I pick up the card and show Dom what’s written inside it: ‘To Dom, Beth, Zannah and Ben, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Lots of love from Lewis, Flora, Thomas, Emily and Georgina.’ Followed by three kisses, as per Braid family card-writing tradition. A perfectly ordinary message.
Georgina was two months old in the photograph. The last time the Braids came to visit us was February 2007, when Georgina was four months old, two months before she died.
If she died.
Flora and I both knew that our friendship was over in February 2007, but we were pretending otherwise, to ourselves and to each other. Dominic had no idea. I don’t know what Lewis knew or didn’t know. I made a special fuss of baby Georgina, aware that not long ago I’d deliberately taken a pair of scissors and cut her out of a happy family photograph.
‘Not my proudest moment,’ I say to Dom.
‘You? Oh. I thought you were going to say that this was how it arrived – with Georgina cut out.’
‘No. I did it.’
‘Why?’
I remember as if it happened earlier today, though it was twelve years ago: once removed from the photograph, Georgina landed on the kitchen floor. Seeing her lying there, so tiny and separated from her family, I felt immediately ashamed. What the hell was I doing? What if cutting a child out of a family photo was like sticking pins in a wax model of someone you hated? I would always be someone who had done that to a baby. I could never undo it, which made me feel weirdly doomed – as if, with one vicious, unjustifiable act, I had sealed my fate.
That was my immediate reaction. Overreaction. A few minutes later I realised that all I’d done was cut up a photo, and what did it matter, really? Impulse control had never been my strong point and I knew I’d behaved pathetically, but it was hardly likely to harm Georgina Braid in real life.
Still, I couldn’t bring myself to throw the Braids in the bin, after what I’d done already. I put the card and the pieces of the photograph back in the envelope, which I stuffed into the side pocket of my handbag. I told myself everything was fine, that no one would ever find out I’d done something so petty and spiteful.
‘Flora found out,’ I tell Dom. It’s a relief to say it out loud. The horrible thing I’d done, and how bad it made me feel, was nothing compared with the shame I felt when Flora saw the evidence. Most people successfully hide the worst aspects of their characters from everyone they know, all their lives. I was unlucky.
‘She found out you cut Georgina out of the photo she sent you? Jesus, Beth. I don’t understand. At all.’
‘When the Braids came round for the last time … You probably won’t remember, but you and Lewis went out to the Granta for a pint.’
Dom shakes his head. Of course he doesn’t remember.
‘I knew Flora was thinking the same as me: we both wished you hadn’t gone and left us alone – well, alone with the kids. We were chatting, trying to pretend everything was okay, but deep down we both knew it hadn’t been normal for a while between us, and then suddenly Thomas started wailing. He’d pulled the skin off a blister on his heel and it was bleeding. Flora handed Georgina to me and started rummaging around in her changing bag, looking for a plaster. She didn’t have one, but I knew I had one in my bag. I totally forgot, in that moment, that the cut-up picture was also in there. I sent Zan to look for the plaster. A few minutes later, back she came with all of that.’ I nod down at the photo pieces and the card. ‘She gave it to Flora and said, “Look. This was in Mummy’s bag. Someone’s torn baby Georgina out of the photo.” She had no idea what she was doing, obviously. She just thought it was a weird thing she’d found, and that we’d want to know about it. I could feel myself turning bright red. One look at my face told Flora who the guilty party was.’
Dom looks appalled, understandably. ‘Why the hell did you keep it? Why not chuck it in the rubbish once you’ve gone as far as cutting it up? What did Flora say? Anyone cut one of our kids out of a photograph, I’d punch their lights out.’
‘I didn’t give her a chance to say anything. I started talking at a million miles an hour – saying how sorry I was, that I didn’t know what had come over me. She was upset, but she said she understood. I explained how angry I’d been – that she’d not told me, and then sent the card and the photo, assuming I knew. She apologised for forgetting to tell me. She cried. It was a bit of an apology-fest all round … and we both knew that was it, that we’d never see or speak to each other again.’
‘Jealousy,’ Dom says. ‘That was what came over you. Understandably, I suppose.’
‘What? No. You mean the miscarriage?’ I try to fight the feeling of disappointment that’s rising inside me. Dom’s bound to think this. What else would he think? How can he know what I’ve never told him?
‘Me losing a pregnancy had nothing to do with it,’ I say. ‘You might not believe that, but it’s true.’
‘Then why the hell did you cut a baby out of a photo?’
‘Because Flora never told me about her, and I was … more hurt than you can probably imagine. When she got pregnant with Thomas, she told me straight away. When I knew I was pregnant with Zannah, I rang Flora within ten minutes of taking the test. I think I told her before I told you. You were in a meeting and I couldn’t get hold of you …’
Dom waves impatiently to indicate that he doesn’t care about not being told first.
‘When we both got pregnant a second time, same thing: Flora rang me straight after she’d told Lewis and her mum. I rang her within an hour of knowing I was pregnant with Ben. With my third pregnancy, it was different. I told Flora because I always had before, not because I really wanted to. Lewis had inherited his fortune by then, and … I don’t know if it was us or them, but somehow the idea of this huge wealth that they suddenly had came between us.’
‘Did it?’
‘I didn’t talk to you about it because I wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening. You didn’t notice or care, because Lewis never mattered to you the way Flora mattered to me. But we saw them a bit less, and it was awkward when we did see them. And I thought it had to be the money that had made things different, but … thinking about it now, the change happened at the same time that Flora must have found out she was pregnant with Georgina. Oh, God, Dom, I’ve been such a terrible friend.’
‘You mean cutting up the photo?’
‘Not only that.’ I blink back tears. ‘I used to think that defacing a happy family photo like a psycho was the worst thing I’d done. Not any more.’
‘Beth, what are you talking about?’
‘I’m trying to tell you!’
‘Sorry. Go on.’
‘When I had the miscarriage, I had to tell everyone who knew I’d been pregnant. Including Flora. She was really nice on the phone. Sympathetic. I thought, “Maybe we’ll be okay, maybe the awkwardness between us was just a blip and now things’ll go back to normal.” We talked about meeting up and she said she’d ring me to arrange something, but she never did. We didn’t see or hear from her or Lewis at all, for months. It was like they’d forgotten us completely. And then, just before Christmas, those arrived.’ I nod at the card and photo pieces.