Louise woke to an empty bed.
She sat up, squinting in the early morning light. Ben's briefcase was gone, and a warm, humid cloud drifted from the bathroom, mixing with the scent of pine aftershave. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Jesus, had Ben showered in their room? Had he walked around in a towel while she slept a few meters away?
Not that it was their room, Louise thought quickly. Definitely not. It was Ben's room; she'd just stayed the night in it.
Still.
She'd managed to sleep for a few hours, and that was something to celebrate.
Louise shrugged on a white cardigan, tiptoeing to the kids' room. Hugh was awake, reading a picture book in bed. Vienna was out cold, drool dribbling from her mouth. Louise pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"Morning," she said. "Did you sleep okay?"
Hugh looked up. Nodded.
"Good." Louise scooped a sleepy Vienna into her arms, balancing the toddler on her hip. "Is pancakes okay for breakfast?"
Hugh's nose wrinkled. "It's a school d-d-day."
"Oh," Louise said. "Right." She'd forgotten that Millie was a "pancakes-on-Sunday" type of person, as opposed to Louise, who believed that pancakes were an everyday meal — usually doused in chocolate syrup and strawberries. "So no pancakes?"
Hugh shook his head. "Cereal, p-p-please."
Louise sighed.
Well, fine. Boring breakfast it was.
She went through the morning on automatic: breakfast was made; lunchboxes were packed; Hugh needed a form signed, and Vienna needed her hair brushed. By the time Louise shepherded the kids out of the house, they were running fifteen minutes late. She glanced at the car. Would it be faster to drive?
Nausea crawled up her throat.
It didn't matter.
Louise couldn't bring herself to drive. Not yet.
They took the tube instead, weaving in and out of harried-looking commuters talking into cellphones. Luckily, Hugh's school and Vienna's daycare were only a street apart, and Louise managed to drop them off just in time.
"Bye, darling!" Louise waved at Hugh as he ascended the steps. "Have a good day."
Hugh clutched the strap of his backpack, giving her a wounded look that clearly said, how could you abandon me here? Louise sighed. She didn't blame him; she hadn't exactly relished sitting in a classroom and reciting multiplication tables after her parents died. School had seemed so trivial compared to everything else going on.
Still.
It had to be done.
Louise backtracked towards the tube station, stopping at the nearest Costa to place an order for a large black coffee. She'd need it today.
Especially before facing Arabella Cavendish.
Louise regretted letting Arabella choose the location of their meeting as soon as she arrived.
The French café in Soho was a sleek white box, filled with orange plastic chairs that bent like question marks. A psychedelic astrology mural stretched across the wall. A woman in sunglasses — Louise recognized her from Love Island — was reading a magazine at a table, stirring a bright blue coffee.
Louise glanced down at her outfit.
Mismatching socks. A cardigan stained with baked beans. Crinkled white shirt. Was this what having kids was like? Did you wander around in stained clothes, trying desperately to remember what Sunday morning lie-ins felt like?
"Darling!" Arabella waved at her. "Over here."
She was sitting at a small table, her Burberry purse swallowing most of the surface area. Her hands were French-tipped, her blonde hair pulled back in a sleek chignon. And she was wearing a salmon-coloured suit. Louise stared. Who the hell managed to wear a suit without a speck of dirt or pigeon poop in London?
This woman couldn't be real.
"Sorry I'm late." Louise took her seat. "The tube was mad."
"Not to worry," Arabella said. "Latte?"
"Please."
Arabella pushed a button that said, "Press for oat milk!" Her diamond engagement ring flashed in the morning light.
"How are you getting on?" she asked.
Louise pulled out her laptop. Considered telling Arabella the truth. Oh, famously, she'd say. My sister and her husband died last month in a car accident, and now I'm raising her two children in a flat with the person that I detest most in this world. More sugar?
No.
That simply wouldn't do.
"Fine," Louise lied. "And you?"
"Oh, it's been a disaster," Arabella said immediately. "Jack is away in Dubai on business, and I'm drowning in wedding planning. There's so much to be done." She stirred her latte with a wooden stick. "Thank goodness I have you."
Yes, Louise thought wryly. Thank goodness.
She ordered a black coffee, pulling up the wedding file. Through sheer determination, Louise had actually managed to pull it off; she had found albino peacocks. Ordered the bespoke cake from New York. And — most crucially of all — she had tracked down the blood lilies.
"You see?" Louise tapped the image on the screen. "They'll be big enough to line the aisle with."
Arabella frowned. "Hmm."
"We could cut them too, of course. Put them on the tables at the reception."
"I just..." Arabella leaned closer to the screen. "Now that I'm looking at the blood lilies, I'm not certain they'll match the color scheme." She held up a swatch of lavender fabric. "Do you see what I mean?"
No.
Louise didn't.
The waitress placed a coffee on the table, and Louise took a sip. She could feel the room swaying slightly, spinning like laundry on a washing cycle, and the coffee tasted sour in her mouth. God, she was tired. So tired. Why had she thought returning to work was a good idea?
"Let's come back to it," Louise suggested. "Move on to the place settings."
Arabella beamed. "Splendid."
It was not splendid.
Arabella hated the place settings. She wanted albino flamingos — not peacocks — and she had changed her mind on the cake flavor. Short of the groom, everything had to go, and Louise privately felt that even Jack could be replaced, should the need arise.
Arabella rose to her feet. "I know I've given you a lot of work, but I trust you, Louise." She beamed. "I'm sure you'll come up with something brilliant."
"Thank-you."
Arabella kissed her cheeks. Then she sauntered toward the door, leaving behind a cloud of bergamot perfume and despair.
"I hate her," Louise muttered. "Have I mentioned how much I hate her?"
She swirled her glass of bubbles. Well, her glass of sparkling water, Louise reflected; it was a pity that she couldn't drink champagne while working. Ophelia smiled, pulling up the collar of her navy peacoat. Her flame-coloured hair spilled over her shoulders, a shock of colour in the London smog.
"Arabella?" Ophelia guessed.
Louise sighed. "Exactly."
"What did she do?"
"She wants albino flamingos," Louise said. "Which is an endangered species, by the way. Do you know how unethical that is?"
Ophelia whistled. "Can't you just get swans? And claim they're a rare breed of flamingo?"
"A brilliant suggestion."
They were standing outside The Horse and Hound, a squat pub by the river. Uproarious laughter drifted from the doors. Someone was singing "You'll Never Walk Alone" while football blared in the background. It was nights like this, Louise thought, that she liked her job; organizing Phil's 50th birthday had been a treat.
Shame about Arabella Cavendish.
"Thanks for coming tonight," Louise said, clinking her glass to Ophelia's flute. "You're my favourite date."
Ophelia smiled. "Likewise."
"I'm so happy you moved to London."
"Are you kidding?" Ophelia asked. "I couldn't leave. Not when England has Jaffa cakes and Charles Dickens." She scratched her chin, revealing a flash of red ink on her hand; proof, Louise knew, that an author was getting a lot of edits sometime soon. "How are the kids?"
Louise took a sip of sparkling water. "Well, Vienna redecorated our walls with ketchup yesterday. But other than that, okay."
"And Ben?" Ophelia asked.
Louise pulled a face. "Still irritating."
"And you?"
Ophelia was watching her closely. Louise swirled her drink. "I'm...."
Fine.
That's what she wanted to say. What she told everyone. But this, Louise reflected, was Ophelia; she'd seen her through heartbreaks and heartbreaking, disasters and triumphs. She'd loved Millie, too. So Louise swallowed the lie.
"I miss Millie," Louise admitted. "I keep looking around the house and thinking that all of it has been some mistake. I feel like she's just away on holiday in the Maldives and she's going to walk through the door at any minute." Her eyes were trained on the river, mist drifting up like steeping tea. "Is that mad?"
"You're in denial," Ophelia surmised.
"Exactly."
Ophelia considered this. "That's normal, I think. Your brain doesn't want to believe it, so you don't. Sometimes that's the only way to keep going."
They stood there in silence for a moment, listening to the faint sound of traffic and the football match. London was covered in low-hanging cloud that wove around the pub like spider silk. The iron lamp posts peeked their heads above the mist, like tentative prairie dogs scouting for predators.
Louise glanced at her phone. Almost eleven o'clock. "I should go home soon. Check on the kids."
Ophelia nodded. "I should go, too." She finished her champagne. "Andrew's still at the studio. I think he'd sleep there if he could."
Louise smiled. Ophelia's boyfriend was renting an art studio to work on a painting for the Royal Academy's summer exhibition and — according to Ophelia — living off coffee and take-out ("Although," Ophelia added, "the sushi place Andrew likes charges twenty quid a roll, so I don't feel all that sorry for him.").
"Come on, then." Louise turned for the door. "Let's say our goodbyes."
As it turned out, the goodbyes took longer than expected; Phil insisted that the girls join for a drink, which turned into another drink and a slice of cake. Ophelia cut her lemon slice into neat pieces; Louise demolished her chocolate cake in three seconds and left crumbs all over the table.
By the time Louise arrived home, it was after midnight. The house was eerily quiet; the only sound was the ticking of the clock. She'd half-expected to see dishes piled in the sink, but the kitchen was spotless. Of course it was; Ben detested mess.
Louise tiptoed up the stairs, pausing at the top to rummage through her suitcase. She'd yet to unpack her clothes — mostly because she wasn't sure what bedroom she was staying in — so she grabbed pajamas at random: black silky shorts and a grey tank-top. She changed quickly in the bathroom, then ducked into the master bedroom.
The broad figure in bed sat up.
"Bentley?" Ben's voice was hoarse with sleep. "Is that you?"
"Sorry," she whispered.
"S'alright." He rubbed at his eyes. "You smell like river water."
Louise blinked. Considering that the Thames was a floating receptacle of plastic bags and empty coffee cups, she wasn't entirely sure this was a compliment. "Are the kids asleep?"
Ben nodded. "Vienna threw a fit about Hugh getting to choose the book tonight. I had to bribe her with a Solero."
"Well, thanks." Louise shifted her weight. "For putting her to bed."
"No problem."
There was a long pause. Louise fiddled with her bracelet. Ben frowned.
"What?" he asked.
She dropped her hand. "Is Hugh sleeping in his bedroom again?"
"Oh." Understanding dawned on Ben's face. "Yeah. Shit." He rubbed at his jaw, frowning slightly. "Look, it's late. Why don't we just share the bed again tonight and we'll sort it out in the morning?"
Louise bit her lip. She should decline. Offer to sleep on the couch. But truthfully, the room was swimming slightly, and the bed looked awfully tempted. She was so tired that she'd sleep right here on the carpet, if it came to it.
She weighed up her options.
Ah, screw it.
"Just for tonight," Louise agreed.
She crawled into bed. Ben's breathing was a steady weight in the darkness, and she counted each breath, letting it settle over her like a blanket. Louise kept counting until she reached a thousand. Ten thousand. Until morning swept in a great rush, and a new day began.