15. Jack
Chapter 15
Jack
J ack wants to kiss her. She’s so damn beautiful when she laughs like that, her eyes sparkling under the chandeliers. What sort of a bar has chandeliers in this day and age, anyway? He knows it’s corny and a bit over the top but, still, he’s glad he chose this place. None of the massive TVs and sticky tables and noisy crowds of office workers most of the ordinary pubs have to offer. He sits closer and wraps his hand around the back of hers, her warm fingers still clutching her glass.
‘Carly…’
She turns her head to look at him, and her face is just inches away. He can almost feel the electricity between them, the pull that was always there, from the first time he’d met her all those years ago. If he hadn’t lost his job, hadn’t gone back home, hadn’t married Molly…
It’s wrong to think like that. He knows it is. Nobody made him do those things. It was the life he chose, and he can’t go back. He loves Molly; he always has. It’s just that, right now, he can’t think about her, about what’s about to happen in their lives, the changes a baby is going to bring. These things are supposed to be talked about, considered, planned. He’s not ready. Just like the last time, when he was a naive seventeen- year-old, acting like Jack the Lad, thinking with his dick instead of his brain, taking stupid chances. If it hadn’t been for his parents, discreetly sorting things out with Katie’s, paying for the abortion, allowing him to go away to uni without the worry and the responsibility hanging over his head, where would he be now?
He can’t believe it’s happening again. He’s older now, more sensible, and he thought Molly was too, but that doesn’t stop him being angry, confused, and – yes – scared. If babies were ever going to be a part of their lives, he always thought it would be by agreement, something discussed and planned. How can this be happening? Isn’t she meant to be on the pill? Of course, she might have done it on purpose, stopped taking the damn things, tricked him…
He doesn’t want to think about it, to have to even consider that his wife could do such a thing. He just wants to blot it all out, enjoy something uncomplicated, fun, even if only for one evening, one night. While the cat’s away…
Carly’s lips are so close. If he’s going to do it, now is the time.
There is a moment, a long tingling moment, when they both stop and just look at each other, but neither makes the all-important move.
‘Jack, I can’t.’ Carly pulls back and he lets her hand break free from his.
He closes his eyes for a second or two and, when he opens them again, she is sitting upright, the distance back between them, and she’s looking away from him, down at the table. ‘Me neither. I’m sorry.’
‘I think maybe I should go, don’t you? I don’t do this sort of thing, get involved with married men… Not that we are… involved, I mean.’
‘I know. It would be so easy though, wouldn’t it?’ So easy, so tempting. He still wants to, but the moment is lost.
She turns her back and stands up, slipping her arms into her coat and picking up her shopping. ‘I really do have things to do. Thanks for the drink, but this really isn’t a good idea, is it?’
‘Probably not.’
‘I just don’t want to end up falling into something I shouldn’t, and ending up as the other woman, you know. Because that’s what could happen if we let it.’
He doesn’t answer, but he knows she’s right.
‘And we both know that men in this situation don’t leave their wives, they just juggle, have a go at having their cake and eating it, don’t they? I’m sorry. I know I’m jumping several steps ahead here, but I don’t want to be anyone’s dirty secret, Jack. You know, three of us in this marriage, as Princess Diana said once.’ She shrugs. ‘I can’t see myself as Camilla somehow.’
He stands up too, leaning over and planting a short, chaste kiss on her cheek. ‘Me neither. Not that Molly’s much of a Diana, to be honest. And I don’t have the ears to be Charles! But I get what you’re saying. Stop it before it starts, yeah?’
She nods.
‘See you at work then?’
‘Yeah, see you. Friends though?’
‘I hope so.’
And then she walks out, quickly, without looking back, and he’s left with two half-full wine glasses and the rest of the bottle, and he has every intention of drinking it all. In fact, he might even order another.
When he gets back to the flat it feels cold and empty. Mad though he is with Molly, he misses her being here. The smell of her latest batch of baking, the sound of her singing along to the ads on the TV, her warmth in the bed.
He has known Molly since school, although she was two years below him and their paths didn’t really cross until he came back from uni, living on the farm and working in town. Molly was doing a few shifts in a pub he used to visit two villages away, having blossomed from shy schoolgirl with a ponytail and knee-length socks to the quiet understated beauty she is today. He couldn’t fail to notice her, be drawn to her.
They have been together as a couple for eight years now, and married for five, only ever apart for those few months he worked in London, but even then they were always in touch, phoning, texting, him nipping between home and here whenever he could. But this time feels different. He hasn’t spoken to her in days, has ignored her texts and voicemails, and the missed call from his mum which would inevitably have led to all the obvious questions. Why was Molly still there in the village, she’d want to know? So, she’d hurt her hand, but surely that didn’t have to mean she couldn’t have gone back to London with him? Or followed him the next day? He’s pretty sure Molly won’t have said anything about the pregnancy, won’t have told his parents, or even her own, until they are ready to do it together, but in his parents’ world, couples stick together, travel together, look after each other. Without the facts, his mum is going to be drawing all sorts of conclusions about this sudden and unexpected separation, anything from some minor domestic tiff to full-on divorce, either of which she is bound to blame on Molly, and sooner or later he is going to have to put the record straight.
He is being a coward, he knows that. Avoiding Molly, ignoring his mum, even making some sort of ill-advised pass at another woman, brushing it all under an imaginary carpet as if it might just go away. But he knows it won’t. Molly is having a baby, no matter how much he wishes she wasn’t. Ready or not, it’s happening.
He makes himself a strong coffee to try to counteract the alcohol and drinks it too quickly, burning the top of his mouth, so he has to follow it with a huge glass of cold water. Then he lies down, fully clothed, on top of the covers on his half of the bed. He should ring Molly, try to talk about it at least. Not that he knows what to say. He’s not sure he will be able to pretend he’s happy about any of it, but there will be practical things to work out. He doesn’t even know when this baby is due, when she will be having midwife appointments or scans, what it will all mean when it comes to money and the need for an extra bedroom and whether this will put an end to Molly’s plans to start a business or find a job. In the end, he decides there’s too much to think about all at once, and that, with a brain befuddled by booze, this may not be the best time to do it.
It’s getting late anyway. She’s probably asleep. He remembers how tired she has been lately, nodding off in the evenings and on the train. Does being pregnant do that to a woman? He is only too aware just how little he knows about the whole process. The whole being a prospective parent thing.
He turns out the light and, one arm draped loosely around Molly’s pillow, he wriggles under the duvet and lets himself drift into sleep. The last question to flutter randomly through his mixed-up thoughts is whether this baby will be a boy or a girl, and which he might prefer. His sober self would already know the answer to that. Neither. He doesn’t want to be a father at all. Not yet. Not now.
Maybe things will feel different in the morning.
They don’t.
Jack wakes up as confused as ever. He has an important meeting this morning. They are working on a whole new software package that is costing thousands to develop, and the last thing he wants is to mess it up. He can’t let what’s happening at home distract him.
At least while Molly is away, he doesn’t have to deal with things. Pretending nothing is happening is not the finest of strategies but, for now, it’s the only one he has.
He stands under the shower for a long time with his eyes closed, letting the soothing water wash over him, then puts on his best suit and gives his shoes a quick polish. He doesn’t leave himself enough time to eat breakfast, but it will be easy enough to grab a cereal bar or a banana or something on the way and eat it on the train. Being good at his job, making a success of it, matters. And, if there is going to be another mouth to feed, an added responsibility he hadn’t seen coming but was going to have to accept sooner or later, then hanging on to this job suddenly matters even more.