‘I put in an offer the Monday after Belle left me.’
‘Really? Does she know?’
‘Not yet.’ Then, ‘You might as well know that I’ve bought the other two flats as well. I now own the entire house except the top floor.’
She wrinkled her brow in a thoughtful frown. ‘All the flats were for sale at the same time?’
‘If you offer enough money, anything is for sale.’
‘And your plan is?’
‘Shot to pieces, if you really want to know.’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Once I’ve whisked Daisy Dreadful off to South America the coast will be clear. You can move in downstairs and lay siege to the fair lady. Ply her with pizza. Just make sure to specify extra anchovies.’
‘She hates anchovies.’
‘Yes. Interesting.’ Then, ‘Whatever. Just think about it.’
‘What on earth is going on downstairs?’ Belle demanded.
The noise was driving her mad. No. Everything was driving her mad. The fact that her perfect minimalist flat had been taken over by the Christmas fairy in the shape of Daisy. That everything capable of carrying a decoration had been lit, baubled and tinselled.
That the freezer was full to the brim with food that made her ill just to think of it.
That all she wanted to do was lie down in a darkened room until the whole thing was over.
‘The ground floor tenants are moving out today,’ Daisy said. ‘They’ve bought some swanky place in Bankside, apparently.’
‘That’s the whole place empty except for us? Does everyone else know something I don’t?’ Then, as Daisy placed a beautifully gift-wrapped package in front of her, ‘What’s this?’
‘An early Christmas present. Something I think you might find a use for.’
She eased herself up into a sitting position, told herself not to be such a Grinch-Daisy deserved this Christmas-and made herself smile. ‘That’s so sweet. Thank you.’ She kissed her sister, undid the blue bow, loosened the silver wrapping paper. Frowned in confusion as she looked at the box in her hand. Then thought for a moment that she was going to be sick again. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘No, it’s a pregnancy test kit. The latest high-tech job. No little blue lines or crosses on this one. It actually says “Pregnant” or “Not Pregnant”. How neat is that?’ Daisy said, totally pleased with herself.
Belle swallowed. Not neat at all.
‘I’m not pregnant,’ she said.
‘You’re sick all the time,’ Daisy said, shifting all her weight to one leg, sticking out her hip and ticking off her counter-arguments on her fingers, one by one. ‘The kitchen cupboard is stacked with cans of anchovies as if you’re afraid they’re about to go extinct. You go green if I mention coffee. And yesterday I caught you eating a pickled cucumber out of the jar. Two months ago that was me.’ Then, pulling a face, ‘Except for the pickle.’
‘I like pickled cucumbers.’
‘Are your breasts tender?’ she persisted. ‘I have noticed that you’re wearing your softest bras.’
‘Well, maybe, but-’
‘But nothing. Quit with the excuses. It’s time you stopped hiding from the truth and admitted you’re up the duff. In the club. That there is, in the vernacular, a bun in your oven.’
Vernacular? She’d been spending way too much time with Manda.
‘No, darling,’ she said, pushing her lank fringe back from her forehead with a shaking hand. ‘You don’t understand. I can’t possibly be pregnant.’
‘You’re doing a very good impression of it.’
‘It’s just a bug. Something I picked up when I was abroad.’
‘They do the delayed action kind now?’
‘Please!’ she begged. ‘I can’t…Ivo can’t…’
‘What?’
‘He can’t have children.’ Daisy did not look convinced. ‘He had a vasectomy.’
‘Is that a fact? So who’s been a naughty girl, then?’
‘No!’
‘I was kidding, Bella.’ Daisy placed the box in her hands, eased her to her feet. ‘The bathroom is that way. Do you want me to come and read the instructions for you?’
‘This is ridiculous.’
‘Really? So prove it.’
Belle sat on the edge of the bath staring at the little wand she was holding. The single word.
Around her, the world went about its business, unheeding. The bumping and shouting as the removal men shifted furniture.
An impatient motorist hooted.
A child cried.
A brass band in the market was playing a Christmas carol.
‘Bella?’ Daisy’s voice was no longer teasing but anxious. ‘Bella, can I come in?’ She didn’t wait, but opened the door. Took the stick from her hand. ‘I really hate to say I told you so…’
‘It’s wrong.’
‘Oh, Bella…’ Daisy put her arms around her. ‘It’s okay.’
‘No. No, it’s not. It can’t be true,’ she said. She wanted it to be true. Longed for it to be true. But it couldn’t be. ‘It would take a miracle.’
Ivo had begged for one. For her sake, she reminded herself. Nothing had changed for him.
‘Maybe it’s a dud,’ Daisy offered gently, as if she were talking to a child. She didn’t understand. Couldn’t know…‘Why don’t I go and get another kit? A different kind.’
‘Whatever it takes to convince you.’
An hour later they were surrounded by empty cartons, the little sticks they’d contained, each one telling her, with blue lines, pink lines, blue crosses, the same thing.
Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant.
‘There’s one more,’ Daisy said.
‘I couldn’t squeeze out another drop.’
‘So what? You’re ready to accept that they’re right?’ Then, misunderstanding, ‘It’s not so bad, you know. And our kids will be almost like twins.’
‘You don’t understand.’
‘Maybe I do.’ Daisy knelt in front of her. ‘It’s okay, really.’ Then, ‘
‘No!’
‘Then why hasn’t he been to see you?’
‘He’s busy.’
‘He hasn’t even called you.’
Belle, unable to speak, just shook her head.
‘I’m off to South America after Christmas,’ Daisy said, ‘but I don’t think I can go if you’re going to be on your own.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine.’
‘I don’t think you will. No. That’s the deal. Call him or Manda will have to find someone else to run her errands.’
‘Daisy…’ She reached out, caught her hand. ‘You know I’d never let you down, don’t you? That I’ll always been here for you.’
‘Yes, Bella, I know.’ Then, leaping to her feet, ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Call Ivan the Terrible, tell him that, snip or not, he’s about to become a daddy.’
Ivo had used work, from his earliest days at school, to block out the emptiness in his life. For the first time in his life it wasn’t working.
