‘Good lord, no, Daisy. I wouldn’t dream of asking anything from you.’ Annie waved me away with her hand.

‘Fine.’ I thrust the notes back in the handbag. ‘Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do then.’

‘Do you know when the insurance money is coming through?’ Annie asked, with an edge to her voice.

I felt my heart quicken at her question. I thought of Ben’s bed upstairs, the clean fresh room. I wanted more than anything to be away from Annie and her talk of money.

‘Well, the truth is, Annie…’ I began. It was now or never. I had to tell her for I knew she would continue to ask about it. I took a deep breath, my mouth felt dry and my palms felt sweaty.

‘I don’t know who suggested that there was insurance money, but there wasn’t. Eve didn’t believe in it and well, as ironic as that is now, it is what it is. Once the baby is born, I will make sure I get out of your hair.’ My voice sounded as though I was in a tunnel.

Annie licked her finger and turned the page of her magazine. The noise of it filled the room. Her face was in a fixed nonchalant pose, her eyebrows ever so slightly raised. Annie waited a few extra seconds before speaking, all the while, my heart was beating faster than it should have been. She placed her hand in the centre of her magazine and looked up at me.

I gulped; my throat felt dry.

‘I must say, Daisy, you look very sketchy. Why don’t you go and lie back down upstairs?’

I found myself obeying without thinking. I headed upstairs with Annie in close proximity behind me and got myself comfortable in the bed.

‘Well, we are in a muddle, aren’t we? Death is a very destructive experience, Daisy. You can’t just go rushing off expecting to feel fine a few weeks later. And look now, you have this baby to think of. You. Must. Rest.’

‘Annie…’ I could feel myself wanting to drift off. ‘The money… I am sorry about the insurance… I didn’t think.’

I closed my eyes and heard the last words Annie spoke to me that day.

‘Well then, dear, I guess that means you’re stuck here with me for the time being, doesn’t it?’

30

GRACE

I looked at the letter over and over again as I stood at my workstation in Emily’s kitchen. I had arrived a few minutes early. Emily had brought me over some tea and I sipped it whilst I mulled over the words my husband had written. It was short, precise and to the point. He had left me. He wasn’t coming back and he was beginning the divorce proceedings.

I knew I should have felt more upset but in a way I felt as though a huge weight had been lifted. He had been silently threatening to leave for so long.