‘Of course I will,’ I reply. ‘Take care of yourself, Brody. Good luck with the new job. And… thank you. For everything.’
He nods abruptly, and I can see he is struggling too. He drops a final kiss on my forehead, and I wave him off. I stand and watch the car disappear along the road, up the hill, far and away.
He’s gone. I still can’t quite believe it. I give myself a hug, suddenly cold even though the day is mild. I let myself listen to the hiss and flow of the waves for a few moments, then turn to head back inside – to the cottage where I have never spent a single night alone. The flowers in the planters and the hanging basket are in full bloom now, the scents of lavender in the air, a few bees buzzing around. It’s beautiful, but for once it doesn’t make me smile. Maybe tomorrow, I tell myself, I will be all right. If this whole experience has taught me anything, it’s that life is always in a state of change – just like the flowers, the sea, the sky. I have changed so much already, and I won’t freeze-frame here, stuck in misery and pain.
I make myself a mug of herbal tea, and sit on the sofa. It all feels so very big now he’s gone. Empty and sad and way too much for me alone. Except, I remind myself, my hand going to my belly, I’m not actually alone, am I? This is the biggest change of them all. I am carrying Brody’s child. Mysterious as that is, I accept the miracle wholeheartedly.
I am wondering how I will possibly spend the rest of the night when a knock sounds on the door. I jump to my feet, a silly part of me hoping against hope that it is him. That he’s changed his mind and come back to me.
I throw the door open, a big smile on my face that dissolves when I see that it is Rosie. She stands before me clutching a bottle of prosecco and a giant bag of Kettle Chips. I immediately burst into tears, and she edges her way inside.
‘Oh dear,’ she says, putting them down and wrapping me up in her arms. ‘You don’t like salt and vinegar?’
She makes me laugh despite my anguish, and I sob freely onto her shoulder, my face buried in her clouds of soft red hair. After a few minutes, I manage to pull myself together, and back away. I’m embarrassed now, as well as covered in snot and tears.
‘He told you?’ I ask simply, as she uncorks the booze.
‘He did,’ she replies, ‘said he was leaving, and thought you might need some company.’ She removes the apples from the fruit bowl, and empties the crisps into it instead, looking pleased with herself.
‘There,’ she announces. ‘Now the crisps are in a bowl, it feels like a party. Go and sit down, and we can have a good old blether.’
I do as I’m told, tugging the blanket over my shoulders and tucking my feet up beneath me. It’s as close to being in a foetal ball as I can manage. Part of me is still disappointed, and wants her to leave – to be left alone with my grief. But I also know he was right to ask her to visit, that there’s nothing to be gained by sitting here feeling sorry for myself. Brody is still looking out for me, even now. A wave of sadness engulfs me – because who is looking out for him? He pretends to be so together, so tough, but he’s really not.
Rosie sits next to me, passing me a glass of bubbles. I hesitate, then say: ‘No thank you. I’m, um, not drinking at the moment.’
She stares at me for all of three seconds before she narrows her green eyes and says: ‘Bloody hell. Are you pregnant?’
‘Rosie! There are lots of reasons a woman might not want to drink, you know?’
‘Aye, that’s true – temporary insanity being one of them. But are you?’
I chew my lip, and stare at the fireplace. The first night we were here, Brody started a fire for us. It’s been too warm most nights since then, but I still remember how comforting it felt. Now there is no fire, and no Brody – but there is a very kind woman sitting next to me. A friend, someone who will understand what this means to me. I have confided in Rosie before, and I decide there is no reason not to confide in her again.
‘I am,’ I say, hesitantly. ‘Apparently. I have no idea how it happened…’
‘Och, the usual way, I’d imagine!’
I shoot her a look. ‘But you know I can’t have kids…’
‘The evidence suggests otherwise, Kate. And I remember that conversation. I remember thinking how odd it was. That something felt off. Look, I’ve never met your ex, but the impression I’ve gathered is that he’s a grade-A arsehole. Am I wrong?’
‘You are not.’
She reaches out and holds my hand in hers. ‘Then could it be, my lovely, that he lied to you?’
I stare at her in shock. I have genuinely never even considered that, and now I feel like the world’s biggest mug for not doubting him. We both had tests. He told me the results, but I never saw any paperwork, and we never followed up with the fertility people for several complicated and valid reasons. Covid, my grandma, our failing marriage. Could it be true? Could he have deceived me all along? I’ve been working on the basis that this was a miracle, but could the explanation be a lot more mundane – like a lying bastard of a husband?
‘I don’t know,’ I say simply, the implications racing through my mind. The more I think about it, the more I think it might be possible. And the more I think about that, the more angry I get. I go from zero to sixty on the fury scale in less than a minute. ‘I’m going to ask him.’
I grab my phone, and she reminds me that I’ve deleted and blocked his number. ‘I remember it,’ I tell her. ‘It’s imprinted on my brain, that way some things are.’
‘Like Spice Girls lyrics, but less fun?’
I nod, not replying because my mind is already charging ahead. ‘You might want to leave, Rosie. It could get messy.’
‘No way!’ she says, raising her glass in salute. ‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world!’
I nod, not really caring if she overhears us. I dial his number, and he answers straight away. I can hear music in the background, the sound of laughter and glasses clinking. He’s out on the town, and this might have been the kind of night he’d traditionally message me and declare his undying lust.
