Where There's Smoke

“Is it true?”

Lucy hesitated, then nodded. The rigidity that had supported Kate so far ebbed out of her.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Lucy’s face was uncharacteristically distressed. “Because it was ages before you started seeing him. I didn’t even know you then. I hadn’t even met Jack. It wasn’t anything serious.”

“So why keep quiet about it?”

“What else could I do? I couldn’t say anything once you’d started seeing him, could I? You’d have thought I was just being catty!”

“But why didn’t you tell me afterwards?”

“What, in the state you were in when you split up? How could I?”

“Lucy, that was three years ago! Why haven’t you said anything before now?”

Lucy shrugged, helplessly. “There didn’t seem much point. And the longer I left it, the harder it got. I always meant to, Kate, honest! I just... well, I never seemed to get around to it.” Her forehead creased in consternation. “Sorry.”

Kate turned away. Coming on top of her earlier excitement, the revelation had left her drained. But, as the initial shock wore off, she realised that if Lucy had confessed to having had a relationship with Paul — to having fucked him — it would have ended their friendship. Even up to a year ago, perhaps less, Kate knew she probably couldn’t have coped with it. So how could she blame Lucy for keeping quiet? More to the point, if it had been before Kate even met him, what business of hers was it anyway? Suddenly, it all seemed too long ago, involving people she could barely remember. Lucy was watching her, anxiously. Kate gave her a tired smile. “Don’t look so grim. I’m not going to excommunicate you.”

Lucy was still unconvinced. “You’re not cross?”

“No, I’m not cross.”

Relief lightened Lucy’s face. “Oh, thank God for that! I thought, God, if that bastard’s gone and stirred things up after all this time, I’ll kill him!” Sudden doubt presented itself. “He hasn’t, has he? You really mean it?”

“Of course I mean it.”

As she spoke, Kate wondered if that was true. There was no jealousy or resentment, but a kernel of disappointment had begun to form. Lucy’s contempt for Paul had always been a reassuring constant. Now it seemed unreliable. Abruptly, Kate wanted to be alone. “Look, you’d better go,” she said. “You’ll be late for the kids.”

Lucy gave her a hug. “I’ll ring you.”

Kate watched her disappear into the crowd, then went through the turnstile and made her way to the Victoria line. She stood on the escalator, letting it carry her at its own speed instead of walking down as she usually did. Lucy and Paul. Even the words didn’t seem right together. A movement caught her eye. A bearded man was coming up the opposite escalator, carrying a baby in a papoose on his back. The baby was goggling across at the people on her side, and Kate smiled as it spotted her. She turned her head to watch it go past, and a sudden thought took the smile from her face. She could have had a child by Paul. The thought made her go cold. She reached the bottom of the escalator and stepped off. Around her, people were rushing for the platform where a train had pulled in, but Kate barely noticed. She walked slowly, lost in the narrowness of her escape. If, if, she decided to have a baby, she would make damn sure it had a better father than that, even if he was only a father in absentia. Faceless donor or not, before she committed herself she would want to be sure he wasn’t another Paul. Or someone even worse. She shuddered to think of it. She’d made a bad mistake once. This time she would be more careful.

Chapter 4

When she was six, there had been a suburban cinema not far from her home. It had been run-down and struggling even then, on a downslide that would end with it becoming first a bingo hall, then a supermarket, and finally a car park. But for Kate, who had never been to any other cinema, the chewing-gum-patterned carpet and threadbare seats didn’t matter. They were part of the darkened atmosphere, along with the rustle of crisp bags and the cigarette smoke that meandered in the flickering beam of light overhead. The images on the screen were a window to another world, and once lost in that technicolour glamour, the shabby theatre, school, and even home itself became insubstantial as ghosts. Her visits to the old cinema were rare, but all the more treasured because of that. When she found out that Jungle Book was being shown again, it became her mission in life to see it. The film wasn’t new, but that hardly mattered to Kate, who had missed it the first time around. Her mother told her they would go to see it “soon”, a typically vague assurance that she was already coming to interpret as “never”, unless she pushed. Which she did, until finally her mother agreed to take her on a Saturday morning. First, though, there came the ritual of Weekend Shopping.