Chapter 43 Freya
FREYA
“Hello, dear,” says a gray-haired lady as the bell above the shop door rings out. “Can I help you?”
I don’t even remember crossing the road, let alone know what I’m looking for now I’m here.
“Erm…,” I start, placing a hand on my stomach. “I just wanted to take a look at the buggy and car-seat combinations. See what’s available.”
The lady smiles. “Is it your first?”
I nod, feeling my cheeks flush with a heady anticipation.
“And how far gone are you?” asks the woman, clapping her hands together excitedly.
“Oh, it’s early days, so I’m probably being a bit premature, but I’m struggling to contain myself.”
“You wouldn’t believe how many expectant mums I get coming in here, not yet ready to tell their family, but bursting to tell someone. I normally end up putting the kettle on.”
I smile, knowing I’d probably join her for a cuppa myself if I wasn’t meeting Tess.
Though I figure it’s all part of a tried-and-tested sales patter, as by the time I leave, I’ve put a down payment on a buggy-seat combo in the Teddy Biscuit fabric, but am yet undecided between a rocking cradle or a Moses basket.
I meet Tess in a restaurant in town, no longer afraid of being seen.
Because the stakes aren’t as high as they once were, now that I’m the one holding all the cards.
Charlie thought he was in control, able to dictate whom I see and what I do, but all it took was for me to get pregnant to make him realize that actually, I have all the power.
If I’d known it was that easy, I would have done it sooner.
“I took the liberty of ordering,” she says, pulling me in for a hug. That’s the stage we’re at, and this new version of me embraces the idea of it. It feels good to have someone on my side right now—someone who already knows me better than most—whom I can talk to without fear of judgment.
I’d assumed she meant food, so when I see a bottle of wine on the table, I can’t help but feel offended at her presumption that since Pandora’s box had been opened, it would be okay to reacquaint myself with its evils.
Tess goes to pour before the waiter has a chance to, but I hover my hand over my glass in silent resignation.
“Oh,” she says, pulling away as if she’s been burned. “Back on the wagon?”
I smile. “Not out of choice.”
She puts the bottle down with more gusto than is called for, looking like a child whose friend has told her they can’t come out to play.
“Don’t tell me.” She hazards a guess. “Charlie’s on your case.”
“Erm, no, actually it’s something else.…”
Her eyes widen in surprise before I’ve even decided to tell her. Though I’d imagine that’s the conclusion most people jump to when you stop drinking.
“Are you serious?” she asks, even though I’ve still not said a word.
I nod, realizing I’m too far in now to back out. “We found out last week.”
In that moment, it’s as if all the air has been let out of her. The core that holds her upright crumbling to dust. It takes her a few seconds to right herself, but it’s too late to pretend I haven’t noticed.
“Are you okay?” I ask, watching the color drain from her face.
“I—I’m just so shocked,” she says, attempting to laugh away the tears that have sprung to her eyes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you in any way.”
“Don’t be silly,” she says, shaking her head as if to dislodge the part of her that’s let her down.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” I say, suddenly aware of the faux pas I fear I’ve made. “It was insensitive.”
“It’s honestly fine,” she says. “It was a while ago, and I thought I was over it.” She forces a laugh. “But obviously not.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“Absolutely not,” she says, holding her hand in the air. “It was there. Then it wasn’t. It’s just one of those things.…”
“I’m sorry” is all I can offer.
She leans back in her chair and wipes away the errant tear that has fallen onto her cheek. “Wow,” she says, trying desperately hard to drum up the reaction I’d expected from her.
“Yeah, it’s something of a surprise,” I say, trying to help her out.
“I bet!” she says, fixing a forced grin on her face. “Especially when things weren’t going so great. You made it sound like you were heading for divorce, and here you are, expecting a baby.” She laughs, but it rings hollow.
“Well, I like to think this has been sent to us for a reason. We’re meant to be together and this might just be our saving grace.”
Tess frowns. “Using a baby as a Band-Aid to plaster over the cracks in your relationship is never a good thing,” she says, condescendingly.
“It might stick them together for a while, but you’re only holding off the inevitable.
Because in the long run, you’ll be left on your own—and then how will you manage? ”
Her candid outburst takes me by surprise. “We’re married and we love each other,” I say, feeling the need to make the point. “Maybe we’ve had it a little tougher than most recently, but no one said marriage was easy.”
“I didn’t even think you were intimate anymore?” she says, the veins in her neck straining against the words.
I’m taken aback. It may have been true, but I couldn’t remember admitting as much. “When did I say that?” I ask.
“That night at the hotel. You said that Charlie was having trouble in that department. That he was repulsed by you.”
I cringe at the thought of confiding my innermost secrets. Though the fear of what else I may have confessed to is far greater.
“You even said that the chances of him having an affair were far more likely than you’d care to admit.”
I don’t like where this is going. The truth becoming uncomfortably close as I play out the conversation we might have had.
So who do you think it might be?
I have my suspicions.
Ooh, go on, spill.
Do you know Coco De Luca?
She’d nod. The chef’s wife? The one who was mugged? The one whose house you were at the night Marcus Harding got knocked down? In the car that belonged to you?
I stop myself from going any further, knowing that if it had gone that far, Tess wouldn’t be sitting with me now. She would surely have reported my confession to the police.
“We were both drunk,” I say now, in an attempt to throw shade at her recollection. As if questioning her memory will mean I didn’t say anything incriminating.
“You were drunk,” she says, half laughing, as a hot panic begins to wrap itself around me.
I force a smile, trying to make light of it. “What else did I say?”
She shrugs her shoulders, as if it doesn’t matter, and I want to reach across the table and squeeze it out of her. “You were going on about your mum and dad. And something about a horse called Kelsey.” She frowns, as if she’s trying to remember. “Oh, and some guy called Geoffrey.…”
“Geoffrey?” I question, relieved that it means nothing.
“Yeah, something about piano lessons and him being done for molesting someone.” She looks at me, hoping that I might help her out. “You weren’t making much sense, to be honest.”
I need to shut this down. She already knows far too much more than I want her to. “It sounds as if the unexpected shot of alcohol played havoc with my brain cells.”
“Well, no harm done,” she says, reassuringly. “I’m assuming Charlie’s just as thrilled as you are?”
I could tell her that he’s yet to express any opinion other than shock. That the only acknowledgment he’d made of the situation was to book a private scan at the hospital for this afternoon.
“I think it’s too early,” I’d said, wishing he’d been as emotional as he was practical at the prospect of being a father.
“I just want to make sure that everything is okay,” he said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy,” I lie. “He’s fussing around me like an old maid, writing out baby names and making sure I don’t overdo it.”
“Well, it seems all of your problems are behind you,” says Tess, picking up her glass and raising it in a toast.
“Let’s hope so,” I say. Though behind the smile, I fear they’re only just beginning.