Bare All

by L M Allen

  “Tell me!” he roars, and rushes at me. I jump backwards, out of reach. Out of range. My heart rate is through the roof, my brain scrambling for an exit plan, my limbs leaden. “What? You fucked up your own relationship, so you thought you’d fuck up mine too? What the fuck is wrong with you!”

  “Gary... I don’t—”

  “Save it. Just. Don’t fucking bother, Eva. And to think, I felt sorry for you. I actually felt fucking sorry for you!” he screams, before storming out of the door and slamming it so hard bits of plaster rain down on my head, and the frame cracks.

  “... know what you’re talking about,” I tell the door, through streaming tears and hard-won breath.

  I lock the door and force myself to inhale and exhale in a steady rhythm. It’s essential. I fold down to my knees, my hands flat on the floor, stretching out my chest.

  After a while, I shift my weight, leaning back on the door with my knees in my eye sockets, my mouth wide as I fight for oxygen, my imagination left to come up with the only explanation possible. Will told Bells. She believed him. And Gary has lost his pregnant wife and needs someone to blame.

  This is all a bad dream. It has to be. I’ll wake up any minute now. It’s just a dream.

  Tap! Tap-tap!

  “Eva? Is everything okay?” the deep voice of the building’s security guard asks.

  “I’m fine, Daryl. It’s nothing.”

  When I eventually lower my knees to the side and open my eyes, I’m still sitting on the floor in my office. Definitely not a dream. And now I have to deal with it. Adapt or die, as my dad would say. For a moment, the idea of just sitting here and waiting for option two flits through my brain. But only for a second, before Summer’s little face fills it instead, and I know I have no choice but to move forward. Keep moving forward. Don’t stop until I’m somewhere better than right here.

  I need to start. Just make a start. An attempt at getting through this, and things will be easier. The first thing I need is a pregnancy test. I grab my bag and head for the stairs.

  I hitch the strap higher on my shoulder and dig through for my sunglasses, before stepping out onto Covent Garden and directing my feet to the nearest chemist.

  I smile my thanks at the cashier fifteen minutes later and stash the test at the bottom of the bag, before turning around and walking as slowly as possible back the way I came.

  ***

  Another fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting on the toilet, lid down, and staring at the white stick in my hand, praying that it’s negative and watching the lines form that confirm it’s not.

  “Fuck.” My palm comes up to my forehead, thumping again and again. “Fuck!” I yell.

  Okay. It’s okay, Eva. You have choices. You don’t have to have a baby. Two little pills and the problem is solved. It’s just a cell cluster that needs to not be there anymore. “One of the fucking problems,” I grumble to myself as I shove the test in my bag and flick the lock back.

  I wash my hands, exit the ladies and trudge across to our office. My office. May as well get used to it.

  I lock the door again and march right to my desk. I dial the GP, then hang up. She knows my mum. I grab the bloody letter and dial the Family Planning number at the top.

  “Hello. Can I help you?” the third person I’ve spoken to, in the last ten minutes, asks.

  “Yes. I’m under twelve weeks pregnant. I need to come collect some mifepristone and misoprostol.”

  “You’re medical?”

  “Yes.” It’s half-true.

  “It’s not usual to...”

  “I know. I know it’s not. But I...need this. I can’t...I can’t do this.” There’s a long pause. I can hear her clicking a mouse. I know what she’s doing. She’s reading my medical notes.

  “I’ll have it waiting for you at reception within the hour, Ms Adams,” she says in a hushed voice.

  “Thank you.” I let out a big breath of pure relief and hang up, only to pick the receiver right back up when the phone rings.

  “Eva. Your appointment is here.”

  “Thanks, Claire.” The show must go on, right? I don’t get to crumble, because I’m a big girl now.

  ***

  “Good morning, Scott. Can I get you a tea or coffee?” I offer the client waiting in reception the following day.

  “I’m good, thanks.” He smiles and follows me into the office.

  “Take a seat,” I wave an arm towards the empty seat and walk around the desk to take my own chair. “What can I do for you?” The words are almost a sigh. Fatigue has turned my muscles to lead.

  “I’ve heard you’re the best.” He tilts his head, his eyes flicking over my face when I don’t respond. He was expecting a reaction? Speak, Eva!

  “Oh, um. Thanks?” He chuckles in an easy way and leans back in the chair, stretching out his legs.

  “I’ve just bought a salsa club. I want to launch it right.”

  “Wow. That sounds fun. When do you want to launch?” I love salsa!

  “Well, the refurb should be finished in six weeks. Can you work with that?”

  “We’ll call it eight, to be on the safe side. What kind of thing are you hoping for?” I reach across for my pad and pen.

  “Fun. A real party atmosphere. Great Mexican food...tequila and...All. Night. Long. Sssalsa.”

  When I glance up at him, he’s watching me intently. “Do I know you from somewhere?” I ask him, mirroring his head tilt. He seems kind of familiar.

  “No. I’d remember if we’d met.”

  “Oh? You have a memory for faces?”

  “Something like that.” A slow smile spreads over his lips, and I drop my gaze to my pad. “I’ve never seen eyes that colour before.”

  “No? I see them every time I look in the mirror.” He laughs, a genuine laugh, not forced. I like him already. “Well, it sounds pretty straightforward, Scott. When can I come see the venue?”

  “We can go right now, if you’re not busy?”

  “Unfortunately, I am. Until about eight o’clock.” I open the diary and flick through.

  “I can do just after eight, if you want, or we can make it another day.”

  “Let’s get it done. Next week doesn’t look much better than this one. Do you have a card?” He shakes his head.

  “Not yet. Here, I’ll write the address down for you.” He reaches across and pulls the pad over towards himself. “Can I borrow your pen?” He holds out his hand, and I drop it into his palm.

  “And my number, just in case,” he says as I pull open my top drawer and rummage through for a card, which I place on top of the pad for him. “Will you be driving?” I glance at the postcode.

  “No. I’ll probably walk.”

  “Walk!”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  “There’s no need.”

  “You shouldn’t be walking around London alone at night.”

  “I can take care of myself. Thanks, though. I’ll see you there when I’m done.” I stand, ending the conversation. He’s frowning as if he wants to say something else. I really hope he doesn’t.

  “See you later.” I smile and walk to the door, holding it open.

  “If you’re sure?”

  “I am.” I nod encouragingly.

  ***

  When I arrive at the address Scott has given me, just after eight, he’s pacing up and down like an expectant father.

  “Hi,” I call, trying to muster a smile.

  “Hi.” He sounds relieved as he turns to hold open the door.

  “Wow.” I stop a few paces inside and take it all in. “It looks like it was a church or something,” I assume out loud, my eyes moving over the exposed brickwork and vaulted ceilings in the huge, open space.

  “It was. Isn’t it cool!” I glance at my client, who’s grinning like a small boy.

  “It certainly is.”

  “I’m having a sprung dance floor laid next week.” I nod and walk further inside, and feel my jaw dr
op at the sight of the massive stained-glass window. “You like it?” Scott asks, right beside me.

  “I really do. But now I’m thinking we’re going to have to do the building justice with our event. You’ve just upped the pressure.”

  “How about a drink, to take the edge off?” He looks at me all hopeful, and I don’t have the heart to say no.

  “Sure. But just a soft drink. I still need to work when I get home.” And I’m pregnant. For now. He nods, and I follow him out to the kitchen, which is about half the size of the main area. There are boxes of spirits and mixers piled high in here.

  “So, why salsa?” I ask as he hands me a glass.

  “It’s my favourite dance. And it’s one everyone can do, and have a great time.” He gestures to the boxes. “What would you like?” My eyes skip over the various options.

  “Diet coke, please.” My brain is running off in tangents. But the recurring theme is carnival.

  Eight weeks from now is when? I pull out my phone and navigate to the calendar. “So, eight weeks from now is...mid-August. Hmmm.”

  “Hmmm, what?” Scott raises a questioning eyebrow as well as his can of coke.

  “Well...I’m thinking a carnival would be amazing...and the biggest Latin-themed carnival I know is The Day of the Dead, but that’s probably an additional eight weeks or more away...”

  “The second of November,” Scott confirms between swigs.

  “Right...so...hmmm.” He chuckles, and so do I. “Sorry. I’m just thinking...Maybe go for a soft launch in eight weeks and a bloody big blowout for the carnival?”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Let me think on it, and I’ll come back to you with a firm plan and a schedule with costings.” My brain isn’t up for too much more of anything tonight. I put the glass down and drink straight from the can.

  “Sounds like a plan, Eva.” He flashes me a smile. “Come sit. Or would you rather dance?”

  “Sitting is good.”

  “You don’t dance?”

  “Sometimes.” I shrug. Like on dusky lawns in the arms of a beautiful man...or in the pouring rain with thunder rattling my bones... “It’s just been a long day.”

  Scott is pretty easy to sit and chat with, even for me, and before I know it, it’s almost ten.

  “Oh! Crap. I’m sorry. I really have to go.” I jump up from the cardboard box I’m using as a seat and look around for my bag. Scott hands it to me.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of walking anywhere now?”

  “Only to the station.”

  “I’m coming with you.” I smile and accept his offer of company.

  I text Mum to let her know I’m running late.

  “Everything okay?” he asks. I throw the phone back in my bag and walk through the door as he holds it open.

  “Thank you. Yes. It’s just my mum; she’s looking after my daughter and I’m late.”

  “You have a daughter?”

  “I do.” I smile as Summer’s antics dance around my head. Then Mae’s. And my brain whispers, Maybe you have another one now. And I shake my head. “Do you have kids?”

  “No. Not yet. So...are you married?”

  “No. I think I’m allergic,” I scoff.

  “Bad experience?” He smiles.

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “He’s an idiot,” he says softly.

  “Who is?”

  “Your ex. Whoever he is.” I give him an awkward smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  “It’s fine. Are you married?”

  “No, I didn’t think I’d ever get married...”

  “Sounds like there’s a but in there to me.” He glances at me and shoves his hands in his pockets. I get the feeling it’s a sore point, so I change the subject. Maybe he’s recently divorced? Could explain why he’s opening a new club. “Do you live in London?”

  “Yeah, above the club, for now.”

  Scott doesn’t leave my side until I’m safely installed on the train. I think, at one point, he was considering coming with me, judging by the way he kept looking at the empty seat beside mine.

  “Thank you for your bodyguard services.” As unnecessary as they were. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” He nods, appearing reluctant as he turns around and shoves his hands back in his pockets.

  ***

  When I drive up the lane to The Nook with Summer asleep in the back, I can’t stop yawning. And Will’s car is parked outside with the boot open.

  My hands are shaking as I release my seat belt and reach for the handle to push the car door wide. I can’t make my feet move, so I close the door and take a few seconds, breathing deep, leaning against the car with my eyes shut.

  “I didn’t know you’d be here.” My eyes spring open, and Will is loading a box stuffed with his and Mae’s things into the boot. The image hits me like a truck.

  “What are you doing?” He slams the boot shut and turns to face me; the cold look on his face makes my stomach sink.

  “What does it look like?”

  “Will...” I step forward, towards him, and he steps back holding up both hands.

  “Don’t. I just came for our stuff. That’s all I want.”

  “Please don’t do this.” My voice is little more than a whisper, forced out through my closed-up throat. “Please. Will! You know I love you.”

  “Yeah? You love me so much you fucked Gary the first chance you got?”

  “Is that really what you think?”

  “What the fuck am I supposed to think, Eva? You haven’t called. You haven’t even denied it.”

  “Would you believe me if I did?” He looks at me hard, his jaw working under his skin.

  “No.” I take a deep inhale, hold it, and close my eyes against the world, waiting for the pain to stop.

  “Okay.” I nod and step back.

  “That’s it? Okay?”

  “What do you want me to say, Will? You want me to tell you that you have it all wrong? That I’d never do that to you? That I love you? That I really thought...” I shake my head and swipe the traitorous tears away. “What would be the point? You already said you wouldn’t believe me. And if you loved me, if you knew me at all...you wouldn’t have to think.”

  The heartbreak I’d staved off with constant activity has just crept up behind me with a sledgehammer, and I need to not be standing in the street. I negotiate Summer’s floppy body into my arms and clunk the car door shut.

  I turn away from Will without even saying goodbye and refuse to let my feet run inside, my lips clamped together, desperately trying not to fall apart. Not for another ten seconds. I jog up the stairs and lay Summer in bed, counting down in my head. Five, I creep out of the room, pulling the door halfway closed...Four, I run full pelt to the bathroom...Three, I lock the bathroom door and rip a towel from the rail...Two, I ball it up and bury my face in it...One, and scream until I can’t anymore.

  When I’m too exhausted to have any option but sleep, I allow myself to crawl into bed, and I’m out cold before the latest tears are dry.

  I feel the mattress dip and automatically reach out for Will. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being stupid. Insecure...Forgive me?” His arms stretch around me, and he kisses my hair as I snuggle against him, my head on his chest and tucked under his chin. His fingertips skate up and down my upper arm, shoulder to elbow, and back again until I’m relaxed and breathing deeply.

  “I love you,” I mumble before sleep sucks me under again.

  It’s not quite light yet when I stir. Foggy memories probe at my consciousness, and I jolt awake, throwing myself around to face Will. But he’s not there. I reach out a hesitant hand, already knowing that the pillow will be un-slept-on cool when I touch it, but it still stings when it’s confirmed.

  As I lie there in the predawn light, the full force of fucked up hits me square in the chest. I’m pregnant. With the child of a man who believes I’m sleeping with Gary. Again!

&nbs
p; And I realise I forgot to stop by the clinic for the pills. I make a note, somewhere in my brain, to call in on my way to work.

  But this time, it’s not just Will who believes it. Bells does too. And Gary is blaming me. Davey is away, sunning himself in Mexico, which means...I’m fucked.

  No! No, it doesn’t. It means I’m alone, sure, but it’s not like I haven’t been there before, right? And at least Will hasn’t tried to kill me. But he doesn’t know about the baby, my brain reminds me.

  Should I tell him? He deserves to know. The thought makes my stomach turn, and I physically flinch away from it. If I were a braver woman, I’d tell him. But...last time...

  He’s not Dan! my brain sneers again. Maybe...maybe if I told him, he’d have to talk to me. To let me explain...no! No! I will not ever explain that again. I’ve tried. Repeatedly. It seems it’s just too impossible to believe that I wouldn’t fuck Gary any chance I got.

  I concentrate on slowing my breathing and realise that I’m more angry than hurt. Right now, lying here in my bed with my fists and teeth clenched, I am angrier than I have ever been in my life. How bloody dare they? How dare they accuse me of that?

  After everything! They really think...? Fuck it. Fuck them all. I don’t need them. Not anymore. I throw back the duvet and stomp to the shower. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.

  When I’m showered, I pull the office diary out of my bag and flick through while the kettle boils.

  Holy fuck. I can’t! I can’t do all of this. I can’t physically be in all of these places. So, what are my options? Cancel? Hire in? Agency? The chef from the launch runs through my brain, and that option is struck out.

  I reach for my phone, pad, and pen. I take them through to my tiny home office and go back to make tea once the kettle is boiled. Then I suck in a breath and prepare to prepare. I need to just dive in. I sit and run through each appointment booked, reschedule what I can, and arrange to call rather than physically see some for updates and catch-up meetings.

  Even after several hours of shuffling things around and jiggling things about, I’m still stretched pretty thin over the coming months. I’ll be working every day and night from eight ‘til eight. If I’m lucky. Which means I’ll be knackered. My hand drops to my belly, rubbing at the queasiness, and I grab my keys. I need to stop by the clinic on my way to the office today. And I need to not be here tomorrow for Summer’s birthday. I need to take her away somewhere. I decide I’ll book a last-minute thing (when I get five at work today) and slam the front door closed.