She stands at the top end of the garden to survey the grandeur of the house one more time. She takes a photograph, then tucks her phone into her rucksack and heads back down the bridleway and into the woods.
8
October 2016
‘Zach called again.’
Tallulah glances at her mum.
‘About an hour ago. Wondered if I knew where you were, because you weren’t answering your phone.’
She shrugs and heads to the baby monitor on the kitchen counter and puts her ear to it, listening for the sound of her son’s sleeping breath. ‘How long has he been down?’
‘About thirty-five minutes.’
She glances at the time. It’s four thirty. He’ll be hungry any minute. She has a small window of time to get changed, to have a cup of tea, to sort out her college work. She’s been at college for four weeks now and has got into a really solid routine.
‘Are you going to call him?’
‘Who?’
‘Zach,’ her mum replies, impatiently. ‘Are you going to call him? You can’t ignore him forever.’
Tallulah nods. ‘I know,’ she says. ‘I know.’ She unknots the laces on her trainers and pulls them off. Then she sighs. Zach asked if they could get back together when he came to visit Noah on Saturday. It was weird because when she was pregnant all she wanted in the whole world was to be back together with Zach. But now she’s a mum, now she’s at college, it’s like she’s not that same person any more and the person she is now doesn’t want to be with anyone. She just wants to share her bed, her body, with Noah.
She and Zach had been together for nearly three years when she got pregnant. She hadn’t told him she was pregnant until she was four months gone and then he’d freaked out and said he needed time to decide how he felt about it. And now he knows how he feels about it, but Tallulah’s no longer sure that she does.
‘He’s a good boy, you know,’ her mum continues.
‘Yes. I know.’ She tries to hide her exasperation. She owes her mum everything right now and doesn’t want to sound ungrateful. ‘I just don’t know what to say to him.’
‘You could just say that,’ her mum suggests.
‘Yes, but then he might try to talk me round and I haven’t got the energy for it.’
Tallulah’s so tired all the time. During the summer it had been fine: Noah slept most of the day when he was a newborn, so she had plenty of time to catch up on her sleep. But now he’s older and more wakeful, she’s at college three mornings a week andhas study to do on her days at home and daytime sleeps are a thing of the past.
‘If Zach starts crying or something, I’ll cave. I know I will.’
Her mum passes her a mug of tea, pulls out the chair opposite her and sits down. ‘But what is it?’ she begins. ‘That you’re not sure about?’
‘I just … I don’t …’ But she’s saved from having to find the words to explain something she cannot explain by the sound of Noah on the baby monitor, rousing from his afternoon sleep. Her mum goes to stand up, but Tallulah wants the bliss and the distraction of scooping her boy from his warm bedsheets and rolling him into her arms, against her chest, the sweet heat of his breath against her collarbone.
‘I’ll go,’ she says, ‘I’ll go.’
The following day Tallulah has college in the morning.
She leaves the house with the vignette imprinted on her mind of Noah in her mother’s arms, Ryan in his school uniform microwaving Noah’s milk for her because she’s late and doesn’t have time to do it herself, and stands at the bus stop opposite their cul-de-sac. The bus is late. After all her rushing about and not saying goodbye properly to her baby son, she sighs impatiently. She’s aware then of a presence beside her and turns to see Scarlett Jacques sliding along the plastic bench.
‘Haven’t missed it then?’ she says breathlessly.
Tallulah doesn’t realise for a split second that Scarlett is talking to her and fails to respond.
‘I’ll take that as a no,’ says Scarlett.
‘Sorry,’ says Tallulah. ‘Yeah. I mean, no. You haven’t missed it. It’s late.’
‘Phew,’ says Scarlett, pulling earbuds from the pocket of her oversized raincoat and starting to put them in her ears. Then she stops and says, ‘I know you, don’t I? You’re at Manton College, yes?’