Page 142 of Every Silent Lie

I laugh a little under my breath, closing my eyes and resting my head back. “I tore up a stripy bedsheet and made a cloak out of it. A pillowcase for a floppy hat.” I smile, seeing my boy in my mind’s eye as I wrapped rope around his head to keep the flimsy scrap of material in place. “My mum sawed over a foot off the bottom of my granddad’s old walking stick for him, and we made some sandals out of an old pair of flip-flops and a crappy, old, fake leather belt.” I close my eyes and watch Noah stomp across the kitchen, the flip-flops flipping and flopping hard. “Poor kid couldn’t walk in them. We glossed over that. He was of an age where they’re immune to feeling silly. I was well aware that wouldn’t last for much longer.” I open my eyes and see Dec nodding mildly. Agreeing. “He had six words to say. There’s no room at the inn. And four actions. Open the door, step out, say his lines, step back in, close the door. It took six weeks practicing every night.”

“That’s some dedication,” Dec muses quietly.

“It wasn’t the lines that were the problem.” I let my head drop to the side. “It was stepping out and in again in the homemade sandals.” He smiles at the road, pulling a small one from me. “You’re not just a mum or a dad when you have a child,” I go on. “You’re a chef, a therapist, a counsellor, a party entertainer, a teacher, a personal assistant, a taxi driver, a costume designer, a . . . protector.”

Dec takes my hand and lifts it to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. “Don’t say it,” he orders gently.

I swallow down the words, not allowing them to fall out. It doesn’t stop them screaming in my head though.

I failed.

“You missed pacifier off your list,” he murmurs, keeping our hands in his lap.

“Yeah,” I muse, looking out of the window at the white world rolling by.

* * *

Slowing to a stop, Dec turns the engine off and the heavy silence remains between us, as it has on most of the drive, both of us quietly contemplating the enormity of what’s about to happen. He gets out and is opening my door before my brain’s had a chance to filter the instruction to my hand to let myself out. Dec positions me opposite him as he pushes the door closed before laying his palms on my shoulders and hunkering down to catch my gaze.

“We’ve got this,” he whispers, moving one hand to my cheek. I nod, and he nods sharply in return, clasping my hand tightly, telling me to watch my step as we navigate the snow and icy patches.

April swings the door open before we make it there, and I definitely catch a blink of surprise past her stress when she sees me. I want to spill my apologies but hold back. “He’s in his den,” she says, opening up the way.

Dec takes my hand to his mouth and kisses the back before releasing me and wandering off to the right, opening a door and disappearing inside. A playroom.

“I could do with a coffee,” April says. “Join me?” She motions to the kitchen, and I nod, following her, reloading my apologies. She goes to the coffee machine and pushes a button to turn it on while I settle on a stool. She looks as pristine as she did yesterday.

I glimpse down at my bedraggled form, then feel at my hair that was left to dry naturally, meaning it’s double the size. “Excuse the state of me,” I say, shrugging off my coat and letting it puddle the stool I’m on.

“Oh stop. I was up at five thirty to make sure I was showered and dressed, ready to get Albi up so I could get him to school and me to work on time.” She turns a smile my way as she puts two mugs under the double pipe on the built-in coffee machine. “Waste of time that was.”

“You stayed here last night?” I ask.

She nods. “I have my own room. Well, we have our own room. Blaine and me. We live in Watford, so it’s sometimes easier to stay here if I have a meeting in the city or we’re looking after Albi. Last night we were going to stay at home with him because Blaine’s parents were over for dinner, and it’s been a while since they’ve seen Albi.”

But April ended up staying here last night after I met the child I didn’t know Dec had and left before I spiralled into a meltdown. Did she stay to make sure Dec was okay? Albi too, because his daddy was distracted? I need to come to you, Camryn, but I’m terrified you’ll reject me. He didn’t come. Not last night, but he did this morning. It took him all night to find the courage. I wince the sharp stab of pain away, just knowing I made him feel like that. Unsure.

“What do you do?” I ask.

“I’m an editor for a women’s magazine. Blaine’s in trading.”

“I remember those days,” I say without thinking, prompting April to look over her shoulder. “Getting up at the crack of dawn to get ready before the whirlwind started.”

She seems to deflate before my eyes. “I’m sorry, I just have to hug you.” She drops what she’s doing and rounds the island to me, pulling me up from my stool and cuddling the shit out of me. I’m at her mercy . . . and totally fine with that. “Camryn, I?—”

“Don’t, honestly. I’m just so sorry for how I reacted last night.”

She pulls out of our hug, her shoulders dropping. “You don’t owe anyone an apology.” She breathes in deeply and lets it out loudly. “When Dec came to me and said he’d met someone, I was totally thrown. Dec doesn’t meet women. He doesn’t go anywhere to meet them, so I knew it must have been something. I was thrilled.” She breaks away and collects the mugs, bringing one to me, settling on the next stool with hers. “Then he told me about his dilemma.” She winces, shaking her head. “Dilemma’s the wrong word. I don’t even know what the right word is.”

“Mess?” I ask lightly, drinking some coffee.

She laughs under her breath. “I told him to tell you last night. Obviously, that was out of the question given the significance of the day.” Her cup hits the counter, her exhale hard. “Fucking hell, Camryn, I feel so bad.”

“Why?” This isn’t on her.

“Well, we made a terrible day even worse by walking in on you here.”

“I shouldn’t have been here.”