Page 63 of You Were Always the One

‘Better move your car, mate.’

I’d forgotten about my car. ‘Oh. Yes,’ I say vaguely. ‘I’ll see you in there,’ I tell Emma.

It astonishes me how much I already care about this baby. It’s human nature, Riggs, to care about small, helpless beings, particularly when they happen to be yours. And I care about Emma, too. When all is said and done, I want her to be happy.

The next thirty minutes are torturous, my imagination dreaming up worst possible scenarios. Fortunately, it turns out there’s nothing to worry about.

‘They think it’s just my uterus expanding.’ Emma sounds less than impressed. ‘I’m only a bit over halfway. It’s going to get a lot worse than this.’

‘Maybe it won’t,’ I say persuasively. ‘The main thing is you’re both fine. Thank goodness.’

‘Yes.’ She’s silent for a moment. ‘Thanks for being so great. Rushing me in and all that.’ There’s another silence as she looks at her phone. ‘There’s a message from Archie.’

‘You should talk to him. He’ll be worried,’ I say. Then because she’s brought him up, ‘So how are things between you?’

‘Actually, they’re really good,’ she says. ‘He’s really funny.’ She glances at me. ‘It is so fucking weird that I’m talking to you like this.’

‘It’s better like this than the opposite,’ I say. ‘Arguing. Awkward silences. Fighting over Murano lamps. That sort of thing.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I see her smile.

‘You’ll be such a cool dad,’ she says.

My heart swells with pride as I think about impending parenthood, but in that moment, those horizons that briefly expanded close back in, locking firmly into place. Parenthood is diametrically opposed to freedom. But oddly, I’m fine with that.

‘Thank you, Rigby.’ She pauses. ‘I think it will be good when we get our divorce through. Then we really can just be friends.’

I question her logic that friendship relies on a piece of paper from a family court. But I say nothing. I’m grateful that this is so much better than I thought it was going to be. ‘I think we’re already doing pretty well.’

‘Have you told Holly you’re moving to France?’ she says unexpectedly.

‘Not yet. We haven’t spoken for a while.’ The invisible spectre of what might have been is back.

‘You love her, don’t you?’ Emma says.

‘Let’s not jump the gun here,’ I say hastily.

‘Bloody hell.’ Her anger comes out of nowhere. ‘Why couldn’t you have been straight with me?’

‘Now, just a moment.’ I’m slightly unnerved, trying to work out how angry she really is. ‘You’re completely overreacting. We talked about this calmly, Emma. Divorce was a mutual decision. And for the record, I have been completely straight with you.’

Folding her arms, she lapses into silence.

‘Emma, you are seeing someone else,’ I remind her. ‘And for your information, Holly and I have only seen each other a handful of times since we re-connected. But nothing’s happened between us.’

‘Right,’ is all she says.

The next morning, I work uninterrupted, until I stop, because something’s niggling at me. It’s what happened last night, with Emma. And I know she’s fine, but I can’t help thinking: what if she hadn’t been?

At lunchtime, I find her in the kitchen. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and she’s wearing leggings and a T-shirt stretched over her bump.

‘I’m not actually sure I’m going to France,’ I say tentatively.

She turns to look at me. ‘Why not?’ she asks.

‘Last night got me thinking.’ I watch her closely. ‘What if something happens and I’m not here?’

‘I don’t suppose anything will happen,’ she says. ‘And it wasn’t anything to worry about.’

‘But look at last night. It was scary for a moment. I’d hate not to be here if you needed me.’