‘It’s true. She’s pregnant, love. She came to the office with Jenny. They wanted me to tell you first and then suggested you go over to talk to her directly.’
‘That’s not,’ he shook his head, ‘that’s not true. She can’t be.’
‘She is, darling. Ten weeks.’
As the colour drained from his face, she was glad he was sitting down, certain that had he been standing, he might have fallen.
‘Is it true, Mum?’ he asked again, his voice no more than a whisper.
She nodded, understanding what it felt like when despite the facts presented, your brain would not let you accept the reality.
‘He’s gone, Enya.’
‘I think he might want some water; his mouth looks...’
‘He’s gone, my love. He’s at peace.’
‘I’ll sit here for a while... in case he needs anything.’
‘Why didn’t she tell me?’ he gasped. ‘Is she okay? What... what do we do now?’
‘I think you need to try and stay calm and not panic. It’ll take a while to sink in, love. But talk to her, talk it out, make a plan.’ As advice went, it felt as thin as it did clichéd.
‘Does she... does she want to keep the baby?’ he asked quietly, with a reticence to his tone in light of the topic.
‘I think she does, yes.’
He breathed out, slowly. ‘What do I say to Iris?’
Without a ready answer to this, she stayed quiet, watching as her son placed his head in his hands and fat tears dripped silently from the end of his nose on to the carpet.
Jonathan finally looked at her, although his expression made her wish he hadn’t, suggesting she had been left with the hand on the tiller and they were now crashed upon the rocks. A failure by anyone’s standards. She fought the temptation to yell at the man.‘It’s all well and good looking at me like that, but what exactly am I supposed to do? I’m figuring this out as I go along!’
Aiden abandoned his beer, quietly refused supper, and changed into his jeans before leaving to go and see Holly, making his way down the stairs and along the path with a walk of such sadness it was as if he were on his way to the gallows. As was always the way, she felt the weight of her son’s predicament on her own shoulders. It was a night she knew she would never forget, not only as herbrain tried to adjust to the fact that Aiden was going to be a dad, Holly a mum, but also it was the first time she hadn’t known what to say to her son to make everything better while swallowing her own frustration at the gargantuan mess he had created.
Even when they had just lost Jonathan, in the midst of his grief she had found words of solace. It was easy; he would miss his dad, of course he would, but he could sleep knowing that he had been the very best son, how proud Jonathan was of him, and how deeply he had loved him. His time with his dad might have been cut short, but he could rest easy, knowing he could do so without regret. And what a marvellous gift that was.
This was different. An entirely terrible situation that for the want of a few weeks would have been nothing but cause for celebration. It was the cruellest trick of fate, and one into which she had insight. What if Dominic were single? What if they had met years down the line and his situation was changed, what if he were not Iris’s dad, what if...what if...
‘But now we know how fragile the threads were that kept them together, would it have been awful for Aiden to be locked into that relationship for life, Holly too?’ She looked at her husband. ‘Locked in, that sounds like punishment, and I don’t mean it like that. What do I mean? And come to think of it, he’s still locked in for life, isn’t he, they both are? No matter who he’s with or whatever happens next, this baby is forever.’ She paused. ‘A baby, Jonathan. I can’t quite believe it.’
Pickle came into the lounge and hopped up on to the sofa, where she was absolutely not allowed to sit. Enya ran her palm over the silky back of her beloved cat, who now coiled into a loaf and purred in sleep.
She didn’t feel like watching TV, wondering if the letter to Jenny had been a mistake, feeling as exposed as she did, vulnerable, not that there was a darn thing she could do about that now. Shegrabbed the latest Jill Mansell, a fail-safe good read, and settled back on the sofa. It did the trick, distracting her from the knotty ball of worries that seemed to be growing in her thoughts, until the buzzing of her phone pulled her from the pages.
The name HCK flashed up on her screen and again her heart stuttered. Her fingers hesitated for only the briefest of seconds before she placed Jill face down on the sofa, spine cracked, and reached for her phone.
‘Hello?’ She screwed her face up, she knew it was him calling and he’d probably know that she knew, yet the pantomime felt entirely necessary. The simple truth was, she had had the very worst day and wanted someone to talk to, someone who was alive, who might talk back. Someone who might say the things Jenny would have said to make it all feel a bit better, to make her feel less alone. Or someone like sweet Holly, who, it struck her then, was hiding away, usurped by Iris, hurt and lonely. And here she was, answering the phone to the man who was married to Trish, who would no doubt, if things were allowed to develop, feel usurped by Enya. It was sobering and unwelcome and instantly she regretted answering the call.
‘Enya, it’s Dominic.’
‘Hi, Dominic.’ She tucked her hair behind her ears and crossed her legs, as if by adopting this more businesslike stance, the encounter might be a bit more... businesslike.
‘Hope it’s not a bad time, would hate to interrupt your bath-time pasta-making?’
‘Very funny. How was your day?’
She hated the casual nature of her enquiry, as if this were normal, as if it were okay, as if Trish were not at home, maybe tidying away the supper things or settling down to watch TV. Trish, who was about to become Aiden’s mother-in-law.
