by Talli Roland
If only she could find the money they needed, without putting additional worry or stress on Alistair. She sipped her tea, thoughts tumbling through her brain. Her credit cards were maxed out, and a bank loan would mean paperwork, phone calls, and time.
Maybe her parents? Poppy quickly dismissed the thought. She’d never been particularly close to them, and anyway, they were unlikely to have a spare thousand or two lying around. They’d just done up the conservatory on their house and already her mother was planning a loft conversion.
‘You okay, hon?’ Alistair reached out and touched her fingers, and Poppy’s head snapped up.
‘I will be. We will be.’ She squeezed his hand. Somehow, she’d find the funds and begin IVF. Alistair would fold her into his arms and thank her for not giving up on their family. Their story would have a happy ending, she’d make certain of that.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Clare hurried towards All Bar One for the next meeting of the No-Kids Club. Thank goodness Wake Up London had agreed to help spread the word, because at three weeks and counting, they were still no closer to gaining new members. The Facebook page was growing in likes and comments every day, but somehow that didn’t translate in actual people coming out. Hopefully the story would run in the next few weeks, although she’d yet to hear from Nicholas since their date. Maybe he’d come tonight? He had said he’d check his schedule.
Clare heaved open the door to the bar, the noise hitting her like a wall. Once again, Anna and Poppy had beaten her here and were seated in the same corner, sipping their drinks and chatting. The two of them looked as knackered as she felt. Poppy’s normally rosy face was drawn and pale, while Anna hunched over her drink as if someone was going to snatch it away. No sign of Nicholas, Clare thought, her heart dropping. Despite the less than stellar end to the evening, she’d hoped he’d get in touch sooner rather than later.
‘Hi, ladies.’ She pulled out a chair and sank into it, her bones aching with fatigue. God, what she wouldn’t give to crawl into bed now. ‘So how was your romantic getaway?’ she asked Anna.
Anna’s face clouded over, and Clare bit her lip. Uh-oh. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked—she’d have thought Anna would be bursting to talk about it.
‘What getaway?’ Anna said bitterly, taking a huge swig of her wine. ‘We didn’t end up going. My husband forgot to tell me he’d booked a weekend golfing with his mates. So he went up to Scotland and I stayed home.’
‘Shit,’ Clare said, raising her eyebrows in surprise that Anna would voice any dissatisfaction with her husband. Maybe things weren’t as lovey-dovey as Clare had imagined. ‘Did you have a big bust-up, then?’
‘Well, no.’ Anna waved a hand. ‘We can always visit another time. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t even want to see Venice, anyway.’
‘But you wanted to, right?’ Clare asked.
Anna nodded.
‘Why didn’t you go yourself? You could have had a ball ogling all the hot Italian men.’ Clare grinned to show she was joking. Somehow, she doubted Anna would even dream of winking at another man besides her husband. If Clare’s partner had taken off for the weekend like that, she wouldn’t have hesitated to jump on a plane.
Anna jerked her gaze towards Clare as if she’d never even considered the option. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t do that. We’ll go another time,’ she muttered, sticking her nose in the wine glass. She lifted her head. ‘Doesn’t matter. I had a nice relaxing weekend on my own.’
Yeah, right. Clare could see by Anna’s pained expression her weekend had been anything but nice.
‘Anyway, when you’re married, you can’t just take off to some foreign country alone without discussing it with your partner first,’ Anna continued. ‘You have to make decisions together. Right, Poppy?’ She glanced sidelong at the other woman as if to enlist support, and Poppy jerked towards her.
‘Er, right,’ she responded finally. ‘As long as it’s something you’re on the same wavelength about. You might not always agree on the best way forward.’
‘True.’ Anna nodded. ‘But marriage is a partnership. You have to work together to make sure you’re both happy.’
‘Yes, but sometimes the other person might not realise what would make them happy,’ Poppy shot back, ‘and you need to act to help them see it. Like you booking a surprise getaway.’
Clare watched the women volley back and forth, wondering at the vehemence of their tones. It was obviously something that hit close to home—the two of them were clearly facing issues in their relationships. That’s why it was a good thing she and Nicholas were starting off in exactly the same place: there’d be no need for any of this tension or complication. If she ever heard from him again!
‘Anyway,’ Clare said, thinking she’d better interrupt the conversation before the women came to blows. ‘Guess what? You know how I told you I’ve been in touch with a producer from Wake Up London? Well, they’re going to mention the club, and I might even do an interview.’ A wave of nerves crashed over her. ‘I don’t know when exactly, but I’ll keep you posted.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ Poppy said with forced enthusiasm. ‘It’ll be great publicity, I’m sure.’
Anna nodded, her cheeks flushed from the exchange earlier. ‘Sounds brilliant.’
The three women fell silent, and Clare peeked at her watch, noting with chagrin only thirty minutes had passed. Please God may Wake Up London get in touch soon, because the way things were going, she doubted the three of them would last much longer.
‘Any luck posting a sign in the bookshop?’ she asked Anna to make conversation.
‘Oh, God.’ Anna dropped her head. ‘I knew there was something I was supposed to do. Sorry, I completely forgot. It’s been a crazy week.’
Crazy how? Clare wondered. The woman only worked part-time and she’d been home alone all weekend, for goodness’ sake. How crazy could it be? ‘That’s fine.’
They chatted awkwardly for the next half hour or so, then Clare looked at her watch again, feigning surprise. ‘Is that the time? I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to go.’ She wracked her brain for an excuse but could come up with nothing. ‘I’ll see you two later.’ She lifted a hand and pushed out the door.
What was she going to do now? Despite the fatigue weighing down her muscles and the fog of her tired brain, she didn’t want to go home to her empty flat. Maybe she could give Ellie a call. It was only eight o’clock, it had been ages since they’d chatted, and she could do with a good catch-up with her friend. Despite her hopes, Anna and Poppy had come nowhere close to filling the hole Ellie had left.
Clare pulled up Ellie’s contact on the mobile and hit “Call”.
‘Hello?’ Ellie’s familiar raspy voice came through the line.
‘Hey, stranger! You up for some company? I’m at Oxford Circus and I can be at your door in about twenty minutes.’ Ellie lived in Hillgate Village, a batch of colourful houses behind Notting Hill Gate station.
‘Actually, I’m at work.’ Ellie sounded even more exhausted than Clare. At eight months’ pregnant and working a twelve-hour day, Clare couldn’t begin to imagine how she must feel.
‘Why on earth are you still there?’ Clare asked, pushing past a man with a battered guitar as she hurried towards the Tube. ‘Go home and get some sleep, for God’s sake. At this point in your pregnancy, you need to take it easy on yourself. Doctor’s orders.’ She laughed to inject levity into her words, but she hoped Ellie got the message.
‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Ellie snapped. Clare raised her eyebrows, taken aback by her friend’s tone. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d sounded so frazzled.
‘Sorry,’ Ellie said a heartbeat later. ‘It’s just, my boss lumped this huge property onto me and I’ve been working like mad to sell it before I take my maternity leave.’
‘Surely they wouldn’t expect you to sell it with only a few weeks
left.’ Clare strained to remember when exactly Ellie had said she was going to take her leave, but all she recalled was her friend laughing that as soon as she got too big to waddle through the Tube turnstile, she’d stop. Given the size of her friend’s stomach when Clare had last seen her at the baby shower, she must have reached that stage by now.
‘Well, my boss hasn’t exactly said it in so many words, but he’s made it clear. And to be honest, I really want to, too. I don’t want to put in the hard work and then have someone else close the deal.’
Clare nodded. She could understand, but she hoped Ellie wouldn’t push it too far.
‘And besides that, the agency has told us they’re looking to lay off the lowest performers.’ She paused, and Clare could almost envision her friend’s anxious face.
‘You shouldn’t have to worry. Weren’t you one of their highest sellers?’
‘Last year.’ Ellie’s voice was strained. ‘This year, I had to take all those days off when I had morning sickness.’ She snorted. ‘Pah, most inaccurate name ever. It lasted all day!’
‘God, I can relate. Well, sort of.’ Clare sighed. ‘I’m having PMS from hell, feeling queasy all the time—either that or I picked up a bug from the hospital. I’ve no idea how pregnant people deal with it.’
‘Maybe you are pregnant.’ Ellie laughed. ‘Hey, wouldn’t that be great if you were?’ she said, clearly keen to follow through with the fantasy. ‘We could be on maternity leave together. Depending on when it happened, of course. When’s the last time you had sex?’
‘Whoa!’ Clare rolled her eyes. ‘Hold on right there. I’m not going to tell you when I last had sex! I can barely remember,’ she joked. ‘And anyway, I have contraceptive injections. They’re 99 percent effective.’
‘Ninety-nine isn’t one hundred, my friend.’ Clare could hear Ellie tapping away at the keyboard. ‘Amanda was on the pill when she conceived her twins.’
Twins! Clare cringed at the thought.
‘But anyway, I’m just kidding.’ Ellie sighed. ‘To be honest, though, I kind of wish someone else was pregnant with me—at least here in the office. Maybe if there were two of us, we could stand up to the boss a little better.’
‘You’ll be fine, El.’ If anyone could handle both parenthood and job, it was Ellie. She organised everything, including her husband Graham, to within an inch of its life. Clare didn’t doubt she’d put Gina Ford to shame once the baby arrived.
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Clare smiled, pleased to hear the energy and determination back in Ellie’s tone. ‘Anyway, how are you? What’s new? How’s the club thing going?’
‘Okay.’ Clare thought of the two women she’d left behind, hoping they hadn’t starting brawling over marriage practice. ‘It’s been a little slow to start with, but we’re going to get a mention on a London TV station, so I’m hoping that will help pick it up.’
‘That’s fantastic!’ Ellie said. ‘How did that come about?’
‘Well . . . ’ Clare paused. Was she was up for the inevitable twenty questions that would result from mentioning Nicholas? It was still early days, and she could do without any pressure. ‘A producer got in touch through the Facebook page,’ she said finally. It felt strange keeping quiet about Nicholas; with Edward, she and Ellie had dissected every last detail. But Ellie had enough on her plate, and it was kind of nice not to let Nicholas bleed over into another part of her life.
‘That’ll really help spread the word,’ Ellie said, still typing. ‘Okay, I’d better get going. Let’s try to meet up soon, though—I’ll give you a ring.’
‘All right. Bye.’ Clare hung up, wondering how long it would be before she heard from her friend again.
She put the phone back in her bag and clattered down the stairs to the Tube. As she collapsed into an empty seat, Ellie’s words rang in her ear. Maybe you are pregnant. Clare shook her head to dislodge them, forcing herself to smile. As if! The chances of her falling into that one percent were as slim as Graham Norton playing the next James Bond.
But try as she might, she couldn’t forget that her friend was right: ninety-nine percent wasn’t one hundred. Fear ran through her as she recalled the nausea that had been coming and going for days, feeling bloated, and the absolute exhaustion unlike anything she’d ever known.
Clare bit her lip, trying to remember her last period. It had been awhile and she’d never been regular, but . . . Damn Ellie for putting the thought in her head! Her friend might have been kidding and the chances were miniscule. Even so, Clare couldn’t escape the very slim possibility that this wasn’t simply PMS or a virus, but something much, much worse.
Poppy crawled under the covers beside Alistair, trying her best not to disturb him. Thank God he was sleeping, she thought, sliding across the mattress so the bed didn’t jiggle. She’d stayed out as late as possible with Anna, despite their earlier heated discussion. Anna hadn’t seemed in a hurry to head home either, downing glass after glass of wine as Poppy watched enviously.
Listening to Alistair’s even breathing, Anna’s words about marriage as a partnership circled around her head. Until now, she and Alistair had been partners, supporting each other as they worked towards a common goal. Now—although she was doing the best thing for both of them—she was doing it alone. Without their usual baby chats and daydreams, their relationship felt deflated, and Poppy was left holding the empty balloon. Or womb, she thought bitterly.
All the more reason to get the process underway quickly, she told herself, so she could prove Alistair’s initial objections wrong and they could be a team again. Poppy chewed at her lip, trying for the millionth time to figure out how the hell she was going to conjure up almost two thousand pounds. It was a small sum for many, but for her, it was starting to seem an insurmountable mountain. For the first time ever, she wished she’d chosen a flash career in the City rather than plodding along as an inner-city school teacher. The amount of money they made was obscene. Alistair’s brother Oliver was a trader, and his bonus was about the same as her yearly salary.
Poppy jerked as an idea hit: maybe she could ask Oliver for a loan! A couple of thousand would be nothing to him. Why hadn’t she thought of him before?
Beside her, Alistair twitched in his sleep, like he was reading her thoughts. Poppy edged further away from him and towards the edge of the mattress, as if by putting more distance between them, he wouldn’t have access to her brain. The two men weren’t close, and Poppy always sensed Alistair was vaguely resentful of Oliver’s money and lifestyle. She’d have to ensure Oliver didn’t say anything to his brother, of course, and make sure he knew this was just a loan until she got together the funds to pay him back. If she saved half her paycheque for the next few months, it would be doable . . .
The heaviness of sleep closed in, and Poppy shut her eyes against the darkness and the tiny pinprick of guilt. It would all be worth it in the end, she reminded herself.
Tomorrow, she’d ring up Oliver and ask him for the money, then she’d make an appointment to see the nurse and be one step closer to starting their family.
Sorted.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Clare’s phone rang bright and early the next morning. She jerked upright, groaning as her stomach performed twirls. If possible, she felt even worse than last night. Despite her best efforts, she’d tossed and turned for hours, the bed seeming more and more like a prison as the thought of pregnancy loomed larger in her mind.
Finally, sometime around two, she’d decided to settle this whole thing by grabbing a pregnancy test at the chemist when she woke up. That settled, she’d drifted into a troubled sleep with dreams of screaming babies and piles of nappies—until the phone had jarred her awake.
‘Hello?’ she croaked, swinging her legs around to touch the floor and hoping solid ground would make her feel more settled. She squinted at the clock: 5:00 a.m. Who the hell would ring now?
&n
bsp; ‘Clare?’ Nicholas’s warm tone came through the line. ‘Sorry to call so early, but I figured you might be up?’
You figured wrong, Clare thought. She finally had the day off, and she’d planned to spend it celebrating not being pregnant after the negative test. Because she wasn’t pregnant, she told herself firmly. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m not working today.’
‘Fantastic!’ Nicolas’s voice was energetic. ‘This works out well, then. Look, we’ve had a last-minute cancellation to our line-up this morning and we’re desperate to fill the time. I’d love to have you come into the studio for a live chat with our hosts about the No-Kids Club.’
Clare shrank back at the thought. ‘But you said it wouldn’t be live!’ She’d be rubbish trying to answer questions, knowing each and every word she uttered was being broadcast and she couldn’t stop to fix something if it went wrong.
‘It’s even better live,’ Nicholas said encouragingly. ‘More fun and fresh. And besides, Dennis and Debs are fantastic. They’ll put you at ease.’
Clare paused, turning the idea over in her head. It would be a great way to get new members, but . . . she was dying to do that test. Don’t be silly, she told herself. She couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spread the word about the No-Kids Club just because she wanted to prove she wasn’t pregnant. She could do that anytime.
‘We’ll do your hair and make-up, really pamper you,’ he continued. ‘And I’d love to spend some time with you when we’re done. Maybe finally cash that rain check?’ His voice was low and sensual. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t got in touch. It’s been a hectic week.’
‘That’s okay,’ Clare said quickly. ‘I’ve been busy, too.’ The thought crossed her mind that it might have been nice if he’d taken the time to fire her off a text, then she pushed it away. She didn’t need an explanation, and he didn’t expect any from her, either.
‘All right.’ She rubbed her eyes as she stood. ‘Is there anything particular I should wear? And where do I go?’
