Babies in Waiting (25 page)

‘What sort of thing do you wear?’ Gemma asked. ‘I mean . . . whatever it is, you’ll need to take the bottom half off when . . .’

‘When the bleeding and screaming starts,’ Louise said wryly. ‘I guess the answer is – something you’re unlikely to want to wear again. It’s going to get messy.’

‘And I had my Stella McCartney jumpsuit all picked out!’ giggled Toni. ‘Gemma, there’s still a tiny sliver of apple crumble there. You have to eat it, or I’m going to. Save me. Please.’

Gemma laughed and put the apple crumble on her plate. She felt more relaxed than she had in months. She wished she could stay at Louise’s sun-warmed table forever. Here she wasn’t the girl Ben had dumped. She wasn’t David and Samantha’s embarrassing pregnant daughter, she wasn’t the scandalous centre of gossip at Lady Grey’s . . . she was just Gemma, mum-to-be, scoffing dessert with the other mums-to-be. It was lovely.

Simon went in to the house to use the loo, and James brought a chair around to sit between Louise and Toni
and took Toni’s hand. He seemed happy to sit with her while she gossiped. Gemma turned to try and engage with the ginger chap, who was called Alan, who had been left on his own across the table from her. He was really uncomfortable with her, and obviously didn’t know what to say, so he talked boringly about the printing work he did with Louise. After years of listening to her dad’s friends waffle on, Gemma knew how to smile and nod silently, and she did it patiently, while watching James rest his hand lightly on Toni’s shoulder. Toni didn’t seem to notice, she was chatting animatedly to Louise, waving her hands around as she told a story about some weird woman she worked with who seemed to stalk everyone in the office.

At first, Gemma thought someone was chopping wood somewhere else on the property, but then she heard the yelling. Everyone else seemed to hear it at the same time too.

‘What’s that?’ said Toni.

‘Sounds like maybe there’s someone at the front door,’ said Simon, coming out of the house. And Louise went white.

Déjà vu. She’d lived through this moment before . . . the hammering on the door, the sinking feeling . . . but it couldn’t possibly be. Could it? Not again. She smiled at everyone, excused herself and went to open the front door. And horrifyingly, unbelievably, it was. Brian. On the doorstep, looking distraught, his hair all over the place, and even worse, at his feet, an enormous sports bag. She stood staring at him in silence for a moment. What the hell had he done?

‘I told Lisa everything. I had to. I couldn’t take it. The lying. She threw me out.’

‘And you came here?’

He looked astonished. ‘Of course! I had to. Our son . . .’

‘Our
son
?
Our
son?’ Without meaning to, she was almost shouting.

‘Yes. Our son,’ he said obstinately. She was utterly furious.

‘Since when is this
our
son? This was the
thing
you wanted me to get rid of . . . like it was nothing. You made me promise “it” wouldn’t come looking for you.’

‘Yes, but that was before I knew it was a boy.’

That took Louise’s breath away. She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. ‘Well, you must have known there was a fifty per cent chance. It had to be one or the other.’

‘I know it sounds crazy. At the time I just didn’t think about it. It wasn’t a child to me, just a threat. But now I know. It’s the son I always wanted. And I want to be a dad to him. I really do.’

‘What?’

‘Louise, I thought you wanted me to be a part of his life. I’d have thought you’d wanted me to . . . well, that’s why you emailed me, isn’t it? So we could all be together?’

‘No!’ she said vehemently. But why had she emailed him? To get his attention? To hurt him for rejecting his child? Never had she so regretted sending an impulsive email. Brian took another step into the hallway and said calmly, but firmly, ‘Louise, this is a boy. It’s my son. Carrying on the family name, the line . . .’

‘For fuck’s sake, are you completely insane? You’ve driven two hundred miles to spout some archaic Victorian crap at me about the sacred genetic line . . . you made it perfectly clear that you didn’t want to know this child, let alone for him to have your name. And let me tell you, he won’t. Not as a surname, not on the birth certificate . . .’ She was shaking with fury.

Brian’s face darkened. He spoke harshly. ‘Listen to me, you bitch, I’ve lost everything because of you. My wife, my children, my home, my job . . .’

‘Your job?’ Oh God. This was worse than she thought.

Suddenly, she heard a voice behind her.

‘Louise, is everything all right?’

She spun around. Toni was standing in the kitchen doorway. How long had she been there? What had she heard? Then Simon appeared behind her. In a split second, he took in the situation. ‘Ah, this must be Brian,’ he said smoothly, stepping around Toni. ‘I’m Louise’s brother, Simon. Come through to the living room; let me get you a drink. Louise . . . you’ve got guests to look after.’ He scooped up Brian’s bag and ushered him through the living-room door, pulling it closed behind him. Louise was left staring at an incredulous Toni.

‘It’s getting late,’ said Toni, faintly. ‘I . . . James . . . we’d better get going.’

‘Of course,’ said Louise quietly.

Within ten minutes, Toni and James had talked Gemma into giving them a lift to the station, and Alan, sensing things had somehow gone badly wrong, had also said goodbye and headed off to his mum’s place in Hersham. Louise spent a few minutes carrying dishes from the garden back into the kitchen. She was tempted to stay hidden in the kitchen, washing up, restoring order, pretending that Brian wasn’t sitting in her living room. Oh God . . . not in
her
living room, in
Adam
’s living room. What would Adam say? How would she explain? Everything she’d run away from had come crashing into her new, freshly formed little life, scattering friendships, possibly her new relationship, and quite likely her job as well. What had Brian said when
he appeared the last time? She’d put his life under the wheels of a juggernaut? Now she knew how he felt.

She couldn’t hide forever, though. She washed and dried her hands, spent a little more time smoothing on some hand cream and then walked purposefully into the living room. Simon and Brian were sitting in two armchairs, each nursing a large whisky. Brian was leaning forward on his knees, running one big hand through his already dishevelled auburn hair. Simon was sitting back coolly, letting him talk. They had turned the chairs so that they were sitting facing one another. There was nowhere for Louise to sit and join them, so she hesitantly perched on the edge of the sofa, some way away. Brian barely acknowledged her. His attention was focused on Simon, and he kept talking.

‘Well, when I broke down and told Lisa, that’s my wife, that I’d fathered a child with someone else, she told me to go. I told her it was just one night, just a terrible mistake, but she was furious. She kicked me out.

‘It was about seven in the evening, so I just flung a few things in a bag and went to a hotel. I thought I’d give her a few days to cool off and then try to talk to her. Anyway, the next day I went to work as normal. I was down on the shop floor talking to the print foreman, when I heard a racket in the gallery above. I looked up and Lisa was standing there. She started to scream at me. I could see my PA trying to pull her away, but she wouldn’t go. She was effing and blinding, which isn’t like her at all, calling me every name under the sun. And then she started yelling that she wanted to get her hands on Stephanie.’

‘Stephanie?’ Louise, said, a little surprised. Brian looked up at her and blinked. He had obviously forgotten she was there. He looked mildly annoyed that she had interrupted his flow. ‘Yes, Stephanie.’ He turned back to Simon. ‘Stephanie is my assistant manager . . .’

‘ . . . that you’ve been shagging on the side since your liaison with Louise. I’m familiar with the story,’ said Simon coolly. Brian looked as if he might be ready to argue the point, but seemed to decide against it and carried on with his story.

‘Yes, well. Lisa seemed to think it was Stephanie that was pregnant.’

‘You didn’t tell her who it was?’ said Louise disbelievingly.

‘I only said it was someone from work. She was so upset there wasn’t really time for more detail.’

Louise and Simon exchanged a glance. Simon was clearly enjoying this horrifying story. ‘So Lisa was screaming from the gallery, wanting to get her hands on the woman she mistakenly believed to be the mother of your child . . .’ he prompted.

‘It’s not funny,’ said Brian, affronted. ‘She was screaming and calling Stephanie every name under the sun, and saying things about my . . . manhood. Then she lifted up a bag she had with her, and she said, “Here’s the rest of your stuff, bastard.” And she emptied it down on to the shop floor. She’d cut all my clothes up into little bits and they just went everywhere. All over the wet print laid out to dry, into the presses. It was a terrible mess.’

Simon sat back and put his hand over his mouth as if he didn’t trust himself to speak. Louise slid off the arm of the sofa and pulled a cushion on to her lap to hug.

‘Stephanie was very traumatised and had to be signed off for stress . . .’ said Brian.

Of course she did, thought Louise. Lisa might have gone for the wrong woman, but everyone would know that there was no smoke without fire. Stephanie would be lying low, hoping to salvage something of her reputation and career.

‘And you?’ asked Simon in a small, strangled voice.

‘Edward, our GM, asked me to take indefinite leave of absence.’

‘Gosh,’ said Simon quietly.

‘So I have no home, no job, and exactly one suit, two shirts and three pairs of pants and socks to my name,’ finished Brian. Finally, he looked at Louise. ‘You ruined my life. What are you going to do about it?’

There was a long silence. A million retorts ran through her head. She thought about getting up and walking out, about hitting him, about laughing hysterically. Again, he said, ‘Well, what are you going to do?’

‘Buy you some socks?’ she said.

I felt like crying, to be honest, pretty much all the way home. James didn’t say much, thank heavens. He just held my hand, and when we got home he made me a cup of tea, then came and sat next to me on the sofa.

‘So did you know the father of her baby was a married guy?’ he asked gently.

‘Of
course
I didn’t!’ I said indignantly. ‘She never said anything about him being married. All she ever told me was that his name was Brian and that they’d broken up and he didn’t want anything to do with the baby.’

‘Wow,’ said James softly.

‘I just didn’t think she was . . . that type,’ I said, taking a big sip of my tea.

‘What type?’

‘The other-woman’s-husband-shagging type. It’s just such a bloody rubbish thing to do. I mean . . . what about the code of the sisterhood?’

‘The what?’

‘The unwritten rules that all women should look out
for one another. Support each other. Don’t backstab, don’t nick your mate’s boyfriend, don’t bitch behind her back.’

‘Well, sweetheart, I’ve never met a woman who signed up for that,’ laughed James. ‘Not even your own so-called best mates. And certainly not your work colleagues. You’ve experienced a fair bit of bitchiness since you got pregnant. I’m surprised you still have such faith in your gender.’

‘I just thought Louise was . . . you know . . . different. She’s older than me, and she seemed so sorted. Like someone I could trust.’

‘This doesn’t mean you can’t trust her,’ said James. ‘She did a stupid thing. A very stupid, very wrong thing, but it doesn’t make her a bad person.’

‘Doesn’t it? If you went and asked Brian’s wife and children today whether they thought she was a bad person, what do you think they’d say?’

‘They’d probably say she was,’ James agreed. ‘But maybe it’s easier for them to do that than hating Brian. After all, he’s the one that made promises to them and then broke them. Not Louise.’

‘Well, she should have!’ I sat up suddenly. ‘I make that promise to every woman I meet! I silently promise them, “I will not shag your husband!”’

James nearly fell off the sofa laughing, but that didn’t stop me. ‘I mean, what if she decided she’d taken a fancy to you? She did tell me she thought you were hot.’

‘Well, she’s only human,’ James said smugly. I punched him for that.

‘But what if? I mean, I chose her for a friend without
knowing she was the type to go after other women’s husbands. What if she’d put moves on you and squeezed your bottom in the kitchen?’

‘What if she did? Do I get a say in this at all?’

‘Are you saying you don’t fancy her?’

‘I don’t fancy her one bit, my love. I fancy you. You are my type, and you alone.’ He kissed me extravagantly and I hugged him back. I love him when he’s all silly and loving like that. I couldn’t resist teasing a bit, though.

‘Now that’s bollocks, because I know you fancy Megan Fox and that tall one off
Strictly Come Dancing
.’

‘Fancying celebrities is allowed,’ said James. ‘I’m never going to meet them, and they’re never going to squeeze my bottom in the kitchen.’

‘And if they did?’

‘I’d have to say, “I’m sorry, Megan, but I’m an old, married dad-to-be. Get away with your saucy behaviour and small denim shorts. Oh, and pass me my pipe and slippers on your way out.”’

Going on the baby forum, I learned a whole new vocabulary. A lot of it consisted of cutesy acronyms I’d never use, like DD for ‘Darling daughter’, or DS for . . . well, you get the picture. But I also learned that there was a whole world of shopping I never knew existed. You can’t believe how long a group of seemingly smart women can spend debating which pushchair to buy. Mind you, as a new, posh pushchair costs more than some cars, it’s a purchase worth serious consideration! But there were other things
too: in my third trimester, I learned that the two most important words in my life should be ‘birth plan’. For lots of the women on the site, birth plans took up about half their waking thinking time.