The Optician's Wife by Betsy Reavley

on Monday morning Trisha came bounding over, her face all lit up.
    ‘They’ve found another.’ She couldn’t contain her excitement.
    ‘Another what?’ I really wasn’t in the mood for any of her idle gossip.
    ‘Another body! What if it’s someone we know? What if we know the killer?’
    ‘Hmm.’ I hung my rucksack up on my peg and sat down in a chair to take the weight off my feet for a moment.
    ‘Is that all you can say? The police have admitted it’s a serial killer. Here in Cambridge.’
    I’d heard of course. Everywhere you turned it was there in the papers, on the radio and in the news broadcasts. Murder fever had gripped the whole of the city. Sales of penknives doubled, with young women desperate to protect themselves. As if a penknife was the answer when facing a madman.
    Even the pubs and bars had seen a dip in sales. Women in particular were less eager to stay out late and face the danger of walking home alone. In every shop you went into you would hear a conversation about it. ‘Who was next? Why weren’t the police doing their job?’ It was the usual nonsense that civilians always grumble about. Why blame the perpetrator when you can hold the police to account? Everyone had a theory. Some of them were laughable. I tried not to pay too much attention but it was hard to escape the topic people whispered about.
    ‘I’m sorry, Trisha, I’m just a bit tired.’ I rubbed my temples with my fingers.
    ‘Are you all right?’ She sat down next to me and cocked her head to one side. She’d recently got a new perm and the curls flopped across her face.
    ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’ I felt miserable.
    ‘Go on.’ She had quickly gone from being a giggly schoolgirl to an understanding woman.
    ‘I’m going to hand in my notice. Larry wants me to stay at home and look after the baby. He’s right of course. How could I keep working?’
    ‘Oh I see.’ She studied my face for a moment. ‘But you don’t want to?’
    ‘It’s not that.’ I wasn’t really sure what was bothering me. ‘I’ll miss you.’
    ‘I’ll come and see you all the time. Try and keep me away. I love babies and besides, who else will listen to me babble on the way you do? You’re my best friend.’ Hearing those words made me want to cry.
    ‘Don’t get all emotional on me.’ She cackled and made a cross with her fingers. ‘Just because you’ve got baby brain, I can’t deal with anyone crying.’ She gave my shoulder a gentle shove and stood up. ‘Come on, before we have Stuart breathing down our necks.’
     
    By lunchtime I felt better. Knowing that I would still see Trisha made all the difference. Her friendship had become so important to me, especially since Larry was spending less time in my company. I told myself that when the baby came things between us would go back to normal.
    On that day the city was busy with tourists, stopping to take photographs of the university buildings and Market Square with their cameras. On the corner near Rook’s Opticians, a young man stood holding a billboard offering tours of The Backs on punts. I’d only been punting once and that was with Larry last autumn. He was good at poling the boat along the Cam. We’d stopped for a picnic on the riverbank and watched the world go by. It had been a good day.
    Larry came out of Rook’s with his face buried in a newspaper.
    ‘Hi.’ He folded it quickly and kissed my cheek. ‘How are my two favourite people?’ he said resting his hand on my bump.
    ‘Fine thanks.’ I was so unused to his touch that I flinched. He took a step back, his dark brown eyes searching my face.
    ‘What’s wrong?’
    ‘Nothing. I’m just tired.’ And I was. ‘I told Stuart I would be leaving at the end of October. He said he’d fill the position easily and didn’t seem very concerned.’
    ‘That’s good news.’ Larry ignored my disappointment.
    We made our way to our usual spot by the river and I unwrapped my cheese sandwich. Ever