‘Gav, you stink. I’m not even going to talk to you till you’ve had a shower.’
‘Honeybee, you read my mind. I came overland, you see.’
‘Second on the left, and don’t call me that.’
Gav was cocky but he knew when not to push his luck. While he was in there, she contemplated what looked like a hurriedly cobbled-together tangle of his belongings in a holdall on the floor. God only knew where the rest of them were. At the same time, she was having the surreal experience that he’d never actually been gone. They’d never had an actual row; she’d never even received an explanation, apart from that last weird cryptic text about him staying with his mate. And now here he was, back, as though the intervening months had only been a bizarre hallucination. But this was reality. She didn’t even know where he’d got her address from.
Don’t, she warned herself.Don’t get sucked back into this. It’d be all too easy. Dear God, after her broadside from Samantha, which was already feeling like light years ago, was there any more that life could hurl at her this evening? She wandered into the kitchen, opened a bottle of Sauvignon from the fridge and poured herself a glass. Gav looked like he’d a few on board already. Of course, it wasn’t good to self-medicate in times of stress but, on the other hand, screw that. In the hierarchy of needs, this was the very moment for a glass of wine. She longed to phone Josie but it was after midnight, so whatever happened, she’d have to deal with it herself.
She heard some scuffling from the hallway and a few minutes later Gav appeared, clean-shaven and wearing a T-shirt she didn’t recognise and a pair of combat trousers which she did. She poured him a glass and pushed it across the table.
‘Mmmm, lovely, cheers. What’re you sewing?’
‘Cow.’
‘Nice. You’re looking well, Cass, I’m really proud of you.’
There was always this wonderful ease with Gav, but bloody hell, he really had some neck.
‘Honeybee, I hate to ask but I’m starving. You couldn’t rustle me up a little pasta carbonara?’
She looked at him in disbelief.
‘If that’s too much, plain tomato sauce would be lovely.’
This was exactly how he’d evaded every attempt at big conversations. Marriage, kids. And in fairness, maybe she’d let him.
‘Gav, what the hell are you doing here? And don’t do me the indignity of trying to justify yourself.’
‘I should have come ages ago. I realised that as I was crossing the Irish Sea.’
‘Really? That soon?’
‘Now, now .?.?. I had to come. I realised that when .?.?. OK, I’ll explain. Right, Kirsty’s parents arrived down from Scotland. Very nice people and all that, but then the three of them started having this .?.?. conversation about combining the wedding and the christening. Can you imagine?’
‘What?Wait. Stop. Did you saychristening? She’s fucking pregnant as well? I do not believe this.’
She felt herself involuntarily standing up and pacing around the room.
‘Oh, right. Did you not know?’
‘No, Gavin, I did not. I only knew about the wedding. And that was a big enough shock. How could you do this to me? Turn up here and tell me she’s pregnant?’
She felt a huge lump in her chest, making its way upwards.
‘But it wasn’t planned, honeybee, it just happened. The whole thing.’
‘But Gav, things don’t just happen. They didn’t happen for us. Why was that? Was it me?’
‘No, honey, never. Maybe it just wasn’t the right time.’
‘That’s bullshit. It could’ve been.’
‘I know and I never meant to hurt you.’
Which was true; he probably never gave it the slightest thought.
‘Cassie, how can I make it up to you?’
