‘Sorry.’ I step back and Polly whirls past me, divesting herself of an enormous striped scarf, which is practically the length of her entire body, and a Puffa coat, and unzipping knee-length leather boots to reveal greying leggings which don’t quite meet her mismatched socks, a stripe of unshaven leg visible in the gap between.
‘How’s things with you?’ I ask, hanging up her coat and scarf.
‘Oh, the usual. Work’s a nightmare; you were so right to get out of there, set up on your own.’
She’s said this pretty much every time I’ve seen her since I left Blue Door Interior Design three years ago, but we both know she’d go crazy after just one day of sitting alone at home like I do, with only the odd meeting to break things up a bit. She thrives on the chat, the office gossip, the vibe that thrums between colleagues in a busy, demanding workplace. Whereas I don’t miss it one bit. I go out for occasional drinks with some of my old colleagues, but apart from Polly I wouldn’t describe any of them as friends.
‘I know, although sometimes I wish there was someone else to share the load,’ I say pointedly over my shoulder as we walk to the kitchen.
Polly grins. I’m always trying to persuade her to leave Blue Door and come into business with me. We’d be able to take on some of the work I have to turn down.
It was hard at first, going it alone, but it felt like the right time. Henry was almost one, and I was due back at Blue Door after taking the maximum maternity leave. The thought of going back to work full-time, being out of the house the whole time Henry was awake, alarmed me. Sam had been worried about how we would all cope when I was back at work – in fact, he was keen for me to give up work altogether but financially it wasn’t doable; and actually I was ready to get back to work again, just not to rejoin the rat race. I think we all thought it would make for an easier pace of life if I was working from home, building up the business slowly. It didn’t really work out like that though.
I got in touch with someone I’d worked with years before, Rosemary Wright-Collins, and it turned out she was looking for someone to do the interiors for all her properties. Rosemary is a property developer with impeccable taste and a huge wallet, and it was a real coup to get her as my first client. The fact that I did, and that she is still using me for every new project she takes on, is a huge source of pride for me. She’s even written a glowing testimonial for my website. But it did mean that I had to hit the ground running, sort childcare for Henry, get straight back into professional mode.
‘Caro’s driving me insane,’ Polly goes on. ‘She’s got a new man again and she keeps phoning me what feels like every ten minutes to ask me what various text messages mean, what she should wear, whether she should shave her whatsit. I do not know what I did to deserve such a sister. I mean, for God’s sake, how am I to know if women these days are shaving their whatsits? Aaron would be so delighted if I ever wanted to have sex that I don’t think he’d care if I was covered in a fine down from head to toe… Henry! How’s my favourite boy?’
She swoops down and kisses his head.
He smiles through the tomato sauce.
‘Hello, Polly.’
‘He’s been looking forward to you coming all day,’ I say. ‘Apparently you read more stories than me.’
‘Well, Thomas the Tank’s all new to me, the girls were never interested. You got any new ones, H?’
His face lights up.
‘Yes! Daddy got me three new Thomas books: Charlie, Arthur and Diesel. Will you read them to me?’
‘Of course! That’s what I’m here for!’
‘Mummy? Can I go and get them?’
‘Yes, if you’ve had enough pasta. Just let me have a chat with Polly though, and then when I’ve gone she’ll read them all to you.’
‘Tell you what, H, why don’t you go and make a start on a massive train track while I talk to Mummy, and then I’ll come and play with it when she’s gone out. Deal?’
‘Deal!’ says Henry, visibly bursting with joy at the prospect and scurrying out of the kitchen, already mentally constructing the track.
Polly sits down at the table and pops a piece of cold pasta from Henry’s plate into her mouth. I kneel on the floor by the shelving unit, and pull it away from the wall slightly, its contents wobbling precariously on their shelves. I run my hand along on the floor behind it just to be sure, but there’s nothing there.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I keep a photo on here usually – you know, that lovely one of me and Henry on the beach.’
‘Oh yes, I know. And…?’ She gestures to me on the floor.
‘It’s gone.’
‘What do you mean, gone?’
‘Well, I haven’t moved it, and it’s not there. It’s always there.’
‘Maybe you were dusting it, and you got distracted and put it somewhere else? You know what you’re like.’
‘But where? It’s not exactly huge in here.’ There are units down either side of the galley, and then the room opens out slightly at the end, with just enough space for a small dining table by the patio doors. The photo is nowhere to be seen.
‘Or Henry’s moved it?’
‘Yes, maybe. Henry!’ He comes in, a wooden bridge in one hand and a plastic elephant about twice the size of the bridge in the other.
‘Have you seen the photo of me and you? The one that’s normally on the shelf there?’
He shrugs. ‘No. Can I go back to my track?’
‘Yes, OK.’ I turn to Polly. ‘Well, where is it, then?’ Maria’s friend request hums in the background of my thoughts all the time, colouring my view of the world. A few days ago, I wouldn’t have given the missing photo a second thought, and even now the rational part of me says I’m being ridiculous; but in a small, scared corner of my mind, I can’t help but wonder: has someone been in my flat?
‘Oh, don’t worry, it’ll turn up. It’s got to be somewhere. So, who’s this old school friend you’re going to see tonight?’ asks Polly.
I fill the kettle with water, playing for time, anxiety about the missing photo still playing at the edges of my mind. I’m unsure how much I want to share with Polly. I’ve never spoken to her (or anyone, in fact) about what happened with Maria. It’s too big, too unwieldy. I don’t know how to configure my tongue into the right shapes to explain it. That was one of the reasons it was such a relief to be with Sam. I never had to explain it to him because he was there. Sometimes I wonder if I would have put up with so much for so long if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was one of the only people who knew what I had done. He had seen the very worst of me and yet he still loved me, in his own way.