My breath hitches. Has Rachel said as much? Or is her dad not a fan of Lawrence? Is he trying to find a way to bring Lawrence into the conversation? Or does he want me to?
‘Still. There’s no changing what’s happened,’ he continues, before I can say anything. ‘And, unkind as this might sound, I think Rachel made the right decision, leaving. I think a future for you two now would be more or less impossible.’
I swallow hard. Because, while this is true, it’s always going to sting, hearing your father-in-law say – if we boil it down – that he’s glad his daughter gave you the boot.
Still. It’s no more than I deserve. ‘You’re not being unkind. You’re being entirely fair.’
He gazes at me and shakes his head, a rare expression of disappointment from the most easy-going guy I’ve ever known. ‘What a waste, Josh. Honestly.’
Alarmingly – because I don’t want to cry in front of him – I feel heat shoot to my eyes. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’
‘You had your whole damn lives ahead of you.’
‘I know that too.’
38.
Rachel
November 2003
‘Bloodyhell,’ Ingrid says, when I finally share my news with her and Poll.
Polly pulls me into her arms and squeezes so tightly, I panic momentarily that she might squash the bump.
‘Have to say I’m relieved. I thought you’d lost your tiny mind, walking into a pub and ordering Ribena.’ Ingrid raises her wine glass. ‘Anyway. Right. A toast to you both.’
I’m not sure if she means me and Lawrence, or me and the baby. But we all cheers anyway.
‘We’re thrilled for you, Rach,’ Polly says.
‘Really?’
Her smile slips slightly. ‘Of course. What did you think we would say?’
‘I wasn’t sure. You’re not exactly Lawrence superfans.’
Polly looks worried. ‘Rach, Lawrence is honestly very—’
‘That’s because no one, my darling, could ever be good enough for you,’ Ingrid interjects firmly, saving Polly from the perilous task of having to list what she likes about Lawrence.
I smile at Ingrid, shake my head. ‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘Is he excited?’ Polly asks.
I tell her yes, and it isn’t a lie. Last night, Lawrence came home with a musical baby mobile hung with tiny felt moons, and a pair of yellow curtains covered in bunnies for the nursery. He’d picked up a Mothercare brochure too, and we spent a soothing couple of hours curled up on the sofa together, going over all the things we might need. Last week he gave me a gift-wrapped bookof baby names, surprising me further with the shortlist he’d been working on.
These small demonstrations of commitment have been blindsiding in the best way. Lawrence, as it turns out, is not a love-bomber after all.
I notice Polly kick Ingrid beneath the table, and realise Ingrid is probably itching to ask if I’m sure, to check I have no doubts. Because that is the kind of friend she is.
But it’s clear she and Polly have already argued about this, and that – by some miracle – Polly has won. So instead, Ingrid just asks me the question without words.
‘I’m really happy,’ I assure them both softly.
‘We can tell,’ Polly says, smiling till the edges of her eyes give way.
‘So, when are you going to break the news to Josh?’ Ingrid asks.
