Sharing Sean

by Frances Pye

  “So let’s make it up to her. Let’s sort it out for them.”

  “How about finding another Sean? To share? She’ll cheer up once there’s someone else in her bed.”

  “Are you insane?” Jules shrieked.

  “Lily. After what happened with him?” Mara asked.

  “Yeah, I know, but it’d be different with another guy. He’d be all of ours right from the start, sort of a joint possession. Not like Sean, who was mine then ours.”

  “What difference would that make?”

  “There’d be no reason for us to get all competitive cos there’d be no me. No person with first call. Boyfriend by committee. Perfect.”

  “Mara, you try. I don’t know what to say to her.”

  “Nor me. Nor me.”

  “What’s wrong with it? I think it’s a great idea.”

  “We’ve all just had a communal nightmare and you want us to walk open-eyed into another?”

  “It wouldn’t be that way.”

  “I thought I was pigheaded. Didn’t you learn anything? Of course it would.”

  “Besides, Terry doesn’t want another man. She’s in love. She wants Sean,” said Mara.

  “Now she does. But if she just met—”

  “Lily! Stop it.”

  “It was only a thought.”

  Jules and Mara looked at Lily, heads tilted to one side.

  “Oh, all right. It was a silly thought. We’ve got to get Sean for her. But how? He’ll never talk to me.”

  “Or me.”

  “I’m happy to try, but I don’t suppose he’ll want anything to do with me either. He knows how close we all are,” Mara said.

  “True. Okay, babes, we’ve got to be clever.”

  “We need to get them in the same room, give them some time together,” suggested Mara.

  “I hate to be the voice of doom, but do we know how Sean feels? We know Terry loves him, but suppose he thought it was just a fling?” Jules asked.

  “Fuck, no. Please. Terry couldn’t run into the man of her dreams and find he’s not interested in her. It would be way too cruel.”

  “I’m afraid Jules might be right. When he talked to me about her, I thought it sounded like he was in love, but if he did care, wouldn’t he have called her by now?” Mara said.

  “He’s very proud.”

  “Still.”

  “It’s only been a couple of months. Less.”

  “Possibly he thinks she doesn’t care?”

  “That could be.”

  “Paul told me that Sean won’t let him talk about her. That he threatened not to speak to the boy again if he mentioned his mother. That doesn’t sound like someone who’s uninterested.”

  “It doesn’t, does it?”

  “But should we interfere? If we aren’t sure? Terry may be even more hurt if he rejects her again.”

  “She may be. Yeah, that’s true. But we can’t let her just cry her life away, can we?”

  “Jake always said you should never mess about with other people’s lives.”

  “I thought you’d given up on all that Jake stuff.” Lily was horrified. Mara wasn’t supposed to be following his lead anymore.

  “What’s Jake got to do with it?” Jules asked.

  “So I think we should go ahead.”

  Jules and Lily looked at each other in surprise and then burst out laughing.

  “That seems as good a reason as any,” said Lily, struggling to control her laughter. “So we’ll do it?”

  “Yes. I think so. We can’t just sit here, can we?”

  “No. No. We sure can’t.”

  “Um, do what exactly?” Mara said.

  “Damn, you’re right. We still need a plan.”

  “I think I might have something.”

  “Jules. You’re a genius. Er…what is it?”

  “Well, remember how Sean adored all those dilapidated old warehouses and factories?”

  “Hell, yes. He was seriously boring about them.”

  “Well, I did a deal a while ago with some developers to arrange a party for the opening of a new warehouse conversion in Clerkenwell. And I think I could persuade them to let me use the place the night before the real party….”

  Five

  eighty-four

  “Hello.”

  “Don’t put the phone down. It’s me.”

  “Lils. Oh, Lils.”

  “I was such a bitch. Will you forgive me?”

  “Of course. What for?”

  “I could have warned you. And I didn’t.”

  “What about me? We’d agreed and I broke the agreement and betrayed you. And then you called and I told you to piss off.”

  “Yeah, and I’d’ve done the same if it had been me.”

  “No, Lils, listen. I’m really, really sorry. I can’t believe I—”

  “Hey. Hey. How about we agree that we were both unpleasant bitches and call a halt to the guilt fest. Okay?”

  “Okay. Of course. Oh, Lils. I’ve missed you something rotten. I kept wanting to call you, but I just couldn’t think how to explain and all that.”

  “I missed you too, babe. A lot. How’s Paul?”

  “Fine. No, more than fine. Great. He’s been very loving since…recently.”

  “That’s wonderful. Truly wonderful. See, I told you it was a phase.”

  “You did, you did.”

  “Now, listen, what are you doing on Thursday? Fancy a girls’ night out? Mara and Jules are already signed up.”

  “Did Jules tell you she came to see me?”

  “That’s sort of what nudged me into calling. Made me realize how stupid it all was. So can you come? We’ve got a hell of a lot to celebrate.”

  “The pregnancy?”

  “Yup. And making up with you. And Mara’s inheritance.”

  “What inheritance?”

  “Course, you don’t know. Her friend Amy, you know, from her street, died and left everything to Mara. No more house woes.”

  “Lucky Mara. Isn’t that great? Not that Amy’s dead, but that Mara’s got a bit of money. She so deserves a break.”

  “Doesn’t she? So can you come?”

  “Try keeping me away. Where’re we going?”

  “We’re picking Jules up from somewhere in Clerkenwell, some launch she’s arranging, then on from there.”

  “Okay. Sounds good.”

  “I better go. See you on Thursday, huh?”

  “Yeah. Lils?”

  “What?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, idiot.”

  eighty-five

  Sean flicked through his mail. Travis Perkins wanted paying for a shipment of timber. Hackney Council had questions on the plans he had submitted for the renovation of an Edwardian school. Freddie Hecht was considering selling his loft in Battersea and wanted advice as to estate agents. Nothing unusual. Except for…Sean picked up an invitation to an opening of a new conversion. It wasn’t often he got things like that. Developers tended not to waste time buttering up their competitors. He looked at the address of the building. God, he’d always loved that place, had dreamed of converting it himself, but had been beaten to it by another company.

  He didn’t feel much like going to any party. Any normal invitation he’d have tossed in the bin. But he did want to see what had been done to this building. And no matter how much he might like to, he supposed he couldn’t stay hiding at home forever. Besides, what was the point of his having hired a housekeeper to be there for the boys when he had to be away if he never went out?

  Ignoring his sudden thought that it would be a perfect party to take Terry to, that he should call and invite her, what an excuse, she loved old London as much as he did, he scrawled “Please accept for me” over the invitation, put it on the pile of things waiting for his secretary to deal with, and got out the plans for the school to see if he could satisfy the council.

  eighty-six

  Jules played nervously with the cocktail napkin that had com
e with her glass of Perrier and lime. She was sitting at one of two small, round tables placed by the window of an Indian bar/restaurant in Covent Garden she’d chosen at random out of the Zagat guide. She’d wanted somewhere neutral, somewhere she was unlikely to meet anyone she knew. Most important, somewhere with no history for her, or, as far as she knew, for Michael.

  He’d been reluctant to see her. In fact, he’d been reluctant even to return her calls. But he was very well mannered, and eventually, after she’d thrown around words like “urgent” and “vital” and eventually “matter of life and death,” he did call and she did persuade him to meet her for a drink.

  She had been half dreading, half looking forward to the evening. Now it was here, she was starting to panic. She couldn’t remember talking to Michael about kids when they’d been engaged; she’d just presumed he wanted them. Wanted an heir, if nothing else. But she had no idea whether or not he liked them.

  His two children were now teenagers. How did he feel about them? Did he love them? Or were they just a necessary evil? Did he look forward to their visits? Or did his ex-wife have to persuade him to see them?

  Gosh, where was he? Even taking into account the normal fifteen minutes for London traffic problems, he was very late. Maybe he wasn’t coming? Maybe he’d decided that whatever was a matter of life and death to her wasn’t so to him? That when push came to shove, he couldn’t face dealing with a woman whose life had been plastered all over the tabloids? Jules looked at the door for what felt like the billionth time. And for the billionth time, no one was there.

  The restaurant was one of the new breed of Indians; no more flocked wallpaper and many-armed statues, but bright, rag-rolled, modern decor, tandoori oven in view in one corner, complete with white-hatted and-jacketed chef. There were a few early-evening, theater-going diners at the tables, but the bar was empty. Jules had been banking on that; anyone wanting to drink at six-thirty was likely to go to a trendy cocktail bar or a pub, not an Indian restaurant.

  But it was beginning to look as if all her planning—she’d even done a preliminary reconnaisance of the place to make sure that it felt right before suggesting it—would come to naught. Michael wasn’t coming. He was over half an hour late. Crowds of going-home and going-out workers streamed past the windows, but none of them was tall, graying, distinguished, and reluctant.

  She took one last sip of her water and stood up, just as the door to the restaurant swung open.

  “Sorry. Sorry. Bloody Trafalgar Square. I got out and walked in the end.” Michael was furious with himself. He had intended to be so calm, so in control, and now he was half an hour late and flustered and having to apologize.

  When she had started calling him, he’d ignored her increasingly urgent messages. Until it became obvious that she wasn’t going to go away and that whatever she wanted, it wasn’t just a whim. It had been years since he’d spent any time with Jules, and even back then he hadn’t known her all that well, but he was convinced she wasn’t the kind of person given to bandying about phrases like “a matter of life and death” unless it was crucial.

  So he had agreed to meet her. He’d tried to get her to tell him over the phone what she wanted but she’d insisted on being face-to-face with him. And had given him no clues at all. He’d spent the last few days trying not to get too anxious or excited or be anything other than calm, controlled, and unmoved by Jules’s sudden reappearance in his life. He was not interested in whatever she might want. He would listen to her, help her if she was in trouble and he could do so, but not get involved. He was very clear with himself on that point. Over the last weeks, whenever thoughts of her and their night together had come into his mind, he had deliberately and ruthlessly forced them out again. In no way, shape, or form was he going to let himself get emotionally involved with Jules again.

  “Don’t worry. These things happen.”

  “But you were leaving.”

  “It’s fine. You’re here now. What do you want to drink?”

  “What’s that?” Michael eyed what looked like the remains of a nice long gin and tonic in Jules’s glass.

  “Perrier.”

  “You’re not drinking?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Oh.” That was a strange way to put it. Was she ill? Taking pills? God, was that what this was about? Michael remembered an incident with another girl some thirty or so years before. He’d been in his last year at school and had had to go to the matron about a very embarrassing rash. “Do you mind if I do?” he asked. Right then, a strong drink seemed a necessity.

  “Of course not. I’ll have another of these if you don’t mind.” Jules watched him go to the bar, order the drinks, and after taking a long swig from his own glass, return with them to the table. She still couldn’t decide what to do. Whether to skirt around the subject, or tell him straight-out.

  Michael put the drinks down and sat opposite Jules. He took another gulp of his gin and tonic. Jules stared at her lap, twisted the ends of her loose shirt in her fingers and said nothing.

  Michael couldn’t help but smile. She looked so much like a naughty little girl about to be told off by a teacher.

  “What is it?” he asked gently.

  One single, solitary, soon-suppressed sob.

  “Juliet? Are you all right?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know. I don’t know how to tell you. You might hate it, but it’s the most wonderful thing and I don’t want you to hate it. Or me. I want you to be happy, but you won’t be and…and…and…”

  “Juliet, Juliet. Calm down. I won’t hate you. What wonderful thing?”

  “I’m…” Deep breath. “I’m pregnant.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “You don’t understand. It’s yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “You’re the father. No, stop, don’t say anything yet. I know you don’t want to have anything to do with me and you wish you’d not been with me that night but I’ve wanted a baby for so long and I lost mine and now I’m having one again and I can’t think of not having it. You don’t have to be involved if you don’t want, but I won’t, I won’t have an ab…a…a termination.”

  Jules’s eyes had been fixed on the glistening, well-polished toe of one of Michael’s neat black shoes during this speech. It had perhaps been the hardest thing she had ever had to do. She dealt with highly strung, difficult people every day, spent her working life negotiating prices and availability, persuading companies to give her what she wanted even if they were deeply reluctant, and she never had any problems. But this was different. This mattered.

  She looked up to see Michael just sitting there, staring at her. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Was he so angry he couldn’t speak?

  He wasn’t angry. He was shocked. It had been the last thing he had expected. He supposed he shouldn’t be so surprised; they had made love and what was more natural than that it should result in a baby? God. After all these years, Juliet was going to have his baby. Something he had dreamed about as a young man in love. Something he had never imagined would ever happen after she left him at the altar. But what did she want him to do? Was she telling him out of politeness? Letting him know because that’s how she believed civilized people behaved? Or did she need something from him? He’d read the stories about her and her friends in the newspapers, how she’d wanted to have a baby alone. Did she still feel the same way now? He played back her speech in his head and latched on to one phrase.

  “You said, ‘You don’t have to be involved if you don’t want.’ Does that mean you do want me to be?”

  “Yes. Please. I want my baby to have a father. A real father.”

  “And what would that mean for us?”

  He didn’t want to have anything to do with it. His still-shocked voice sounded cold, uninterested, dismissive. Part of her wanted to give up right now, to walk out and forget him. But her baby was too important for that. She brushed her pride aside and began to plead her case. “No one needs to know about this. I
t’ll just be between you and me. I’m not saying we should be a couple. And you don’t have to support me financially or anything like that. I just want the baby to know who its father is and spend some time with him. I know you have other children and of course they come first, but if you could just manage a little bit, just a day here and there….” Jules’s words faded into tears.

  And Michael’s arm was around her, her head buried in his shoulder. “Juliet. Don’t cry. Please.”

  “But you’re not interested, I can tell from your voice.”

  “Of course I want to be involved.”

  Jules tilted her head to look up at Michael. “You do?”

  “I do.”

  Her smile was sun after rain, multicolored, dazzling.

  “I only wanted to know what you wanted. I’m sorry.”

  “You sounded so cold. So unconcerned.”

  Michael gave Jules’s hair one last stroke and moved back to his own chair. “I was shocked.”

  “Shocked?”

  “You didn’t give me much warning.”

  “I’m sorry. I was afraid if I told you over the phone you wouldn’t come. Of course you were shocked.”

  “And pleased.”

  “You were? Really? You are?”

  “Juliet…”

  “Jules, please. I know you don’t like it, but I can’t bear Juliet. It makes you sound like my mother.”

  “And I’d never want that. Horrible woman.” Michael grinned at his companion. “Jules, then. I used to imagine you having my babies all those years ago. Why wouldn’t I want to be involved now?”

  Jules thought she had gotten over most of her shame about jilting Michael. But the idea of him daydreaming about their having children together while she fantasized about escaping from him reawakened all those supposedly forgotten feelings. Jules felt guilt carve through her. “Michael, I’m so, so sorry. I should never have walked out on you like that, I was so selfish, all I could think about was me and what I wanted.”

  “Hush. You did what you had to. And you were right.”

  “How can you say that? I left you with all the guests and the cake and five hundred chicken breasts.”