His Best Mistake

by Lucy King

  But no, he thought suddenly, a cold sweat breaking out all over his skin as it hit him. He couldn’t do any of that. Stella wanted the baby. She’d said so and she’d sounded resolute. So she’d be appalled by the very suggestion of ending the pregnancy. She certainly wouldn’t agree. And what if, in her horror, she decided she wanted nothing more to do with him ever again? How would he make sure she was all right then? And he had to make sure she was all right, didn’t he? Stella was pregnant and if she was going through with it, it was his responsibility to make sure she stayed safe.

  It wouldn’t happen again, he thought, fighting back the fear and the panic in order to be able to think straight. Not if he could help it. No. He’d do everything in his power to prevent it this time. He’d keep Stella close, so close that he’d know immediately if there was something wrong. He wouldn’t be on the other side of the world, unaware of what was happening back home. He’d be right with her, hauling her to the hospital, commanding attention and demanding answers. In fact he could hardly believe he’d allowed her to walk out of here in the first place.

  Leaping to his feet and stalking to his desk Jack snatched up his phone, which still had Stella’s number on the screen. He hit the button and paced, waiting for her to pick up, the tension gripping his body growing with each passing second. He hadn’t exactly covered himself in glory when it came to Stella, and he didn’t yet have a plan, but he’d figure something out because he was not screwing things up again.

  *

  It was a good thing Stella hadn’t had any expectation that Jack would be over the moon at the news he was going to become a father. If she had, she thought, stepping off the Tube and heading for the escalators, she’d be really rather devastated right now.

  His reaction had been, well, horrendously awful, actually. She’d expected him to be shocked. Heaven knew she had been, and still sort of was even having lived with the knowledge for two days now. But he’d gone as white as a sheet. He’d looked as if he’d seen a ghost. For the briefest of seconds pure terror had flashed in his eyes. She’d never seen anything like it. She’d thought he was going to pass out. Then, when he hadn’t, she’d given him a moment to pull himself together and make some sort of comment, whether encouraging or otherwise, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t said anything. It was like he’d just sort of shut down.

  Not one iota of his response boded particularly well for the notion of shared parenting, which was fine because she’d meant what she’d said about him being as involved as he wanted to be. She wasn’t disappointed by his lack of interest in and enthusiasm for the prospect of impending fatherhood. She didn’t know where she’d got the idea he was someone who’d step up at least a little bit to his responsibilities. She hardly knew him at all. If she’d ever entertained the insane fantasy of them being in it together and somehow sorting something out, well, that was entirely natural. But clearly that was all it was: a fantasy.

  In reality, she had to move forward on the assumption that she was going to be doing this on her own. And it would be fine. She could do this. She was not going to screw up – at least, no more than the average parent. There were thousands of single mothers out there in far worse situations than her. She had resources. She’d muddle through. She might even go and see a therapist again just in case. She and the lentil would make the best of teams. They would be fine.

  As she emerged from the Tube, her phone rang and having pulled it from her bag, she saw that the call was from a number she didn’t recognise.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Stella, it’s Jack. Where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you solidly for the past twenty minutes.”

  If she hadn’t been so immediately incensed by his censorious tone, the sound of his voice in her ear would have made her recall all the other things he’d once very intimately done to her with his mouth. She would very probably have melted. However, she wasn’t melting. She was bristling from head to toe because what was this? How dare he be all aloof and monosyllabic one minute and all fired up and demanding the next? “I’ve been underground,” she said flatly. “On the Tube.”

  A pause. The sound of a breath being slowly and steadily let out. “Right,” he said, clearly having regained a grip on himself. “That makes sense. I’m sorry. I was worried. Where are you?”

  “Paddington Station,” she said, not allowing the fact that he’d been worried to affect her one little bit.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Find a café and wait for me. We need to talk.”

  The line went dead and Stella stowed her phone. Hmm. She could just ignore his request – no, demand – and get on her train, but perhaps she ought to give him the benefit of the doubt. He’d obviously been in shock earlier. He deserved a second chance.

  Spying a café she made her way over to it, pushed through the door and tried not to vomit at the stench of coffee that hung about the place. As quickly as she could she ordered a ginger tea to take away, took it to a bench on the concourse and sat down. She huddled into her jacket, which frankly wasn’t really up to the job of keeping out the cold, wrapped her hands around the styrofoam and took a nice warming sip.

  So Jack wanted to talk. Well. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Or was it? Whatever. This time she wasn’t going to let her head run away with what ifs. This time she was going to wait for the facts and then assess the situation.

  Thankfully, since it was proving remarkably hard to keep a lid on her little fantasies, she didn’t have long to wait. A mere five minutes after sitting down, her skin prickled and she looked up to see Jack striding across the concourse, his jaw set and a scowl on his face, and her heart sank a little because, oh dear, he did not seem happy.

  “What are you doing out here?” he said, looming over her and frowning down at her. “It’s bloody freezing.”

  “At the moment,” she said a touch archly, “the smell of coffee churns my stomach so I thought it better to wait out here rather than decorate the café’s floor tiles.”

  His scowl deepened but now she thought she could see concern there too and she made herself calm down because all this stress and tension could not be good for the lentil.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. It’s just a bit of sickness. It’s getting less and less every day. Ginger helps,” she added, holding up her cup with a slight smile, which turned to a grimace the minute icy air hit the exposed skin of her wrist.

  Jack was right, she thought, shivering and pulling at the cuffs of her jacket, it was bloody freezing. More so here than back at home, otherwise she’d have come better prepared. There was a flurry of movement above her and she glanced up to see him shrugging off his coat. A second later, barely before she could register what he was doing, he’d put it round her shoulders.

  “Now you’ll freeze,” she said, the residual warmth from his body and the trace of his scent doing mad things to her thought processes and wiping away any feeble protest she might have made.

  “I’m not pregnant.”

  “As far as I’m aware cold’s never been a threat to pregnancy. Liver and blue cheese maybe, sub-zero temperatures, no.”

  “You can’t be too careful.”

  “Well, thank you anyway,” she said, pulling the coat a little more tightly around her and telling herself to get a grip because, really, it was only a coat – albeit a lovely soft cashmere one – and she should not be going gooey inside just because he’d given it to her.

  He did up the button of his suit jacket and sat down next to her. “I’m the one who should be thanking you for agreeing to wait. I apologise for being so abrupt earlier. You took me by surprise.”

  “I know,” she said, softening a fraction despite herself.

  “I didn’t handle it well. Although that doesn’t seem to be anything new when it comes to you.”

  “I’ve had a few days to process the information and you’ve had, what, half an hour?”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Y
es.”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “So far so good.”

  He shot her a tight smile. “Well, like I said, thank you for waiting.”

  “I’m not working today,” she said, focusing on the tea, the information boards, anything other than him, because if she didn’t she might well find herself helplessly inching towards him like an iron filing in the field of a magnet and she did not want to have to explain that away. “I had the time.”

  “Have you been working a lot?”

  “Enough to keep me busy.”

  “Not getting too tired?”

  She was permanently exhausted but she could hardly sit around with her feet up. She was self-employed and had a mortgage to pay. “I can manage.”

  “Can you?”

  “Of course.” Did he really think she couldn’t? OK, so she knew she looked a wreck and the nausea was inconvenient but she was keeping it together. And if he did think that then what else might he think? Only one way to find out. She took a deep, steadying breath in the hope that her yo-yoing emotions would settle. “So I imagine you want to talk about the pregnancy.”

  “I do.”

  “I can’t think how it happened,” she said, frowning. “I mean, we were so careful, and condoms are supposed to be pretty infallible.”

  “The first one, my one, may have been out of date,” he said, his default scowl back in place.

  Stella stared at him. “Really?”

  “It’s possible.”

  How? She’d have thought looking like he did and just being him he’d have got through them on a pretty regular basis. Even hers, the ones they’d subsequently used, had been relatively new. But she could hardly interrogate him about his sex life, could she? It would be way too personal. “I guess anything’s possible,” she said instead.

  “It’s the result we have to deal with.”

  She looked at him properly then, his words registering, and her heart beginning to thump, with…what? Relief? Hope? Excitement? No. That was all madness.

  “We?” she echoed, determinedly locking down all the surging emotion because how they were going to ‘deal with the result’ was still unclear.

  “Yes, we,” he said with a decisive nod. “You said I could be involved as much or as little as I wanted, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “I choose to be one hundred per cent involved.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I intend to be with you every step of the way with this pregnancy, Stella. Every single step.”

  Stella blinked as she took in the determination on his face and the sincerity of his tone. “Right,” she said, faintly bamboozled by the searing heat of his gaze. “Great. This is…well, frankly, it’s rather unexpected.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I couldn’t be surer. And bearing everything in mind,” he continued, “I have a suggestion.”

  “What is it?” she said, lifting the cup to her mouth and taking a sip.

  “We should get married.”

  Stella choked on her tea. She coughed and gasped, her eyes watering and her heart hammering. “What?” she spluttered, as Jack thumped her on the back. “Are you joking?”

  “I’m completely and utterly serious,” he said, his hand now rubbing in soothing circles instead of hard thumps, making her dizzy and scattering her wits. “You and I should get married,” he repeated, and for one totally insane moment she could imagine it. She could actually see the old, stone village church with ivy winding round the pillars and white roses and freesias cascading from the windowsills. She could see Jack standing at the altar, looking darkly and devastatingly handsome in a morning suit, his eyes on her, only her, as she slowly walked down the aisle in a fairy tale white silk dress. She could hear them saying their vows and making their declarations and there wasn’t a dry eye in the church, just happy smiles and heartfelt sighs, until the vicar asked if anyone objected and Jack’s sister stood up and shouted that yes, she did mind. Quite a lot, actually.

  Hmm.

  Pop went that little bubble.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Stella, giving herself a shake and getting a grip. Yes, she wanted to get married and have a bigger family at some point, but not at any cost, not without love. Not like this. “There’s absolutely no need for us to get married.”

  “There’s every need.”

  What planet was he on? They hardly even knew each other. “Why?”

  “Stability and security for one thing. The statistics show that children who are raised by two parents who are married are likely to be better off, happier and more successful than those who aren’t. They’re more likely to go to college, will be emotionally healthier and are less likely to get involved with drugs.”

  “Someone’s been googling,” she said. “And anyway, everyone knows that ninety-five per cent of statistics are made up.”

  His jaw clenched. “This isn’t a laughing matter, Stella.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Jack,” said Stella, feeling her temper begin to spike. “But what about those children whose parents only marry for their sake? I bet they’re not covered by the statistics. No one can put up a front for ever. What effect do you think that might have on their psyche? Or do you really think it escapes their notice? Because in my experience very little that parents do does.” Look at how her parents’ behaviour had impacted on her. She’d never inflict that level of self-absorption on a child. “I won’t do it, Jack. Ever.”

  He regarded her levelly for a moment, then nodded. “OK, fine,” he said. “I’m adaptable. I can see that this is going to take some time to hammer out. But we have seven months. With any luck. In the interim you can move in with me. My apartment has three en-suite bedrooms. There’s plenty of space.”

  She stared at him, her jaw dropping all over again. In what way was that a good idea? Or even a workable one? “What? No. I have a life in Somerset. A home. Work. I can’t just up sticks and move even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

  “Then I’ll move in with you.”

  Stella blanched. “No way.” Her house was too small. He’d take up too much space and she’d be aware of him all the time. It would be excruciatingly awkward and seriously stressful.

  His eyes glittered with frustration. “So how do you suggest this is going to work, Stella? We live a hundred miles apart and I need to know you’re both all right.”

  “I’ll keep you updated by phone,” she said. “I’ll send you scans. Or you can come with me to the doctor’s appointments if you want to.”

  “It’s not good enough.”

  “It’ll have to be.”

  He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, and she caught a glimpse once again of that ruthless determination that glinted there when he wanted something and intended to get it. “You live alone, right?”

  “You know I do,” she said, determinedly ignoring the memories of what had happened the last time he’d looked at her like that.

  “So what will you do if something happens?”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “That’s partly my point. You don’t know.”

  Stella held up a hand. “Stop this, Jack, you’re alarming me now.”

  “Good. Pregnancy is no joke.”

  “I know that, but you’re overreacting.”

  “I’m not.” His jaw tightened. “If there’s a problem with anything I need to know.”

  Suddenly it was all just too much. The shock of the pregnancy, the fatigue, the nausea, this morning with the nerves, and now, this. Jack wasn’t giving an inch and she felt like she was being bulldozed. His eyes were dark and determined and blazing with an emotion she just couldn’t make out, and suddenly she couldn’t take the intensity of it, of him, any more. She was all over the place. She felt like she was suffocating. She could feel herself closing down. She needed some space, some room to breathe, to think through the options, and she just couldn’t do that
here, with him, like this.

  Glancing over at the information board Stella stood up. “Thank you very much for the loan of your coat,” she said, slipping out of it and handing it back to him and not regretting the loss of it one little bit, “but there’s a train leaving in five minutes and I need to be on it because right now, Jack, the only problem I can see is you.”

  Chapter Seven

  It was nine in the evening when the downstairs door buzzer sounded in Jack’s kitchen. He ignored it, and went back to finishing off his fifth – or was it his sixth? – tumbler of whisky. He didn’t want to see anyone, and he was in no fit state to do so anyway.

  After Stella had stalked off to catch her damn train he hadn’t bothered going back to the office. What would have been the point? His concentration was shot, and all the traits that made him so successful at what he did for a living – discipline, nerves of steel, emotional detachment – were history.

  Briefly he’d contemplated going after her. He knew where she lived. It would have been easy enough to do. But even though by that point he’d been bordering on desperate he’d recognised that it would have been a deeply unwise move. Instead he’d headed home and cracked open a bottle of single malt and had then made a start on getting through it.

  Stella’s parting shot kept reverberating around his head. So he was the problem, was he? She had no idea. No idea at all. She thought everything was going fine with the pregnancy, and maybe it was now, but what if tomorrow, the next day or at any time in the future, something went wrong? What then?

  Helplessness and confusion swirled around inside him. All he wanted to do was make sure that didn’t happen, and for some reason she wasn’t letting him. She’d blocked every argument he’d made. Why? What would make her see? Was there anything? Or had he screwed everything up by being too heavy-handed in his approach?

  Jack tossed back the remainder of his drink but it didn’t in any way alleviate the stomach-curdling feeling that everything around him was disintegrating. For the last three and a half years, with the exception of the one week out of fifty-two that he allowed himself to feel – his life had been calm and steady. Uneventful. Safe. Just the way he’d wanted it. Ever since he’d met Stella though, he’d felt like there was a dangerous current constantly tugging at him, threatening upheaval of epic proportions. Now the tsunami was upon him and he couldn’t ignore it because if anything went wrong, again, well, it didn’t bear thinking about.