Page 77 of Villa of Secrets

‘Look, Rebecca, let’s drop the show, shall we? You’re not fooling me, so you may as well spit it out,’ she said kindly. ‘Tell me what’s up – what’s troubling you.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Oh, come on. This pretence we’ve been putting on for Bubba’s sake. Why were you nearly in tears on the phone?’ Naomi asked.

Rebecca pulled her chin in and blinked at her sister.

‘Lighten the load. Spill the beans. Whatever you want to call it.’ Naomi continued. ‘Then I won’t be guessing, and you don’t have to keep hiding the thing that’s making you miserable.’

‘I’d forgotten how blunt you are.’

‘When you choose camomile tea over a glass of red? What am I, stupid? It has to be serious, so put me out of my misery.’ After a moment’s silence, she carried on. ‘Will I tickle your feet, or give you a Chinese burn?’

Rebecca’s worried face broke into a smile, remembering Naomi’s childhood threats when she was being obstinate.

‘She needs a poke with a sharp stick!’ Bubba’s voice came from her room. ‘I wasn’t fooled either. Wait for me,’ she called out.

Naomi jumped up and pulled the curtain aside.

Bubba had managed to sit on the side of her bed and was trying to pull herself up with her new walking frame.

Naomi rushed to help, but Bubba slapped her hand away.

‘Leave me alone, child!’ She grunted. ‘I need to struggle . . . overcome. If I don’t, I’ll . . . well, I’m not going to fail at this. Not after everything!’

Rebecca saw the anguish on Naomi’s face.

Bubba gripped the Zimmer with her good hand and hauled herself up.

Naomi and Rebecca held their breath and leaned forward, mirroring Bubba’s struggle. She was almost on her feet when her strength failed and she dropped back onto the bed. Rebecca sensed Naomi’s stress as, about to lunge forward and assist her grandmother, she checked herself and simply gripped the top of the walker.

‘Come on, Bubba. Make an effort,’ Naomi said with mock impatience. ‘At this rate we’ll be here all night.’

With a mighty grunt Bubba got to her feet. She crabbed into the kitchen clutching the frame and dragging one leg. Finally, she fell into her armchair and slapped a hand against her chest. ‘Holy Moses, that was a marathon! I’m doing it again tomorrow, and you can get your fancy mobile telephone out and time me, Rebecca. I intend to enter the Rhodes triathlon next year!’

The two sisters laughed, pulling kitchen chairs up to sit in a triangle around the Zimmer.

‘You haven’t lost your sense of humour, then?’ Rebecca said.

The old lady softened her voice. ‘Now, come on, child, tell us what’s going on so I can go back to bed and get my beauty sleep.’

*

Rebecca told them everything, about her endless dream of having children, about the terrible stress it put on her marriage, and about how much she had missed them both when she first arrived in London. Finally, with tears on her face, she disclosed her biggest worry – that Fritz might leave her.

‘So, did he give you an ultimatum?’ Bubba asked.

‘Not exactly. He wants us to abandon the idea of having children. He says he can’t stand watching me go through so much pain for nothing.’ She wiped her eyes. Naomi ripped off a square of kitchen roll and handed it to Rebecca. ‘I thought he’d be thrilled, after all, this is our forth try at IVF, but Fritz is just afraid he’s going to see me hurt again. That’s why we’re having this separation.’

‘Separation?’ Bubba shook her head. ‘Never a good plan. If you have a problem, you should be locked in a room together until you’ve sorted it.’

‘I had started to think he didn’t care, Bubba, but before I came here, I climbed up to the loft to find my suitcase and . . .’ Tears trickled down her face. ‘Damn, I must stop crying!’

‘It’s your hormones,’ Naomi said. ‘Make you extra sensitive.’

Rebecca dried her eyes and blew her nose. ‘I go to pieces when I remember what I saw. Our attic is full of baby things. Surprises, gifts that my husband purchased for our child. Each time I got pregnant Fritz was so thrilled he went out and bought stuff for the nursery: a train set, a rocking horse, huge teddies, mobiles, baby furniture. Lovely presents, all beautifully wrapped and under various thicknesses of dust. They all had gift tags . . .’ She fought more tears and couldn’t speak for a minute. ‘He’d written the most sweet and loving words.’ She sobbed and paused. ‘Every miscarriage must have broken his heart anew, but he put on a brave face . . . for me, and I never once considered his feelings.’

‘Aren’t we forgetting something? You are pregnant.’