One Night Stand (34 page)

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Authors: Julie Cohen

BOOK: One Night Stand
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Then again none of them had asked me who was the father of my child. Maybe they assumed it was Hugh since we were so close. Which made it even stranger that they would be covering for him.
 
I shook my head and picked up a plastic crate half full of empties, which was heavy enough for me and my belly. No matter how much I thought about it, it all boiled down to one thing: I was paranoid. And not because of Hugh; it was because our relationship was so ill-defined.
 
I couldn’t live like this. I had to make the leap, one way or the other. I both hoped for and dreaded Sophie’s report.
 
As I nudged open the door to the back alley with my hip I saw someone coming down the stairs that led to Jerry’s flat. I recognised Hugh’s shoes immediately; they had been under my bed that morning.
 
I waited till his face appeared and he could see me. He stopped dead. I saw that Jerry was behind him.
 
‘Why do you two look so guilty?’ I asked.
 
Hugh’s guilty expression melted away beneath a smile. ‘Do I look guilty?’ He came down the rest of the steps and took the crate of empties from me. ‘I’ll put these out back and then I’ve got to get home and eat something. See you later, Jerry. El.’
 
I could have followed him, but I knew better. Hugh was too good at keeping secrets.
 
Jerry, on the other hand, was rubbish. ‘Don’t you carry them empties,’ he said to me, but he couldn’t quite muster the requisite sternness. He skulked past me, looking guilty as hell.
 
It took about an hour of unsubtle questions before I got it out of him.
 
‘We want to give you a party here in the pub,’ he admitted, and then downed the rest of his brandy in an attempt to cover up his embarrassment. ‘A launch party, Hugh said it was called. For that book of yours.’
 
I blinked. ‘Really?’
 
‘Well, we figure you won’t be doing any partying for a while after the baby. I didn’t want to keep it a secret; it was Hugh who wanted it to be. I said a surprise party would probably make you go into labour or something.’
 
‘You’re most likely right,’ I said, because I didn’t want him to feel bad for dropping the secret, not after he’d been so thoughtful.
 
‘Plus, you probably want to invite people yourself. All the exciting book-type people you probably know.’
 
Exciting book-type people. I pictured Bryce, hulking in a pink designer shirt and crocodile shoes, and Duane in his London suit, standing on the battered sticky carpet of the Mouse and Duck, drinking cava from half-pint glasses and pretending to snack on mini chicken kievs and pork scratchings.
 
And yet Jerry and Hugh had thought of it. I felt a wave of love for Hugh so strong that I had to swallow, hard.
 
There was a good deal of shame mixed up with that emotion, too. For years I’d treated Hugh as part of the furniture. And, while I was at it, what had I ever done to deserve the support Jerry was giving me? I’d grumbled about my job, nagged him to improve the pub, and dreamed about getting some other more exciting job.
 
‘It’s extremely kind of you, Jerry. I’ve never had a launch party before.’
 
He nodded, his face red. ‘Well, you just keep the fifteenth of May free, and invite whoever you want, and leave the rest to me and Hugh. We’ll do you proud.’
 
‘I know you will. Thank you, Jerry.’ I hugged him and he blushed harder, especially because Paul and Phil sent up a lecherous cheer from the other side of the pub.
 
‘Still no news, I’m afraid,’ Sophie Tennant said to me over the phone, her voice matter-of-fact as always.
 
I settled back in my chair with my hands cradling my stomach. The baby shifted and squirmed. At seven-and-a-half months pregnant I could identify the baby’s legs and arms when they poked me.
 
‘Sophie,’ I said. ‘Remember I said that if you found him, it would be a sign for me?’
 
‘Yes, I remember that. I remember feeling particularly uncomfortable about it, to tell you the truth. But it’s your life and your money.’
 
‘Well, I’ve had another sign. If you haven’t found George by the fifteenth of May, I want to call off the search.’
 
‘All right. Why is that, if you don’t mind me asking?’
 
I took a deep breath. I’d been thinking about this for days. I felt a squirming inside me where the baby’s head was, as if he or she were nodding in agreement.
 
‘I’m having a party that night - which you’re invited to, by the way - and I’ve decided that’s the night I have to bite the bullet and tell Hugh how I feel about him.’
 
‘Mm,’ she said. ‘You’re a brave woman. And, if you don’t mind my saying, a little bit of a drama queen.’
 
‘I’m a writer. Staging a scene comes with the territory.’
 
‘Okay,’ Sophie said. ‘I’ll do my best to find the subject before the fifteenth of May, and I’ll write up my final report for that day. And I’ll be at the party. I’m a private investigator, and nosiness comes with that territory.’
 
34
 
Hugh held me tight against him, my naked back to his naked front, and pressed a long kiss on my neck, damp with sweat. I had just about caught my breath, but my heartbeat was still raging.
 
‘I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to do this,’ he murmured into my ear, stirring my hair. His hands wandered lazily over my body.
 
With the speed of light, my post-coital bliss transformed into post-coital anxiety.
 
It was about two hours till my launch party at the Mouse and Duck. Which meant there were roughly four hours before I poured Hugh another glass of champagne, took him by the hand, led him outside to the front of the pub, lit by streetlamps and the stars, and delivered my carefully rehearsed speech, telling him that I loved him and I wanted to make our relationship real and for him to be the father of my child.
 
That was, if Sophie didn’t ring first to say she’d found George.
 
And if Hugh didn’t jump the gun by breaking up with me.
 
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, trying to make myself sound satisfied and lazy instead of paranoid and crazy.
 
‘I heard that sex can make a very pregnant woman go into labour,’ he answered. He rubbed his palm briefly against my belly before sliding it up to cup around my breast, his fingers toying with my nipple. ‘And if you get much bigger I’m not sure the two of us are both going to fit into this bed.’
 
Right. He was talking about mechanics rather than emotion. ‘Quite honestly, now that we’re in to thirty-seven weeks, I feel like going into labour wouldn’t be such a bad thing,’ I said. ‘I’m sure nature makes you pregnant for nearly a year just so you can get so sick and tired of it that you’re actually looking forward to labour pains.’
 
Hugh chuckled and gently manoeuvred me so that I was facing him. Not an easy task.
 
‘Have you thought much about labour?’ he said.
 
‘A bit. Roisin and I are going to those classes. Last Wednesday I had to pretend to be a cervix.’
 
I was more preoccupied with risking my relationship with Hugh than with labour. I was, rightly or wrongly, confident that my baby was going to arrive healthy. But if Hugh and I went wrong, there was no epidural that could take that pain away.
 
‘They say it’s like forcing a bowling ball through a hole that’s meant to fit a golf ball.’
 
I winced. ‘Thank you so much for that analogy, Hugh.’
 
‘You’re welcome.’ He nuzzled my neck again. ‘Anyway, I figure you don’t have to worry about that, because once you’ve had the Mighty Hugh, a bowling ball is nothing.’
 
‘Don’t flatter yourself, mate.’
 
The midwife leading the classes had talked about the importance of having a birth partner. It had been on the tip of my tongue to ask Hugh over the past weeks, but I’d refrained, for two reasons. One was that if Hugh said he loved me, he’d be with me in the delivery room as a matter of course, so asking him before I found out his feelings would be redundant. The other was that if Hugh didn’t love me, and he’d committed himself to helping me deliver the baby, he would feel obligated to be there even if he didn’t want to be. And I didn’t want anything out of Hugh that he didn’t want to give by himself.
 
It was another thing I’d know before tonight was over.
 
‘It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,’ Hugh said. ‘I am exceptionally well-endowed. Everybody tells me so. Even that nurse back at the STD clinic, remember her? She said it was the finest one she’d ever come across.’
 
‘Oh, I see,’ I said. ‘You’re trying to tell me that you haven’t been sleeping with everybody in sight for the past few years because you’re an unrepentant sex maniac - but because you’ve been canvassing opinion about the size of your penis.’
 
I tried to keep it light, but a small hint of bitterness crept through. I disguised it with a smile.
 
Hugh, though, looked serious. ‘Actually, Eleanor, the reason I slept with everyone in sight for years is—’
 
My mobile rang on the bedside table. I reached over and grabbed it before I could hear any more about Hugh’s penis or his many lovers. In the split second before I picked it up I was certain it was Sophie ringing to tell me that she’d found George at the last minute, and my heart rolled over.
 
But it wasn’t Sophie’s number on the display. It was Bryce’s.
 
‘Estelle!’
 
His shriek was so loud that I held the phone away from my ear for a moment. When it seemed he’d stopped, I spoke gingerly into it. ‘Bryce? How are you? Are you still coming to my party tonight?’
 
‘Yes! But there’s some news that can’t wait! I’ve sold the film rights to
Throbbing Member
, darling!’
 
‘Oh my God. Really?’ I clutched the phone. Beside me, Hugh sat up. ‘I’ve sold the film rights to my book,’ I told him, and then something occurred to me and I spoke into the phone. ‘You haven’t sold them to a porno company, have you?’
 
‘No, I’ve sold them to Reuben Rogers! Remember, he won a Palme d’Or at Cannes two years ago for
The London Lads
? Very edgy, very funny, very now? He wants to try a romantic comedy that’s different and he thinks
Throbbing Member
is perfect! Estelle, I told you this one was going to transform your career!’
 
‘Wow,’ I said. I grabbed hold of Hugh’s hand and squeezed it, hard. ‘You weren’t wrong.’
 
Hugh was grinning all over the place.
 
‘Reuben is dying to meet you and so he said he’d come along with me to your launch party tonight! I hope you have plenty of champagne lined up! Though I don’t suppose you can drink it, can you?’
 
‘I don’t think I need to,’ I said, dazed. I said goodbye, hung up the phone, and Hugh crushed me in a massive hug.
 
‘A film!’ he cried. ‘I’m so proud of you, Eleanor.’ He kissed me and grinned and kissed me again.
 
But do you love me?
I was tempted to ask now, while we were celebrating, in the wake of the great news. It could make everything perfect.
 
Or it could ruin it all.
 
I played it safe. ‘Hold on, let me go and get my tape measure.’
 
‘Why?’
 
‘I think we have enough time to put the Mighty Hugh to the test before we have to get dressed. I’d like to gather some objective evidence on whether that STD nurse was telling the truth.’
 
 
‘This is the Mouse and Duck?’
 
I stood in the centre of the pub and turned slowly around. The fluorescent ceiling lights were turned off; instead, the place was lit by candles and strings of fairy lights. A fire blazed in the disused fireplace. In the dim light the walls looked warm, not dingy.
 
The bar was strewn with flower arrangements, filling the whole room with scent. I saw brand-new fluted glasses and an array of bottles that looked, from here, like real champagne.
 
And Norman, in his usual seat, was wearing a suit.
 
I turned to Jerry, who stood beside me. ‘You did this?’
 
‘We all did,’ he muttered. ‘Maud and Martha did the flowers and that, and us lads did the heavy moving.’

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