‘Do you enjoy it?’
‘Parts of it. Sometimes, it’s a bit much.’
‘What about it is too much?’
I press my coffee cup to my lips, think of the all-nighters I’ve pulled, the number of mornings I met Kit in the lobby, traded a kiss for fresh clothes. I didn’t realise how hard I was working until I had Millie. After that, I saw every billable increment in missed dinners, bedtimes, lullabies. ‘It’s just hard to juggle.’
She is quiet, then, I remember the quality of her listening, the way she made me feel like I could say anything to her, she is doing it again, inviting confidences. But this isn’t the time. I’m here for another reason. ‘I wondered if . . .’ I am stumbling overmy words because she and Daniel are both staring at me, but I can’t help it, my heart is beating so loudly, I can barely hear myself think. ‘I wondered if we could talk about what happened when I came to Wyatt.’
She puts her cup and saucer down delicately.
‘It’s come up a lot recently. For years, I couldn’t talk about it, I just . . .’ my hand makes a sweeping motion. ‘But now, it’s become something I need to work through. I know it’s strange coming here, so out-of-the-blue, but I wonder if you wouldn’t mind telling me your version of events. Because sometimes—’ My tears anger me, why have they sprung up now? This is nothing compared to what I’ve forced myself to say these last few days. I press my fingers to my eyes, ‘I remember in broad strokes what happened but the details are hazy.’
‘Of course,’ she says gently. ‘Let me think where to start.’ She fiddles with the back of her pearl earring. ‘I think it was the summer holidays when I first met you. Wyatt had all but emptied apart from a few girls who weren’t going home. I got a call from the headmistresses at the time, Mrs Parkinson, saying you’d arrived, asking me to come and meet you. It made sense that it was me, you were a Hawk House girl so one of mine, and I knew you a little, I’d been sending you English work. But I could tell by her voice that something was wrong, though she didn’t tell me what, probably because you were right there.’ She squints at me, as if to superimpose the girl she can see against the fourteen-year-old she met.
‘You told me you’d asked for directions at the station and walked because you didn’t have any money for a taxi. You wondered if you still had a place. We asked what had happened,where your stepfather was, but you said you didn’t know. You just repeated the same question, very quietly, very clearly, was there a place for you or not?’
My mouth is suddenly dry, I run my tongue against its roof, I want a drink but I don’t put my coffee to my lips. I can’t let them see me tremoring.
‘So, I took you to a dorm, rang the kitchen for dinner, while Mrs Parkinson tried to get through to your stepfather. I sat next to you, making horrible attempts to engage you about what you liked, the work you’d sent in. You were so polite. I thought you very self-possessed. But so vulnerable.’
I don’t remember this, of course, he doesn’t either. Yet we both see it. A girl, drawing herself up to answer questions. Trying to be brave. Daniel tugs the collar of his shirt like he is loosening a noose.
‘A few days later, we got a call from the police, informing us that your stepfather had been arrested.’
Daniel puts down his glass of water.
‘It might surprise you but we’re quite used to dealing with these issues. Mrs Parkinson was at least. And since I’ve been headmistress, let’s just say we’re prepared for everything at Wyatt. Even for what came after . . .’ she spreads her hands on her knees, ‘when you asked me to take you to a clinic.’
Beside me, Daniel is absolutely still.
Mrs Hannington looks at him and then at me, she is checking if she should carry on. My pulse is racing, part of me doesn’t want her to, but I force myself to nod.
‘They gave you tablets because you were less than ten weeks along.’
‘Along from what?’ I whisper. We all know the answer. But I need her to say it.
Her eyes on me are wide and intent. ‘You were pregnant.’
Daniel stands up abruptly. His knee catches the edge of the coffee table, his glass topples, for a moment, he cups water in his hands to stop the spill and then the enormity of what she’s said dawns on him, the ridiculousness of saving the rug when he and I are both ruined. He wipes his hands across his blazer, ‘I’m sorry, I just need to, I have to—’ He rights the glass and then stumbles round the sofa, he has to put one hand over the other to steady himself. Then, he’s gone.
I stare at the water trickling off the edge. The smudge-print of his lips on the glass.
Mrs Hannington reaches over. Wipes the water with a napkin. After a few minutes, she gets up and closes the door. ‘It’s him, isn’t it?’
‘Who?’
‘The man who did that to you.’ Rage blazes in her voice, her eyes are hard as she watches him through the window, making his way out of the grounds. She looks at him as if he is a creature in a box, something with too many legs or too few and I wish he was still in the room, I’d cup his chin in my hand, turn his brilliant navy eyes towards her, say, ‘Tell me, my love, is this really just maths?’
‘When did you realise?’
‘When you introduced him.’
She’s an exceptional actress. She’s sat here, opposite him, pretending she didn’t know.
‘You used to say his name when you dreamt.’
I still do, sometimes. On the pillow beside Kit, I dream of Daniel. His name breaking out from memory to life.