Free Friday on My Mind by Nicci French Page B

said Christine, as if she’d never set eyes on Frieda before. ‘Sasha’s not back yet.’
    ‘I must be a bit early, then.’
    ‘No. She’s late. Again.’
    ‘I’m sure she’ll be here soon. You can leave if you want and I’ll look after Ethan.’
    ‘That would be good.’
    ‘It must be harder for Sasha now that it’s just her,’ Frieda said.
    ‘Tell me about it.’
    She opened the door wider and Frieda followed her into the kitchen. Ethan was strapped into his chair. He had bright spots on his cheeks and a mutinous look about him that Frieda recognized.
    ‘Hello, Ethan. It’s you and me now.’
    ‘Frieda,’ he said. He had an oddly husky voice for a toddler.
    Christine stared from him to the mess on the floor, where his bowl and beaker lay upturned. ‘You’re a bad boy,’ she said, in her cool voice, not angry but implacable.
    ‘I can take it from here,’ said Frieda. ‘And you should be careful about calling someone bad.’
    ‘You’re not the one who has to clear up the mess.’
    ‘I am now. You go home.’
    Christine left, then Frieda went across to Ethan and kissed him on his sweaty brow, untied him and lifted him onto the floor. He put his sticky hand into hers. He had Frank’s dark eyes and hair, Sasha’s pale skin and her slenderness; Frank’s determination and Sasha’s sweetness. Frieda had met him when he was less than a day old, a crumpled,scrawny little thing with a face like an anxious old man’s, changed his nappy (something she’d never done for anyone else’s baby), looked after him when Sasha was too sick and sad to do so, taken him for walks and read to him. He was still a mystery to her.
    ‘What are we going to do before Sasha gets home?’
    Before Ethan had time to say anything, she heard the door bang open.‘I’m so sorry,’ Sasha called. ‘The bus was late.’
    Frieda went to the door. Her friend’s hair was dishevelled and her face flushed. ‘Hello, Sasha.’
    ‘Oh, God, Frieda. I got here as quickly as I could.’
    ‘It’s fine. You’re just a few minutes late.’
    Sasha bent down and lifted Ethan into her arms, but he squirmed impatiently and she put him down. He dropped to his hands and knees and disappeared under the table, which was his favourite place to be. He would stay there for hours, if left to himself, with the tablecloth hanging down to make a kind of enclosure and his miniature wooden animals that he moved around and talked to in a low, urgent whisper.
    ‘Where’s Christine?’
    ‘I sent her home.’
    ‘Was she all right?’
    ‘Fine,’ said Frieda. ‘Rather brusque.’
    ‘I’m a bit scared of her when she’s cross.’
    ‘That doesn’t sound like a very healthy working relationship.’
    ‘No,’ said Sasha, forlornly. ‘Since Frank left, I always seem to be half an hour late for everything. No wonder she gets impatient.’
    ‘Let’s have some tea. There’s something I need to tell you.’
    Sasha filled the kettle and dropped tea bags into the teapot. Frieda, watching her, was struck by how very beautiful her friend was and how fragile she seemed. They had first met after Sasha had come to see her as a client, in the wake of a disastrous affair with her previous therapist, but later Sasha had helped her professionally, and they had gradually become friends. When Sasha had met Frank, she had been luminously happy for a while, but after Ethan had been born she had suffered from catastrophic post-natal depression and hadn’t quite returned to an even keel since.
    ‘Frank’s coming in half an hour or so. Thursday’s his evening with Ethan.’
    ‘I don’t know if I’ll still be here.’
    ‘You’ll probably want to keep out of his way, after last time.’
    Frank was Ethan’s father, Sasha’s ex, and had for a while been Frieda’s friend. But that was before his relationship with Sasha had started to go wrong. For a while, Frieda had stood on the sidelines and watched as her friend had become increasingly dejected and defeated