Last night she invented a new dish—pantry chicken and beans. It was for four people, but after she and Ed had eaten she was still hungry—more than hungry, ravenous—so she went back for seconds and then thirds.
“Are you pregnant?” Ed teased her, wickedly.
“You wish,” she shot back. “I’m very, very, very PMS-y. Do we have any chocolate in the house?”
“No, darling. You ate it all two days ago. Want me to run to the garage?”
“It’s not a garage, you big English Wasp. It’s a gas station. And yes, I’d love you to.”
“What’s on the menu tonight? Snickers? Or M&M’s?”
“How about both? Then I can make up my mind when you get back.”
For years Lila has worried about her weight, and now she has a man who not only doesn’t seem to give a damn, but loves her exactly as she is, whatever she weighs.
Which is extremely lucky, given that she is having a very hard time getting any of her trousers to button. She is now in leggings only, with long sweaters that cover her thighs. Every night she lies in bed determined to start a diet the next morning, but then morning comes and she finds herself starving again.
Lila walks into the house, quiet now with the children at school, Honor and Walter out running errands, and Reece working in the office.
Up the stairs and into Callie’s bedroom. Callie opens her eyes as soon as Lila walks in.
“Hi, sweetie,” Lila whispers, sitting on Callie’s bed. “How are you today?”
“Not good,” Callie whispers back. “I don’t feel so good at all.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Just . . . tired,” Callie says, and Lila notices the whites of her eyes are looking yellow—she makes a mental note to talk to Mark about it later at the hospital. “Do I have to go today?”
“Yes, sweetie.” Lila strokes her cheek as Callie closes her eyes. “You do. It’s nearly over. Only four more sessions.”
“But I don’t want to go. I don’t want any more. I don’t care anymore.”
The color drains out of Lila’s face as she leans forward. “Callie, you have to care. You have to keep fighting. You can still make it. You’re so close to finishing; you can’t give up now.”
“But I’m so tired,” Callie mumbles. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“You’re doing it for your kids,” Lila says. “Four more. That’s all. And this afternoon, it will be three more. You can do this, Call, I know you can.”
Callie opens her eyes and stares at Lila, before eventually nodding. “Okay,” she says. “I can do this?”
“Yes, my darling. You can.”
Lila helps her to the edge of the bed, then puts her legs on the floor and arranges the catheter before pulling sweatpants gently on.
“Hey, Lila?”
“Yes, honey?”
“I love you.”
“I know. I love you too.”
“I just want you to know that wherever you are, and wherever I am, I will always love you. Remember that.”
“Oh Jesus, Callie,” Lila says, with a sharp intake of breath. “Don’t say that. That sounds . . . ominous.”
“It’s not. It doesn’t mean anything other than I love you. If anything happens, I’m going to be your angel.”
“You’d better be,” Lila says, lifting her into the chair. “Which hat?”
“No hat. Not today. It doesn’t matter.”
“Let’s go and get your teeth brushed,” Lila says, wheeling her into the bathroom and getting the toothbrush ready. Usually she hands the brush to Callie, but today Callie shakes her head, her arms hanging limply by her sides.
Today she doesn’t have the strength.
“Can you do it?” she asks, and Lila pushes down her fear and carefully brushes Callie’s teeth, while Callie peers at her in the mirror.
“Li? Open my bottom drawer. See that white packet? Can you get it?”
Lila takes out a white plastic pack and peers at it. “What is it?”
Callie manages a weak smile. “It’s a pregnancy test.”
“What? You think you’re pregnant? What?” If it is possible to shriek in a whisper, Lila is shrieking in a whisper.
“Not me,” Callie says. “You. Go pee.”
“Why? Because I’m fat? God, Call If I didn’t love you so much . . .”
“You’re not fat. I think you’re pregnant.”
“I’m not pregnant.”
“So go pee. I want to know. Indulge me. I’m a dying woman.”
“Don’t fucking say that!” Lila spits in horror. “You’re not a dying woman.”
“We’re all dying. Not today. Okay, okay, I’m sorry. It was me trying to be funny. Anyway, just do it.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Go and pee, and then we’ll see if there’s a blue line.”
“Callie, we don’t have time for this. You have to be in radiation in half an hour.”
“They always keep us waiting. We can keep them waiting today.”
Lila closes the door of the toilet and gingerly pees on the stick, then puts the cap on and walks back out to the bathroom.
“Did you do it?” Callie asks.
Lila nods.
“Give it to me.”
Lila hands it over.
Callie holds it on her lap and counts down before taking off the cap to discover the result. “I knew it!” she says, grinning widely, but Lila feels as if she’s going to faint.
“Show me!” Lila grabs the stick, a wave of nausea hitting as she recognizes the strong blue line in the circle. “Oh shit,” she mumbles. “Now what?”
“Lila?” Callie’s face is lit up with joy. “Now you get me to goddamned radiation, and then you accept that you are going to have a baby.”
Lila waits until Ed is sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of Scotch in his hand, a bowl of curried parsnip and apple soup in front of him, before placing the stick on the table between them.
Ed lifts the spoon to his mouth. “This is delicious, my love. What’s that?”
“What?”
“That stick on the table?”
“It’s a pregnancy test.”
Ed puts down the spoon as a smile spreads over his face.
“What does it say?”
“What do you think the blue line means?”
“You’re pregnant?”
Lila nods, and Ed whoops with joy, then stands up and grabs Lila in a huge hug.
“I can’t believe it! I can’t bloody believe it!” He squeezes her tightly. “We’re going to have a baby!”
“I don’t know, Ed,” Lila says. “I mean, we have to talk about this.”
“What’s to talk about? You’re pregnant! Jesus. How did you get pregnant, anyway? I thought you were using something.”
“I was. I guess I fall into the two percent. But, sweetie, I really don’t know how I feel about this.”
“You’ll be fine.” Ed can’t stop grinning and kissing her, not hearing what Lila is saying.
“I know I’ll be fine, but I don’t know if I can have this . . . if I can have a baby.”
“What?” His face falls. “Are you talking about an abortion?”
“I haven’t even begun to think it through, but yes, if I am clear about not having this baby, then I would have an abortion.”
“You would abort out child?” Ed says in horror.
“It’s not a child,” says Lila. “It’s nothing. It’s a fetus. I’m only five weeks. I could do it next week and we could just carry on.”
Ed looks as if he is about to cry. “You can’t just announce that you would do that. This is our child. This isn’t a decision you can make alone.’
“I know.” Lila’s heart is sinking. This isn’t what she had expected. Or perhaps she had; perhaps she just hoped that he might see things from her point of view. “But, sweetie? It’s my body. And that’s huge. I just don’t know how I feel. Maybe I just need time to get used to it.”
“Of course you need time.” Hope fills Ed’s voice. “It’s a huge shock, and you can take all the time you need. You will be an amazing mother. I love you so much and the thought of making a baby with you is just incredible. This is what I’ve always wanted. A partner, a best friend, a lover, a woman I can see myself spending the rest of my life with, who brings me so much joy and peace that I wake up every morning thinking about how lucky I am. And the only thing that could make it better is having a family with you. A proper family.”
“I love you, Ed, and I echo all the things you’ve just said. Just give me time. Let me figure out how I feel.”
Ed doesn’t say anything. His smile says it all as he leans down and kisses her again.
Pantry Chicken and Beans
Ingredients
3 cans beans (chickpeas, black beans, kidney beans or lima beans)
1 can diced tomatoes
Dried chili flakes
5 sun-dried tomatoes chopped
Handful of black olives, pitted and cut in half
4-5 anchovies, chopped
3 garlic cloves
Cherry tomatoes on the vine (completely inessential, but pretty if you have some)
6 chicken breasts
Parsley, chopped
Method
Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Oil a casserole dish and pour in the beans (rinsing first in a colander). Add the diced tomatoes, chili, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, anchovies and garlic. Fold in, being careful not to break the beans.
I would also add some finely sliced bacon or pancetta to the beans, if you have any handy.
Add the cherry tomatoes. Roast in the oven for around 25 minutes, until the tomatoes soften and it all starts to smell delicious.
Add the chicken (if they are chicken breasts with skin, you can brown the skin side in a frying pan first). Return to the oven for about 30 minutes more, until the chicken is done.
Garnish with parsley if you have any.
Chapter Thirty
Steffi watches Stan as he walks back from the bathroom, friends of his slapping his back as he passes.
He sits down next to her, giving her leg a squeeze, and tips his head to take a swig of beer. And Steffi sees it. The telltale white powder in his nose. The white powder that she might think was nothing, if she didn’t know better, if she hadn’t lived in New York all those years, gone out with all those men who took cocaine the way others drank water.
Enough, she thinks, the light switch of attraction turning off for her just as quickly as it flicked on, that sunny morning at Amy Van Peterson’s.
Enough of the drugs. Enough of the drinking. Enough of the men who still act as if they are in college.
Enough of the men she can’t envision in the heart of her family, getting on with her parents, with Callie.
She hasn’t even been able to bring herself to invite Stan to the house. Yes, Callie said she wanted to meet him, but Steffi doesn’t have to be a brain surgeon to know what she would say.
Mason, on the other hand . . .
Stan had come to pick her up an hour earlier, as Mason was making her laugh at the kitchen table. Steffi was cleaning up the kitchen, moving around with cloth and Soft Scrub in hand, while he went to the cellar for a bottle of red he was insisting she share with him.
It was comfortable and companionable and, more than that, fun. Steffi felt a flash of irritation when she remembered Stan was picking her up tonight. He was late, by thirty minutes, and she wondered if she could cancel, or pretend to be out, or come up with another excuse.
“I’ve heard the Post Inn is great,” Mason said, pouring the wine. “Do you want to see if we can get in there tonight? Might be fun.”
“I’d love to,” Steffi said sadly, “but I can’t. I have . . . plans.”
“Plans?” He looked over at her with a smile. “That sounds . . . interesting.”
Steffi blushed, bending down to open a cupboard door and pretending to root around looking for a frying pan so he didn’t see. Why was she embarrassed?
“Go on, then, who’s the lucky guy?”
“What makes you think it’s a guy?” Feeling the blush subside, she straightened up.
“Just a feeling. Are there any single men around here?”
“Not many.” She laughed. “And I’m not telling you.”
“Oh come on. We’re friends. You have to tell me. I believe it even says so in the lease.”
“I haven’t signed a lease.”
“You haven’t? That’s terrible. I’ll get one drawn up next week. I’m going to see who it is so you might as well tell me. Is he tall, dark and handsome?”
“Well, yes. Oh God, I can’t believe you’re pressurizing me like this. Okay. It’s Stan.”
“Stan who?”
“Stan, Stanley. The handyman.”
“Oh God!” Mason widened his eyes with a huge smile. “Stanley the handyman? No. Seriously. Who is it?”
“It is,” Steffi mumbled. “And now I don’t want to go.”
“I’m sorry.” Mason wiped the smile off his face. “It’s none of my business, and he seems like a nice guy. I should have realized . . . He’s . . . very attractive, right?”
Steffi shrugged. “I guess.”
“No, I mean, I’ve always heard that he’s a big hit with the women . . . Oh Jesus. I should just shut up. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”
“I’m sure I will.” Steffi glared at him. “We’re going to the Roadhouse to see a band and we’ll have a great time.”
Why did it sound like she was trying to convince herself?
And here she is, at the Roadhouse, and it’s smoky, and noisy, and crowded, and her date has obviously just done a line of cocaine; and the only place she really wants to be right now is back home, reading her book in front of the fire, with Fingal curled up over her feet to keep them warm, and Mason sitting in the armchair.
It isn’t that she’s attracted to Mason—good God, he’s hardly her type—but it is nice to have him around. It is a welcome break from the crushing sadness in her life right now, and she feels his quiet support.
“Stan, I’m really sorry, but I have a terrible headache and I’m not feeling great,” she says suddenly, watching a flash of irritation in his eyes change to what seems like false concern. “I have to go home. Would you mind taking me?”
There is a silence, and Steffi fights her own irritation. He’s her date, for Christ’s sake. Of course he should take her home. What is there to consider?
But she knows why he’s considering. It’s because something’s changed. A headache is the oldest excuse in the book, and he can tell, instantly, that it isn’t that she’s not feeling well, it’s that she’s changed her mind.
Steffi has always been mercurial, has been able to fall in love, then out of love, in less than a second.
Once upon a time a speck of white powder in a nostril would have meant nothing. Once upon a time she would have shrugged it off, because even though cocaine wasn’t her thing, it never bothered her that others did it. But once upon a time her sister hadn’t been dangerously ill, and she hadn’t been forced to question everything in her life.
Not least, as Callie has pointed out, her choices in men. Six months ago and she would have had a fabulous fling with Stan the handyman. But not today. Not anymore.
“I can get a cab,” Steffi says eventually, jolting Stan out of his thought process.
“Nah. It’s only a few minutes. Of course I’ll take you.”
“You know what? A cab is fine.” She realizes she doesn’t want to spend any more time in his company, and certainly not spend the journey home feeling his waves of resentment wash over her. “Don’t worry. These are your friends. You stay and enjoy.”
She asks the bartender for a number, and when she has finished the call she looks over to see Stan already talking to a tall blond girl she noticed when they walked in.
“That was quick.” Mason looks up from his computer as she passes
the doorway of his study. “Did something happen?”
“Kinda, sorta,” she says.
“Come in.” He gestures her in, and she sinks down on the faded sofa under the window.
“I just realized he’s not my type.”
“Oh?” Mason smiles. “What is your type?”
“That’s the problem. I have no idea. It’s always been guys like Stan, but it’s just not doing it for me anymore.” She sighs and looks up, catching Mason’s eye, and he holds her glance for just a fraction of a second longer than is altogether necessary.
Whoa, she thinks, looking away quickly. What the hell was that?
“Did you eat?” Mason says.
“No, but I was thinking about driving over to Bedford.” She looks up at him again. “Do you want to come?”
The kitchen is quiet. Low TV can be heard from the family room, and Steffi parks Mason at the kitchen counter while she roots around in the fridge for something to eat.
“Are you sure it’s okay to help ourselves?”
“Are you kidding?” Steffi peers around the door. “This is my family, and I’m the one who cooked it all. There’s chickpea curry, Asian steak wraps, or homemade mac ’n’ cheese. Damn, I made that for the kids. I knew they wouldn’t like it. The only mac ’n’ cheese they’ll eat is the crap that comes out of a box. Here”—she pulls out a bottle of wine and hands it to Mason—“you open that while I heat this up. Let me just see who’s around.”
Upstairs, Eliza and Jack are fast asleep in their beds, Eliza with a cashmere sweater of Callie’s wrapped around her, which she now refuses to sleep without.
Callie’s door is closed, and Steffi opens it very quietly to find Reece lying on the bed, holding Callie. He looks over at Steffi and raises his finger to his lips, mouthing that he will be down soon. Callie is fast asleep, her body barely registering under the duvet, so tiny is she now.