10 | A divine answer
10 | a divine answer
WILLIAM
If there was a deity, a higher power beyond the veil of human comprehension, one thing was undeniably clear: they had a sick sense of humour. My future, as I had meticulously sketched it in the silent chambers of my mind, was indeed one marked by the laughter of children. But they were meant to be children born from the woman I loved, and only her.
Was this the divine retribution for my scepticism, my staunch disbelief in any celestial entity keeping vigil over us? Was it an esoteric demonstration that, indeed, a god existed, not as a benevolent shepherd but as a puppeteer orchestrating this potential tragic twist in my narrative? Or was this a game of fickle fate, an unfortunate roll of the cosmic dice? The alternatives grated on my mind. Yet, in one, I could deflect blame onto an unseen entity, whereas the other left me alone to face the mirror of self-accusation.
Taking the mantle of culpability was a bitter pill to swallow. A part of me yearned to point an accusing finger at anyone but me, for I had adhered to the conventional wisdom – I had taken every precaution apart from celibacy. The sting of unfairness marred my thoughts. What more was expected of me? Total abstinence?
A wince punctuated my thoughts as I acknowledged the inescapable reality of biology. Children, the natural consequence of sex – a risk I had faced when I chose to share the intimacy of my bed with women I bore no profound affection for. But in this modern world, the probability of such an outcome felt like a distant echo, a rare anomaly I had assumed would not dare knock on my door.
A gnawing sense of envy burrowed into my gut, envy for the choice women had – the choice to terminate an un wanted pregnancy. Such autonomy was beyond my reach; I was shackled, utterly at the mercy of Francesca’s decisions. This reality, far from providing any comfort, left me feeling exposed and vulnerable. The control I so coveted felt as remote as the stars above.
I had never imagined that my own child could potentially strip away the woman my heart had chosen. Not like this. Francesca’s revelation had plunged me into a labyrinth of thoughts, a predicament with no apparent exit. I felt as though I were wrestling with an endless riddle that my mind couldn’t solve. The only clarity amidst this tempest of uncertainty was the bitter taste of deceit on my tongue and the painful sense of failure lodged in my core.
So here I was, stranded in this purgatory, no closer to any resolution than I had been four days ago. I wasn’t sure I wanted to get out, either. Not if it meant the loss of Cara.
‘There they are,’ Andy suddenly announced, jolting me out of my introspection. His phone was swiftly concealed in the inner pocket of his immaculate navy suit, his gaze trained on the entrance of the upscale restaurant. Gerard Clifford, the head of Clifford Paints, and his son, Tom, crossed the threshold. Their punctuality, as unfailing as the ticking of an old watch, was something Andy and I had come to anticipate, so we had arrived ten minutes early. We rose simultaneously to greet them, engaging in the customary exchange of handshakes and pleasantries, a ritual we had performed innumerable times over similar business lunches.
As the two men settled into their chairs, we returned to the comfort of ours. The matter at hand was the careful navigation of the merger between Clifford Paints and Craft Interior.
‘Thanks for setting this up,’ Gerard said. ‘Our schedules have been mad lately, so this sort of thing helps us kill two birds with one stone.’
‘No bother at all,’ Andy replied, offering the man a grin that had charmed hundreds of clients. ‘Will and I never miss a chance to escape the office for a good meal.’
Gerard chuckled. ‘I’d stake a fair amount you practically live in that building.’
‘You’re not far off.’ Andy smirked. ‘Will’s been toying with the idea of kitting his office out with a bed.’
The older Clifford’s gaze fell upon me, amusement twinkling in his brown, round eyes. ‘Really?’
Adjusting my tie, I mustered a half-smile. ‘I’ve held back solely for fear of never seeing the outside world again.’
Gerard let out a hearty laugh. ‘In that case, I should suggest these lunches more often.’
‘Indeed, they’re a much-needed respite.’
Tom’s dark eyes flitted between Andy and me, not finding the humour. I had always sensed a certain disdain he held for our profession. His persistent questioning and scepticism hinted at a worldview that painted us as sharks in designer suits, prioritising our profit margins over our clients. His assessment wasn’t entirely off the mark, but what he failed to appreciate was the sweat and sacrifice that underpinned our legal victories – the endless hours of study, the crushing workload, and the fierce commitment to our craft.
‘I’d just like to say that, overall’ – Gerard gestured to his son – ‘we’re quite pleased with how things are unfolding. The signing of the NDA with Craft Interior? Quite the positive stride, and a reassurance of their serious interest in this merger.’
My thoughts turned to Cara as he spoke. She had demonstrated a remarkable level of skill in crafting that document, even though she had used my templates as a starting point. Her unique talent shone through, surpassing my expectations for someone who had recently graduated from university.
‘Happy to hear that,’ I said, giving him a slow, respectful nod.
‘And what’s the current status of the due diligence process?’ Gerard followed up. ‘Have you encountered any notable findings or challenges?’
Andy shifted in his seat, cocking his head from side to side. ‘Well, we’re still in the early stages, reviewing the financials, contracts, and intellectual property portfolios of both companies. The preliminary findings indicate a strong fit between Clifford Paints and Craft Interior. No red flags so far, which is always a good start. That said, there are a few areas where we’d like to dig deeper and get more clarity.’
Tom, stern-faced as ever, asked, ‘And which areas would those be?’
I met his gaze, grateful for the opportunity to give him some extra attention. I hoped it would convey a sense of respect, signalling to him that Andy and I held him in high regard and didn’t care solely about his father’s opinions.
‘One is the potential overlap in international patents and trademarks. Craft Interior has a strong presence in certain overseas markets, and we want to ensure there are no conflicts or risks associated with intellectual property rights. We’ll be working closely with their legal team to address this concern.’
Gerard and Tom both nodded, the former stating, ‘That makes sense.’
Andy pitched in, ‘Additionally, we’re giving special attention to Craft Interior’s employment contracts and their compliance with employment laws. Given the different nature of your businesses, there could be disparities in how employment contracts are structured. We’re working closely with their HR and legal teams to ensure these are in line with best practices and legal standards, and that the integration process post-merger will be smooth.’
As Andy finished his point, the wait staff discreetly approached our table, carrying trays of delicious dishes. The conversation paused for a moment as the plates were placed in front of us with practised ease, and the mouth-watering aroma filled the air. The clink of cutlery against porcelain signalled the commencement of our meal and, in tandem, the resumption of our discourse, the conversation flowing naturally as we delved into the complexities of the merger. It was in this interplay of corporate strategy and culinary delight that I found my attention beginning to stray.
In the midst of Gerard detailing his vision for the combined entity, my gaze wandered toward the window. Outside, on the pavement, an entirely different scene was playing out – a young family was taking a stroll, their joyful chatter muffled by the glass separating us. The father manoeuvred a pushchair with gentle care, while the mother, her face radiating contentment, walked alongside, her hand securely held by a little girl’s eager grip. The idyllic scene, so starkly different from the high-stakes corporate world I was submerged in, drew me in completely. The sounds of the meeting became a distant hum, words intermingling into an indistinguishable buzz as the family’s world took precedence.
I was vaguely aware of Gerard and Tom’s agreement with Andy, their voices mere ripples on the surface of my thoughts. An odd feeling had begun to stir in my gut, a sensation I could only liken to nausea. It was as if a sudden wave had washed over me, leaving me unanchored and adrift in an unfamiliar sea of emotion.
The sight of the happy family – so ordinary, yet so utterly compelling in its simplicity – was a harsh reminder of the life that might forever elude me. The reality I yearned for, encapsulated within the window frame.
Breathing unevenly, I dragged my attention back to the table, attempting to realign with the discussion at hand. But the image of the family lingered in my mind, making it difficult to slip back into the professional persona I usually wore like a second skin. I could feel my brows knitting together, my mind churning with thoughts that didn’t belong in this setting.
Would Cara abandon me? This fear loomed over me like a storm cloud. The mere thought of it sent my heart racing, filled with a dread that felt like a tear in my chest. Our relationship had just begun to bloom, and the possibility that my past actions might have already tarnished it – that I may have driven away the one woman I had ever truly loved – it was a reality I could not yet confront.
‘You all right, Will?’ Gerard’s question sliced through my internal disarray, his brow creasing with worry. ‘You’ve gone rather pale.’
‘Have I? I feel fine,’ I lied, plastering a smile on my face, hoping it appeared more genuine than it felt.
And then it came – a divine answer, cloaked in its signature sadistic humour. A baby’s cry pierced the restaurant’s ambient hum, its shrill voice echoing my inner tumult. My gaze swept across the room, landing on a woman with long, brown hair, her back turned toward us. She pushed her chair back, leaning over to lift a small bundle from a pram. From my vantage point, her form, her outfit – it all seemed a cruel mirror image of Cara. My heart plunged into a cold abyss as I scrutinised the man across from her, who rose from his seat, caring and protective, his features bathed in the warm glow of fatherhood.
The scene was chillingly prophetic. It was as if I were privy to a future that hadn’t yet come to pass – Cara, im mersed in family life with another man, nurturing another man’s child. This vision felt like an evil cosmic jest, served to me solely to torture me. My gut lurched, revolting against the emotional upheaval and sudden onslaught of despair. Even as I recognised the physical manifestation of my dread, the nausea persisted, a bitter undercurrent to my spiralling thoughts.
The woman turned then, and the illusion shattered. She wasn’t Cara. But the spectre of the future I had conjured refused to dissipate, driving my nausea to new heights. My meal threatened a violent return, the pressure in my gut an unbearable torment.
Overwhelmed, I abruptly pushed back my chair and excused myself from the table, weaving my way through the maze of guests toward the gents. I could taste the acidic burn of bile creeping up my throat. Stumbling into the toilet, I lunged toward the nearest cubicle. My lunch made a swift and merciless reappearance, splashing violently into the toilet bowl. The retching shook me to my core, my body convulsing as wave after wave of nausea swept over me. Just when I thought I had managed to suppress the worst of it, another brutal surge of sickness overcame me, swallowing me in its pitiless tide.
‘Bloody hell, Will!’ Andy suddenly exclaimed from behind me. ‘Are you all right?’
I pulled back from the toilet, managing a glance at him over my shoulder, my face contorting into a grimace. ‘I’ve fucked up, Andy. Really, truly fucked up.’
‘What? How?’ he asked, his tone steeped in concern.
I shook my head, his question triggering another bout of nausea. I lurched back over the toilet, letting loose another torrent of vomit.
‘Will, you’re worrying me, man,’ Andy pressed. ‘Talk to me. What’s happened?’
I shook my head once more, retching and heaving, but nothing would come. Andy fell silent, his presence felt more than heard, as I struggled to regain control of my breathing.
‘Will, whatever it is, we’ll find some way to fix it.’
A bitter laugh broke free from my lips, my gaze flicking over his earnest expression. ‘Fix it?’ My tone bordered on a sob. ‘This can’t be fixed, Andy.’
He tilted his head slightly, his eyes reflecting a peculiar blend of stubborn optimism and fear. ‘There must be some way—’
‘Francesca’s pregnant,’ I cut him off, refusing to entertain any false hope. ‘She thinks it’s mine.’
His lips parted, his eyes expanding into spheres of disbelief. Time seemed to distort, elongating the fleeting seconds into a torturous eternity as shock spread across his face.
‘Fucking hell, Will. Are you serious?’
I managed a weak nod, drawing in a shaky breath. Panic clawed at the remnants of my composure, threatening to dismantle me completely.
Andy kept staring at me, his mouth opening and closing in a desperate search for words, until he finally stammered, ‘How far along is she?’
‘Ten weeks.’ I reached over to flush the toilet. ‘The timeline checks out.’
‘Didn’t you use protection?’
I returned his gaze with a piercing glare. ‘Of course I did. But, as we all know, condoms offer no guarantee, do they?’
Andy’s complexion had turned a sickly shade. ‘Does she plan to keep it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Christ, Will. I… I can’t even imagine.’
I cleared my throat, cautiously testing whether my nausea had truly subsided.
‘What are you going to do?’ Andy asked.
‘I asked her for a paternity test,’ I replied, bracing myself against the wall as I climbed up on unsteady legs.
‘And what was her response?’
‘She agreed.’ I moved past him toward the basins. ‘As long as I foot the bill.’ His reflection watched me in the mirror as I scrubbed my hands, but I averted my eyes.
‘Then how soon can you get one? Do you have to wait till the child is born?’
‘No, there’s a non-invasive procedure that can be done as early as seven weeks into the pregnancy. But she’s currently overseas for work, so it’ll have to wait till she returns.’
‘And when’s that?’ he asked as I rinsed my mouth and splashed water onto my face.
I huffed out an exasperated sigh, reaching for a hand towel. ‘That’s the infuriating part – she’s unable to give a definite timeframe. A week, a month, it’s all contingent on her job.’ I finally faced him.
His brows furrowed in a scowl, anger igniting in his eyes. ‘A month? Is she oblivious to the magnitude of this situation? Tell her to book the next flight back. You need clarity on this matter.’
‘I broached that, but she’s hell-bent on seizing a major career opportunity. No plea could change her mind.’ I discarded the towel in a bin.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Andy said, his voice dripping with venom. ‘How staggeringly self-centred. Why on earth would she drop such news on you right before jetting off? She must have—’
‘Her plan was to tell me when she got back,’ I interrupted, ‘but a dress left behind at my place… expedited things.’
A brief silence descended between us.
‘Shit, Will.’ Andy huffed, raking a hand through his hair. ‘I really am so sorry.’
I sighed. ‘So am I.’
‘Of all people for this to happen to…’ He shook his head, disgust colouring his tone. ‘This world lacks any trace of fairness. That much is clear.’
I merely nodded.
‘What are you going to do if it’s yours?’
I leaned against the basin, kneading my aching temples. ‘That’s the question that’s been weighing on my mind the most. On the one hand, I feel an obligation toward the child – a responsibility to form some semblance of a relationship with Francesca. You know, for the child’s sake, to provide some likeness of a stable, nuclear family. I mean, there are plenty of arranged marriages that function, right? So it’s not outside the realm of possibility.’
Andy stared at me as though I had completely lost my mind. ‘And on the other hand?’
‘On the other hand, I also know myself well enough to realise that I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Being with Francesca for life – it would make me utterly miserable, and that wouldn’t bode well for the child. Above everything, I’m in love with somebody else. And the resentment I’d likely harbour toward Francesca for denying me the chance to be with her… It’s not the environment I want for my child.’ I let out another deep sigh, my chest tightening, making it hard to draw in the next breath. ‘So, the more I think about it, the more I lean toward co-parenting. I won’t couple up with Francesca, but I’ll be there for my child, always.’
‘Have you told Francesca this?’
‘Not yet.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘But we can discuss this later. Right now, we ought to return to our clients.’
Andy cringed. ‘Honestly, mate, you should consider taking the rest of the day off. I can handle things here. I’ll simply tell them you weren’t feeling well.’
I waved off his concern. ‘No need. I just experienced a momentary surge of panic. I’m better now.’
‘Will, you’re not a machine. It’s okay to take a day to gather yourself. I can’t even remember when you last took a sick day.’
I moved toward the exit, shaking my head. ‘I’ll be fine. ’