by Jenny Colgan
“Hey!” She waved, and Polly stepped forward. Rhonda kissed her hard on both cheeks. “I remember you! You’re the one that snuck out of Reuben’s wedding to make out with that hunky groomsman!”
Polly smiled awkwardly.
“Ah,” she said. “Yeah.”
“Is he still on the scene? Doubt it. Ha, that’s never the way to do it. You young ladies, you’re always throwing yourselves about and—”
“Actually, we’re engaged,” Polly said quickly. Rhonda frowned, or would have done if her skin could actually have stretched in any direction at all.
“Well there you are, it just goes to show.” She said it as if that was exactly what she’d thought all along. “Now where’s that daughter-in-law of mine?”
If there was ever, Polly reflected, a woman who could deal with having Rhonda as a mother-in-law, it was probably Kerensa.
“She’s . . . she’s out and about,” said Polly, awkwardly.
Rhonda sniffed loudly.
“Hear that, Merv? Out and about. Too busy to be here to greet her in-laws. And what’s she even doing gallivanting about the place when she’s carrying our only grandchild? Huh? Huh?”
“Ma,” said Reuben in a conciliatory tone. “She’s not gone far. And it’s not your only grandchild. Hayley has two kids.”
“Well, yes, Hayley,” said Rhonda, in a tone of voice that said absolutely everything about who was the more important of her two children. “I mean Finkel children. Children that will be carrying on the family name. My adorable little Ruby-Woobie’s children.”
She wobbled Reuben’s chubby cheeks, and to his credit, Reuben didn’t try in the least to shake her off; he seemed to totally accept that his mother would want to do this to him, in public.
Marta vanished with the bags and Rhonda swept into the house, trailing an extraordinarily powerful perfume behind her.
“Oh Rubes,” she said sadly. “I mean . . . You know.” She was looking round at the stunning lobby, with its huge tree and massive modern balustrade. “I mean, it’s so . . . it’s just so sparse! Couldn’t you have gone for something a little bit more fancy? Now in our town house,” she said to Polly, “we commissioned panelling top to bottom. Gives it a real classy look, you know what I mean? Properly done. They had to use some wood you can’t even get any more. Completely rare. I think we were the last people allowed to chop it down.”
“Ha ha, yeah, she thinks that,” said Merv. “She thinks we were allowed to knock it down. So adorably innocent.”
He chuckled benevolently and wandered into the kitchen.
“Hey, what you got to eat in this hellhole?”
Reuben trailed after his parents with a look of pleased terror on his face.
“I mean, would it hurt you to put a bit of gold here and there, huh? Show the world you’re on the way to making it.”
“Round here most people think I have made it, Ma.”
“Yeah, round here.”
Polly deftly removed the trays of hot pastries from the oven: the rugelach and the chocolate matzos just as they’d asked for, and her speciality—which she’d had to make about nine times before Reuben finally declared himself satisfied—knishes from the old country, i.e., Europe about three generations before.
Merv tried to grab a handful when they hadn’t yet cooled down. He stared at his fingers like a puzzled bear.
“Da-ad,” said Reuben, and Rhonda tutted and looked around.
“Where’s the ice water?”
As it was December, Polly hadn’t really considered iced water a necessity, but she rushed to Reuben’s absurd industrial fridge and poured a glassful from the dispenser at the front.
“These are great,” said Merv, stuffing the pastries into his mouth as fast as he could. “Of course, obviously I’m going to sue you for the burnt fingers . . . I’m kidding, I’m kidding. What are they anyway?”
Polly turned to Reuben. These were the special knishes she’d laboured over, refining a strange recipe she didn’t know, sourcing ingredients that were incredibly hard to come by in rural Cornwall, and he didn’t even know what he was eating?
Reuben didn’t look remotedly shame-faced.
“Hey, it’s how I like them,” he said. “And I’m paying.”
Polly sniffed.
Rhonda cast an eye over the pastries.
“Not for me, thank you. You know I have to keep myself trim.”
She waddled cheerfully over to the window and started tut-tutting about the state of Reuben’s butler sink—“Seriously, it’s so old-fashioned! You couldn’t have got anything with nice taps? This looks like something the servants would use.”
Reuben smiled affectionately, then sidled up to Polly.
“Where’s Kerensa?” he said through gritted teeth. “I can’t stand this. I can’t do it without her and she’s not answering her phone. What’s up with her?”
Polly shrugged. “I don’t know . . . pregnancy stuff?” she said hopefully, hoping the idea of it would be as weird to Reuben as these things often were. Thankfully it worked.
“Guh,” said Reuben, shivering. “Yuk. I heard the term ‘mucus plug’ once and that was quite enough for me, thanks.”
“Are you not going to be there?”
“Not a chance! As someone said, it’s like watching your favorite pub burning down.”
“Oh Reuben, you have to be there.”
“I’ve booked the best ob/gyn in the country to be on standby, plus a doula and a maternity nurse, and we’re going to get one of those Norland nannies that wear the uniform and refuse to have sex with me . . . I’m kidding, I’m kidding. About the sex, not the nanny.”
“Is this what Kerensa wants?”
“It’s the best,” said Reuben mutinously. “Everybody knows it.”
“Okay,” said Polly.
Christmas was going to be fun, she thought. Just concentrate on the money. Think about the money. Get the work done. It would be fine.
“It’s a shame you didn’t pay more attention to the decorations,” Rhonda was saying, looking around. “Disappointing you didn’t feel you could make the effort.”
“Okay, Ma,” said Reuben, for the first time looking shamefaced, like the naughty boy he must once have been. “Do you guys want a nap or something?”
“Are we in that same room?” said Rhonda. “Only, you know, it’s so noisy.”
“It’s the waves, Mom.”
“I’m just saying, they’re incredibly noisy. Is there nothing you can do?”
“Yeah, Mom. I can go and stop the tide.”
Polly was feeling increasingly awkward. Rhonda didn’t want to eat, and Merv and Reuben had finished everything else, so they were all just standing around looking uncomfortable in that cavernous kitchen.
Where the hell was Kerensa? If she was here, she could say something funny, break the ice. Instead she was doing something Polly considered quite dangerous: she was making Reuben look bad. Reuben was used to getting what he wanted; being the center of attention. Standing him up in front of his parents was rude at best, potentially devastating at worst.
Polly glanced at Merv, who was dusting crumbs off his incredibly expensive coat. Looking up, he caught her eye.
“Yeah, come on, Rhonda,” he said. “Let’s take a snooze, let the kids get themselves sorted out, yeah?”
Rhonda sniffed.
“I won’t sleep a goddam wink.”
“You always say that when you’re tired. Then off you go, snoring like a freight train.”
“This is exactly why we’re getting separate rooms. No, wings,” said Rhonda, folding her arms.
There was the noise of the motorbike pulling up outside. Huckle had popped by to say hello. Polly had rarely been more pleased to see him.
“Huck!” she yelled cheerfully as he slouched in.
“Um, hey?” he said, taking in the room gradually. “Hi, Mrs. Finkel. Mr. Finkel.”
“Merv, please. You’re Huckle, right?”
Huckle nodded.
“You know, I never get to meet any of Reuben’s friends.”
“That’s because he doesn’t have any,” said Huckle, smiling to show he was joking.
“I do! I have millions of friends! I have the best friends in the world and most of them are famous!” said Reuben.
“All right, Superman, I was only joking,” said Huckle. “Hey, good to see you. How’s Polly’s amazing food?”
“Pretty good!” said Merv, patting his belly. “Good hire, Reuben.”
“Actually I’m . . .”
But Polly decided not to pursue it.
“Thanks,” she said. Huckle beamed and put his arm round her shoulders. Rhonda sniffed again.
“So where’s—” Huck started. Polly kicked him sharply on the shin.
“Ow! What?”
“Nothing,” said Polly. Huckle looked confused. Rhonda looked furious.
“She meant, don’t ask about Reuben’s wife, who didn’t bother to turn up to greet us,” she said.
“Oh,” said Huckle, staring at Polly.
“Hello!” came a voice that echoed in the vast hallway, and Kerensa walked in—or rather, lumbered, because her bump was now absolutely enormous. Her roots were growing out and her face was bloated, the skin rough and spotty. Normally, Kerensa never looked anything other than perfect. Even Polly was shocked.
“Hey, Rhonda . . . Merv.”
Merv patted her rather absent-mindedly, but Rhonda couldn’t contain her shock.
“Oh. My. GAWD!!!!” she screamed theatrically. “Reuben, she’s a whale! Look at you! I have never known a Finkel woman blow up like that! Whatever’s in there, it’s bigger than Reuben!”
Kerensa attempted a wan smile, but she looked like she was about to burst into tears. Reuben scowled.
“She looks great, Ma.”
Rhonda would have raised an eyebrow if they weren’t already painted on halfway up her forehead.
Kerensa just stared at them all blearily, as if she hardly knew they were there. Her entire face was sagging, and there was fear in her eyes. She could just about handle being with Polly, but all the Finkels in a row was simply too much for her.
“I’m going for a nap,” she said, dully, putting her expensive handbag down on the kitchen table. The gold clasps clattered horribly on the brushed concrete in the echoing room.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Okay,” said Huckle, the second they got home. He looked riled. This was almost unheard of. He was the most unflappable of men, always. But now he stalked into the kitchen and put his hands heavily on the old scrubbed wooden table. Neil was nowhere to be seen. “What the hell was that?”
“What do you mean?” said Polly nervously.
“You and Kerensa. Swapping glances. Looking all nervous. It’s patently obvious something’s up. What the hell is it?”
“Um,” said Polly. “I think she was just anxious about Rhonda and Merv . . . And you know, the baby coming. It’s due in a month.”
Huckle shook his head. “She can handle Rhonda and Merv. I’ve seen her do it before. That woman doesn’t scare easily. No. It’s something else.” He looked at her. “And look at you! You’re bright pink.”
Polly cursed her fair skin, which always showed when she was blushing, and the fact that Huckle knew her so well. He was staring at her now, those bright blue eyes not lazy and kind but hard-edged.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Nothing!”
“She’s hardly been around, and you’ve been all tight-lipped about everything. What is it, Polly?”
He made them both a cup of tea. Polly didn’t say anything. Her brain was working frantically. She couldn’t . . . but on the other hand, this was Huckle. Her other half. Her love. She had to . . . she couldn’t keep secrets from him. No lies. No dishonesty. That wasn’t what they were about, was never what they had been about. When she was with Chris, he had lied about how the firm was doing fine, how everything was great, how she shouldn’t worry. And the next thing that happened, they went bust and lost everything.
She couldn’t bear to look at Huckle’s wonderful, open, puzzled face. He was so straight. He told her the truth—always. He’d told the truth about how cut up he’d been about his ex-fiancée, that he needed a good year to get over her—and Polly had let him go, had let him do everything he needed to do, until he was ready. They’d always been upfront with each other.
But this. This cut right through the heart of their friendships, of the world they had built together, of the happiness they shared.
Or maybe he’d understand. He was reasonable, right? Maybe he’d see it was just a silly mistake, just a misunderstanding. Or maybe she could wait . . .
He was staring at her, and she realized she’d been quiet for far too long. The game was up.
“Polly?” he said, and the light tone in his deep voice was gone, and there was no mistaking the deadly seriousness of what he was saying. “You have to tell me.”
Polly closed her eyes. Thought about it. Wished herself anywhere else than where she was. Thought about what she owed her best friend. And thought about truth, which she certainly owed her fiancé. Thought about her own life.
And then she told him the truth about Kerensa.
Chapter Twenty-Four
She had never seen him like this before. Of course they’d had rows; they were human. The previous year, when he’d been working away in the States, had been incredibly difficult for both of them.
But before when they’d argued it had been about a thing—the right way to plumb a bathroom, or what was the point of going all the way to the cinema (thirty miles) if Polly was going to sleep through the entire movie every single time?
They had been differences of opinion. This wasn’t like that. Not at all. Huckle’s normally placidly handsome face looked bizarrely almost amusing as it ran the gamut of emotions—shock, astonishment, fury and then, finally, deep hurt. He didn’t say anything for a while. Then he started to say something and didn’t quite manage to get it out. He stuttered, and stopped. He turned away. Then he turned back again, and Polly felt her heart sink right to the floor.
“How . . . how long?” he managed to husk out eventually. “How long have you known?”
Polly swallowed hard.
“Since . . . well, a few weeks,” she said quietly.
“A few weeks?” Huckle blinked. He looked like he was going to cry. “You knew about this and you didn’t think to mention it to me? Ever? Not once?”
Polly shook her head.
“It wasn’t . . . it wasn’t really my business to tell.”
“But Polly,” said Huckle. “Polly, I’m . . . I’m meant to be . . . I’m meant to be your other half. Your . . . your soulmate if you like.”
Polly couldn’t bear him looking at her the way he was looking at her now: as if something he loved about her, or something he had thought about her, was somehow suddenly gone; as if she was not the person he thought she was. As if something precious and perfect they had had together had vanished. Tears sprang to her eyes.
“I mean . . . we’re meant to tell each other stuff.”
“But Kerensa swore me to secrecy!”
“Yes, to the rest of the world, not to me!”
“I couldn’t,” said Polly. “What if you’d told Reuben?”
“Well, I think he has a right to know, don’t you? That he’s going to be raising a baby that’s got nothing to do with him. You don’t think that’s his business either?”
“But we don’t know. Nobody knows. And we won’t know until the baby’s born.”
Huckle shook his head.
“Reuben’s my best friend, Polly! My best friend!”
“And Kerensa’s mine,” said Polly gently.
“No. This is . . . No. It’s immoral. It’s unethical. I can’t take part in this, Polly. I can’t . . . I can’t have anything to do with it.”
“Huckle, you know what Reuben’s like! You know how awful he can be, how tricky! He
drove her to distraction, he was never at home, kept treating her like a servant . . .”
“Does that make it okay?”
“No,” said Polly. “No, it doesn’t. I think she went out to let off some steam and things got slightly out of hand. These things happen.”
Huckle nodded slowly.
“Do they? I mean . . . is that the kind of thing you might do?”
“No!” said Polly, scandalized. “Never in a million years!”
“But you think it’s okay?”
“NO!” shouted Polly. “How can you think that?”
“Because a friend of yours did it and you covered it up.”
“She made a mistake! She doesn’t think it’s remotely okay. Nobody thinks it’s okay, Huckle. It was a terrible, horrible mistake.”
“Putting on odd socks is a mistake,” said Huckle bitterly. “Voting for the wrong candidate. But this: they’ve only been married a year!”
Polly nodded. “Don’t . . . don’t think she hasn’t been beating herself up about it ever since. She loves Reuben. She really does. It was a slip. A silly slip that she’ll never, ever forgive herself for.”
“How can she live with herself?” said Huckle. “How?”
He looked at Polly as if she knew. Or as if he was asking how Polly could live with herself, keeping something so awful a secret.
“Are there . . . are there a lot of things you don’t tell me?” said Huckle painfully.
“No!” said Polly. “No! The only reason I didn’t tell you about this is because it isn’t about me. It wasn’t mine to tell. I wanted to, but she begged me, Huckle. She begged. For precisely this reason. Because it’s nobody else’s business.”
She suddenly found she was terrified. Everything was falling apart.
“Are you going to tell him?” she asked in a small voice.
Huckle pounded his fist on the kitchen table in frustration.
“Goddammit,” he said. “GODDAMMIT, Polly.”
“I know,” said Polly. “I know.”
“What if he finds out later? What if the kid is clearly not his? And then he comes asking us?”
