London, Summer 1984

Chapter Three

Present Day

Back in the office, Elizabeth slumped down into her chair. The early afternoon light caught the net curtains and grazed through the room with its diffuse orange glow, like the last peachy rays before the sun dipped below the horizon. She stared hard at the phone. It stared back. All she had to do was call. All she had to do was to say: I struggled after my parents died. Henry had been nothing but understanding in the past, and always patient—patient as she fought for the words to express just how deep that grief cut. But Lady Margaret Ward? Her stomach clenched, and nausea oozed through her veins. The person she had become wasn't her, wasn't even part of her; it was an other fastened by a single stitch to her soul. She didn't understand it herself, so how could she ask him—or anyone else—to understand?

Elizabeth picked up the handset and cradled it against her ear. Her finger trembled as she dialled Henry's number. Ring-ring, ring-ring. She swivelled round to face the photos frames on the desk behind. Herself with a newborn Jason nestled against her chest, Stevie and Alison sat on either side. It hadn't bothered her, not even then, as her body had ripened and bloomed to accommodate each new life; but then again, it had never been about food or weight or size. Numbers. Rules. Control. Perfectionism and now your parents...it was a disaster waiting to happen.

Ring-ring. "Hello?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth. Her heart pounded. Say it, Lizzie, just say it. "Hey." More of a breath than a word. "Are you busy?"

"Hey, babe." Henry's smile shone through his voice. "I'm just about to head into class." Pause. "Is it important?"

More than you could know. Elizabeth shook her head, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I..." ...need to talk, need to tell you something, there's something you ought to know... "...No." Chicken. "I'll see you later." She swallowed, her throat tight. "I love you."

"You too."

She pivoted back to the desk and hung up the phone.

Why can't I just tell people?

Because soon this episode will be behind you and no one will need to know. Tell people now, and this will define you; but keep it to yourself, and we can forget that this ever happened at all.

To forget: To fail to remember. To cease to think of. To inadvertently neglect to mention, bring or do. By the time she had met Henry, she had all but forgotten. But now that she remembered, what was she supposed to do?

***

"Good night, guys." The front door sighed shut behind Elizabeth. "I'm home," she called out, and she dropped her bag onto the table in the hall. Laughter bubbled over from the kitchen, followed by the rise and fall of voices that undulated through the dining room and into the lounge. She kicked off her shoes, abandoning them at the bottom of the staircase, and then wrestled off her trench coat and draped it over the bannister. Her whole body ached, but the day was far from done. Time to compartmentalise.

She padded through to the kitchen. The aroma of garlic and tomatoes enriched the air and mingled with the cosy golden glow of the lights. Her stomach grumbled. She fixed her smile. "Something smells good."

Henry and the kids were sat around the table in the living room; Henry at the end nearest the stairs, Alison opposite, Stevie with her back to the kitchen, Jason on the far side. Sauce-smeared plates rested in front of them. When Henry looked up, he caught her eye and smiled. "Hey, babe."

Elizabeth scooted round the table. She clutched Jason's head in both hands and planted a kiss to his crown whilst he flapped her away and squirmed. After kissing Alison and Stevie too, she stood behind Henry, rested her hands against his shoulders and dipped down to kiss his cheek. "Hey, you." She nodded to the plates. "What's for dinner? I'm starving."