Descending to the front room felt akin to entering a stranger’s house. Lorna drew as little attention to herself as she could. Oliver was stretched out on the sofa and laughing at some inane program on TV while Callum sat in the armchair flipping through a stack of photographs. Neither spoke to Lorna as she passed, and she thought perhaps her anxieties had been unfounded. Perhaps she could heat up her meal and return upstairs without anyone saying a word to her. Then she opened the fridge.
“What the fuck?” She stomped back into the front room. “Who ate my cannelloni?”
“Dunno.” Oliver yawned and scratched his stomach. “Are you sure you even had any?”
“Of course I’m sure. I bought it yesterday, put it in the fridge, and now it’s gone.”
“Well maybe you ate it yesterday and forgot.”
“Yeah. Definitely. That’s exactly it.”
“Sorry, Lorna,” said Callum. “I remember seeing it in there.”
“That’s really helpful, Callum. Cheers.” She thought of saying more but knew it would be pointless, and so focused her energy on finding evidence of the theft. She dug through the rubbish bin but couldn’t find any of the packaging, even after sifting all the way to the bottom. She went out into the garden, shivering in her thin jumper, and checked the bigger bin out back, but there was nothing there, either. Whoever ate it had either hidden the packaging in their room or disposed of it elsewhere.
Back upstairs, she went into the bathroom to relieve herself of the three cups of tea she’d had so far that day, trying to figure out what else she had left for dinner, and there in the small wastebasket under the bathroom sink was the empty plastic container and cardboard sheath of her missing microwave dinner.
“Un-fucking-believable!”
She grabbed the packaging, intending to wave it in Oliver’s face—because of course it must have been Oliver—when something else in the bin caught her eye. She had just cottoned on to what it was when someone ripped it out of her hand.
“Whoa-ho! What do we have here?” Oliver, who had snuck up behind her, turned the small cardboard box over in his hands. “Well, well, Lorna, have you been keeping a secret from us?”
She jumped to snatch it back, but he held it out of her reach. “I was looking for this”—she held up the food packaging—“and I found that alongside it.”
“Riiiiight.” He paused, then a smile crept over his face. “Actually, coming from you, I do believe it. So let’s find out whose this is, shall we?”
“Oliver, maybe we shouldn’t . . .”
But for Oliver, this was better than Christmas morning. He bounded out of the bathroom, shouting “house meeting” as he knocked on doors. The house atmosphere had been spiraling down the toilet for a while now. Maeve’s “no-fun” referendum in January had led to the Berry Avenue student house becoming the party spot of the spring term, and while they always invited Oliver, rather than host, he had to play second fiddle to that fat bastard Jabba. With another week left until the party ban would be lifted, another week before Oliver could return any semblance of normality to this dull place, this find represented the change in fortune that was due him.
He gathered them downstairs—Hollis leaning against the closet under the stairs, Ellie on the sofa, Maeve in the kitchen doorway, picking at a hangnail, Callum in the armchair, and Lorna on the bottom step of the staircase, ready to beat a hasty retreat. Oliver stood in the center of them all, the box hidden in the front pocket of his Cahill University hoodie.
“I suppose you’re wondering why I called you all here.”
Hollis raised his hand. “Did someone let the squirrels in again?”
“What? No. Turns out we have a little mystery brought to my attention by the lovely Lorna.”
She folded her arms. “Don’t bring me into this.”
“But aren’t you the one who discovered it?”
“Get on with it,” Hollis said.
“Very well. Upstairs, hidden in the bottom of the bathroom bin was none other than . . .”
“I did it!”
Everyone turned to Maeve.
“I ate your cannelloni. I’m really sorry, Lorna. I’ll buy you two to replace it as soon as the shops open, I swear. I have a can of ravioli, if you want it.”
“It’s fine, Maeve. Thanks.”
The group shifted as if accepting the mystery solved. Oliver was losing them, so he spoke louder to recover.
“How noble of you to confess, dear Maeve! But Lorna’s missing dinner isn’t the mystery.” He whipped out the box and held it high in the air, turning about so everyone could see the image of the pregnancy test on the front.
“Now Lorna says it isn’t hers, and I’m inclined to believe her.”
He watched their eyes fall away from Lorna and shift to Maeve and Ellie, who kept throwing glances at one another.
“All right then, ladies. Time to fess up. Which one of you is going to be a mummy?”
“Did you find the actual stick?” Hollis asked.
“No, just the box,” Lorna answered.
They usually sided with Oliver, but if Hollis was firm enough, they would shift allegiances. But Hollis said nothing more, leaving Oliver free to continue.
“Come on. Don’t keep us in suspense! That’s how rumors get started. Isn’t it better if we’re all open and honest with one another?”
Maeve sucked in her lips the way she always did when she had something to say but wasn’t sure she should. Usually, it was better if she didn’t. At best, it would be something inane and toothless; at worst, offensive and inconsiderate. Ellie stared at her lap, her fists clenched tight enough that her already pale knuckles turned a lighter shade of white. The seconds ticked by, marked by the snowflakes spotting the windows.
Despite the chill outside, the temperature inside increased, the room like an underground bunker with the oxygen running out. They knew that wasn’t true. They each knew they could walk out a door or up the stairs at any time, and maybe things would be different now if they had, but they didn’t. Something held them there, and they didn’t want to admit what it was. To admit that they wanted to know.
Time stretched, slower than when their English lit lecturer had asked that wafer-thin girl in the back row something about Hamlet and the girl had sat there unable to utter a sound as her skin grew redder and redder and the lecturer had waited, tapping his foot, folding his arms, and the girl started to cry until finally someone in the front row shouted out the answer and spared her.
They didn’t know who they were right now. If they were the lecturer or one of the dozens of students hunkering down in their seats. They certainly weren’t the student in the front. They never would be.
Like the earth completing its rotation, Oliver finished another turn, the empty pregnancy test box held high in the air. Then several things happened at once.
A car drove past. Hollis sneezed. Maeve started to speak. Ellie spoke louder.
“It’s Maeve’s!”
They thought a glass had shattered. But it hadn’t. That was only what it felt like.
“It is not.” Maeve’s voice cracked.
“She told me when she got back from Christmas break that she’d slept with this boy from home and she was worried that she might be pregnant because they hadn’t used protection.”