Page 62 of Tears of Gold

I screech as he pulls me with him to the en-suite and then I make him scream my name, his fingers splayed on the tiles as I give him a gold medal start to the day.

“Am I still making these biscuits?” Miss Beesley pulls a tray out of the AGA and slides it onto the table.

“Possibly, though I’m feeling a bit better and I really fancy a quiche.” I haven’t stopped thinking about quiche since we were at the doctors at the weekend.

“Quiche? Not ginger biscuits?” Miss Beesley’s lips flicker with a smile and she turns back away with the tray.

“Oh, well, hold on. Let’s not be hasty, it would be a shame to waste them.” I grab one straight from the tray and take a bite, wincing as I burn my tongue on the hot crumbs.

“Have you heard from Jeremy?” Miss Beesley picks up my empty tea mug and walks it to the sink.

“No, not since dinner last week.”

“I thought I might go and see him today, maybe do some jobs for him if you don’t need me here?” She casts me a glance but with my mouth full of biscuit I can’t answer. I wave my hand in a yes motion and then give her a thumbs up while I swallow.

“Of course, maybe we should put some meals into his freezer? Do you want to take some wine out of the cellar too?”

We won’t be drinking the wine. Well, I won’t and Eli I’ve noticed hasn’t had anything to drink either since we had the scan the other day. I think it’s a silent act of solidarity.

The bell chimes on the kitchen wall showing that the front doorbell has been rung. It’s ridiculous; the house is so large you can’t hear the doorbell from the kitchen. Although I think Miss Beesley could hear a bat fart if she wanted to. She gave me a very knowing smile when I came down the stairs this morning after Eli had left for work. What can I say, my mouth is particularly gifted.

“I’m pleased to see you smiling again, Faith,” she says as she heads out of the kitchen to answer the door.

“Me too,” I call after her. Me bloody too.

I grab another biscuit and settle back in my chair, my hand resting on my stomach. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Whether perhaps I am waiting for some miraculous growth spurt so I can see what’s inside of me, but I know I can’t stop thinking of the view on that computer screen, that little curved shape that is all mine, that little flicker within its centre, full of life.

“We are going to be fighters,” I whisper under my breath as Miss Beesley’s footsteps echo coming back down the tiled hallway floor.

“Who was it?” I ask.

“Don’t get cross it’s not good for you.”

Well that’s not promising.

“It’s Laura Williams. Remember the day after you moved in, I said Bowsley had hired you a personal assistant?”

“Mm. And I told them it wasn’t necessary.”

Miss Beesley lifts her shoulders to her ears. To be fair to her, this is way above her pay grade. “Looks like she’s still on the staff roll.”

I get up from the chair, surprised when I’m not hit by a wave of nausea—a definite improvement which I don’t have time to think about right now.

The battle with Bowsley is still on.

I pat Miss Beesley on the arm as I walk by. “Not to worry.”

I find a woman waiting for me in the hallway. She’s staring at the chandelier hanging from the roof and straight down the middle of the three flights of stairs. It is an impressive view.

“Hi, Laura?” I smile. It’s not this woman's fault she’s been hired by the wrong people for the wrong reasons.

“Miss Hitchin?”

On closer inspection she’s probably about the same age as me. But whereas I am wearing ripped jeans with my ink on show and an oversized shirt that falls off my shoulder, she is wearing a pristine black suit and heels that make my feet hurt just looking at them. “I’m Faith,” I correct and hold out my hand for hers to shake.

“I’ve been sent by Jennifer, to help organise your diary.”

Does Jennifer actually think I have a diary? “It’s not necessary.”