‘I can’t go.’
‘The hell you can’t, Netta!’ spat Freya. ‘Read it out to me again.’
‘Hang on a sec.’ Netta left the phone on her desk and darted through the maze of tables and chairs to snib the classroom door shut. Back at her desk, she wedged the phone between her shoulder and her ear and scrolled back to the top of Morrison’s email. It had lain hidden in plain sight among a deluge of advertising crap and Asos restock notifications since last Friday afternoon, his unfamiliar email address not having caught her attention. She coughed to clear her throat then read out loud.
NOTEBOOK
Morrison Maplestone
To: Netta Phillips
Dear Netta,
Thank you for reaching out and for being discreet about your discovery. I would like the book back but, for various reasons, I’m unable to travel to Australia at the moment, and I don’t trust thepost. I know this is an unusual request, but I’m hoping you might be able to deliver it to me personally. I will, of course, cover your return travel to London—first class—and your accommodation and expenses for as long as you choose to stay. I would also like to offer ten thousand pounds as an incentive for not sharing the contents of the diary with the media.
Please let me know if this is a possibility and, if so, when you’re able to come to the UK.
Kind regards,
Morrison Maplestone
‘I can’t go because I have a job, Freya. I can’t casually take a week off when the summer holidays are just around the corner. And if I go after the term finishes, then I’d miss Christmas. And how would I explain that to Pete?’ she asked. ‘“Oh hi, Pete! I’ll see you in a week or so, I’m just flying to London now to return something I can’t show you to Morrison Maplestone. Have a nice Christmas!”’ Netta’s chair creaked as she pulled her legs up into a crossed position. ‘Somehow I don’t think he’d like that very much.’
Freya groaned. ‘Oh, but Netta, seriously! How many times in your life have you been offered a free first-class ticket to London? Toanywhere? And you’ll probably even get to meet him!’
‘You know why I can’t go back there,’ Netta said quietly.
Netta was met by a rare silence at Freya’s end of the phone line before her friend spoke again, her tone gentler this time, as though she knew she was treading on shaky ground. ‘I know you said you’d never go back. But what if going back is exactly what you need to do to get some closure? And I bet everyone’s forgotten about it by now, anyway. I don’t think Mitch is even on the telly anymore.’
For a moment, anger flared in Netta’s chest and the urge to tell Freya to back off and mind her own business was almost impossible to suppress. Freya might’ve been one of the only people she’d confided in about Mitch, but that didn’t mean her friend had even the slightest idea what it had been like for her after the affair had blown up. The paparazzi had stalked her. The tabloids had torn her to shreds. She hadn’t been able to go anywhere without fear of being recognised. She’d even had to start using a different version of her name, for God’s sake. Nobody could possibly understand the pain of it without having been through it themselves.
Netta closed her eyes, drew in a long breath, and expelled it as slowly as she could. ‘I’m not going. End of story.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘One hundred per cent. Look, sorry, Freya, I have to go.’
Netta hung up before the threatening tears could spill but the familiar dirty weight had already settled on her shoulders, joined now by the additional burden of Morrison’s proposition. She felt ill—a swirling anxiety-fuelled nausea clouding her thoughts. But there was no decision to make. Not really. Because no amount of money could make a trip back to London worth it. She’d just have to work out another way of getting the diary back to him.
Reading over the email one last time—still stunned that there was an email fromMorrison Maplestonein her inbox—she typed her reply.
***
As she drove home from work, Netta allowed herself to be buoyed by the fact that today was pregnancy test day. Thank God for early detection tests—who had the patience to wait until the day before their period was due? She spent the commute blissfully distracted by visions of herself pushing a pram around the botanical gardens. Curled up on the couch with Pete and the baby. Choosing little outfits. She had a good feeling about this one.
Pete wasn’t home from work when she arrived, but she went straight to the bathroom, too anxious to wait. He would understand, and if it was positive, she would pop the test on the kitchen bench where he always left his car keys so he’d see it as soon as he got home, with a little note saying, ‘I’m on my way, Daddy!’ Her heart almost burst at the thought of it.
She pulled a pregnancy test from the bathroom cabinet and held it reverently in both hands as she sent a wish out into the universe:Please let this be the day I see two lines. Morrison Maplestone could keep his money and first-class flights. All Netta wanted in the whole wide world was two glorious, blue, ‘you’re having a baby’ lines.
***
Pete found her on the couch in the shadowy lounge, staring at the switched-off television, when he arrived home a couple of hours later.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘Went to the gym.’
Netta sniffed and nodded, not bothering to turn to face him. She heard him walk into the kitchen and the familiar clatter of his keys being dumped on the bench.
‘You’re quiet,’ he said, stepping into the lounge. ‘Everything okay?’
