by Jo Watson
“Because we’re friends. And she needed somebody.” He glances around the shop. “She’s upset about what happened with Charlie.”
I stare at him, my eyes widening. “You know about that?”
He shrugs. “I guess she wanted some male insight.”
“So what did you tell her?”
He gives me a teeth-flashing smile. “If you want to talk about that, you’ll have to go out with me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
There’s a man, tall and leering with fair hair, waiting just inside the shop doorway at the end of the day.
“Who’s that?” I ask Bryony as we tidy up the store. I have a pretty good idea, but she doesn’t know that.
She looks up at him and there’s a smile forming on her face as she says, “That’s Nick.”
Nick brushes his hands down the grey suede coat he’s wearing and looks away.
“Who’s Nick?”
Bryony hesitates, sweeping brush still in hand. “You really know nothing about this?”
“About what?”
“Nick and I.” She looks over at him longingly.
“No,” I say, bringing out my acting skills again. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on, Megan.” She cocks her head to one side. “You know I didn’t break off my engagement for nothing.”
“For him?” I say, and this time I’m not acting. I look over Nick’s slightly receding hairline, my eyes wide.
She drags the brush across the floor again. “He’s what I need.”
I don’t have anything to say to that. Of course, I’m dying to ask her what she was thinking, swapping Jeremy for Nick. But I can’t.
“What about you?” She lifts her eyebrows. “I heard that guy asking you out earlier. The one who always comes in here with scary Juliette.”
“Liam,” I say, resisting the urge to call him Bublé-Face.
“Are you going out with Liam, then? Promise I won’t tell Tim.”
“I don’t think—” I start to say. But then I see him.
Liam is standing on the pavement outside the shop, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. I watch him out of the window as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other in the cold.
Bryony follows my gaze and smirks. “You don’t waste much time,” she comments.
“You know what, Bryony?” I drop the pile of books in my arms. “You’re right. I’m not sure how to organise these. Best I let you do it, eh?”
I turn and walk past Nick and out the door without stopping to see her stunned face. And I really am going to call Sue Weaver and let her know that retail isn’t for me after all, so it’s not like it matters, is it?
“Hey,” Liam says when he sees me. “Finished?”
I glance back at the Oxfam store as we make our way across the road. “Definitely finished.”
We go to a different pub this time. It’s still only a casual drinks meeting, I remind myself. It can’t be a date. I’m hardly dressed for a date, am I?
I suddenly remember about my hair and the makeup and tug the bobble free. But it’s been tied back all day and the only effect I get is a giant kink I can feel at the back of my head.
“Are you okay?” Liam studies my face as he adjusts the wobbly bar stool he’s sitting on.
“I think I’ll just go freshen up.” I head for the toilets at the back of the pub.
I inspect my appearance in the cracked bathroom mirror. It’s worse than I thought. My hair isn’t just kinky, it’s wild and frizzy and my lips look chapped.
There’s only so much that Dior lipstick can do.
I scrunch my now puffy brown hair back into the bobble.
The way that I look doesn’t matter too much, does it? Because this isn’t a real date.
If it was, I’d be some sort of serial dater, considering my attempt with Tim.
Maybe I deserve to be. I think about Jack’s stunning blonde fiancée. Isn’t it time I got my own happy ending?
Splashing cold water on my face, I inspect my appearance one last time before heading back to Liam.
He smiles at me as I take my place on the stool opposite him.
“Tell me about Scarlett, then,” I say as he hands me my drink.
“You really want to talk about that?”
I take a sip and nod.
He laces and unlaces his fingers. “I saw them together.”
“What?”
“Well, I heard them. Scarlett was yelling all this stuff at him about the baby and Charlie was sort of…standing there.”
I frown, raising my glass to my lips. “Where was this?”
“At work. In that supply room no one ever uses on the third floor.”
“Scarlett didn’t tell me any of this.” I think back to what she’d said about Charlie. The extent of it was that Charlie wasn’t interested, but she never told me about an actual confrontation.
He shrugs. “I don’t think she told me by choice. But she saw me after Charlie left. And it was obvious I’d already heard too much.”
“And now you’re what? Offering her your manly shoulder for her to cry on?”
“My manly shoulder, eh?” He flexes his right arm. “Well, you know, I have been working out.”
“Really?” I say in a bored tone. “You can’t tell.”
“That’s a little unfair.”
“Is it?” I snipe.
He leans forwards, across the little table separating us. “I know what this is about. You’re jealous.”
“Jealous?” I repeat with an incredulous laugh.
“Yep.” He takes a drink of his beer and wiggles his eyebrows. “That’s why you were so rattled when you thought there was something going on between me and Scarlett.”
“I was not rattled.” I tilt my chin upwards. “I was expressing my concerns. If you were seeing Scarlett, it wouldn’t exactly make me a good person if I went out with you, would it?”
“So you think I’m that sort of guy, do you?”
I shrug. “I don’t know what sort of guy you are.”
“I suppose that’s what you’re here to find out.”
There’s something about the smirk on his face. The close way he’s watching me, waiting for my reaction.
I don’t feel like the same girl whose biggest concerns were jamming the photocopier or initiating an awkward conversation with my boss (or anyone really).
“Actually,” I say, meeting his gaze, “I’m just here for the free drink.”
There’s a pause before he smiles. “You think this is free? I’m sending you to the bar for the next round.”
“Sorry, I was planning on a drink and dash.” I shrug helplessly and stand up, clutching my bag.
I’ve got to go through with the mime of leaving now, haven’t I? I move to the side of the table and reach for my coat.
A hand grabs my arm, pulling me forwards and stopping me.
I stare at Liam. He looks back at me.
And this moment is just like in all those romantic comedies. Where you can practically see Jennifer Aniston or Katherine Heigl’s heart turn to mush.
Oh, God. I’m not confident at all, am I? Because these heart-flipping, weak-kneed moments don’t happen to confident women. They have far too much control over their own lives to let something so tragically clichéd happen to them.
“You’re not really leaving, are you?” He focuses on my lips as he speaks.
I shake my head, unable to speak with his fingers still wrapped around on my arm.
“Good,” he says, releasing me. “I was going to suggest another drink.”
I glance longingly at the bar and the freedom it will give me. “I’ll go!”
His eyebrows lift. “I’m impressed. You really are a modern woman.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. I need to compose myself. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m not engaged yet. In fact, it’s probably a good thing that this isn’t even a proper date.
* * *
It’s Monday morning and I’m in McDonald’s.
There’s two cardboard cups of tea on the table in front of me and Helen, and an array of discarded wrappers opposite us, where Scarlett is sitting.
She’s taking advantage of the whole “eating for two” thing. And apparently this is a crisis that warrants dragging us both out of bed early to meet her for breakfast.
Helen fiddles with the plastic lid on her cup. “So, are you going to tell us what we’re doing here?” She eyes the bacon roll that Scarlett is devouring. “Other than watching you clog up your arteries.”
Scarlett sets down the half-eaten roll and gives us both a serious look. “Rebecca came to see me.”
“Rebecca? Jesus, do you mean his wife?” Helen, who has now been filled in on the situation, turns to me open-mouthed before looking back at Scarlett with her eyes wide, eager for more gossip.
“It gets better,” Scarlett says, and I can practically see Helen rubbing her hands together with glee. “You’ll never believe what she asked me.”
“Threesome? Husband share?” Helen throws out suggestions like she’s competing on a quiz show.
“No,” Scarlett answers, her expression disdainful. “She wants me to give her the baby.”
There’s a silence that even Helen can’t fill.
“What do you mean ‘give her the baby’?” I finally ask.
“They haven’t got any kids, and she kept going on about how they’d be able to give the child a stable home and responsible parenting.”
“What about Charlie?” asks Helen.
Scarlett shrugs and wraps up her uneaten food, putting it back on the tray. “I haven’t heard from him.”
“D’you think he knows?” I ask.
Helen takes a sip of her tea and gives me a sideways glance. “Of course he knows! She’s not just going to come home with a baby in nine months, is she?”
“More like six months now,” Scarlett mutters, patting her stomach.
“So what did you say to her?” I query.
“I told her to fuck off.”
Helen nods in approval. “Are you definitely keeping it, then?”
I study Scarlett’s reaction, keen to know the answer to the question I too have asked.
She avoids making eye contact with either of us, but there’s a small, almost hopeful smile on her face. “Screw it. Who says I won’t be a good mum?”
When we arrive at the HR office, Nora is talking to someone. It takes me a few seconds to realise that it’s Charlie.
Helen pushes the glass door open and stares expectantly at our boss, waiting for an explanation.
Scarlett is lingering in the doorway behind me when Nora greets us and tells Scarlett that Charlie wishes to speak with her.
I think of the storage room where Liam said he heard the two of them arguing. How many times had they spoken about this? What else could he possibly need to say to her?
Instinctively, I take a step forwards, blocking Charlie. Helen moves by my side like a barrier.
The two of us must look pretty intimidating right now as he hesitates before making his next move.
“Scarlett.” He lifts his head above my shoulders. “Could we talk in private?”
I’ve still got my back to her, but I can picture Scar chewing on her bottom lip as she considers what to do.
“Okay.” Her voice coming out as nothing more than a hoarse whisper.
Helen whips her head around to face Scarlett. “Be careful,” she warns.
Nodding once in acknowledgement, Scarlett steps forwards, breaking through our barrier. “How private does it have to be, Charlie? Nobody will be able to hear us in the copier room.”
Charlie turns to stare at the glass box room at the back of the office. He fiddles with his tie. “I don’t think I’d like our colleagues watching us.”
“Whatever it is had best be quick, then.” She glances at Nora.
Nora doesn’t say anything for a moment after they’ve left the office. Then she looks at me and Helen and claps her hands. “Get to work, ladies.”
The next fifteen minutes pass with only the sound of typing and shuffling papers.
When Scarlett eventually returns, she slips into her seat and turns her computer on without looking at anyone.
Helen rotates her chair to face Scarlett. “What’s happened?”
Scarlett slumps in her seat. “Nothing. He wanted to apologise.”
Helen snorts. “Apologise for what? Knocking you up in the first place or his crazy wife wanting to steal your baby?”
Nora lifts her head and scrutinizes the three of us from the other side of the office.
“Keep your voice down,” Scarlett urges.
Helen gives her a casual shrug in response. “So which was it?”
“I suppose the second one.” She sighs. “But he says that he didn’t put her up to it or anything. He had no idea until this morning.”
“Well of course he’s going to say that!” Helen jabs her pen at her desk, earning her another curious glance from Nora.
“Is there something going on that I should know about?” our boss asks.
“I don’t think so.” Helen shoots her a polite smile. She turns briefly back to Scarlett. “We’ll talk about this at lunch.”
All three of us focus on our work until Nora leaves the office just before lunchtime.
“I thought she was never going to leave,” says Helen. “I swear she’s only in the office when we have important gossip to discuss.”
“Good to know that I provide such a great source of entertainment for you,” Scarlett says scornfully.
“Oh, I didn’t mean…” Helen trails off, looking at me for help.
“What else did Charlie say to you?” I ask. “He can’t have spent all that time apologising.”
“He wants to know what I intend to do.”
I stare at her. “Intend doing about what? The baby?”
“I think I should get the kettle on.” Helen picks up her empty mug.
When she returns from the kitchen with three hot cups of tea, Scarlett has explained the gist of their conversation.
“I can’t believe he said that to you.” I shake my head in disgust. “Did he actually say he wanted you to have an abortion, or was it more an implication?”
“He said what?” Helen almost spills the tea she’s holding.
“He told me that he’s not leaving his wife and said that I should make a serious decision about my future.”
“That little creep! Who does he think he is?” Helen balls her hands into fists.
“He’s the baby’s father,” Scarlett says.
I study her solemn expression. “You’re not thinking about it, are you, Scar?”
She lets out a deep sigh and stares into her tea. “I don’t know. I guess I have got to think about my future.”
“What about all that stuff you said in McDonald’s?” Helen cries. “I thought you were going to embrace yummy mummyhood.”
Scarlett spreads her fingers out in front of her. “I’m twenty-three. I’m single. I can’t even think about what I’m going to tell Nora. Or my parents. Don’t you think it would be easier?”
“Easier? Scarlett, this is a baby we’re talking about. It’s never going to be bloody convenient, is it?” I say.
“I need time to think.” She stares blankly at her computer screen.
“Don’t listen to Charlie,” Helen advises. “If he wants to stick with his psycho wife and ignore his child, then that’s up to him. But he can’t influence what you decide.”
“Can’t we talk about something else? Hey, Helen, your holiday’s not long off now, is it?”
I’m not in the mood for gushing over bikinis, considering what’s happened with Charlie, but I force myself to join in when Helen starts asking for my opinion on what clothing to take.
“I’m not sure it’s bikini weather in December,” Scarlett says.
“Oh.” Helen’s expression drops slightly. “Will it be really cold? I just bought these gorgeous fur-trimmed gloves.”
“I’ll book a spray tan,” says Helen, jotting it down in her notebook.
“You might get some nice days,” Scarlett says. “But it just isn’t going to be a lie-by-the-pool-all-day sort of holiday.”
“But I’m sure there are plenty of other things to do,” I tell her.
Helen shrugs. “There are loads of bars and shops, right?”
Scarlett smiles. “I think you’re going to love it.”
“And Spanish men,” Helen adds. “Sure you don’t want to come, Meg? I think the flight’s still the same price.”
“Don’t lead Megan astray. She’s already spoken for.” Scarlett claps her hand over her mouth as soon as the words have escaped her lips.
“What?” I stare at her, the blush creeping up my cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m not supposed to know. I spoke to Liam yesterday.”
“And?” I press.
As much as I like the idea of being “spoken for,” it’s not exactly true. Liam and I have only been on one date. Not even a proper date where you dress up in posh clothes and visit an expensive restaurant. It was only a drink at the pub.
“He told me you’d finally succumbed to his charms.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure that’s exactly what he told you.”
“Don’t be like that. We think it’s great, don’t we, Helen?” Scarlett looks encouragingly at the other woman.
“Fantastic news!” Helen agrees.
“And it was me who set it all up!” Scarlett clasps her hands together and beams at me.
“Yeah, but he was acting like an idiot back then,” I point out. “I don’t think he liked you interfering.”
Scarlett frowns. “No, not then. I meant on Friday. It was me who told him to ask you out. Since I know you didn’t do your end of the deal.” She wags a finger at me.
“On Friday?” I blink a few times, confused.
It was Friday night when I saw him in town after my fallout with Zara. It was Friday night when he suggested I go for a drink with him (which he made clear was not a date), and then he went to see Scarlett.
