dialogue 2

Her voice frayed by cooing and fabric softener.

‘Oh, Richard.’

Twenty years and this lump of gold, now tight on her finger, still felt like a hoop she had to jump through, every day.

‘Stell…’

‘Mm.’

‘Stella.’

‘Stella…Tell me what to say.’

‘What can you - ’

Her sob was a flint through the air, tearing at him. She knew there was more. A dog whimpering, pleading for the final blow.

‘What can you say?’

The two pieces of amber, her eyes, burned, melting into slow tears.

‘Stell…’

‘Please, all of it, all at once.’

It was a challenge, a test of human endurance.

‘When did it start?’

‘Six months ago.’

‘June?’

‘In Greece.’

‘Greece?’ Her voice repeated but could not believe.

‘You, the kids, Stephen…You all went to the market, we stayed - ’

‘Oh, God.’

This train is not stopping at this station. The magnetic pull she always experienced, drawing her to the edge, following the yellow line like a circus act. In her mind she is Anna Karenina. Stella Green is just dust on the mantelpiece, under the porcelain dancers.

‘She’s pregnant, Stell.’

This was the feeling of now, would be the feeling whenever she saw her. Her and him. Now on Christmas Day. Birthdays. Weekends. Oh and poor, unknowing, sweet Stephen. Her baby. Telling lies to her only child. And this new baby: stepchild, grandchild, stepchild, grandchild, stepchild –

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Carry on as normal. Pretend it’s Stephen’s baby.’

‘Carry on?’

‘What else, Stell? What else is there to do?’

‘What else…’

‘Stell, the turkey’ll be getting cold.’

‘Mm. I need to get the spuds out of the oven.’