I lift the phone to call Luke, then stop. He’s got enough on his plate as it is right now.
In a few weeks we have to move out of our flat. Where are we going to go?
“Becky?” Kelly bursts into the kitchen, giggling. “We’ve put candles on your cake. I know it’s not your birthday, but you should blow them out anyway.”
“Yes!” I jolt into life. “I’m coming!”
Somehow I manage to hold myself together as I follow Kelly back to the sitting room. Inside, Danny and Janice are playing guess the baby food and writing down their answers on sheets. Mum and Jess are perusing pictures of celebrity babies.
“It’s Lourdes!” Mum is saying. “Jess, love, you should be more aware of the world.”
“Pureed beet,” says Danny knowledgeably as he tastes a spoonful of purple goo. “All it needs is a shot of vodka.”
“Becky!” Mum looks up. “Everything all right, love? You keep running off to answer the phone!”
“Yes, Bex, what’s up?” Suze’s brow wrinkles.
“It’s…”
I wipe my damp upper lip, trying to keep steady. I don’t even know where I’d start.
Luke’s fighting to save his company. He’s hemorrhaging money. We’ve lost the house.
I can’t tell them. I can’t spoil the party — everyone’s having such a good time.
I’ll tell them later. Tomorrow.
“Everything’s fine!” I force my brightest, best, happiest smile. “Couldn’t be better!” And I blow out my candles.
At last the tea and champagne are all drunk and all the guests gradually leave. It was such a great baby shower. And everyone got on so well! Janice and Jess made up in the end, and Jess promised she’d look after Tom in Chile and not let any guerrilla bandits get him. Suze and Kelly had a long conversation while they played guess the baby food, ending up with Suze offering Kelly a job as au pair during her year off. But the really amazing thing is, Jess and Danny have hit it off! Danny started talking to her about some new collection he wants to do using shards of rocks — and she’s going to take him to a museum to see some specimens.
The bike arrived while everyone was eating cake, and the package went off OK. I haven’t heard back from Luke, though. I guess he’s in talks with his lawyers or whoever it is. So he doesn’t know about the house yet, either.
“Are you all right, Becky?” says Mum, giving me a hug at the front door. “Would you like me to stay with you till Luke arrives home?”
“No, it’s OK. Don’t worry.”
“Well, have a nice afternoon rest. Save your energy, love.”
“I will.” I nod. “Bye, Mum.”
The place feels silent and flat with everyone gone. It’s just me and all the stuff. I wander into the nursery, gently touching the handcrafted crib and the little white rocking cradle. And the Moses basket with its gorgeous linen canopy. (I wanted to give the baby a choice of sleeping accommodations.)
It’s like a stage set. We’re just waiting for the lead character to appear.
I prod my tummy, wondering if it’s awake. Maybe I’ll play it a tune and it can be a musical genius when it’s born! I wind up the mobile I ordered from the Intelligent Baby catalog and press it against my tummy.
Baby, listen to that! That’s Mozart.
I think…. Or Beethoven or someone.
God, now I’ve confused it. I’m just looking on the box to see if the tune is by Mozart, when there’s a small crash from the hall.
Christmas cards. That’ll make me feel better. Abandoning the Intelligent Baby mobile, I head to the front door, pick up the huge pile of post lying on the doormat, and waddle back to the sofa, leafing through the envelopes.
And then I stop. There’s a small package, labeled in distinctive, flowing writing.
Venetia’s.
It’s addressed to Luke, but I don’t care. With trembling hands I rip it open, to find a tiny leather Duchamp box. I wrench it open, and there’s a pair of silver and enamel cuff links. What is she doing sending him cuff links?
A small cream card falls out, with a message written in the same script.
L
Long time no see. “Nunc est bibendum?”
V
I stare at the note, the blood rushing through my head. All the stresses of the day seem to be focusing in a laser of fury. I’ve had it. I’ve just had it. I’m going to send this package straight back, return of post—
No. I’m going to give it back to her myself.
In a daze, I find myself getting to my feet and reaching for my coat. I’m going to find Venetia and I’m going to finish this. Once and for all.
TWENTY
I’VE NEVER BEEN more itching for a showdown in my life.
It didn’t take long to track down Venetia. I phoned the Holistic Birth Center, pretending to be really desperate to talk to her and asking where she was. After saying she was “unavailable,” the receptionist let slip that she was at the Cavendish Hospital, in a meeting. They offered to page her, as I’m still on the system as a patient, but I hastily said don’t bother, actually I was feeling better all of a sudden. Which they totally swallowed. They’re obviously used to flaky pregnant women phoning up and dithering.
So now I’m standing outside the Cavendish Hospital’s private maternity wing, my heart racing, clutching a carrier bag from The Look. It contains not only the cuff links but also the support stockings, the fanny pack, every single little note she ever sent Luke, the brochures and medical notes from her stupid holistic center…even the freebies from the goodie bag. (It was a bit of a wrench putting in the Crème de la Mer. In fact I scooped out most of it and put it in an old Lancôme pot. But Venetia needn’t know that.)