‘You make it sound so black and white.’ Gracie blew out a huge breath. ‘And out of anyone you should know that relationships aren’t ever that.’
Noms gripped her sister’s shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry this is happening to you.’
Suddenly appreciating what Naomi had gone through herself, Gracie removed her sister’s hand, put it momentarily to her lips, then went to fill the kettle with water.
The Hollywood actor had said that if Naomi kept quiet about the baby, she would want for nothing. So a three-bedroomed house in Wimbledon had been purchased and five hundred thousand popped into her bank account. She had signed an NDA to say that she would never publicly out him, and that was it. She would watch him in his movies with a wry smile, and could already see his brooding good looks developing in her handsome young son. Gracie was the only person in the world who knew.
Gracie and Noms’s parents hadn’t questioned anything. They had assumed that Naomi had been her usual black-sheep self but was doing very well at selling the bespoke handbags she made, and could afford the house she lived in.
John and Deidre Davies had emigrated to Spain when the girls were in their early twenties and no love had been lost between them since. Their distance had been another factor in Gracie’s sometimes depressive state. The one woman she had wanted by her side when she lost her babies was her mum, who didn’t even bother to book a flight to the UK. Noms had been her rock instead.
‘Go and sit down, do you want coffee or tea, I’ll make it?’
‘Coffee and fuck it, two sugars, please.’ Gracie let out something between a laugh and a cry.
‘That’s my girl and if it makes you feel better, why don’t you just fill the fridge for the three of us, as I know you’ll want to pay your way somehow. Workwise, get your CV up to date, so if you do decide to move on, you’ll be ready to go. Maybe you should go away for a week, get your head around everything, decide whether you really do want to be with Lewis or not.’
Gracie sighed deeply. ‘So many bloody decisions.’
They were interrupted by a bark and Naomi smiled.
‘Hello, Boris, you little munchkin. Where have you been, you scamp?’
The lively Patterdale Terrier jumped up at Gracie’s knees. Gracie bent down to stroke him as her sister continued.
‘He’s like a teenager, hilarious. He literally lies in his crate and waits for me to come back from the school run when he knows it’s walk time.’ She whispered the wordwalkfor fear of him getting even more excited.
‘I’ll take him out, if you like. Forget the coffee for now. The fresh air will do me good – give me time to think.’
‘If you’re sure, Grace, that would be great. I’m doing a talk about my bag making and setting up a stall at the WI at eleven. I know, don’t say it, I’m still so rock and roll.’
Gracie managed a smile. ‘That, dear sis, you are. Now, where’s this little fella’s lead?’
FOURTEEN
Gracie pulled into the packed car park. What was it with all these women who didn’t have to work? She looked around at all the 4x4s, the odd Smart car and the space-age-looking electric cars. There were also a couple of dog-walking branded vans. Naomi had told her that quite a lot of famous people walked their spoilt pooches here, too. There was actually nothing common at all about Wimbledon Common!
As soon as Gracie opened the passenger door of her red Ford Puma, Boris jumped out, barking and running around her feet in excitement.
Gracie liked the comfort that having a dog on a lead brought. It gave her the same comfort she felt pushing a pram. She had loved looking after Jack when he was a baby. The love she felt for him was so intense, she thought it must almost be like having a baby of her own. She tried to convince herself of this. Yes, her nephew obviously loved her dearly, but he would never be hers, not properly. The familiar sadness of knowing that nobody would ever call her Mum washed over her.
She set off on her trail, breathing in the early April air and enjoying the feeling of sun on her face. If she closed her eyes maybe, just maybe, she could magic all her angst away; she would wake up and still be pregnant, still have Lewis, her lover, by her side. A Lewis who hadn’t cheated. A Lewis who hadn’t ruined everything between them. The Lewis she had been so in love with.
Boris was in his element off the lead. He knew the paths of the common like the backs of his paws.
Gracie didn’t think she had ever seen so many dogs in one place. A lot of them were with the professional dog walkers, some of whom were walking seven at a time. Some were with joggers, most with yummy mummies bitching about one thing or another, in the knowledge that their little Jemimas and Scarlets had been safely deposited at their respective private schools.
All these people had the dog code down to a T. You didn’t really acknowledge the person, just talked about little Pooks, Rudi or Poppytail, then off you went. Mummy duties set aside, the talk now turned from dirty nappies and school uniforms to poo bags and studded collars.
Gracie chose not to join in. Caught up by a mixture of hurt and hatred, she wasn’t in the mood for conversation and, when her button decided to pop right off her jeans, complete self-loathing, too. When Boris decided to have a poo in the most open part of the path, it was just about the last straw.
‘Oh, you little devil, couldn’t you have done it in the woody part?’ She put a hand through her hair in despair and sat down on a bench which, she noticed had been skilfully carved out of a tree trunk.
‘Well, I’m glad he didn’t. I’m always getting shit on my boots. Have you got any bags?’ The North London accent was evident.
‘Oh God, no, I didn’t think.’ The man in front of her was grinning at her agitation.
‘Here, let me. I always carry a couple. I can’t bear the bloody mess.’ He ripped a bag from a roll and swiftly picked up the offensive-smelling litter.
