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Sherubbed her eyes.That’sright.NairobitoLondon.Thelast leg of their round-the-world trip.
Glancingat the seating pod next to hers, she wondered where her husband,Connor, was.Thesound of a giggling child made her look behind her.There.Hewas in the galley, wearingGraceon his chest in a patterned sling they’d been given inRwanda.Shewas laughing as the flight attendant played peek-a-boo with her.Takingher turn to hide,Graceburied her red head inConnor’sshoulder.Hesaid something and the flight attendant laughed, touching his arm and leaning towards him, as though he’d said the wittiest thing in the world.Stellacould imagine the smell of the woman’s duty-freeChanelengulfing her poor daughter.
Rollingher eyes,Stellaleaned back in her chair.Sheshould be used to it by now, the way other women reacted to her husband, the way he reacted to them.Sheunderstood thatConnorflirted with everyone: man, woman, young, or old.Itwas just his way.Butsometimes it rankled.
Atinny voice announced, ‘Thepilot has turned on the fasten seatbelt sign.Weare beginning our descent intoLondonHeathrow.’
Connorappeared next to her and unwrappedGracefrom the sling. ‘Hey, sleepy head.’
‘Hey.’Stellasmiled up at him, hoping that she hadn’t accidentally smudged her mascara everywhere as she slept.
Graceheld out her arms andConnorhanded her toStella.Shecuddled their daughter, breathing in her sweet one-year-old scent before clipping her into the infant seatbelt.
‘Youmissed breakfast.Isaved you this.’Hepulled a squashed oat bar out of his back pocket and handed it toStella.Ashe settled himself back into his seat, she caught an older woman across the aisle making no attempt to hide that she was oglingConnor.Hergaze shifted toStella.Thewoman raised her eyebrows and nodded her head as though congratulatingStella.Connorremained oblivious.
‘Youremembered to book a taxi?’Stellaasked.
‘Yup.Krishis sorting it.’Sheopened her mouth to speak and he cut her off. ‘Yes,Iasked him to request a child seat.’Hegave her his devastating half smile and a rush of heat unexpectedly bloomed under her abdomen.Whenwould she stop having such a physical reaction to him?Never, she hoped.
Sometimes, she still couldn’t believe she was married toConnorKnight.Ahandful of years ago, she had been a newcomer to wedding photography, and he’d been the rockstar of the industry, with a penchant for datingScandinavianmodels and driving classic cars.Nowhe wasConnorKnight: husband and father.Rightnow, her life was perfect.
Justas she had the thought, her imagination served up a horror story:Connor, dying horribly, falling out of a helicopter as he did aerial shots for a wedding.Her, a widow;Grace, fatherless.Mentally, she slapped herself.Stopit,Stella.Shedidn’t know why, but every time she acknowledged how happy she was, her brain created some fictional tragedy to bring her back down to earth.Itwas really annoying.
Shekissed the top ofGrace’shead and settled in for landing.
Londonwas just wakingup for a lazySundayas the taxi sped towards their home inLittleVenice.Afterthe wedding, they’d soldConnor’sflat to move somewhere more family-oriented.Theirnew five-bedroom house backed onto an immaculate communal garden, where the sound of playing children floated through the windows all day long and they could walk easily toRegent’sParkand the zoo.Also, it wasn’t far fromClaudia,Stella’sbest friend, who lived inHollandParkwith her husband and their twins.Connor’sstudio, however, remained across town, near his ex-bachelor pad inOldStreet.
Asthey pulled up,Stellaexperienced an odd sense of displacement.Eventhough this was her home and it was familiar to her, it also wasn’t.Justyesterday, she had been inAfrica.Nowshe was on a suburbanLondonstreet lined with birch trees.Itfelt likeLittleVenicehad been frozen in time.Nothinghad changed except the season—now midsummer—which was both disappointing and reassuring.Shefelt like a different person from the one that had left here six months ago.Surely, everything should have changed in her absence?
WhileConnorunloaded the bags,StellacarriedGraceup the front steps and unlocked the door.Thesmell of bleach and furniture polish hit her in the face.Thecleaning company had come to freshen up the place in advance of theKnights’ homecoming.Shewalked into the hallway and slid the keyring onto an empty hook.Thehouse was still, like a museum showcasing the living habits of 21stCenturycity dwellers.Andhere, to the left, is a sofa set fromHarrods, demonstrating a pleasing grey and yellow colour palette popular at the time.Sheremembered the multiple, lengthy conversations between her andConnorabout which sofa combination to purchase.Throughthe lens of everything she’d experienced and seen in the last six months, it seemed like such a silly thing.
Still, it was good to be home.
Thedoor clicked closed behind her, and she swivelled to seeConnorsurrounded by suitcases.Thethought of unpacking them made her shudder.
‘Home, sweet home,’ he said and walked towards her.Heput his arms around them, kissingStella’sauburn head.Gracelaughed and slapped his cheek with her chubby hand.Connorsniffed the air. ‘Ithink somebody might need a change.’
‘Onit.’Stellagrabbed the travel bag and took her daughter up the two flights of stairs to the nursery.Shepackaged the poop-filled nappy into a baggie and looked around for somewhere to dispose of it.Wheredid they keep the nappy bin?Thenshe remembered.Theykept it in the bathroom because the plastic bin looked ugly with the decor ofGrace’sroom.Butthe bathroom was at the end of the hall.Whata silly place to put the bin.Post-travelStellavalued practicality over aesthetic.She’dmove it back intoGrace’sroom later.
Asthey came back down the stairs, the electronic ring of the doorbell reverberated through the house.Connorhad disappeared along with the suitcases, soStellaanswered it.
‘Surprise!’
Onher doorstep stoodClaudia, eyes hidden behind largeItaliansunglasses.Hergeometrically accurate black bob had grown out.SincemarryingMagnus, she'd shifted away from the sixties-style clothes she’d loved as a single woman, towards chic, patterned dresses from smallFrenchdesign houses.Stellathought she recognisedClaudia’sbelted, red floral dress from a copy ofVogueshe’d flipped through on the plane.
‘Howdid you know we’d be home?’StellaslidGraceonto her hip and used her free arm to hug her best friend.
‘Atyour bon voyage party,Istole your phone and approved myself for location sharing.I’vebeen following you online since you left.’
‘That’s…creepy.’Stellastepped back soClaudiacould step inside, carrying a juteDaylesfordOrganicbag.
‘Whatif you were all kidnapped by pirates?Somebodywould need to tell the police where you were.’
‘Pirates?’
‘Yes, fucking pirates!’Claudiaclicked her tongue. ‘Sorry,Gracie.Imeaneffingpirates.Iread an article about some couple that were taken hostage off the coast ofSomalia.It’sa thing.’
‘Well, we weren’t on a boat, so we had about as much chance of getting taken by pirates as you do of stopping swearing.’Stellanoted something else that hadn’t changed:Claudia’sfutile attempts to reform her potty mouth.Afterhaving children, she had started making a concerted effort to clean up her language.Magnusmade her put £5 in a jar every time she slipped up, which he then spent at the pub.HetoldStellathat he usually had enough to buy a few rounds for his friends.
