Who Needs Men Anyway?

by Victoria Cooke

  We’re? I suppose he did put in more practise than I had into the making part, I thought bitterly.

  ‘Oh, James, that’s wonderful!’ She stood up to lean over him and cupped his face in her hands before planting a kiss on his cheek. She then turned to me and nodded. ‘Congratulations to you too, Charlotte. This is wonderful news. I suppose this requires something bubbly.’ She sat back down and placed her napkin back on her lap.

  ‘Thank you, Frances,’ I replied politely, and James proceeded to order a bottle of champagne.

  ‘Well, we have a long history of powerful names on both mine and your late father’s side, James,’ she said. ‘Great Grandpa Milford, Uncle Aldwyn.’ I let out a sigh of boredom, which she caught but misinterpreted. ‘Of course, there were plenty of strong women in the family too, Aunt Athelia, Dahlia, my great grandmother and . . .’

  ‘It’s perhaps too soon,’ I said politely. ‘I’d like to at least have my twelve-week scan before allowing myself to think about names.’

  Her face softened. ‘Of course. I’m just excited about my first grandchild. We can talk about this at a later date.’

  The rest of the evening followed a similar pattern: James and his mother sipped champagne; James’s mother swaddled him in praise; James’s mother addressed me politely when necessary to do so and James failed to mention his affair. It irritated me because James knew his mother was cold towards me and even though he relished in her praise he must have known that telling her might have at least pushed her to warm to me. Coward.

  ‘I’ll have a small glass of that,’ I said as James topped up the flutes. He looked at me with an eyebrow raised. ‘It’s fine to have a little sip. Just half a flute won’t do the baby any harm – he or she is a tough Emsworth, after all.’ I smiled sweetly at Frances.

  ***

  The following morning, I had my pregnancy confirmed by the doctor who booked me a dating scan since I had no idea of when my last period was. James had taken the morning off work to come with me despite me telling him it wasn’t necessary. The moment the doctor actually confirmed my pregnancy was bitter-sweet. It was what I’d wanted for so long, and I was excited about it, of course I was, but my dream of a picture-perfect family life would be forever tainted by what James had done. If I’d have found out a few months ago, he would’ve picked me up and swung me around in joy. The feeling of love would’ve bonded us. The three of us, but whilst my baby was attached to me via umbilical cord, James’s connection had been severed.

  The doctor bombarded me with leaflets and information about pregnancy before a midwife appointment was made. It was all very straightforward, which was good, as the next job on the list that day was to tell Kate.

  We’d arranged to meet in a tearoom near a local country park. I arrived first and picked a table in sight of the door, and Kate spotted me easily when she arrived five minutes late.

  ‘You’re looking well,’ she said, kissing my cheek and wafting Baccarat Rouge 540 my way. ‘Are you hungry? I fancy a salad.’ She shoved her sunglasses up onto her head and peered at the healthy offerings in the salad bar.

  ‘I might have a piece of that cake,’ I said, pointing at a homemade carrot cake that looked at least seven inches tall.

  Kate frowned. ‘Since when do you dare eat cake?’

  ‘Since getting fat became inevitable. I’m pregnant.’

  Kate’s eyes bulged. ‘Pregnant? To who? James?’

  ‘Well of course to James,’ I snapped. ‘Who else?’

  ‘I don’t know. Relationships are breaking down left, right, and centre. I can’t keep track. But congratulations,’ she added finally, before picking up a menu and glancing at it. ‘I’m going to order. Are you sure you want the cake?’

  I nodded. ‘And a decaf Americano, please. I’ll grab a table.’

  She joined me a short while later and sat back down. ‘So, pregnant? That’s great news.’ She forced cheer into her voice but I knew what was coming. ‘How are things with James? What does he think of it?’

  ‘He’s happy, I think. Things are awkward and tense between us at the moment but it’s bound to take time. We’ve told Frances.’

  ‘About the affair?’ She goggled at me.

  ‘No, James wasn’t keen on the idea, unsurprisingly. We’ve told her about the baby.’

  ‘I imagine she was thrilled her little prince could, in fact, produce little Emsworth swimmers?’

  ‘Pretty much.’ The waitress approached us and placed our drinks on the table. ‘Megan has a crush on Sam,’ I said, steering the conversation away from myself.

  She gawped at me open-mouthed. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Megan’s very keen.’

  ‘Wow,’ Kate said, sipping her coffee. ‘So are we going to try a bit of matchmaking?’

  ‘No way!’ I’d learnt my lesson. ‘As tempted as I am, no. Megan needs to do this herself.’ I sipped my Americano, becoming accustomed to the decaf taste.

  ‘A few months ago, who’d have thought I’d be the only one with the same partner trying to make things work?’

  I smiled. ‘Nowt stranger than folk, my dad would’ve said. So how are things with Carl?’ I asked, remembering her outburst in the bar.

  ‘They’re good. I don’t know what came over me. Megan was right – the excitement of a new relationship wears off, and in Paris, we found excitement in it not being new, if that makes sense? Knowing one another and being confident together makes us more intense, I just hadn’t given us a chance because I was too busy worrying about losing the buzz.’

  I nodded. I knew full well what she meant – it’s what comes after ‘the buzz’ that counts and it was one of the reasons bolstering my forgiveness for James. ‘It’s the not knowing that hurts in the end.’

  She patted my hand. ‘I don’t know how you can forgive him.’

  ‘It isn’t just about me any more.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The phone vibrated in my hand. I stared at the unknown number on the screen and took a deep breath before daring myself to answer.

  ‘Hello?’ I answered curiously.

  ‘Megan, hi, it’s Andrew.’ Andrew? I almost ended the call immediately.

  I thought he was going to WhatsApp me or something. I swallowed hard, ‘Hi,’ I said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m good, thanks. Sorry for calling out of the blue, I was going to text first—’ like a normal person ‘—but I hate texting so thought I’d just ring.’

  On any other occasion, I’d have appreciated the sentiment. ‘That’s okay,’ I said squeezing the phone. I needed to tell him.

  ‘Now I feel a bit awkward.’ He let out a nervous laugh and the familiarity of his deep, smooth voice from the gym came back to me. ‘I just felt like we’d gotten to know each other and this was the next step, so, here goes. Have you had a nice week?’

  ‘Yes, it’s been a little chaotic,’ I said, truthfully, easing into the conversation. ‘How about you?’

  ‘School has been manic – one of my kids spilt PVA all over his assessment book, glueing every single page together right before staff moderation but we had lots of fun picking them apart. Other than that little burst of excitement, it’s been relatively low-key.’ His voice was so manly it sent a shiver up my spine.

  ‘I bet working with children can be challenging.’

  He let out a small laugh. ‘Sometimes, but I love my class like they’re my own kids . . . I’m glad they’re not my own, though – I can just about cling on to my sanity for the six hours a day I spend with them currently.’

  I laughed at his sense of humour. ‘You seem to love your job.’

  ‘I do. What other job could you act the goat all day and have a team of minions running around after you? I’m joking, I do love it. There’s nothing better than seeing them absorb everything and progress. I get quite emotional at the end of the year when they leave me for the scary Mrs Butterworth.’

  My chest tightened. ‘Ahh, that’s sweet. I bet your class really look up to
you.’

  ‘I do seem to get the best end-of-year presents. It’s a staffroom joke – the other teachers are very bitter.’ He laughed. ‘Anyway, why are we talking all about me?’

  Because you’re lovely. ‘Well, we can change the subject,’ I said. ‘There’s always Notting Hill to discuss.’

  ‘I’m not sure I appreciate your mocking tone,’ he said, laughing.

  ‘Okay, I can be serious.’ I put on a deep and serious voice. ‘So, what did you make of the cinematography in Notting Hill?’

  ‘Hilarious! I’m beginning to think I was wrong about you – perhaps I shouldn’t have shared my deepest, darkest secrets.’

  I got that annoying little pang of guilt in my chest again. He was wrong about me. So wrong.

  ‘I like that you love a chick flick,’ I said cheerfully, masking the guilt-laden, churning feeling that had started up in my stomach.

  ‘Because it’s masculine and manly and makes you weak at the knees?’

  No, it’s because I’m imagining myself snuggled into those strong arms on the sofa, giggling at a romcom and kissing in between the funny bits.

  ‘Yes, something like that!’ I giggled nervously.

  ‘What do you think about meeting up?’ he said, catching me off-guard.

  Blood started thumping around my head. ‘I . . . er. I’d love to.’

  ‘Ah, okay, you don’t sound convinced. Was that too soon? I told you I’m new to this?’

  I smiled. ‘I’m new to it too! Meeting up would be nice.’ And then I could tell him the truth. Face to face.

  ***

  It was wrong of me, but when my scan date arrived, I didn’t even tell James. It felt too personal to have someone there I felt I barely knew.

  ‘Will your husband be joining us?’ the sonographer had asked when I arrived. It was the first time I got to see my very own little tiny human. I didn’t want it tainted by his presence.

  The first thing I heard was the little heartbeat, fast and loud. ‘And there’s baby,’ the sonographer said pointing to a wriggling mass on the screen. I could just about make out the arms and legs. Moisture formed on my eyeline as my chest swelled. It was my baby and I loved it.

  ‘So looking at these measurements, it seems you’re about fourteen weeks pregnant.’

  ‘What? Four . . . teen?’

  The sonographer nodded. ‘Your notes say you can’t remember when your last period was so I guess that explains why.’

  When I got back to my car, I sat for a while allowing my whirling thoughts to settle. If I was fourteen weeks pregnant, I’d drank, I hadn’t taken care of myself. I racked my brain trying to remember whether that would have been when I was taking conception vitamins and folic acid. I didn’t know. I felt panicky and breathless again. ‘Fourteen weeks,’ I whispered. That meant, when things started to fall apart, when I was desperate to conceive and thought there was a missing piece in my near-perfect life, I already had everything I wanted. I just didn’t know it.

  ‘What’s this?’ James came in from the office waving a small black and white photograph. I’d left it on his keyboard when he’d taken a phone call outside earlier.

  I bit down on my lip. ‘What do you think it is?’ I replied with a niggly feeling in my stomach. Guilt? Irritation? I wasn’t sure.

  His face broke into a smile. ‘This is wonderful, but Charlotte, I would have taken time off and come to the hospital with you. We should do these things together.’

  ‘Yes, sorry. I assumed you were still snowed under.’ I instinctively froze as he came over, wrapping me in his arms, and then allowed myself to relax. Small steps, Charlotte.

  Waking up next to him the following morning, I realised his arm was snaked around my waist, lying protectively across my stomach. The warmth of his body suddenly felt all homely again, and the hairs on his chest tickled my back in a way that was familiar and comforting. Maybe it was the reality of the scan, the time that had passed, or something else, but I actually snuggled into him without any ugly images sneaking into my mind. Perhaps time is healing.

  After a while, I left him sleeping to go downstairs, and for the first time in ages, I prepared breakfast. The sweet smell of pastry baking roused him shortly after and he came down in his pyjama bottoms like he used to. ‘How about a walk after breakfast?’ he asked, and my chest fluttered a little.

  ‘I’d love that.’ I smiled warmly, handing him a cup of coffee.

  By ten o’clock, the sun was shining and the sky was cloudless overhead as summer dawned. We walked through the isolated grass and woodlands of The National Park silently, hand in hand. I hadn’t been sure I could forgive James before, but in that moment I felt like I could. I was forgiving him. The memory of what he did still stung, but in the grand scheme of things, maybe it didn’t matter.

  He’d handed large parts of his case over to another solicitor who now went to work at the chambers with Samantha when her input was needed, and I could just about cope with that – until the case was over, at least. I stole a glance at his handsome features and my chest felt all light and jiggly. The gorgeous man beside me and I were building a family together. I stopped in my tracks, stood up on my tiptoes, and kissed him on the lips. It was just a peck, but I lingered. He raised his eyebrows, grinning. It was the first time I’d kissed him since ‘the incident’, but it felt right.

  ‘Does this mean what I think it means?’ he said and I nodded, unable to keep the grin from spreading across my face. He pulled me in close and kissed me properly. I felt like my heart might explode.

  As the days rolled on, I became acutely aware of the little human growing inside of me, and the more focused I became on the little peanut in my tummy, the less I cared that James had fallen back into the old routine of working long hours in the study, and that suited me fine. I enjoyed my own company, and I was still coming to terms with what he’d done so the space didn’t hurt. I assumed that once the baby arrived, we’d fall back into our old ways and the whole sorry matter would blow over. Since becoming pregnant, the overwhelming sense of love for my child overshadowed everything else and I wanted James in the wings.

  I’d continued chatting to Andrew, mostly via text and sometimes over the telephone, and whenever he’d mentioned meeting up, I’d managed to make an excuse. I knew I needed to do it, I just didn’t want to lose him. I realised that since going to that private school I’d been surrounded by shallow, fake friends and it was no different in the social circles I’d been part of in Cheshire. Meeting people I really connected with was new to me and I know it was selfish to put off telling him the truth but I needed him and I couldn’t help but wonder whether we could have built a friendship if I’d been honest from the start. Fortunately, he’d been in the throes of report writing and sports day planning and didn’t have much free time either.

  The last message I’d read from him had sent little tingles through my stomach. It had ended with:

  It’s so odd: we haven’t even met but I feel such a strong connection to you. It’s like we’ve known one another for years.

  And after I’d read it for the second time, my eyes lingered on his photo for just a little too long.

  ***

  ‘Is that a teeny tiny tummy I see there?’ Megan asked when she turned up for my next Pilates session.

  I grinned and nodded animatedly. ‘Everything is coming together, and my life’s plan is back on track!’

  ‘I take it things have progressed with James then?’ She sat down on the mat and folded her legs, and I followed suit.

  ‘Yesterday we kissed, and it didn’t feel wrong or peculiar. It felt . . . like it’s supposed to.’

  ‘That’s great, Charlotte, it really is.’ She smiled. ‘Samantha and Sam are getting a divorce.’

  ‘Oh?’ To be honest, I’d not thought much about Sam lately. I hadn’t had many Pilates sessions on account of my morning sickness, or even seen much of either of them socially as James and I had been making more of an effort.

  ‘He’
s coming to terms with it,’ she said. I couldn’t help but sense hopefulness in her tone.

  ‘Good.’ I copied Megan’s gentle stretches, not wanting to interfere.

  ‘It’s been three months, though. I’m not complaining but if it were me I’d be fighting like crazy!’

  ‘Maybe she just accepted it.’ I shrugged. It seemed Megan had more trouble letting go of the whole situation than I did. I wondered if she missed the drama and focus of our little investigations.

  Once she’d left, I logged onto the laptop to read Andrew’s latest message. I’d started to see him as a companion and found myself eagerly awaiting contact from him. It was exciting to talk to someone who found me interesting and wanted to hear what I had to say. It was different than talking to Kate or Megan and Sam – and James, for some reason.

  I stared at his last message

  It’s so odd: we haven’t met but I feel such a strong connection to you. It’s like we’ve known one another for years. x

  I’d been unable to reply when I got it because all kinds of stirring sensations were conjured up inside me that I knew were wrong. It made me smile, even though it was doing it again – the stirring; I knew I had to put a stop to it – I was leading him on, and as a married woman, I was crossing a line.

  I feel it too. x

  I hit send, clasped my hand to my mouth and gasped. I’d fired off the message instinctively. Perhaps pregnancy was doing something to my hormones. But I’d even searched on the internet and read chatroom conversations from expectant mothers and the general opinion was the same: everyone felt an overwhelming sense of love towards their unborn child, like me, but nobody mentioned anything about having feelings for random strangers off the internet. If I was looking for some kind of solidarity or common theme – I wasn’t going to find it.

  I fell even more in love with my husband.

  My partner and I became so much closer.

  We fell in love again.

  All I could think about was my baby and the wonderful man who helped make it.

  The words whirled around in my head. I had to put an end to it all. I’d been a bored housewife and things had got out of hand. Again. I needed to tell him, but I couldn’t do it in a message.