The No-Kids Club (17 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A
nna grunted as she unpacked what must be the fiftieth box of stock. Despite the seemingly endless inventory, she was happy to be at work and out of the house. Without the usual routine of chores, she felt anchorless, like she was drifting through time. To fill the hours, she’d taken to napping for as long as possible in the afternoon. Next thing she knew, she’d be playing video games!
Fifteen
minutes left in her shift, and then she’d be back in the empty, dark house until Michael came home in a few hours. To be honest, she’d prefer to stay here and count books.

Maybe she could pop into Christos’s restaurant on the way home? The thought sneaked into her mind like it had a million times in the past few days. But instead of pushing it away, she let it linger. If the business wasn’t doing well, the least she could do was pay him for her meal the other night. If she hadn’t drunk so much, she would have insisted on it at the time. Judging by the empty
restaurant
, Christos could use every penny. And he
had
invited her to come again. There was nothing wrong with having a chat, she told herself to placate the guilt gently stirring in her stomach.

A few minutes later, Anna was out the door, breathing in the balmy air. London in the spring could go two ways: slanting rain complete with blustery wind that made your cheeks turn red, or gentle sun and soft air that felt like a caress. Right now, thankfully, it was the latter. The scent of fresh green grass and wet earth hung in the air, and Anna couldn’t help smiling as she hurried down the hill towards the restaurant.

The building looked different in the day, Anna thought, tilting her head as she took in the greying paintwork and scuffed lettering in the dusty window. The whole thing could do with a good clean to make it more inviting—people needed to know how wonderful the food was! Inside, it looked dark and still. Maybe Christos wasn’t there yet? But the sign on the door said “Open”. She paused, unsure what to do.

‘Anna!’

Christos’s friendly face appeared in the window, and he waved wildly with a huge smile. Anna couldn’t help grinning in return. She loved his enthusiasm for everything. He obviously embraced life with a passion.

‘Hi,’ she said, glancing around the empty restaurant. Her cheeks flushed slightly. ‘I was just, er, passing by, and I thought I’d check if you were here. I really want to pay you for last week’s dinner.’

‘No, no, I told you, it was my pleasure.’ Christos leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and Anna’s stomach flipped at his scent. ‘Come into the kitchen.’ He gestured towards an area at the back. ‘I’m just doing some dinner prep.’

Anna followed him into a tiny galley kitchen, eyebrows rising at its immaculate state. Metallic surfaces gleamed and ingredients were neatly laid out. Vegetables had been chopped and set aside in white plastic boxes.

‘Wow,’ she said, surveying the scene. ‘Looks like everything
is read
y.’

‘Almost.’ Christos handed her a few tomatoes dripping with water. ‘I just need to finish chopping these. Would you like to help?’

‘Sure, but I’m no expert.’ Her method of chopping tomatoes basically involved whichever way did it the fastest. Although she cooked every night for Michael—well, she used to, anyway—it was more about getting the meal over with and less about enjoying
the proces
s.

‘Here, let me show you.’ Christos grabbed a sharp knife and deftly sliced the vegetable. ‘There.’ He turned and flashed his white teeth at her, and Anna felt her cheeks flush again. Must be the heat of the oven, she told herself.

‘Okay, I’ll give it a try.’ She picked up the same knife and tried to imitate his movements. Unfortunately, the tomato didn’t comply, and by the time she was done, it looked like someone had mashed the unfortunate vegetable. ‘Oops,’ she laughed.

‘Well, okay, this might not be your calling.’ Christos smiled, little lines springing out from his eyes. He took the knife from her and continued chopping his way through the remaining tomatoes.

‘How did you know cooking was
your
calling?’ Anna asked, curious. He seemed like such a man’s man, she couldn’t imagine him in the kitchen back in Greece.

‘I couldn’t
not
cook,’ he said, shaking his head as he chopped. ‘Even as a boy, I loved helping Mama make food. I just knew one day I’d open my own restaurant. And I have.’ His face lit up with pride.

‘So what do you like to do? What’s your passion?’ he asked. ‘A woman like you, I’m sure you’re very passionate.’

Anna hid a grin, thinking he’d probably meant to say
impassioned
. She had been passionate about building a strong relationship, but . . . Sighing, she thought again of Italy and her desire to teach there. The longing that had stirred a few weeks ago swelled inside now. ‘I’ve always wanted to visit Italy, to learn the language, the culture, everything.’ She cast a glance at the ruined tomatoes. ‘Well, maybe not the cuisine.’

‘Italy? Not Greece?’ Christos pulled a mock-hurt face, then grinned. ‘So what’s stopping you? Why don’t you go?’

Anna tilted her head as she considered his question. It seemed pathetic to say Michael was stopping her, because he wasn’t. He wouldn’t dream of telling her she couldn’t go if she explained how important it was. And until the past few weeks, she wouldn’t have wanted to take off without him, anyway. For goodness’ sake, she didn’t feel right if he went to bed without a good-night kiss!

‘I’ve just been busy,’ she muttered finally. ‘So can I help with anything else?’

‘Here. Why don’t you give this another try?’ Christos smiled as he handed over the knife. ‘Your victims await,’ he said, gesturing to a pile of unsuspecting peppers.

‘All right.’ She’d rather chop peppers than analyse her life any day. ‘Ouch!’ The knife sliced into the soft skin of one of her fingers, and Anna backed away from the vegetables, clasping her bleeding finger. ‘Oh, shit.’ Crimson liquid trickled from the wound, and Christos sprang into action, running cold water over the injury then gripping it tightly as he rummaged in the corner for the first-aid kit.

‘Just keep holding it,’ he instructed, opening the kit and uncovering a bandage. He took her finger and examined it quickly. ‘Doesn’t look too deep, thank goodness.’ He wrapped the plaster around her finger. ‘There. All done.’

I’m such an idiot, Anna thought as the cut throbbed. Leave it her to nearly chop off a finger.

‘You okay?’ Christos’s concerned eyes met hers, and she
nodded
.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine. Sorry!’

‘No, I am the one who is sorry,’ he said, moving closer. ‘You come to say hello, and I put you to work in the kitchen. What kind of friend is that?’ He moved in even more until his warm, solid body was flush against hers. Anna knew she should back away, but every muscle felt like it was melting with his closeness. Her cheeks were flaming now.

‘It’s fine,’ she managed to breathe, cursing her trembling voice. Christos slid an arm around her waist and her legs started to
shake, too.

‘I can kiss you better, if you like.’

Anna almost corrected him by saying the expression was kiss
it
better, but she couldn’t get the words out. She felt like she was watching from another place as Christos slowly leaned closer and closer until she could feel his breath on her face, and then—

‘Stop!’ She jerked away just as his lips were about to touch hers. As much as she wanted to—and God knows, every inch of her was straining towards him—she couldn’t.

‘I have to go,’ she said, rushing out the door and into the dining area. Fear scuttled through her, reaching every corner of her heart. Had she really almost kissed another man? Sure, she craved a bit of excitement . . . but not that kind. She and Michael may not have the perfect marriage she’d dreamed of, but she loved him. Despite all the hurt and confusion of the past little while, that much she knew.

So what kind of excitement did she want, then? Anna pushed outside, breathing in fresh air as her legs churned towards home. What she really needed was something for her; something away from Michael and their relationship. Marriage
was
a partnership, and although she’d been pulling more than her weight, she hadn’t behaved as an equal. She’d been so determined to keep them together, she hadn’t trusted they were strong enough to stand as individuals, too.

‘Michael?’ she called as she opened the door, praying he wouldn’t be in bed yet. ‘We need to talk.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

C
lare glanced around the top floor of the pub, the new venue for the rapidly expanding No-Kids Club. Yes, this would do fine. It was a little small, but better to have a crowded space than an empty room. Anyway, this place was all she could unearth at such short notice. She’d rung up almost fifty venues to find something to accommodate the group’s growing
numbers
—everything from a room overlooking the Thames at the Royal Festival Hall to an old converted brewery that reeked of yeast—but most had been too expensive, already booked, or too far from the beaten track. Just off Marylebone High Street, this pub was still central, and they’d agreed to rent the upstairs for free each Wednesday if the group ordered enough food. Clare sniffed the air, heavily scented with garlic. Normally she’d be eager to eat, but lately . . .

The thump of feet on the stairs heralded the club’s first arrivals. She glanced up, spotting Anna and a man holding hands. Was that the notorious Michael?

‘Hi there.’ Clare crossed the room towards them, kissing Anna on the cheek then extending a hand. ‘You must be Michael.’

‘Guilty.’ He gave a big, friendly smile and took her palm, his grip firm and strong.

‘I’m glad you could make it. We’ve heard so much about you.’ A pang of envy shot through her as Michael wrapped an arm around Anna’s waist and she leaned cozily against his chest.

‘Anna finally managed to drag me into the real world.’ He rubbed his belly. ‘And I have to say, I’m pleased she did! I’m starving and everything here smells delicious.’

Clare gestured towards a table she’d set up with stickered name-tags and Sharpies. ‘Grab a name tag then take a seat and order some food, if you like. The others should be arriving shortly.’

Michael nodded. ‘Will do. Nice meeting you, Clare.’

Michael wasn’t what she’d expected, Clare thought as they walked away. In her mind, she’d pictured a bloke who needed
everything
done for him, a babyish figure who commanded Anna around. But this man was confident, friendly, and clearly smitten with his wife. She watched their easy banter as they completed the name tags, then settled into places at the table, laughing and
smiling
. All those years together and there was still a spark
between them
.

If only she could find something like that, Clare sighed. How could she have imagined a surface relationship would make her happy? Sure, it had been easy, and she’d enjoyed the time with Nicholas. But she wanted more. Edward’s face swam into her mind, and for a brief instant she allowed herself to indulge in the fantasy of ringing him up, saying she loved him . . . and by the way, she was having his baby. Problem solved!

As if it was that simple, she snorted, sinking into a chair. They’d only known each other for a short time and while they’d got on wonderfully, add a kid to the mix and who knows what might happen. Not to mention she didn’t
want
to have a baby.

She’d find someone once her life settled back to normal, Clare told herself, making a mental note for the millionth time to get started down that path tomorrow. Voices echoed in the stairwell, and Clare stood and pasted on a smile.

‘Welcome,’ she said to the gaggle of five men who’d arrived. ‘Come on in and grab a name tag along with some food and drink, if you like.’

The group nodded and headed to the table as more members came in the door. Soon, the whole place was filled with the chatter and laughter of like-minded people here to celebrate the child-free lifestyle. After mingling for a bit, Clare collapsed back onto the chair, exhaustion overtaking her. Her mobile buzzed, and she drew it out, eyes widening at the name on the screen. Ellie—she could barely believe it.

‘Hey!’ A genuine smile crossed her face for the first time
that da
y.

‘Hey, there.’ Ellie’s cheerful voice rang through the handset. ‘What are you up to? Do you want to come over? I’d love a good chat. I miss you!’

Clare glanced at her watch. Eight o’clock and the club was in full swing. She could duck out and no one would notice. Right now, she really wanted to be with someone who knew her, even if that did involve listening to a stream of non-stop pregnancy updates.

Half an hour later, Clare was at Ellie’s doorstep.

‘Come in, come in.’ Ellie swung open the door and led Clare into the lounge, then slumped onto the sofa as if the effort had worn her out. Clare eyed her friend’s puffy ankles and scooted over to grab a small stool.

‘Here, put your feet up on this,’ she said, sliding it over. Ellie groaned with relief as she lifted her legs onto it. ‘I can’t believe you’re still working! You should have stopped by now. That baby looks like it could come at any time.’

‘I know, I know.’ Ellie sighed. ‘It feels like it could come at any time, too. It’s kicking and rolling all night, and I can barely get any sleep. Not that I’d sleep anyway—the heartburn is bloody killing me.’ She rubbed her swollen stomach. ‘But enough about me. I’m so tired of talking about it!’ She gave Clare a hard look. ‘What’s up with you? You okay? You don’t look the greatest, my friend.’

‘I know.’ Clare swallowed, wondering if she should tell Ellie why she looked so terrible.

‘What is it?’ Ellie tilted her head as she examined her friend. ‘Are you, like, really ill? Oh my God, you are, aren’t you? That’s why you look so serious.’ The colour drained from her face.

‘No, no,’ Clare said hastily. ‘I’m not ill. I’m . . . ’ Maybe saying it aloud would help make the pregnancy real, she thought, and give her a kick in the arse to do something about it. She opened her mouth, trying to move her lips to form the words.

‘Yes? You’re . . . come on, Clare! Anaemic? Under the weather? Exhausted? God’s gift to the medical profession?’ Ellie grinned.

Clare shook her head. ‘I’m pregnant.’

Ellie’s mouth dropped open, her eyebrows nearly shooting off her face. Her lips moved furiously, but no sound emerged. Despite herself, Clare smiled. She’d never seen her friend so lost for words.

‘Want some water?’ Clare asked.

Still unable to speak, Ellie nodded. Clare padded to the kitchen and filled two glasses, hoping this would give her friend time to recover. Back in the lounge, Clare handed Ellie the water. After a long sip, Ellie glanced up.

‘Sorry,’ she said, still looking flabbergasted. ‘I mean, I know I was joking about it earlier, but for it to be true . . . So . . . What . . .
Ho
w . . . Tell me
everything
.’

‘There really isn’t much to tell,’ Clare said, leaning back against the cushions. ‘It must have happened sometime in the last month I was with Edward.’

‘Does he know? Have you spoken to him about it? Because this is bloody perfect! You broke up since you didn’t want kids and he did. And now you’re having his baby!’ She hit her knee lightly. ‘Problem solved.’

Her words so closely echoed Clare’s earlier thoughts at the
No-Kid
s Club that Clare couldn’t help laughing. ‘If only. I haven’t told Edward, and I don’t plan to, either.’ Even as she said the words, a twinge went through her.

‘Oh. Why?’

‘Well . . . ’ Clare bit her lip, wondering what to say. ‘You know how I feel about having a child.’

To Clare’s surprise, Ellie didn’t do her usual nod-and-keep-mum routine like she always did whenever Clare mentioned her lack of desire to have kids. Instead, she leaned forward as much as her belly would allow, as if proximity would impart importance to her words.

‘Look, Clare. I’ve always kept quiet about you not wanting children because I thought, well, if that’s how you feel, then go with it.’ She paused. ‘But things have changed now. You
are
pregnant; it’s not a hypothetical any longer.’

Clare nodded, Ellie’s words sinking in. Until now, before actually voicing it aloud, it had felt hypothetical. ‘And?’

‘And . . . ’ Ellie paused, and Clare shifted under her friend’s intense gaze. In all the years she’d known Ellie, she’d never seen her so serious. And that included the time Ellie accidentally dyed her hair purple before the Year 11 leaving do, an experience Ellie still cited as the most traumatic of her life. ‘You know I’ll support you no matter what you decide. And if you decide you don’t want children, and that’s what will make you happy, then I’m one hundred percent behind you. But just tell me, what’s the real reason you don’t want children? And don’t give me any of that “I want to do what I want, when I want” malarkey. Everyone wants that, kids or not. And none of the career excuses, either, because there are ways around that—nannies, night nurses . . . it’s doable. Difficult, but doable.’

Clare held her friend’s gaze, her mind flashing to the moment on
Wake Up London
, when the whole of the nation had been awaiting her answer. She hadn’t been able to pinpoint a reason then, either. It was just a vague uneasiness, a feeling that motherhood was wrong for her.

‘Are you afraid?’ Ellie pressed.

Clare jerked back. ‘Afraid? Of what?’

‘Well . . . ’ Ellie paused again, like she was deciding how best to put it. ‘Afraid that you can’t do it?’ She rubbed her belly. ‘Just because your mother made a bad choice doesn’t mean you will. I bet you’d be a brilliant mum.’

Clare tilted her head. Was her mother the reason she didn’t want kids? A psychologist would likely think so, but Clare didn’t agree. She couldn’t remember ever wanting children, before or after her mum left. ‘The one thing Mum did teach me was not to even consider kids until I’m ready,’ she said. ‘And I’m anything but ready. I doubt I’ll ever be.’

‘No one is ever fully ready, Clare,’ Ellie responded. ‘For God’s sake, do you think I know exactly what I’m getting into?’ She shook her head. ‘It’s impossible to be ready. You do everything you can, but ultimately you close your eyes and leap.’

Clare swung towards her friend in surprise. She’d thought if anyone was ready for a baby, it’d be Ellie, with her endless classes and spreadsheets. To hear her express hesitation was a definite shocker. She fluffed the pillow behind her, trying to hide her expression. Ellie was probably hormonal; she likely didn’t even know what she was saying.

Maybe talking to her friend wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Clare had hoped telling Ellie would help her move on, deal with the situation. Instead, Ellie seemed determined to stir up doubts.

‘So when
are
you going to stop working?’ Clare asked, attempting to bring the conversation back to her friend again. Stretching out her legs, she looked over at the mound of her friend’s belly. A jolt of fear went through her at the thought that if she didn’t act soon, that would be her in about seven months’ time.

Clare sat upright, recalling Ellie’s question if she was afraid.
Was
she scared? Of course she was—as Ellie had said, who wouldn’t be fearful at the unknown? But Clare had been afraid of many things in the past, and that had never stopped her conquering them. So why was this different?

She ran a hand over her face. She was so, so tired of all of this, and Ellie wasn’t making it any easier.

Ellie reached out and touched her arm. ‘Just have a think about it,’ she said, ignoring Clare’s question. ‘And ask yourself this: If you really can’t answer why you don’t want children, don’t you think you should find out before making any decision? I’d hate for you to do something you might regret later.’

Clare met her best friend’s eyes, wondering if she was right. Was her hesitation to deal with the situation because she couldn’t figure out why having kids didn’t appeal? Perhaps uncovering the answer was just what she needed to propel her forward.

But how on earth was she supposed to do that?

‘That was fun.’ Michael smiled up at Anna, taking her hand as they exited the Tube on the way back from the No-Kids Club. She slowed her step, squeezing his fingers. For once, she didn’t want to rush home. She wanted to savour the walk and enjoy being with the man she loved. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since their chat last night, but Anna was sure their marriage would be stronger than ever. Thank God she’d finally been honest with
her husban
d.

After returning from Christos’s restaurant, she’d stridden into the lounge and switched off the video game. Michael had turned to her in surprise.

‘Anna? Are you okay?’

She shook her head, sinking onto the sofa beside him.

‘No. I’m not.’ Anna took Michael’s warm hand in hers, then drew in a deep breath. ‘For the past few years, I’ve put my all into our marriage. The cooking, the cleaning, everything.’

‘I know.’ Michael’s brow furrowed and he tilted his head. ‘But you want to do those things, right?’

A tiny bit of guilt stirred inside her as she stared into her husband’s eyes. She couldn’t blame him for being confused—she
had
wanted to be the domestic glue holding them together. She’d only realised recently it wasn’t enough.

‘It’s not just chores. You . . . ’ Anna glanced down, toying with a loose thread on a pillow. ‘You don’t seem like you care anymore,’ she said finally, meeting his eyes again. ‘You’re always busy with video games, we haven’t gone out for ages, and we don’t even make love anymore.’ The words tumbled out and her voice trembled with fear. She’d kept her emotions hidden for so long, hoping she could somehow find a way to make their relationship better. Was it too late now to turn things around? Maybe if she’d spoken up sooner . . .