“Why ever not?” Imogen’s surprise showed.
“Because I spend ninety percent of my time in Brixton and Clapham and I think she’s convinced herself I’m smuggling drugs.”
Imogen burst out laughing, the soft sound reaching the ears of a woman only two tables away. A woman who turned and stared at Imogen with pure, undisguised hatred.
“But it’s a good job.” Imogen hadn’t noticed the laser-like beam of resentment coming her way, but Raquel had, and she spoke quickly. “I like it. Even when it’s really, really hard.”
“It’s an important job,” Imogen said. “And not enough people doing it, I’ll bet.”
“No, we’re chronically understaffed. And you? You’re a teacher?”
“I work in childcare,” Imogen corrected. “I suspect your aunt doesn’t entirely approve of that either.”
“She doesn’t much like anything to do with kids,” Raquel explained.
“How strange. Was she always like that?”
“Always,” Raquel nodded. Their drinks appeared and they were quiet as the waiter placed them carefully down on the table. “Theo probably jokes about it, but his childhood was pretty shocking.”
“In what way?” Imogen asked, leaning forward, curiosity thick inside of her.
“Oh, I presumed he’d spoken to you about it…”
“I know how hard his parents’ divorce was on him,” Imogen said softly. “But you’re right. He does joke. I always imagined his life to be a pretty spoiled, awesome one.”
“It wasn’t.” Imogen’s eyes moved across the room, landing on her immaculately dressed aunt. “Elana loves him, but they’re very different people. I think it caused a lot of waves when he was growing up.”
Imogen was almost certain there was more to it, but she didn’t want to push Raquel to speak out of turn, so she let the conversation drift onto safer, less-controversial ground, and was thrilled to discover they actually had two friends in common. Women Imogen had gone to school with who’d gone onto study in London and had met Raquel through university.
Almost an hour later, and Imogen was having a good time.
But her bladder had been used as a trampoline by the baby and she was far from comfortable. “Would you excuse me a moment?”
“Of course.” Raquel’s smile was warm. “Why don’t I get us another serve of cake?”
Imogen grinned, pleased to meet someone as willing to indulge in a second serve of dessert as she always was. “Perfect.”
She made her way to the bathroom, marked by a discrete bronze sign on the far wall, pulling her phone from her bag as she went.
How’s it going? The text from Theo had been sent thirty minutes earlier.
Imogen tapped out a quick reply. Better than expected. Met Raquel. Lifesaver. She’s normal, at least.
Imogen slid her phone back into her bag and pushed into a cubicle. She’d just sat down when the external door banged inward and she heard two women’s voices.
One, she picked instantly.
“I’ll say this for you, you know how to throw a fabulous party, even under these circumstances.”
Elena’s voice came next. “Yes, well, one has to mark these occasions, doesn’t one?”
“I don’t know.” The other woman’s voice was wobbly. “You and I know the truth of the situation. It’s hard to sit here and smile through it.”
“She’s pregnant with my son’s child, Marie. I have to smile through it, even when it kills me to think of him being used in this way.”
Marie. Imogen froze, biting down on her lip and wishing the ground could open up and swallow her whole.
“I can’t believe Theo would fall for something like this. Has he even had a paternity test?”