Take a Chance on Me (6 page)

Sixteen days after insemination day, Abbie phoned Patty’s number.

‘Hi, it’s me. Um, any… news?’

‘Oh, hello Abbie! No, nothing yet…’

‘So that’s
good
news.’ Abbie sent up a heartfelt prayer of thanks and envisaged the fetus, privately convinced that it was all her hours of visualizing it that were keeping it in there.

‘Well, it’s too soon to tell, really. I might just be, you know, a bit late.’

‘But you could do a test. I can buy one and bring it over, if you like!’

‘Oh you’re so sweet, but I really think it’s too early to do an accurate test. Look, I’ll call you if anything happens.’

‘But—’

‘And just to let you know, I’m popping over to France to see my mum for a week, then I’ll be back next Wednesday. So if my period still hasn’t started, I’ll do the test then and we’ll really know for sure!’

The coiled spring inside Abbie’s chest coiled tighter still… another nine days of uncertainty was almost more than she could bear. But since she couldn’t drive over to Cornwallis Crescent and physically force Patty to pee on a stick, what choice did she have?

Somehow she made it through the next week and a bit. At times she was literally counting the minutes. But it was still possible to carry on believing that everything was fine because Patty hadn’t called to tell her it wasn’t.

And then, on Wednesday evening the phone rang and there was Patty’s voice on the other end of the line.

‘Oh Abbie, it’s me. I’m so sorry, it didn’t work. My period started today.’

Abbie slid down the wall until she was sitting on the living room floor. No baby. So sorry. Up until this moment, she hadn’t even realized how much emotion she’d invested in this non-existent miracle.

‘Abbie? Are you all right? Look, we tried. We did our best. Sorry.’

OK, get a grip, it’s not the end of the world.
Although it felt as if it was
. Forcing herself to keep it together, Abbie said, ‘Well, we’ll just have to try again.’

‘Yes.’ Pause. ‘Except, um, could you use someone else next time? Because I don’t think I want to do it anymore.’

‘Sorry?’ Abbie felt as if all the air was being squeezed from her lungs. ‘But you
promised
…’

‘I didn’t promise. We
agreed
that I’d keep going if it didn’t work straight away. But, you know, I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought,’ said Patty. ‘So I’ve changed my mind about doing it again.’

‘But we’re paying you!’

‘Abbie, don’t get upset. I’m not trying to con you out of your money. Of course I won’t take any more… as soon as you find someone else, you’ll pay them instead.’

‘
Don’t get upset
?’ bellowed Abbie. ‘How do you expect me to feel?’

‘OK, now you’re shouting at me. And I’m not going to change my mind.’ There was an edge to Patty’s voice. ‘Anyway, it wouldn’t be practical,’ she went on, ‘because I’m leaving Bristol. My mum’s asked me to go down to France, move in with her. So even if I did want to carry on trying for you, I wouldn’t be able to.’

‘Please. Please don’t go. Just… have a rest for a couple of weeks, then maybe you’ll feel better and we can give it one more try… please, I’m begging you…’

It wasn’t dignified and it didn’t work. Patty hastily ended the call and Abbie collapsed in a heap on the floor. She then stayed collapsed in bed for the next fortnight, refusing to speak or eat or go to work. In an act of desperation, Tom drove over to Bristol to try and reason with Patty, but she told him her mind was made up. The emotional repercussions were just too great. She should never have said she’d do it for them in the first place. And she hadn’t been lying about leaving Bristol either; the flat had been filled with packing cases, all ready for her move to the south of France.

Upon hearing this, Abbie retreated still further into herself. Panicking, Tom admitted the reason for her breakdown to their doctor, earning himself the most almighty lecture on how stupid and irresponsible they’d been to even consider advertising for a surrogate; any fool could see that it was a surefire recipe for disaster.

The fact that he was right didn’t make it any easier to bear. Abbie wondered why she was even bothering to stay alive, when she was evidently so gullible and pathetic and pointless. The only thing that stopped her taking an overdose was, she couldn’t be bothered.

To say she wished she’d never met Patty Summers was the understatement of the year, but at least it had taught her something. Never, ever again would she entrust another woman with her hopes and dreams.

Now, nineteen years on, Abbie realized Tom was holding her hands in his own. Her brain felt as if it had been taken out, shaken hard like a snow globe, and put back in upside-down. What he’d told her simply wasn’t believable; it couldn’t be real. But, deep down inside, she knew it was.

‘Patty lied to us,’ Tom said again. ‘She did get pregnant after that first try. But she realized she wasn’t going to be able to hand the baby over. She didn’t expect to feel so different, but she did. As soon as the hormones kicked in, she knew she wanted to keep it herself. So she told her mother, who promised to help her… and that was it.’

‘She took our baby. She stole her.’

‘Legally, it wasn’t
our
baby.’ Tom’s voice was gentle but she could feel the pain he was suffering too. This eighteen-year-old girl was half Patty’s, half his. She was his biological daughter and he’d been cheated out of knowing her, loving her, seeing her grow up.

And speaking of cheating… oh God, Abbie felt sick all over again at the thought of last night. She might not have slept with Des, but it could so easily have happened. And she’d spent the night with him in his bed. It would kill Tom if he ever found out. Well, he just mustn’t, that was all. Anyway, she couldn’t even think about that now. The daughter they’d spent the last eighteen years missing out on and grieving for was alive and curious and desperate to meet her father.

‘Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.’ Tom stroked her hair. ‘I didn’t know how to tell you before.’

None of this was his fault. She had the best husband in the world and she didn’t deserve him.

‘Never mind.’ Would he and Georgia form a father-daughter relationship? Would she be excluded and left out? Abbie’s heart felt as if it was breaking, but the least she could do now was support Tom. Summoning a weak smile, she said, ‘Well, I think you should give the girl a ring. I bet you can’t wait to meet her.’

***

Bursting to talk about Will, Cleo was ready to pounce on Shelley the moment she arrived to pick up Saskia at seven o’clock.

‘Hi! Sorry I’m late—the client’s flight was delayed!’ Shelley sped past her into the house at seven-thirty, grabbing Saskia’s coat from the banister and calling, ‘Sass? Come on, darling, we’ve got to rush home and get you to bed, it’s school tomorrow.’ Over her shoulder she said to Cleo, ‘How was Father Christmas? Did you have a good time?’

‘Great. Um, but you can stay for a quick coffee, can’t you? Just for ten minutes? You won’t believe what happ—’

‘Here you go, put your arms in there… good girl, now your boots… sorry, we really can’t stop, I’ve got to wash and iron Sass’s PE uniform when we get home… forgot to do it yesterday! Got your present from Santa, sweetie? Ooh, isn’t that lovely! Right, we’re out of here! Bye!’

No one could out-whirlwind Shelley when she was in a rush. Within milliseconds they were out of the door, into the car, and whizzing back to Bristol, leaving Cleo open-mouthed like a cod on the doorstep.

Still
bursting to share what had happened and tragically minus a sympathetic ear.

OK, fine. She’d just have to tell Ash instead. And threaten to punch him if he laughed his head off.

Nimbly, she vaulted the wall separating their cottages and rattled the knocker on his front door. What wasn’t a promising sign, though, was the fact that the house was in darkness.

After bellowing his name through the letterbox a couple of times and getting no response, she went back to her own cottage and rang Ash’s mobile, only to find it switched off. Honestly, was he doing it on purpose? Frustratedly, Cleo tried her sister’s number instead and got Tom.

‘Oh hi. Abbie’s upstairs in the bath. I’ll tell her you rang, but she’s not feeling that great just now.’ Sounding pretty subdued himself, he said, ‘So she’ll probably call you back tomorrow if that’s all right.’

OK, was this some kind of conspiracy?

Well, she couldn’t stay here. She’d explode. After pacing around the living room a couple more times, Cleo reached for her jacket and switched off the TV. Maybe Ash was over at the pub.

Except he wasn’t. The pub wasn’t that busy at all. Still, now that she was here, she may as well make the walk worthwhile. Perching on one of the stools at the bar, Cleo ordered a gin and tonic and debated whether to tell Deborah behind the bar about the evils of married men.

Then the door leading to the loos opened and Johnny emerged, and she realized the half-full pint of Guinness on the bar three feet away from her belonged to him.

‘It’s OK, no need to move.’ He looked amused as she began to slide down, drink in hand, and swung himself back onto the stool next to hers. ‘I’m not in a biting mood tonight.’

Cleo, who was most definitely in a biting mood, said tightly, ‘I didn’t know you were still here. Shouldn’t you be back in New York?’

‘Well yes, strictly speaking I should. But it seemed safer to stay and keep an eye on the house. Guard it from anyone who might be wanting to put off potential buyers.’

Trust him not to forget that. ‘I already told you, I won’t do it again.’

‘I know you won’t. I’m making sure of it. Well,’ Johnny amended, ‘I would be, if only we could
find
another buyer.’

Was he trying to make her feel guilty? Cleo crossed her legs, coolly examined her drink, then took an elegant sip in the style of Audrey Hepburn. The effect was slightly spoiled by her phone bursting into life, her glass slipping, and a sloosh of icy gin and tonic dribbling down her chin into her cleavage.

OK, maybe it didn’t quite
count
as a cleavage, but that was where it would have dripped if she’d had one.

‘Bit of a waste.’ Johnny passed her a bar towel. Glancing at the phone lying on the bar, he said, ‘It’s your boyfriend. Aren’t you going to answer that?’

She’d already seen Will’s name flash up on the screen. How he had the nerve to call her, she didn’t know.

Leave it? Answer it?

What the hell. She picked up the phone on the fifth ring and said, ‘Not interested,’ before hanging up.

‘Oh dear.’ Johnny raised his eyebrows. ‘Problems?’

‘Don’t be nosy.’ Cleo finished dabbing at the wet patch on the front of her white T-shirt.

‘I’m not nosy. Just concerned.’

‘Well don’t be. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about.’

‘I thought you made a lovely couple, that’s all. You seemed so happy together.’

Now he was definitely making fun of her.

Bee-eep
, chirruped her phone, signaling the arrival of a text.

I can explain everything.

Cleo texted back: You’re hilarious.

Bee-eep
. This time his message read: I’m coming over.

‘You know, this is what I love about the good old-fashioned village pub,’ said Johnny. ‘The sparkling conversation.’

Ignoring him, Cleo texted back: No No No.

Bee-eep
: Please. I need to see you.

‘The badinage,’ Johnny continued, as if to himself, ‘the dazzling repartee.’

Oh for crying out loud. Cleo quickly sent a final text: NO WAY, then switched off her mobile and said, ‘Debs? I’ll have another drink.’

She may as well, seeing as staying here was preferable to going home and having a pointless argument with herself about how gullible she’d been.

‘I’ll get that.’ Johnny was reaching for his wallet.

‘No thanks. I’ll buy my own.’

‘That’s the other thing I love: the friendliness of the locals.’

‘Look, I’m not in a friendly mood.’

He shrugged. ‘Maybe I could cheer you up.’

‘You know something?’ said Cleo. ‘You really couldn’t.’

‘So that makes two of us. Me and poor old Will.’ Grinning, Johnny said, ‘Has it ever occurred to you to wonder if the person at fault might actually be you?’

The pub began to fill up, Johnny played a couple of games of pool with three members of the local football team, and Cleo took her mind off Will by chatting to Deborah about salad dressings, Renee Zellweger’s love life, and all-time favorite shoes. She was just describing her beloved red boots, bought in a sale and gorgeous beyond belief to look at but sadly a size too small, when the door swung open behind her and she caught a faint waft of Armani aftershave.

It didn’t take a genius to know who’d just turned up. Cleo swiveled round on her stool and looked at the man who until a few hours ago had been her boyfriend.

One for whom she’d had
very
high hopes.

‘Go away, Will.’

‘Cleo, we need to talk.’

‘You might need to. I don’t.’

‘Please.’ Aware of interested eyes upon him, he said, ‘Can we just go to your place?’

‘Um… how can I put this?
No
.’

‘Look, I’m
sorry
.’ Moving towards her, he said pleadingly, ‘But I love you.’

Cleo’s breath caught in her throat. All her life she’d dreamed of someone saying those three little words to her. In the romantic sense, anyway; of course her parents had said it while she’d been growing up. But somehow she’d managed to reach the age of twenty-nine without ever once hearing it from a boyfriend, what with them all having been a shower of losers who either had a morbid fear of the word, an aversion to commitment, or… well, basically, they just hadn’t liked her enough to say it. And now, finally, someone was telling her he loved her. In public too. He was announcing it in front of everyone in the pub, not caring who heard him, which would have been
so
romantic, if only the circumstances could have been different.

As it was, Cleo was filled with fury and disappointment that he had ruined it for her; her first I-love-you would always be this one, about as unromantic as it was possible to get.

‘You lied to me.’

Will spread his arms wide in desperation. ‘Because I love you.’

‘That flat in Redland. You said you lived there.’

‘I know.’ There was a faint sheen of perspiration across his forehead. ‘It’s Rob and Damon’s place. I had to do it; I didn’t want to lose you.’

And now he was making it worse. Did he really have no idea how close he was to getting a bar stool brought down on his head? Cleo gripped her drink tightly. ‘Go away, Will. Go home.’

‘Not until we’ve had a proper talk. Come outside,’ he begged. ‘Let me explain.’

‘I think she wants you to leave.’ When had Johnny abandoned his game of pool and resumed his old position at the bar?

Will eyed him evenly and said, ‘This is between me and Cleo.’

‘Cleo doesn’t want to speak to you.’

‘She needs to hear what I have to say. In private.’

Johnny turned his gaze on Cleo. ‘Did he hit you?’

‘For God’s sake,’ Will exploded. ‘Of course I didn’t hit her!’

Ignoring him, Johnny continued, ‘Did he hurt you? In any way?’

‘No, I bloody didn’t!’

‘Well, you’ve done something to upset her.’

This was ridiculous; why was she even wondering if she should say it aloud? ‘He’s married,’ Cleo said flatly. ‘And he has children.’

‘Oh great.’ Will’s eyes darted around the pub. ‘I didn’t mean it to happen, OK?’

‘He’s been lying to me for three months. I just found out today. Doesn’t your wife ever wonder where you are?’ said Cleo.

‘Just come outside,’ Will begged. ‘For two minutes.’

With a hiss of exasperation, she slid down from the stool. Next to her, Johnny said, ‘Sure about this?’

Cleo nodded. Will’s wife was the innocent party here; she didn’t deserve to be publicly humiliated, even if Will did.

Outside, the temperature had plummeted; a thick frost was spreading across the parked cars and the grass was crisp beneath their feet.

‘Nothing you can say is going to make me change my mind.’ Cleo wrapped her arms tightly around her shivering torso.

‘I love you,’ said Will.

Don’t say that
.

‘You’re a liar and a cheat.’

‘You don’t know what it’s like. My marriage is over. But it’s different with you… when we’re together, I feel alive again!’

Oh yes, the clichés were really piling up now. ‘You’re disgusting,’ Cleo shot back. ‘And how do you suppose I feel? I believed everything you told me! I
trusted
you.’

‘That’s because we’re perfect for each other.’ Will took a step towards her. ‘We’re
meant
to be together. Look, I made a mistake before, I thought Fia was the one for me, but she isn’t. My life at home is a nightmare—’

‘Apart from when you’re out at clubs, picking up girls and pretending to be single.’

‘Once.
Once
I did that. And it was the best night of my life,’ Will said fiercely. ‘Meeting you changed everything… it was fate!’

‘Don’t touch me.’ Cleo backed away as he reached out to her. ‘Don’t you dare.’

‘But you have to believe me, it’s the
truth
.’

‘I’m not interested in believing anything you say.’

‘Cleo, when I—’

‘OK, time’s up.’ The door was wrenched open and Johnny emerged from the pub. ‘You can leave now. Head on home to the wife and kids. I’ll take care of Misa.’

Will looked at him with loathing. ‘She hates you.’

‘Maybe so.’ Johnny’s mouth began to twitch. ‘But right now, I reckon I’m the lesser of two evils. So, bye!’

‘Don’t tell me what to do,’ countered Will.

The air was thick with testosterone. Oh God, don’t let there be a fight.

‘Wouldn’t dream of it. Just making a suggestion. Take care driving home now,’ Johnny drawled. ‘To wherever it is you live. The roads are slippery.’ He paused for a moment, then added, ‘A bit like you, really.’

There was no fight; it all happened in a split second. Will took a furious swing at Johnny, who simply put out an arm and blocked the punch. Cleo was watching and he didn’t appear to do anything else at all, yet somehow the next moment Will was flying backwards through the air as if twanged by a giant elastic band. Then he hit the ground, his feet shot out from under him, and he was sprawled in a daze, flat on his back on the frosty grass.

‘Oh dear,’ said Johnny. ‘Slipperier than I thought.’