Crush frowns – as well he might. ‘You don’t sound overjoyed,’ he notes. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I am,’ I say. ‘I’m really, really pleased.’ This is going a bit quicker than I imagined it and, if I’m honest, I’d quite liked the sound of going to live out in Australia. My heart goes into freefall. Crush, it seems, has given up a great opportunity for me. How am I going to tell him about Marcus now?
‘But?’
I sigh heavily. ‘There’s something I have to tell you. I’ve done something very bad and it’s eating away at me.’
‘How bad?’ Crush teases. ‘This sounds interesting.’
‘I don’t want us to have any secrets,’ I say, with wavering voice. ‘I want to be completely honest with you, so that you know even the most terrible things that I’ve done.’
He still doesn’t look convinced that I’m deadly serious. I try to inject an air of solemnity and hang my head. ‘It has to do with me seeing you naked on the webcam.’
‘Not me,’ he corrects with a broad smile. ‘My brother. You’ve not yet had the pleasure of seeing me naked, Gorgeous. Though I hope we can correct that terrible omission very soon.’
‘Me too,’ I squeak.
‘So.’ Crush sits back like someone waiting to be told an entertaining story. ‘Are you going to confess this heinous crime?’
Clearing my throat, I begin, ‘I was alone at Christmas—’
‘I know,’ Crush says, ‘and I feel terrible about that. I’m going to do all I can to make it up to you.’
‘—very alone,’ I reiterate. ‘And I thought that you’d found someone else. I had no idea that you were in trouble. No one told me. I just thought . . . I thought you’d forgotten all about me.’ I’m on the verge of tears.
‘Hey,’ Aiden says. ‘That’s all behind us now. We know that it was a silly mistake.’
‘I made one other silly mistake too.’ I can feel myself gnawing anxiously at my lip while he waits for me to spill the beans. There’s a puzzled frown on his handsome face and I want to reach out and smooth it. Instead, I wring my hands together in the manner of the wretched fool that I am.
‘Tell me,’ he urges gently. ‘Nothing can be that bad.’ He even laughs a little.
‘I slept with Marcus,’ I say.
I see him recoil and blink a lot.
‘I slept with Marcus on Christmas Day, because I was alone and feeling sorry for myself.’
Crush’s face has turned ashen.
‘It was once,’ I continue. ‘Just the once and I’m deeply, deeply sorry.’
Aiden says nothing, but his jaw has set and his eyes have darkened alarmingly. Around us the jolly, amusing chatter continues unabated while we sit here in our bubble of misery. When Crush eventually finds his voice, he says, ‘How could you, Lucy? How could you do that?’
‘I was alone . . .’
‘And I was in the fucking desert,’ he snaps. ‘Worried sick. Not about myself, but about you and how concerned you’d be.’
‘I knew nothing about it.’
‘Is that an excuse?’ he asks. ‘Is that any reason to jump straight back into bed with your ex-boyfriend? Your bastard ex-boyfriend as I seem to remember you referring to him on many occasions.’
‘I . . .’ What can I actually say that will vindicate this?
Crush holds up his hands. ‘Does this relationship mean so little to you?’ He shakes his head in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe that you’ve done this. Have you so little trust in me? Do you have so little self-respect? When Marcus has continually let you down, you still run straight back to him the minute anything goes wrong?’
I can’t really argue with that candid assessment of the situation.
‘I wish I was getting straight back on a plane to Australia.’ He rubs his hand over his forehead. ‘Now I’m going to be stuck here, thanks to you.’
‘I would never, ever have deliberately set out to cheat on you, Aiden,’ I plead. ‘It was a moment of madness. I know exactly how it feels to be on the receiving end of this. I’d never do it intentionally. I was drunk . . .’
‘What a great excuse! Are you going to go out and shag another bloke every time you’ve had one over the eight? Is that what I have to look forward to?’
‘Of course not,’ I say quietly.
‘How do I know that?’ Then the fight goes out of his voice. ‘How do I know that now?’
Crush knocks back his wine and then he folds up his napkin.
‘Please don’t go,’ I say. ‘Forgive me. I want to give this another try.’
‘We spent so long getting together, Lucy, and now you’ve destroyed it all. I’m just so . . . so . . .’ He searches for a word bad enough. ‘So disappointed in you.’
Disappointed isn’t so terrible. Disappointed I could work with. ‘We could make it work, couldn’t we? If we wanted to.’
Aiden Holby looks at me and all I see is overt dislike in his eyes. Gone is the twinkling mischief that I’ve secretly loved for so long. Gone is the love that was growing there. ‘No. We can’t make it work. I don’t have the heart for it.’ He sighs at me. ‘I used to feel sorry for you, Lucy. I hated the way Marcus treated you. Now I pity you.’
I put my hand on his arm. ‘Aiden, please . . .’
He shrugs me off. ‘Go fuck yourself, Lucy,’ he says. ‘Better still, go fuck Marcus. You deserve each other.’
I’m shocked at his coldness, but perhaps I shouldn’t be. He’s hurt and I know exactly how that feels. Aiden marches out of the restaurant and I sit there, face burning with shame, trying not to cry.
The waiter comes over. ‘Would madam like to order?’
‘Yes,’ I say shakily. ‘Could you get me a new brain, please? The one I have doesn’t seem to function properly.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chantal looked at her body in the full-length mirror in the living room. She turned sideways and pulled her shirt tight over her blossoming bump. Currently, her stomach simply looked as if she’d been eating way too much chocolate over Christmas, but she knew it wouldn’t stay like that for long.
‘Aunty Chantal,’ Lewis said. ‘You’ve got a fat tummy.’
Nadia put down her magazine and gave her a wry glance over her shoulder. ‘Out of the mouth of babes.’
Chantal knelt down and cuddled Lewis to her. ‘Shall I tell you a secret?’ Her little friend nodded enthusiastically. ‘Aunty Chantal’s going to have a baby.’
‘Oh.’ Lewis wrinkled his nose. ‘Will it be my brother?’
‘No, honey. But I hope the baby will be your friend.’
‘Oh.’ He didn’t look too impressed at all. ‘Will he be able to play football with me?’
‘Yes, I’m sure. But the baby might not be another boy, it might be a little girl.’
Lewis looked as if he didn’t like the sound of that at all. ‘I think I might watch television now,’ he said, snaking away from her.
Chantal sighed. She sincerely hoped that she’d get a better reception from her husband when she broke her news to him. Well, she’d know soon enough, as she was due to meet Ted tonight to talk to him about their future. Her hands went to her bump. ‘I still can’t believe this is real,’ she confided to Nadia.
‘You’ll be a great mum,’ her friend reassured her. ‘You should try to enjoy your pregnancy, Chantal.’
But how could she, when for the next six months she’d be wondering who the father was. Would she be able to tell when the baby popped out exactly who it favoured? Would it have Jacob’s chiselled good looks? Or her husband’s strong, straight nose? She could barely even remember what the other guy she’d slept with looked like. Or would the baby come out looking like all of them did – like red, wrinkled, screwed-up old blokes – lovable only to their parents?
Chantal had been on the internet visiting all the paternity-testing sites, so she knew that she could have a pre-natal DNA test to determine who the daddy was, but there was a risk to the baby going down that route: tes
ts on the foetus were invasive and potentially dangerous. This little tyke might not have been planned and the exact circumstances of the baby’s conception might currently be vague, but he, she or it was most certainly wanted, and there was no way that Chantal would consider anything that could possibly harm the child.
An abortion wasn’t even an option, even though it might well have solved some of her problems. Now that she was pregnant there was no doubt that she wanted this baby – no matter whose it was. A fierce, protective instinct had already kicked in as soon as her pregnancy had been confirmed. First and foremost, the baby was hers – and that was all that she cared about. The DNA test could wait until after the child was born. Then it was simply a matter of taking a hair or saliva sample and sending them off to some anonymous laboratory with the appropriate fee. There was no choice as far as she was concerned. She’d have to wait until after the birth to find out for certain whose genes Baby Hamilton had inherited.
She and Ted had gotten tickets for the theatre tonight – a modern and controversial performance of Othello at the South Bank. Chantal couldn’t imagine why she’d bought seats for such an emotive play, other than the fact that it was the hot ticket in town. If she’d been thinking straight, she would have gone for something with a more neutral subject-matter. Perhaps it was true that pregnancy reduced your brain cells. Ted loved his Shakespeare, though; he’d been looking forward to the performance for weeks and she didn’t want to spoil it for him. She just hoped it wouldn’t put any ideas in his mind about killing his unfaithful wife.
Their relationship had been even more strained since they’d been away together at Christmas, but Chantal was determined to make it work. She wondered why they hadn’t noticed then the way her ‘love handles’ were developing. Maybe it was their failure – once again – to get naked with each other. Let’s face it, as much as she wanted their marriage to continue – albeit in a stronger form than it currently was – this news could be make or break for them. Could Ted live with the fact that the child could be another man’s? What would this do to their already shaky status?
So when to drop her bombshell on him? They were meeting in a bar for a drink – strictly soda for her from now on. Would that be the best place to tell him? Or should she wait until the interval in the show? Or maybe it would be best to broach it when they were enjoying a little late supper afterwards. If the play was as good as they said, Ted would be in a mellow mood. She hoped that the critics could be relied upon. Her marriage might depend on it.
Chantal spent the afternoon window-shopping, browsing mother and baby stores, trying to fix in her mind that this title was about to become appropriate to her. Then she’d taken herself along to her hairdressers for a blow-dry and a manicure to make sure she was looking her best for the evening.
They were meeting at one of Ted’s favourite bars near his office. By the time she arrived, the bar was already busy with City types enjoying an after-work drink mixed with a sprinkling of theatregoers, but Chantal had managed to find a bar stool and perched on it while she sipped slowly from her tumbler of mineral water. She’d always drunk lots of water, but suddenly it didn’t seem so great now that it had been foisted on her. Bizarrely, her body was craving a chilled glass of Chardonnay. And a cigarette. Even though she’d never smoked. There was nothing quite like being told that you couldn’t have something to make sure that you wanted it.
Chantal glanced at her watch. It was nearly seven o’clock and she was getting worried about Ted’s continuing absence. He’d said he’d meet her at six-thirty. They’d need to be leaving for the theatre soon as the play started in half an hour. She’d called his cell phone several times, but it had gone straight to voicemail. Maybe she should call him and tell him that she’d leave his ticket at the box office if he’d been delayed. Punching in his number once again, she was surprised when Ted answered.
‘Hi there,’ she said brightly. ‘I was beginning to worry that I’d been stood up.’
There was an uncomfortable pause at the other end of the phone. ‘Chantal,’ Ted said. ‘Something’s come up at the office. I’m not going to make it tonight.’
‘Oh.’ She couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice. There was always some impending crisis in his office; she shouldn’t be surprised.
‘Sorry, honey,’ he said. But Chantal thought he said it rather glibly. ‘Maybe another time.’
Maybe another time?
‘Ted,’ she said calmly. ‘I have something I need to discuss with you.’
‘Can’t it wait?’
‘It’s important. Shall I wait for you and we can have dinner instead of going to the show?’
‘No. No,’ he said distractedly. ‘You go along. I don’t know how long this will take. I’ll call you.’
‘Well, okay,’ she said reluctantly.
But Ted had already hung up.
Chantal stared at her cell. That was a little chilly. She finished her glass of tepid water. So what would she do with her tickets now? Sitting alone in a theatre watching a play about love gone wrong suddenly didn’t seem so appealing. Flicking through her contacts list, she located another number and pressed to dial. A moment later, the other cell was answered.
‘Hi, Chantal. Good to hear from you.’ The warmth in his voice was in stark contrast to her husband’s cool manner.
‘Are you busy tonight?’
‘Nothing that I wouldn’t drop for you.’
‘Could you get to the South Bank in half an hour?’
‘Yes.’
‘I have tickets for the National Theatre. Othello. Are you up for it?’
‘Sounds great.’
‘I’ll see you in the foyer, Jacob,’ she said. Then she hung up.
She wasn’t about to tell Jacob that she might be carrying his child, but if her husband couldn’t make time for an evening out with her then there was no reason for her not to enjoy someone else’s company.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nadia and Autumn were sitting in Chocolate Heaven. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’ Nadia asked for the third time.
‘I don’t mind,’ Autumn repeated with a tolerant smile. ‘Not at all.’
‘I should go,’ Nadia said, nibbling at her nails anxiously.
‘We’ll be fine,’ Autumn assured her. ‘Won’t we, Lewis?’
Nadia’s son nodded, licking at the chocolate ring that had already formed around his mouth.
‘As soon as we’ve finished our chocolate milk and cookies we’ll go to the park,’ Autumn told him. Lewis’s cheeky face broke into a grin and he ate his biscuit even quicker.
Nadia frowned. She was unused to leaving Lewis with other people. ‘Make sure he keeps his hat and gloves on.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Autumn said. ‘It’s not that cold today.’
Perhaps it was a chill round her heart that was making Nadia feel cold, rather than the actual temperature. ‘I promise that I’ll be as quick as possible,’ she said.
‘There’s no rush. Really. I don’t have a class to teach until this afternoon.’
Nadia lowered her voice. ‘Toby should be out this morning,’ she said so that Lewis couldn’t hear her. ‘I want to be in and out of the house before he comes home.’
Her friend looked at her, frowning her concern. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Nadia.’
‘I have to be sure,’ Nadia replied. ‘This is the only way.’ She kissed her son on the cheek. ‘Be good for Aunty Autumn,’ she warned him. Then she kissed Autumn too. ‘Thanks for this. I’ll see you later.’
Nadia took the Tube to the station at the top of her street. Her heart was pounding as she walked down the road towards her house. This was ridiculous, she told herself. All she was doing was having a look round what was still her own home. The only difficult point was that she didn’t want her husband to know that she’d been snooping here while he was out. He wanted her to trust him, but the fact was, she still wasn’t fully able to do that. It was concrete proof that sh
e needed.
The estate agent’s For Sale sign was still in the garden, but they’d had no interest in the house over the slow Christmas period. Now Nadia wasn’t even sure whether she still wanted to sell the house or not. They’d had such a lovely time together over the holidays, was it wise to persist in breaking up the family unit? It would be so much better for everyone if they could make their marriage work again. If Toby really had managed to crack his internet gambling habit, shouldn’t she do all she could to support him? Lewis had missed him so much. Though her son was having immense fun at Chantal’s apartment because of the novelty value, it wasn’t the same as being in his own home. However reluctant an ‘aunty’ Chantal might have been initially, she’d certainly now embraced Lewis as an important part of her life and was thoroughly spoiling him. Being a typical male, Lewis wasn’t objecting to all the attention – or all the chocolate. But it was still no substitute for having a dad around.
Thankfully, Toby’s van wasn’t parked outside the house. Nadia didn’t want it to look as if she didn’t trust her husband – but, essentially, that was what today’s little escapade was all about. It was much easier too, to do it without the ever-inquisitive Lewis in tow. At four years old, he was also the world’s worst keeper of secrets and she didn’t want to involve him in her cloak-and-dagger operation.
The house was tidy enough inside. She couldn’t fault Toby for his housekeeping skills since she’d been gone. In the kitchen, there was a single cereal bowl and a mug in the sink, and just seeing them sitting there looking so alone made her want to cry. She couldn’t bear the picture of Toby that it brought to mind – him sitting here by himself every morning.
On the worktop, the place where they dumped all of their post and their junkmail detritus, there was a pile of opened envelopes awaiting their eventual transport upstairs to the office in their tiny spare bed room to be dealt with. She slipped each of the contents out and examined them. A lot of bills – as usual – but all legitimate and mainly connected with Toby’s plumbing business. Nadia felt a bubble of relief rise within her; nothing untoward there.