Greenwich Park by Katherine Faulkner

Author:Katherine Faulkner
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781526626257
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Published: 2020-11-12T00:00:00+00:00

SERENA

When I walk into the kitchen, Helen is leaning over the sink, gripping its porcelain edge, her face dropped down between her arms.

‘Helen?’

She turns round. A stripe of sweat glistens across her forehead; her eyes sit in deep blue-grey hollows. She looks hot and cold at once; flustered, haunted. When her eyes focus on mine, I realise her pupils are dilated. It is as if she takes a moment to register that it is me.

‘Serena.’ She sounds relieved. ‘I didn’t see you.’

She pulls a shaking wrist up to her face, wipes her nose with her cardigan cuff.

‘Are you all right? You’ve got a bit of tree in your hair.’

I reach out to twist the twig out of the stray hairs on the top of her head. It is extraordinary, Helen’s hair. Such a vivid red. Russet, I think you would call it. Helen looks up gratefully.

‘I was in the garden. I thought I saw Monty near the fire. I was trying to bring him inside but …’ A look of confusion crosses her face, briefly, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. ‘I think I disturbed someone. Or rather, two people. Down at the bottom, in the … at the back.’

I cringe, smile sympathetically. I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Between the fire and the emptying of Helen’s parents’ old spirits cabinet, the party has taken on something of a bacchanalian air. The garden is foggy with bonfire smoke and the smell of weed, the dining and front rooms have become dance floors. Ironically, as parties go, Helen’s has been something of a triumph. People are starting to trail away now, though. Just a few strange characters are still wandering around, slumped in her armchairs, smoking in the bushes.

I comb Helen’s hair with my fingers, tuck a loose strand behind her ear, like one might do to a child. She seems hardly to notice. She is still staring out at her garden.

‘My dead babies are down there, Serena,’ she murmurs. ‘Did I ever tell you that?’

She didn’t. But Daniel did. The little funerals they held, alone in the rain, clinging to one other. The four tiny packets of ashes they had scattered with their trembling hands among the flower beds. And the four climbing roses they had planted there. One for every missing heartbeat.

I don’t say anything. Instead, I run my hand up and down her back, from her shoulder blades to the base of her spine.

‘I had the most terrible row earlier,’ she blurts. ‘With Rachel. I told her to leave.’

I glance up at the kitchen clock. It is past one.

‘Don’t worry about it now, Helen,’ I tell her. ‘It’s late. Let’s have a drink.’

She sniffs. ‘Not for me,’ she mumbles automatically.

Poor Helen. She has been through so much. I turn so that I am standing square on to face her, take her hand.

‘Helen,’ I whisper. ‘You are very strong, stronger than you think. Your baby is strong, too. And he is going to be fine. You are not going to hurt him now.

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