He doesn’t even comment. In fact, he looks serious, grim.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask, concerned. ‘Did it… um, did she not take it as well as you expected?’
He’s only been downstairs for a matter of minutes, how badly could things have gone? Not even time to make a brew and ask ‘How was your journey?’, never mind anything more complicated. He shakes his head, and answers: ‘I need to go out for a bit. We’re going to go for a drive down to the village. I’ll be back later, okay?’
I nod uncertainly, gripping the covers and tugging them around myself, right up to my chin. Something in his tone isn’t right, and it’s unsettling me, making me feel vulnerable.
‘Okay,’ I say quietly. ‘Of course.’
He runs his hands through his hair, and lets out a weary sigh. ‘I love you, Jane. We’ll talk later.’
And with that he leaves. What the hell is going on? Not long ago, we were rolling around on this bed together, and last night was… last night was amazing, in so many ways. I’ve finally started to allow myself to think about a future here with him. Why is he behaving like this now? Edgy, anxious, evasive even? What is he hiding?
I hear the front door slam shut, and quick as a flash I’m up and out of bed. I trip over a stray shoe, grab hold of a chair back, and just about steady myself by the time I reach the window. Graceful and elegant as ever, I think, holding the curtains back a little. I’m aiming for that Goldilocks zone between being able to see out, and not being spotted by anybody who glances up.
Except he’s not glancing up. He’s standing outside with a tall woman with long dark hair. A woman who he is talking to, opening the car door for.
A woman who is noticeably and unmistakably pregnant. At a guess, around six months pregnant.
TWENTY-THREE
RORY
I feel like a complete arse. Catrina is here, she is heavily pregnant, and she’s come to see me expecting… well, God knows what she is expecting. Apart from the baby.
Seeing her on the doorstep like that, my mind racing, all I could think of was Jane. Jane, the love of my life, waiting for me upstairs. Catrina, a friend with benefits, standing on my doorstep with her swollen belly, a smile on her face as she announced: ‘Surprise! Can I use the loo?’
I’d stood and blinked like a complete eejit as she did her business, adding up dates and cursing my ignorance about female anatomy. How pregnant is she? Is it… is it mine?
She’d emerged from the toilet looking relieved, and was obviously confused when I grabbed my car keys. I wasn’t sure what to do, what was going on, but I knew that this wasn’t a conversation we should be having here. Not with Jane upstairs, and potentially the world’s messiest situation to deal with.
I’d dashed upstairs to talk to Jane, hating the way she looked when I said I was leaving. The hurt in her eyes, the quietness of her voice. The way she covered herself, seemed to try and make herself smaller. But what else could I do? I had no clue what was coming. No idea of what was going on.
Now, Catrina and I have driven down to the bay. We call in to Rosie’s café for coffees, and Rosie raises a curious eyebrow as she passes me the takeaway cups. I shake my head – I couldn’t tell her anything even if I wanted to.
We first stroll down to the beach, find a spot to perch, staring at the waves, at the sunlight shimmering on the water, at the gulls circling above.
‘So,’ I eventually say, after scalding my lips on the black coffee. ‘Is it… is the baby mine, Catrina?’
She glances at me, an amused look on her face, and pats me on the thigh. ‘Don’t be shitting yourself now, Rory Callaghan,’ she answers, her smile mischievous. ‘Even if it was, I wouldn’t be hounding you. I know what our arrangement is, and I’ve never had a desire to change it. I only ever wanted you for a few nights at a time.’
Huh. Fair play, if a slight dent to the ego. I let her carry on, because she still hasn’t really answered my question.
‘And no, it’s not – but the look on your face when I turned up at the door! Absolutely priceless, man! I should have videoed it, it would have broken the internet…’
My first and overwhelming feeling is one of pure, stark, glorious relief. I suspect that probably makes me a terrible human being, the kind that should get themselves off to a confessional booth at the first possible opportunity, but I can’t help it. I like Catrina, and part of me has often wondered what it would be like to have children. If things had been different, maybe I wouldn’t have been relieved. Maybe I’d have been disappointed, felt that I was missing out. That life had cheated me again.
But as it stands, hearing those words come out of her mouth almost makes me cry. The entire drive down, I’d been holding off asking, not wanting to be the world’s most insensitive prick, trying desperately to remember the last time we’d seen eachother – did we use condoms? We always used condoms. But condoms are not infallible, and there was pretty clear evidence that something had gone wrong… or right, depending on your point of view I suppose.
Now I know for sure, I want to rush back home. Get back into bed with Jane. Heal that small hurt I’ve caused, close any distance between us. I don’t feel right being away from her, and now Catrina has told me what I need to know, I fight the urge to just get up, and run all the way back up the hill.
That wouldn’t be fair, or kind, or decent. I told her she could call in any time, and it’s not her fault I was too busy rediscovering my first love to check my messages. ‘So,’ I say, ‘tell me all about it…’
Catrina smiles, but there is an edge of sadness there. She rests her hands on the curve of her stomach. ‘A tale as old as time, Rory – a one-night stand. It was before you came to visit. Three weeks before to be precise, with a performance poet I met at the gallery. Which now I say it out loud makes me feel borderline embarrassed…’
‘Which bit – the performance poet part?’
She laughs and rolls her eyes. ‘No. The slutty behaviour.’
