The Two Week Wait Read Free Page B

been worse.’
    Lou nods, recognizing Karen’s sadness. She pauses, unsure whether to make this observation, decides it’s better to do so: ‘It must be tough, the run-up to . . . well, you
know.’
    Karen swallows. Lou can see she is fighting back tears, which must have been near the surface. Oh dear, she thinks, perhaps I shouldn’t have brought it up with Molly here. But there are
enough people scared of mentioning what Karen’s been through; Lou doesn’t want to be one of them.
    Karen struggles to keep her voice steady. ‘It’s our first Christmas without him.’
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ Lou says. ‘I should have thought.’
    ‘Don’t worry,’ says Karen.
    But Lou feels dreadful. She’s been too wrapped up in herself; first enjoying the Lakes with Sofia, then preoccupied with this wretched lump. Yet she, more than anyone, ought to have
remembered how her friend would be feeling. Lou was with Karen when her husband died the previous February.
    The kettle has boiled. Within seconds Lou is handing over a steaming brew. It seems inadequate but Karen takes it gratefully.
    ‘Molly, love,’ Lou says gently. Molly has stopped entwining, is eyeing her mother. ‘Would you like to watch Princess Aurora for a bit while Mummy and I have a
chat?’ Karen brought the DVD when she dropped off her daughter; it’s Molly’s favourite.
    ‘I’ve seen it already,’ says Molly.
    ‘It’s all right,’ says Karen. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’ She goes over to the sofa, adjusts a couple of cushions so she can sit down. Molly clambers
onto her knee, all pink and pastel against her mother’s olive greens and browns.
    Karen continues stroking her daughter’s hair, running comblike fingers away from her forehead. Molly wrinkles her nose and pouts. Karen, lost in her thoughts, doesn’t see; the motion
seems more to comfort herself than Molly. Lou switches on the TV anyway, flicks it to a children’s programme. Soon Molly is transfixed by the antics of a giant-eyed CGI bunny, so when Karen
clutches her tight and kisses the top of her head repeatedly, she barely registers.
    ‘Biscuit?’ Lou reaches for the tin.
    ‘Why not?’ Karen takes a digestive and breaks off a chunk for Molly. ‘Actually, we’re having a little family gathering on Christmas Eve, in the day, to remember Simon,
you know. I thought it would be nice for the children. As well as for me and the grown-ups, obviously.’ She’s regained her composure; Lou can’t help but feel relieved.
‘I’d love you to come if you’d like?’
    Although Karen has become a good friend in the last ten months, Lou hesitates. ‘If it’s just family, I’m not sure . . . I wouldn’t want to intrude.’
    ‘It won’t be entirely relatives – you can bring Sofia, and Anna’s coming as well. There’s no ceremony or anything formal – it’s a party. We’re
having bubbly. And cake . . . ’
    ‘OK.’ Lou grins. ‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’
    When Karen has gone, Lou checks the clock: it’s a while before she’s due to leave for the doctor’s, where she’s been promised an appointment last thing.
    Lou had been hoping to tell Karen about the lump, but it didn’t seem appropriate in the circumstances. It’s been good having Molly to look after, kept her worries in perspective. She
bends to pick up the cushions she and Molly used to make a train on the floor.
    Poor Karen, no wonder she was so tearful, she thinks, plumping the sofa. I can only begin to imagine what it’s like, losing your partner that suddenly. Simon died of a heart attack one
morning on the train. Karen was with him, Lou witnessed everything. She is haunted by the memory of the 07:44 to Victoria. One moment she was half watching people as she dozed; across the aisle was
Simon, stroking Karen’s hand. The next: boof! He was gone, and there was nothing anyone could do to revive him. If there’s one thing Lou has learned, it’s that you never
know what’s coming to