“Was that the doorbell?”
“I didn’t hear it,” said Tess.
“If that’s my damned sister showing up here unannounced again, I’ll be so cross.” Lucy straightened and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t offer her a cup of tea, whatever you do!”
“I think you imagined it,” said Tess.
“Mum! Grandma!”
The screen door at the back of the house flew open and Liam tumbled out, still wearing his pajamas, his face alight. “Look who’s here!” He held the screen door wide open and made a big game-show-host gesture. “Ta-daaa!”
A beautiful blond woman stepped through the open door. There was a split second where Tess genuinely didn’t recognize her and simply admired the stylish effect she created in the autumn leaves. She was wearing one of those chunky white knit cardigans with brown wooden buttons, a brown leather belt, skinny blue jeans and boots.
“It’s Felicity!” crowed Liam.
FORTY-EIGHT
Just sit with your mum and relax,” said Lauren to Rob. “I’ll bring out some hot cross buns and coffee. Jacob. You come with me, mister.”
Rachel let herself sink into a cushiony couch next to a woodstove. It was comfortable. The couch had the exact right level of softness, which was to be expected. Thanks to Lauren’s impeccable taste, everything in their beautifully restored two-bedroom Federation cottage was exactly right.
The café that Lauren had originally suggested had been closed, much to her chagrin. “I called and double-checked what time they were opening just yesterday,” she’d said when they saw the “Closed” sign across the door. Rachel had watched with interest as she almost lost her equilibrium, but she’d managed to recover herself and suggest that they go back to their place. It was closer than Rachel’s place, and Rachel couldn’t think of a reason to refuse without seeming churlish.
Rob sat down in a red-and-white-striped armchair opposite her and yawned. Rachel caught the yawn and immediately sat up straighter. She did not want to nod off in Lauren’s house, like an old lady.
She looked at her watch. It was only just after eight a.m. There were still hours and hours to endure before the day was done. At this time twenty-eight years ago, Janie had been eating her very last breakfast. Half a Weet-Bix, probably. She’d never liked breakfast.
Rachel ran her palm over the fabric of the couch. “What will you do with all your lovely furniture when you move to New York?” she said to Rob, chattily, coolly. She could talk about the upcoming move to New York on the anniversary of Janie’s death. Oh, yes, she could.
Rob took a few moments to answer. He stared at his knees. She was about to say “Rob?” when he finally spoke. “We might rent this place out furnished,” he said, as if speaking was an effort. “We’re still thinking about all those logistics.”
“Yes, a lot to think about, I imagine,” said Rachel snappily. Yes, Rob, quite a lot of logistics involved in taking my grandson to New York. She dug her fingernails into the cloth of the couch, as if it were a soft, fat animal she was abusing.
“Do you dream about Janie, Mum?” asked Rob.
Rachel looked up. She released the flesh of the couch. “Yes,” she said. “Do you?”
“Sort of,” said Rob. “I have nightmares that I’m being strangled. I guess I’m dreaming that I’m Janie. It’s always the same. I wake up choking for air. The dreams are always worse around this time of year. Autumn. Lauren thought maybe going to the park with you—might—be good. To face up to it. I don’t know. I didn’t really like being there. That’s the wrong way to put it. Obviously you don’t like being there either. But I just found that really hard. Thinking of what she went through. How scared she must have been. Jesus.” He looked up at the ceiling and his face buckled. Rachel remembered how Ed would fiercely resist tears in exactly the same way.