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“Are you okay?” Hannah asked. “What happened?”
“My so-called boyfriend’s bloody mother is what happened,” April said. She was tapping her foot, radiating a furious wired energy. “How dare he. Saturday is the final night—he knows what that means to me, but no, Mummy’s not well, Mummy’s turning fifty, Mummy must come first.” She put on a whining babyish voice for the last phrases that sounded so extremely un-Will that Hannah felt she ought to protest. One look at April’s thunderous face made her reconsider.
“He did come to the opening night,” she ventured, but April rounded on her.
“So? He’s my bloody boyfriend! Or was. I’m seriously reconsidering, given he apparently doesn’t give a wet fart about my feelings. The opening night is about the lowest possible bar—I mean, everyone came to the opening night, even Hugh! Even sodding Emily! This is the most important thing I’ve ever done, Han. Is it too much to hope Will would come and support me instead of his hypochondriac mother?”
His mother’s ill? was what Hannah was thinking, but she could see, instantly, that there was no point in saying that to April. It would only fan her indignation.
“Forget about him,” she found herself saying instead. “I’ll come on Saturday. And you know what—we’ll do something afterwards. An after-party. A proper one. We’ll have all the cast back here to the bar, we’ll organize themed cocktails. The Medea. What should it be? Something bloody—cranberry juice with vodka and grenadine!”
“Isn’t that a sex on the beach?” April said, but Hannah could see she was softening, that the idea of an after-party was reeling her in. Her taut fury was relaxing a little, and she came around the side of the armchair and flung herself back into it, the springs squeaking. “An after-party would be pretty cool, though. You’d really do that for me?”
“Of course,” Hannah said. She gave April a friendly punch on the arm. “You’re my best friend.”
There was a moment’s pause, and then April’s face broke into a wide, beaming smile—that smile that felt like a megawatt spotlight had been turned on you.
“You, Hannah Jones, are the bloody best, that’s what you are.” She stood, brushing down her skirt. “Right. Coming down for supper?”
“I can’t,” Hannah said bitterly. “I’ve got to finish this essay. I spent all week revising for prelims, and now I’m just so bloody knackered, I can’t think straight.”
April paused, looking at her, and then she said, a little smile flickering at the corner of her lips so that her dimple came and went, “I could help with that, if you want.”
“Help with my essay?” Hannah looked up at her, frowning. “Have you read Spenser?”
“No, I mean, help with the concentration.” She turned and went back into her room, and Hannah heard her rummaging in the mess of her bedside table. Then she came out, two pills in the palm of her hand, holding them out towards Hannah.
Hannah stared down at them. They were little capsules, half-colored, half-clear, filled with what looked like dozens of tiny little balls inside.
“What are they—like, NoDoz or something?”
“NoDoz for grown-ups,” April said. She gave that little half smile again, the dimple coming and going in one cheek. “Go on, take them. There’s plenty more where those came from.”
“I—I mean, look, thanks, but honestly I’m nearly there. I just need to nail this last paragraph and then I can turn it in.”
“Okay,” April said lightly. “Suit yourself.” She put the pills carelessly in her pocket and then picked up her coat. “Oh, and vodka, cranberry, champagne, and crème de cassis.”
“What?”
“For the Medea. Vodka, cranberry, champagne, and crème de cassis. In a champagne coupe. With a maraschino cherry on top.”
“You’re on,” Hannah said, and April smiled.
AFTER
On the walk back from the train station, Hannah calls Will.
“The baby moved!”
He’s in the street, she can hear the background noises, the sound of a fire engine passing.
“What did you say?” He raises his voice above the siren. “Who’s moving? Sorry, it’s really loud.”
“Not who! The baby. I felt it, Will, I felt our baby move.”
There is a split-second silence and then she hears his incredulous, joyous laugh.
“It moved? You really felt it?”
