Antoinette put her pen between two pages of her notebook and gently closed it. “How’s the renovation?”
“Good, I’m about to do the lighting plan.”
“Light switches ninety centimeters above the floor,” Antoinette said. “Any higher, they interfere with the hang.”
“The hang…of what?”
“The picture hang? When the art goes up.”
“Ah,” Coralie said. “Of course.”
“And by the way.”
Coralie poked her head back round the door.
“I’m not going to complain about you leaving early,” Antoinette said. “I rely on you to manage your time, and I know you often work outside formal working hours to get the job done. Of course, in a creative role, such as the one you hold, it’s not simply enough to produce your own deliverables. Part of the job is to be available for teamwork, for bouncing off colleagues, for taking old elements and combining them in a way that’s new—theessenceof being creative.”
Coralie felt herself run hot, then freezing cold. She was being told off.
“No, my real concern,” Antoinette went on, “is for your self-worth, your standing in your intimate relationship. I hope you don’t mind if I offer you some personal advice.”
“No, please.”
Antoinette bent her head and gently pressed her index fingers to her temples. “It’s one thing running around after your own child.” She looked back up. “It’s quite another to do it for someone else’s.”
•••
It was a shock.As recently as Christmas, Antoinette had wrapped up a copy of Sheryl Sandberg’sLean Infor Coralie and inscribed it: “From your mentor.” Her own builders were right that minute toiling on Wilton Way. Did Antoinette even like her? Was her job in danger? Coralie had transferred straight to London without taking a break. Tuesday 5 a.m., her plane had landed. Wednesday morning eight thirty, she’d reported for duty in Clerkenwell an hour and a half before Antoinette had even arrived! What more could shegive? She was thinking about all this, or catastrophizing (as thinkingunfounded dark thoughts was sometimes known), as she strode up to Angel for the Northern line. When she arrived, sweating, to Zora’s pickup area, she saw only five children left, and none of them was Zora. Panic ballooned inside her.
“Coralie!”
Thank God. She turned to find Zora. Behind her was Marina, with an open-hipped, rolling walk she hadn’t had less than a week ago at the party. “Did I…” Coralie began. “Weren’t we supposed to…”
But to her surprise, Marina looked a little sheepish. “Sorry to be confusing. You and Adam do have her. I’ve done all my work, and I’m officially on mat leave, but Tom’s in Eastbourne until tonight. My mum won’t get on the plane until I start contractions because my first labor took so long. I…Sorry.” Marina blinked up at the sky.
That was intriguing new information. (The only thing Adam had told her about Marina’s pregnancy with Zora was that Adam had put on weight. “No offense,” Marina had apparently said, “but you’re getting really fat.” Adam had responded gently that this caused him to feel offended. “I said,” Marina had screamed, “NO OFFENSE!”)
“Can I go to Poppy’s for a playdate?” Zora leaped up to grab Marina’s arm. “Can Poppycomefor a playdate?” The child who must have been Poppy stood back a little, smiling a shy smile and blinking behind purple glasses.
“Zora, please, don’t yank me, I can’t balance, I’ll fall over.”
“Let’s askyourmum instead.” Zora pulled Poppy’s hand and they ran off together.
“Argh.” Marina pressed her fingertips briefly on top of her closed eyes. “I just wanted to see her.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Coralie said. “We could go to the park with her, or you could take her to yours—I could get a coffee, do some work in a café?”
Marina’s eyes sprang open instantly. She seemed to elongate from the spine. “She’s not going to Poppy’s, that’s for sure. Zora!”
After a while, Zora skipped back. “I don’t want to get the train, Mummy—I want to go home with you.”
Coralie’s heart sank. It was truly beyond her to assert any power over Zora’s movements. She didn’t have any power to assert.
But Marina held Zora’s hands and spoke in a kind, firm voice. “Sweetheart, I came to give you a kiss. I can’t keep you this week; Daddy and Coralie would be too sad.”
“It’s true,” Coralie said. “I don’t want to see your daddy crying, sobbing like a baby—do you?”
“Boo-hoo!” Marina said, surprisingly. “Boo-hoo-hoo!”
