornness that Megan knew from their childhood.
‘What is it?’
‘Just really tired, that’s all. Working too hard, I guess. It’s nothing. Eat your pasta.’
Megan couldn’t tell her sister.
Jessica had to be protected from this secret, more than she had ever needed to be protected from anything.
How could she ever tell Jessica? Megan’s baby would only break her heart.
It wasn’t as though she was planning to keep it.
‘I tell