I Invited Her In - Adele Parks

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like that. This place is huge. We need to have a good scour about. You do want to find him, right? That’s what you said.’

      I nodded. Yes, that’s what I’d said. That’s what everyone had expected me to say. But I knew I would not find him there. I was one hundred per cent sure of it. ‘It’s been months. He was visiting a friend.’

      ‘Yes, you’ve said.’ Abi’s stare was penetrating. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything?’

      ‘Can we just go home? My back is aching.’

      This was all a long time ago. I do not associate Liam with that mess, that anger and disappointment of those early months. Not anymore. He’s nothing but a joy. A funny, good looking, bright kid. He’s turned out just fine.

      So why have I invited this reminder of that time into my home? Someone who knew me from before? Abigail Curtiz in particular.

      Why am I pressing the bruise?

       Abigail

       Friday 23rd February

      Abi was pleased that Melanie had taken the day off work. It wasn’t popular with her boss, apparently, as Friday was a busy day at the dress store. Abigail said she really didn’t have to inconvenience herself but Mel insisted, as Abi knew she would. Being with Melanie reminded Abi of how things had been when she was at the peak of her career, when she was twenty-eight, twenty-nine, and people liked doing things for her. Then, they sent her invitations to their parties, and cars to ensure she got to the said parties in comfort, then they’d send flowers the day after, a thank you for her attendance. The attention had been dwindling for some time, but Abigail hadn’t realised how much she missed it until Mel started to make a fuss of her. Although Mel’s motivations were quite different from those who used to fawn around Abi back in the day. Mel didn’t want a job, or an introduction to Rob or even the chance to be snapped at her side by the paparazzi.

      What did she want? Abigail believed everyone wanted something.

      They caught the train to Stratford-Upon-Avon. It was a chilly but dry day, which was as much as you could hope for the last week in February in England. They wandered about, visiting the notable houses of Shakespeare’s womenfolk, his wife and daughter. They dipped into tiny boutique shops and bought small treats: handmade chocolates, a lime green scarf, a bottle of organic grapefruit tonic. They then went for a cream tea at a smart hotel. Abi noticed that Mel was bright with excitement. She was easy to seduce.

      ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ commented Abi, glancing around the dining room, which was tastefully decorated in light greys and awash with a sense of gentry: white linen tablecloths, the clink of a spoon against bone china, delicate cakes stacked on tiered plates. ‘I adore your family. But just the two of us having this time together is such a treat.’

      Mel agreed with more enthusiasm than was seemly for a woman who loved her husband and kids to distraction. She admitted, ‘I can’t remember when I last did anything so intrinsically indulgent.’

      Abigail insisted that Mel eat the last salmon sandwich, and have both the little chocolate cakes; when Mel demurred – making embarrassed, reluctant comments about her weight – Abi tutted, swept them away and insisted that Mel was beautiful. Blushing, Mel tucked in. ‘I’d forgotten quite what it’s like to have a bestie girl friend,’ she giggled.

      Obviously Mel meant she’d forgotten what it was like to be picked out as Abi’s friend. Abi had a talent of bathing those she singled out in a unique sense of importance. She knew the power of her intense interest. She knew it was flattering and motivating. Look what her attention had done for Rob. Without her, he probably would never have gone as far as he had. In Abigail’s company, Mel unfurled, as she always had. She became more vivid, stronger and wittier than usual. More daring. More entitled.

      ‘Oh, come on, you must have loads of friends,’ Abigail insisted. Although she wasn’t sure. If Mel did have friends, would they have let her become so dowdy? Real friends would surely have encouraged her to visit one of those women who told you which colour suited you most. Beige was not Mel’s colour.

      ‘I’m friendly enough with the people I work with, but mostly they’re young.’

      ‘We’re young.’

      Mel laughed. ‘You, maybe. You look about twenty-seven. I’m wearing all my thirty-seven years; these girls I work with are just out of college. You know, eighteen. They work for a couple of years at the shop and then move on. Mostly, I feel motherly towards them, as they’re closer to Liam’s age than mine.’

      ‘Don’t mums make friends at playgroups and such? I always thought that’s why we lost touch, because your life was so full of new people. New mums.’

      Mel’s colour intensified. ‘I did join a couple of mother and baby groups when I had Liam, but people kept assuming I was the au pair. As such, they thought I couldn’t relate to them, share their conversations and experiences, so largely they ignored me. When they did discover I was his mum, they were shocked at my youth.’

      ‘And presumably your lack of partner?’ said Abi, bluntly.

      ‘Well, yes, that too. So, they continued ignoring me.’ Mel shrugged.

      ‘But it must have been different with the girls.’

      ‘Yes, then I could have made friends and – to an extent – I did. However, people generally assumed that Imogen was my first baby. Once they discovered I had a son nine years older, the playdates tended to dry up.’

      Abigail forked the tiniest scrap of Victoria sponge into her mouth. ‘Why?’

      ‘Nine-year-old boys are energetic, cheeky. Sometimes hard going. Mums of newborns don’t appreciate that; they thought Liam was a pain. I never could stand to be anywhere where it was obvious other people would prefer him not to be.’

      ‘Which mum could?’

      Mel smiled. ‘Thanks Abi.’

      ‘For what?’

      ‘For getting that. Ben and my mum always thought I was being overly sensitive and that I should cut the first-time mums some slack. But I became bored of the endless comments such as, ‘Gosh, he doesn’t know his own strength, does he?’ Or, ‘If only little boys came with volume control buttons?’ Liam, for the record, was a perfectly normal little boy in terms of energy levels, and probably slightly better than average when it came to obedience. I will admit he was pretty noisy.’

      Abigail laughed. ‘Should we upgrade this afternoon tea?’

      ‘Upgrade?’ Mel looked at the array of goodies spread in front of her, and no doubt thought of the ones she’d already chomped her way through. She probably couldn’t imagine how it could possibly be made any better.

      ‘Let’s order a glass of champagne. What am I thinking about? We’re on the train. Let’s order a bottle.’

      Mel demurred for less than five seconds and then agreed, as Abi knew she would.

      As she sipped, Mel talked more about her friends, or lack of them. ‘My closest school-gate friends are Becky Ingram and Gillian Burton. They’ve daughters Imogen’s age and I’ve known them a few years now, since reception class. We sometimes car pool, we sit through adorable but clumsy ballet performances together. That sort of thing.’

      ‘Fun,’ said Abi. Mel gave her a look which suggested she doubted Abi could mean this, but Abi did. What could be dreamier than watching your daughter skip about in a tutu?

      ‘We go to a book club together once a month. They also go shopping and to the tennis club on a weekly basis.’

      ‘I know the type.’

      ‘They’re very kind,’ said

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