Is that envy in her voice? Although I’m not sure why it should be. Gil is attractive; I’ve always envied her thick, glossy hair. She’s right, though. In our line of work, surgeries stretch for hours and lunch becomes an afterthought. By four, I am usually munching on a packet of crisps just to get through to dinner.
‘When’s the big move happening?’ she asks.
That familiar pang of anxiety returns. ‘Next week, hopefully. They sent the wrong-sized pool cover, and I won’t let Joel near the garden until that’s sorted.’
‘I’m so bloody envious, you know.’
I bite my lip.
‘Do you ever feel like life’s too perfect?’ I ask as we towel off.
Gil laughs, spraying mousse onto her golden hair. ‘What are you talking about?’
She’s pragmatic to a fault. Gil doesn’t believe in fate, luck, or magic. Gil always has a backup plan.
‘I don’t know… Sometimes I feel like something awful is bound to happen.’
She looks at me, wide-eyed. ‘Crikey, where did that come from? You and Danny have worked hard for everything you have. It wasn’t handed to you on a plate. You’re a brilliant paediatric surgeon with a sterling reputation, and Danny’s… well, a bloody financial wizard. You’ve got a beautiful son and a stunning house that you’ve renovated. Don’t feel guilty for being happy.’
‘Exactly,’ I interrupt. ‘It’stooperfect, and I sense that Danny is overdoing it. You know how he always wants to impress my dad. He doesn’t seem himself at the moment. Maybe buying the house was too much.’
I know I must sound neurotic. I pull my dress over my head, wishing the churning in my stomach would stop.
‘There’s no law against being happy,’ Gil insists. ‘Besides,’ she adds, ‘it’s a pretty responsible position he has. You knowthe toll that takes.’
She’s right. I’m seeing things that aren’t there. I am lucky, but that’s what frightens me. I have a handsome husband who turns heads wherever he goes, a beautiful son, a lovely apartment in Oxford, and soon, we’ll have our dream house in the Cotswolds, too. We have no financial worries. I should be relaxed and happy, so why am I not? Why is something niggling at me? What is it that I’m sensing, but can’t put my finger on?
‘So, what are you doing with your evening off, aside from worrying about how lucky you are? Stop being superstitious and just enjoy it all.’
I hug her. ‘Thanks, Gil.’
We work well together. She’s a great associate specialist surgeon. She’s the only person other than Danny I allow to callme ‘Jo’. I insist that everyone else calls me ‘Joanna’ or ‘Doctor Neal’. ‘Jo’ is for the special people in my life.
‘Danny is finishing early, and we’re going to Mason’s. It’s our ten-year anniversary. Danny thought we should celebrate.’
She whistles. ‘Wow, celebrating in style! Congrats.’
I glance at my phone. ‘I should head off.’ I slip on my soft cashmere cardigan, a post-baby gift from Danny.
‘Need a lift? It’s freezing out there.’
I hesitate. A lift would get me home faster, but the crisp air might clear my head. After all, I missed my morning run today due to a work Zoom meeting .
‘I’ll walk, thanks. I promised Joel I’d grab him a comic on the way home.’
‘Have a fab time,’ she says brightly. ‘I’ve got a Tinder date. He looks pretty fit, but will probably turn out to be a psycho.’
‘Be careful,’ I say, unable to keep the anxiety from creeping into my voice. I worry about Gil and her Tinder dates. You hear too often about women being attacked or ending up with some controlling creep.
‘Don’t worry. We’re meeting in a public place and all that,’ she reassures me, grabbing her bag. ‘See you in the morning.’
We part at the gym entrance. The cold hits me like a slap, and slices through my coat. I shove my hands deep into my pockets, shoulders hunched, trying to keep the chill at bay. I stop at the corner shop and pick up a chocolate bar and Joel’s comic, exchanging a few friendly words with the shopkeeper before heading past the dimly lit industrial estate.
As I walk, my mind flits to what I’ll wear for dinner. Mason’s has a strict dress code. After much deliberation, I settle on the blue dress and chiffon scarf I wore to a friend’s wedding last week.
The road ahead, stretching past the industrial estate, is poorly lit and almost deserted, and then I see it: a white van, idlingat the side of the road. For a second, my pace falters.There’s something wrong.Something off. A flicker of instinct flares in my gut.
As I pass, I glance toward the driver’s window and freeze.
