Prologue
London, 1988 I don’t remember exactly the day we made our pact, but it was Jenny, of course, who came up with the idea. Of the three of us, she was the one most likely to make a stand – or get carried away, depending on how you looked at it. Oliver called her our ‘hothead’. We were in our local café, the babies asleep in their pushchairs, when she suddenly looked about her at the neighbouring tables as though suspecting eavesdroppers, and spoke with hushed urgency: ‘We should make a promise that we’ll look after each other’s girls. You know…if disaster strikes.’
I looked up from my coffee, a little shocked. ‘Disaster’ struck only other people, didn’t it, people you read about in the papers? Nothing was going to happen to us. Next to me, Mariel raised an eyebrow. I’d wait to see what she said, I decided, before replying myself. If Jenny was the demonstrator then Mariel was the cool one, the realist. ‘The chances of both parents getting terminal cancer at the same time are very slim,’ she said, reasonably. ‘Or dying together in a plane crash without their child in the seat between them. Believe me, Jen, no one’s going to be an orphan.’
Jenny pulled a face and began grabbing at a portion of her thick red-gold hair, a habit of hers, she’d plait it really tightly and then leave it to unravel again over her shoulder. ‘Even if it’s just one parent who dies, then.’ She met Mariel’s eye with a determined look. ‘Toby flies all over the place for work, doesn’t he? Isn’t he in the Far East right now?’ ‘Jen!’ Now I was properly shocked, but Mariel just laughed. ‘Well, thanks for that cheery thought. I’ll let my husband know he needs to update his life insurance.’ ‘I’m serious, Mariel. These things happen!’
There was a pause as we all looked at each other. ‘Well, I’m in,’ I said, and they both looked at me, as surprised as I was by my sudden earnestness. Whichever ‘one’ of the three of us I was, a chord had been struck and I wasn’t prepared to close my ears to it. With Oliver continuing to work silly hours – and drink frightening quantities – I didn’t like the idea of something happening to me, and Emma being left in the care of a relay team of nannies co-ordinated by his mother or, worse, his PA. ‘Mariel?’ Jen asked.
Mariel nodded, the wings of her dark bob swinging forward over her cheeks. ‘Of course I’m in. You know I’d do anything for the girls.’ ‘It’s a deal, then,’ Jen said, pleased, ‘we’ll wave them off to university together if it’s the last thing we do. Oxford, I think, no, Harvard!’ Mariel chuckled at the thought, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to lighten my own mood yet. ‘And they’ll always have each other, too.’ ‘If it turns out they get on,’ Mariel said, delicately. ‘What are you talking about? They will be friends,’ Jenny pronounced, sternly, and now I did smile. I knew what they were both thinking, the same as I was: that if our daughters grew to be a fraction as close as we were then they would be lucky girls. They’d be three times as equipped for life, three times as protected. Three times everything.
London, 1988 I don’t remember exactly the day we made our pact, but it was Jenny, of course, who came up with the idea. Of the three of us, she was the one most likely to make a stand – or get carried away, depending on how you looked at it. Oliver called her our ‘hothead’. We were in our local café, the babies asleep in their pushchairs, when she suddenly looked about her at the neighbouring tables as though suspecting eavesdroppers, and spoke with hushed urgency: ‘We should make a promise that we’ll look after each other’s girls. You know…if disaster strikes.’
I looked up from my coffee, a little shocked. ‘Disaster’ struck only other people, didn’t it, people you read about in the papers? Nothing was going to happen to us. Next to me, Mariel raised an eyebrow. I’d wait to see what she said, I decided, before replying myself. If Jenny was the demonstrator then Mariel was the cool one, the realist. ‘The chances of both parents getting terminal cancer at the same time are very slim,’ she said, reasonably. ‘Or dying together in a plane crash without their child in the seat between them. Believe me, Jen, no one’s going to be an orphan.’
Jenny pulled a face and began grabbing at a portion of her thick red-gold hair, a habit of hers, she’d plait it really tightly and then leave it to unravel again over her shoulder. ‘Even if it’s just one parent who dies, then.’ She met Mariel’s eye with a determined look. ‘Toby flies all over the place for work, doesn’t he? Isn’t he in the Far East right now?’ ‘Jen!’ Now I was properly shocked, but Mariel just laughed. ‘Well, thanks for that cheery thought. I’ll let my husband know he needs to update his life insurance.’ ‘I’m serious, Mariel. These things happen!’
There was a pause as we all looked at each other. ‘Well, I’m in,’ I said, and they both looked at me, as surprised as I was by my sudden earnestness. Whichever ‘one’ of the three of us I was, a chord had been struck and I wasn’t prepared to close my ears to it. With Oliver continuing to work silly hours – and drink frightening quantities – I didn’t like the idea of something happening to me, and Emma being left in the care of a relay team of nannies co-ordinated by his mother or, worse, his PA. ‘Mariel?’ Jen asked.
Mariel nodded, the wings of her dark bob swinging forward over her cheeks. ‘Of course I’m in. You know I’d do anything for the girls.’ ‘It’s a deal, then,’ Jen said, pleased, ‘we’ll wave them off to university together if it’s the last thing we do. Oxford, I think, no, Harvard!’ Mariel chuckled at the thought, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to lighten my own mood yet. ‘And they’ll always have each other, too.’ ‘If it turns out they get on,’ Mariel said, delicately. ‘What are you talking about? They will be friends,’ Jenny pronounced, sternly, and now I did smile. I knew what they were both thinking, the same as I was: that if our daughters grew to be a fraction as close as we were then they would be lucky girls. They’d be three times as equipped for life, three times as protected. Three times everything.