The Family Next Door by Sally Hepworth

Author:Sally Hepworth
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

27

FRAN

Fran was sprinting so fast she couldn’t hear her thoughts. It was bliss; it was agony. Her throat tasted of something—blood? bile? guilt?—but her legs just kept on pumping. The park was deserted but for a few dog walkers. It was midday and most kids were at home having lunch or taking their afternoon nap, she supposed. Rosie was at home with Nigel and Ava was asleep in her jogger pram, flying up and over the hills. It should have been creepy, being alone with her baby in a deserted park, but Fran found herself wanting to stay here. It was less confusing than being at home.

She came to a stop at the bottom of a hill and drained the last of her water from the bottle. She had a great affection for this park with its wide expanse of lawn, its huge wooden play-fort for the kids, and its wildly expensive pony rides on Sundays. Most weekends, children’s birthday parties were held by the barbecues. It was the park Rosie referred to as the “wood park” and the one she requested to go to most often. It was also the park where Lucas’s studio was located, and where, three years ago, he’d taken that fabulous photograph of them.

Three years ago. When things had been good.

How had she let this happen to them? Nigel had made mistakes too, but his mistakes were out on the table. It was her that was hiding things. The irony was that if she had less of a conscience, everything would have been fine. She would have put it in the past and moved on. Instead, it ate away at her.

She wandered over to the water fountain to fill her bottle. There was the undeniable fact to consider, of course—they had at least one child together. And Rosie was happy. Fran tried to imagine telling Rosie that Mummy and Daddy weren’t going to be married anymore. Rosie would want to live with Nigel. As the mother, Fran might still get primary physical custody of her, but at what cost? She’d be breaking up Rosie’s life, and her own, to clear her guilty conscience. What kind of mother would that make her?

But what about in fifteen or twenty years, when Ava found out that the only father she’d ever known wasn’t her father? When she found out her mother had kept the secret all this time?

What kind of mother would that make her?

Fran grabbed her stroller and was heading out of the park when the door to Lucas’s studio burst open and a sweet little girl came out, running. Her mother ran after her and tickled the girl until she squealed. Lucas watched them from the doorway smiling—he must have just done a shoot with them. Fran continued walking but pulled up short when she noticed Ange’s car just a few meters away. Ange, it seemed, was also watching the little girl and her mother. There was something about the way she was staring at them that made Fran pause.

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