appreciate him and insists on wearing that marshmallow dressing gown instead of a chemise, then who can blame him for having a little dalliance now and again?
It’s not as if he’s ever brought Astrid home while Lou’s been at work. That would be out of order, Spike decides as he strides down their shabbier street and climbs the stairs to their first-floor flat. As he lets himself in and grabs a beer from the fridge, Spike contents himself with the fact that no one can say he doesn’t have morals.
ELEVEN
Daisy is cleaning her teeth before bed. Normally, Hannah avoids going into the bathroom if she hears one of the kids in there, even if the door is wide open as it is now. Occasionally, she’s made a mistake, and leapt out at the sight of Josh clad in his boxers, dabbing at a chin-spot with a little piece of loo roll. But now, hearing the sound of bristles vigorously scrubbing enamel, she figures that teeth cleaning isn’t too personal and that it might be okay to tiptoe in.
‘Hi,’ she says casually. Daisy turns to her from the washbasin with a mouth oozing pink froth. ‘Er, I was thinking,’ she starts, ‘that maybe me and you could go shopping in the West End on Saturday, just the two of us?’ Daisy blinks slowly as if anticipating a cruel punchline: Because I’d like to buy you an embarrassing coat. ‘I know your dad suggested all of us going,’ Hannah ploughs on, ‘but Josh is going to Eddie’s and I thought, well … wouldn’t it be nice, just me and you? Would you like that?’
Daisy wipes some toothpaste from her chin, then turns back to the washbasin where she spits noisily. ‘I dunno,’ she says.
Hannah wonders if this means she’s unsure of her availability, or whether or not it would in fact be ‘nice’. ‘Well, I thought maybe we could choose you a dress,’ Hannah offers, starting to sweat a little now. ‘I mean, you are our bridesmaid, Daisy.’
She spits again – more for effect than out of necessity, Hannah suspects – then fills her cupped palms with water from the cold tap and slurps it noisily.
‘Or, if that’s too girlie for you,’ Hannah soldiers on, ‘maybe you’d like a skirt and a nice top, and a little cardi in case it’s cold. It doesn’t matter really. We don’t even have to look at clothes. We could, er …’ She tails off, stuck for words, as if faced with a particularly hostile interviewer. Why is she doing this anyway? Hannah doesn’t care what anyone wears to the wedding. Yet it’s not about shopping, not really. Hannah and Daisy have never done anything on their own together, because Hannah has always assumed Daisy would either come up with an excuse, like she was planning to stay home and count the woolly tufts on her bedroom rug, or reply with a curt ‘No, thank you.’ But now, with the wedding thundering towards them, she’s decided to stop assuming anything.
Daisy sucks on a tendril of hair and looks at Hannah as if she’s just suggested a trip to the chiropodist.
‘Just me and you, d’you mean?’ she asks cautiously.
‘Yes. Wouldn’t that be fun?’
Daisy pulls her lips into a thin line and nods.
‘Great, then,’ Hannah says, turning to leave the bathroom.
‘Hannah?’ Daisy has followed her out to the landing.
‘Yes?’ Hannah says eagerly.
‘Wanna see something in my room?’
‘Er, sure.’
She follows Daisy into her pale turquoise bedroom, carefully treading between the books, clothes and sweet wrappers that litter the floor. Hovering uncertainly, Hannah watches as Daisy crouches down to rummage at the bottom of her wardrobe. Finally, she pulls out a small, black, leather-bound book.
‘What’s that?’ Hannah asks.
‘Mum and Dad’s wedding album.’ She clutches it in front of her, as if about to present it to Hannah as a prize.
‘Oh! That’s nice. Did they, um … give it to you?’
Daisy perches on the edge of her bed. Hell, Hannah thinks, she’s going to make me look through it. She’s going to make me examine her mother in that billion-sparkles dress. Hannah feels vaguely queasy, and can feel beads of sweat on her upper lip.
‘She made me and Josh one each,’ Daisy explains, tossing back her long dark hair. ‘I don’t think he looks at his though.’
‘Oh. Well, I guess boys aren’t really into that kind of thing.’
‘What, weddings?’
‘No, um … looking at wedding photos. You know.’ Hannah’s entire body is now prickling with unease as she tries to conjure up a fictitious emergency downstairs – the smell of burning or gas – that will give her an excuse to charge out of Daisy’s room. She doesn’t want to scare the child by making her think her home is about to explode, but nor does she wish to peruse the album, which Daisy has now opened on her lap to reveal a full-page close-up of Petra’s radiant smiling face.
Petra doesn’t look like a fat nurse. There’s nothing medical about her whatsoever. She’s so lovely and elegant with her jet-black hair piled up that Hannah’s breath catches in her throat. For an instant, she thinks Daisy must have found a copy of Brides magazine, snipped out a picture and stuck it in the album to trick her. But no, it’s her mother all right – those are Petra’s steely grey eyes, sharp cheekbones and perfectly painted red lips. ‘This is Mummy arriving at church,’ Daisy murmurs, stroking the side of Petra’s face.
‘That’s nice.’ Hannah swallows hard.
‘And that’s Grandma Esther standing next to Mum,’ Daisy adds, turning the page.
Hannah feels ridiculous, perching gingerly on Daisy’s bed, and sneakily checks out roughly how many pages the album might have. A dozen or so and she’ll probably be able to hold it together, but this is a chunky album that could conceivably go on forever. ‘Maybe you’d better get your PJs on now,’ she says gently. ‘It’s gone half-eight …’
‘Yeah, in a minute. Anyway, look – that’s Daddy in his wedding suit. Is he gonna wear the same one at your wedding?’
‘No, he’s having a new one altered, remember?’ Hannah says, willing Ryan to come upstairs, witness the cosy tableau and chivvy Daisy into bed.
‘Oh yeah. Look! That’s the dress I was telling you about.’
Hannah tries to focus on the stunning woman before her. But her head is swimming and she can no longer make proper words come out of her mouth. How can Ryan not still be in love with this woman? Hannah has met Petra numerous times, when she’s picked up or dropped off the children, and has always thought, yes, she’s striking, but somehow her chilliness cancels out her beauty. But she’s never seen Petra look like this – like a woman in love, who’d go on to bear Ryan two children whom they’d raise together until her shock announcement three years ago that she must ‘put myself first’. Heartbroken and stunned, Ryan simply hadn’t seen it coming. As far as he was concerned, Petra’s career as a concert cellist had come before everything else.
Maybe that’s it, Hannah thinks, a sense of dread washing over her. Ryan asked her to marry him simply in an attempt to get over Petra. He is trying to force himself not to love her anymore.
Daisy is still going on about her mother’s billowing veil. Hannah tries to show appreciation, but her tongue feels like a dry thing flapping around in her mouth. They’re only wedding photos, she tells herself sternly. She’s just showing them off because she likes to look at them. It’s nothing more sinister than that.
‘Don’t you like it?’ Daisy swivels round to face her.
‘Oh, yes,’ Hannah croaks. ‘It’s beautiful. A really amazing veil.’ Turn the page, she thinks desperately, so we can look at pictures of the bridesmaids or cake. Daisy turns