Chapter 56
56
A few months before my fortieth birthday, out of a clear blue sky, a craving for a baby took hold of me. Quickly, it became all-consuming.
Petrified, I went to Rachel, my go-to on matters of emotions, and asked, “How do I make it go away?”
“Are you sure it should? Why don’t you listen to this?”
“Be my sister. Not a therapist.”
“In that case, I haven’t a clue. But you need to talk to Angelo. See if he’ll change his mind about having kids.”
Angelo was gentle, but adamant. It was a no.
“Wait, though—” There was every hope I could persuade him otherwise. After all, we loved each other. “What if you change your mind? In a few years’ time? Because, Angelo, you might .”
“Anna, no. Not now, not ever. I’m sorry.”
He was too nice to remind me that being child-free was one of the central pillars of our relationship.
“You’ve a choice to make.” His eyes were full of sorrow. “A tough one.”
I waited a day. Then another, and another, until weeks had passed and the painful hunger was still there. When I told Angelo, he said, “Then we’ve come to the end of our time together.”
I loved him deeply, but I was willing to give him up, to chase this other longing. We hugged, I cried, then I stepped away.
My options seemed very limited: I didn’t have the heart to go on the prowl in New York. A sperm donor was the best route, but that also daunted me: how could I know what the best choice was?
All my free time became devoted to obsessive research, when a night happened, a party for Gaz’s birthday. Although neither Rachel nor Luke lived in New York any longer, I’d stayed on friendly if distant terms with the rest of the Real Men.
The venue was only ten minutes from my apartment. I dropped in after a long day, still in my work clothes. And you know, it was so nice; I’d forgotten how fond of them I was. On my arrival, someone put a drink in my hand, then they formed a line to say hello. First came Gaz, who smothered me in a hug, and made much of my tailored skirt and pointy shoes. “Girlboss, bossing it!” He was followed by Johnno, who was visiting from Denver. Then came Shake who grasped my shoulders and talked earnestly of keratin hair treatments.
As Joey hove into view, I took a mouthful from my drink. Holy smoke, it was strong. I choked out, “Who made these? They’re lethal.”
“The birthday boy. Gaz’s own recipe.”
I looked around for a waiter. I shouldn’t be drinking anyway, but this was strong enough to kill a horse.
Joey turned affectionate eyes towards Gaz, who was hugging a batch of new arrivals. “What’s in the box you gave him?”
“Essential oils and a diffuser.”
“He’s gonna love that.”
“Is he?” I’d thought he would, but was Joey being sarcastic?
“Oh yeah. Mad for a bit of wellness, our Gaz.”
“…So, ah, how’s work?”
Joey lit up. “Good. Yeah. Thanks. Like, really good. I have an office and two assistants. Wait! Let me show you…” He rummaged in his wallet, producing a stiff, sharp-cornered business card bearing, in tasteful font, the words “Joseph Armstrong, Business Broker,” followed by all the ways he could be contacted.
“Wow.” I inspected it. “Well done. Congratulations.”
I passed it back and he said, “No, no, keep it!”
His pride in his success made my heart clench.
“He’s loaded,” Shake said, passing by.
“Are you?” I asked Joey.
“I wish.” He grinned, revealing his chipped tooth. “But, couple of years ago, I did get to buy Jacqui and Trea their own home.”
My inhale was sharp. This was the first time in over three years he had uttered their names to me. “How are they?”
Joey shifted. “Good. Yeah. Living in Ireland now.”
“That can’t be easy for you and Trea?”
“It’s not ideal.” He was clearly uncomfortable. “But you know Jacqui got married? Had a little boy? So Trea has a kid brother, cousins, sees Jacqui’s parents a lot. She’s happy.”
Dumbly I nodded. I’d been ambushed by an ember of an idea, so audacious it had shocked me into silence. Instead of abandoning my too-strong drink, I took another gulp.
“Obviously I wish she still lived here. But anything she wants or needs…Yeah.” He smiled ruefully. “A pony. A trip to EuroDisney. I can deny her nothing.”
The ember was expanding into a dazzling light: Joey would probably sleep with me.
Was this a good idea? A truly terrible one? Probably terrible, but I couldn’t think about that, because what this was, was a rare opportunity. Joey was a known quantity: an unrepentant womanizer who avoided cozy domesticity. If I got pregnant I’d be on my own—which suited me.
In order to hold my nerve, I threw the last of my drink down my throat and reached for another from a passing tray.
Quietly, so Joey had to lean nearer, I said, “You don’t have to justify anything to me.”
“Uh. Yeah, thanks—” He’d noticed the change in me.
I took a breath. “Joey, are you seeing anyone right now?”
“No.”
“Really? Why not?”
“I…don’t know.” His eyes flickered as he tried to figure out what was going on. “Are you…ah? How are you, Anna?”
“You know Angelo and I broke up?”
“What?”
“Done,” I said. “Finished. I thought you would have heard.”
“No.” He looked like he was beginning to understand. “No one said. So…are you okay?”
My fix on his face didn’t waver. “Life goes on.”
A moment passed.
Then another.
Joey became very still. “Anna?” He coughed. “Could we maybe…get a drink sometime?”
“Sure. When?”
“When is good for you?”
“Now.”
Shock showed in his eyes; then he said, “You wanna…” He hesitated. “…get out of here?”
Briefly I froze. “My place.”
The bar was full of people we both knew. He got that he shouldn’t touch me until we had total privacy.
I let us into my apartment and as soon as the door shut, sealing out the world, I slid my arms around his neck to kiss him.
I watched his mouth— the mouth—move towards mine. But he stopped, mistrustful. “We’re really doing this?”
“We really are.” I twisted away, leading him into my bedroom before I could change my mind.
As I pulled him towards the bed, he stopped again. “Anna, why ?”
“Joey Armstrong, total ride. What woman would say no?”
Warily, he said, “You did once before.”
Pity stabbed me at the memory of that night. “That was when Jacqui was my best friend.”
After another doubtful pause, he asked, “You’re sure ?”
“So sure. Really, Joey, I want this, I want you.”
“Okay.” With a slow smile, he unpeeled his jacket, kicked off his boots and stretched himself the length of my bed. “C’mere,” he summoned, with lazy confidence.
As I stepped from my shoes, I took a moment to catch up with this very strange reality. There was a time I’d have given anything to have Joey in my bed. And despite all our ups and downs, he was still so sexy…
Holding very spicy eye contact, he slowly unzipped his jeans and slid a hand in, boldly rearranging himself. Even through his clothes, the size was impressive.
I slid across the duvet, my head lowered submissively. “Hey.” He frowned. “Why do you look so worried?”
“I’m nervous.”
“You won’t believe me.” His voice was quiet. “But so am I.”
He caught my skepticism. “With you I am.”
I searched his face. Did he mean it? Probably not.
Surprisingly gently, his mouth touched mine. The pressure intensified, his tongue was in my mouth and sensation surged. Suddenly desperate for the taste and feel of him, my hands were in his silky hair then bumping down the knuckles of his vertebrae. Sliding my palms under his jeans and along the satin-smooth skin, I pulled his hips tighter against mine. His erection pressed down hard on my pubic bone, a muttered Fuck reached me and I was turned on, really turned on.
…I couldn’t do this. Maybe the alcohol had worn off, but my earlier conviction that this was a great idea was fast evaporating. Tricking him into being a baby-maker was bad. Terrible.
Or was it? He’d get to have sex, which was probably all he cared about.
His mouth moved to my neck, dropping a line of small, sharp bites, each nip triggering a throb between my legs. His breath warmed my skin and his mouth moved lower, towards my collarbone. I didn’t want to stop.
Burnt sugar was what he smelt of. That and warm bread, with a darker, muskier undertone—surprisingly familiar. Probably from when we used to stay in the same bed, at different times, at Jacqui’s.
Skimming a hand up my thigh, he was already trying to slide off my thong. My doubts were back. “Slow it down there, cowboy,” I whispered.
“Impossible,” he whispered back. “Anna, I have it so bad for you.”
Maybe he used that line on everyone—but what if he didn’t? A fresh rush of guilt convinced me to let him do exactly what he wanted. In no time my top was off, then my bra, and he was applying his mouth with such devotion to my nipples that the original reason for this hookup was almost forgotten.
Efficiently my skirt was unbuttoned, unzipped—then gone. All that remained was my thong. But apart from his unzipped jeans, and the straining presence of his erection, he was fully dressed. I denied myself the pleasure of peeling the clothes from his body, having decided that if I didn’t enjoy myself too much, I wasn’t a terrible person.
Hooking his fingers under the stretchy lace, my last piece of clothing was being coaxed agonizingly slowly down my legs. At my ankles, Joey slid it with expert ease over my feet.
Returning, he held my stare while sliding two fingers into the wet heat of my body. His eyes widened. “Jesus Christ,” he said, his mouth hovering over mine. “ Anna. ”
Desperately, all guilt abandoned, I lunged at him. “Joey, that’s enough. Everything off now .”
He grinned. Raising himself from the bed, he said, “Let me get something.”
“No need.”
“What?” He stopped mid-movement, balancing his weight on one arm.
“It’s okay,” I said.
I’d thought he’d be overjoyed. Wasn’t it what every man wanted—condom-free sex? But his smile stalled.
“It’s fine. I’m…healthy.” No way was I going to say STIs. “Are you?”
“Actually, yeah.” Unsettled, he asked, “But you’re on the pill?”
“I…well. Like, I…”
I just needed to say one word: yes . Just one word.
The silence lasted too long.
I couldn’t go through with the lie.
“Anna?” Already he was rearing away from me, moving back across the bed. “What the hell’s going on?”
“I’d ask for nothing.” The words tumbled from me. “I’d tell no one it was yours. I know it’s not what you want and I’m good with it—”
“You want to get pregnant ?”
I was crying now, all of the sad yearning pouring from me. “Angelo doesn’t want kids.”
He looked devastated. “I knew this was too good to be true.” Already shouldering his way back into his jacket, he asked, “What do you mean, ‘I know it’s not what you want’?”
“Because…” Surely this was obvious? “…it’s always just about sex for you?”
“That’s what you think of me?” He was a picture of pale horror.
“But you don’t want commitment, responsibility. Isn’t that how it is with Trea?”
“When I got Jacqui pregnant, I didn’t want to be a father—we’ve already had this conversation. I told you. But when she was born, it changed me.”
“But she’s in Ireland and you’re here.”
“And I fly to Dublin every month to see her.”
“Sorry,” I stuttered, suddenly appalled.
“I could have tried to stop Jacqui leaving but in what world would dragging her through the courts be a good idea? I’ve already hurt her enough.”
“Joey…I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave. Look, take your jacket off again—”
“I don’t need a consolation fuck.” He was ashen. “And maybe you should get yourself some help.”
—
Even before the door had slammed shut behind him, I knew this was the worst thing I’d ever done to another human being.
I’d put the worst possible interpretation on Joey’s past actions in order to justify what I’d wanted.
My shame was bottomless.
My mouth claggy with fear, I rang him; he didn’t pick up. Immediately I called again. When that went to message I sent a text, then another, and another, a long stream of self-abasing remorse.
With trembling hands, I went through my bag looking for his business card and tried all the numbers without success.
The next morning, after a night of broken sleep and terrible dreams, I called his office landline, where a smooth young man purred, “Mr Armstrong is not available at this time.” When I pleaded with him to ask Joey to ring me, the smooth young man said, with obvious double meaning, “Mr Armstrong certainly has your number.”
After work I went to his apartment and leant on the buzzer for hours without an answer. Over the next few weeks I returned at all kinds of strange times, day and night, without ever getting a response.
In many ways it was reminiscent of Jacqui’s ghosting three years earlier. I felt like I was going to lose my mind.
Luke would have been the obvious intermediary, but he’d broken up with Rachel and left town. I had no way to reach him, but even if I had, I was too ashamed to tell him.
When all else failed, I wrote Joey an old-fashioned letter; he didn’t reply.
Surprisingly, he didn’t block my number or email. It was as if I wasn’t worth the bother.
Meanwhile, despite the hurt it had caused, my longing for a baby intensified. Pressing on, I found a clinic I liked and could afford, submitted to the tests and was eventually given the go-ahead. Right at the point of choosing a donor, the tight grip of the compulsion seemed to loosen.
Confused and doubtful, I was afraid to slow my momentum and just as afraid to move forward. Then, in the midst of my agonizing, a stiff, cream card came in the mail: an invitation in curlicued script to the engagement party of Elisabeth Boyd-Hamilton and Joseph Armstrong.
The shock was intense: it was only five months since that shameful night. Had he been seeing Elisabeth when I put the moves on him? Or was it a more recent thing?
I went to the party, desperate to make amends, but I might as well have been invisible. I’d been invited just so Joey could blank me.
I got it completely: being denied forgiveness was my punishment.
Overwhelmed with remorse, it took a while to notice that my baby hunger really was on the retreat. It continued to slacken until, very gently, it set me down: I was free.
Unable to trust this unexpected reprieve, I waited several more weeks before calling Angelo. The master of the light touch, he just said, “Come on over. Let me cook for you.”
I stepped back into the circle of his love, of my love for him, and, unlikely as it seemed, we picked up where we’d left off.
He forgave me for breaking the code of our agreement. I forgave him for denying me a child.
Joey, though, was a different story. Whenever I thought of him, the rush of shame was devastating. Eventually, when I couldn’t block the memories, I blocked his number instead.