‘No, I don’t have any children, Hattie,’ Josh replied.
I found myself slowly exhaling with relief. Now why was that?
‘Have you never wanted any?’ I said, aware that I was probing, but trying to make it sound as if the question were as casual as asking if he liked milk in his tea before pouring or after.
He laughed knowingly. ‘Hm, you’re back to asking things about me. You know I’m not meant to tell you anything.’
‘It’s just an innocent question, Josh. Why on earth can’t you answer it? It’s called conversation.’
‘It’s also called nosiness,’ he laughed, ‘something you have a lot of, but I find it very endearing.’
‘Really?’ I asked, as a thrill of delight rippled through me. I so wanted Josh to feel something of the way I felt about him, and this was as good a start as any. There were also plenty more nosy questions I could ask if he found it charming. ‘You’re so knowing and wise where Charlotte and Lucinda are concerned, I’m sure you’d make a great dad.’
‘I’ll let you into a secret,’ he said, dropping his voice as if the walls might have ears. The mischievous twinkle in his eyes wasn’t lost on me. ‘I’m not a father… yet!’
‘Ah… so… oh! You’re a father-to-be?’ My spirits, which had been so uplifted only moments ago, seemed to sink right through the conjured-up pub’s scuffed oak floorboards. ‘Congratulations,’ I said in a strangled voice.
‘Thank you, said Josh, inclining his head graciously.
Well wasn’t that just peachy? Not only was my lovely, gorgeous Josh in love with some other lucky lady, but plainly she was big with child too. His child. Josh regarded me with amusement, as if he was having a private joke at my expense.
‘And when is the baby due?’ I asked, trying to inject a bit of enthusiasm into my voice.
‘In Earth time, not for another eighteen months.’
I frowned. ‘Eighteen months? But how—’
‘No more questions,’ he said cutting me off.
‘Right,’ I sighed, resuming my contemplation of the floorboards.
‘Otherwise you’ll get me into trouble, and my job as your co-ordinator will be taken away. And I really don’t want that to happen,’ he added softly.
I looked up sharply, just in time to catch a look of extreme tenderness on his face. So much so that, if I wasn’t very much mistaken – if this red wine wasn’t blurring the edges and, indeed, if this whole weird experience wasn’t muddling my clarity – one might be inclined to interpret it as a look of longing. But before I could reflect on that any further, he interrupted my musings.
‘Are you ready to return to the past, Hattie?’
I drained my wine glass and nodded, staring into the flames of the roaring log fire. I knew what was coming next. Even though I recognised it needed reconciling, I didn’t like it one little bit.
Forty-Four
‘What is it you want to tell me, Hattie?’ said a man’s voice.
Not Josh’s. I tore my eyes away from the flames of the log fire and found Nick sitting opposite me. We weren’t alone. The place was heaving. I knew immediately why the pub had seemed so familiar. It had once been Nick’s local. Quaint, low-beamed and very relaxing with a stress-free ambience. He’d often brought me here in the early days of our dating, and we’d enjoyed many a charming pub supper. Its cosy atmosphere and down-to-earth clientele was one of the reasons I’d opted to tell him my news here, rather than at his flat. I’d felt it might be more prudent to have people around us, so he wouldn’t go ballistic and create a scene. Well, he might do the former, but definitely not the latter. Nick wasn’t one for public meltdowns.
‘Er, yes,’ I cleared my throat. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes, I need to tell you something.’
‘We’ve already established that,’ Nick laughed. ‘What’s up with you, for goodness’ sake? You’re behaving like someone with an enormous secret that’s grown so big it’s going to burst out of you, ripping apart the very seams of your clothes.’
I couldn’t have put it better if I’d tried. Whilst the seams of my clothes weren’t coming undone, the zip on my jeans certainly was. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been able to do it all the way up. The stud button hadn’t met for weeks.
‘Do you want another drink first?’ I asked.
‘No, don’t want to lose my licence,’ Nick nodded at his pint. ‘What about you? Wouldn’t you rather change that soda water for a glass of wine?’
‘Er, n-no,’ I stammered, ‘the s-soda water is fine.’
Whether it was the tremor in my voice, or that Nick suddenly registered I was declining my usual tipple, his facial expression and body language changed in a flash. His back visibly stiffened, and he sat so still I wondered if he’d suspended breathing. Suddenly there was a silence between us that became heavy and horribly protracted. In the background, noise continued. There was the merry ding of the pub’s old-fashioned cash till followed by a clatter of coins. The punters continued chatting, their collective conversation sounding like bees humming, punctuated by the occasional guffaw. All around us people were having a joke and relaxing. It was just in this snug corner, by the open fire, that a hushed tension prevailed. And still we stared at each other.
‘Do you or do you not have something to tell me?’ said Nick, at length. His voice sounded so different. Harsh. Like that of a stranger.
‘Yes, I do,’ I croaked, struggling to voice aloud what needed saying.
‘Go on, spit it out,’ he said, his mouth disappearing into a thin line. I hated it when he did that. It made him look so mean.
Unnerved, I took a sip of soda water and promptly choked. He didn’t blink as I sat there, coughing and spluttering. Eyeballs streaming, I dipped into my handbag for a tissue.
‘I’m waiting,’ he hissed.
I swiped at my eyes and thanked God I was telling him my news in a public place.
‘I-I have a feeling you’ve already worked it out,’ I said, desperately hoping I’d be let off the hook for actually saying it.
‘I’m not second-guessing what you want to tell me, Hattie,’ he said bleakly. ‘I’ll ask you again. What do you want to tell me?’
There was a pause while I dug deep for some much-needed courage.
‘I’m pregnant,’ I whispered.
‘You can’t be,’ he immediately volleyed back.
‘But I am.’ My voice was barely audible. He looked so angry. This was awful.
‘It can’t be mine,’ he said, his eyes hard as flint. ‘I’ve never taken chances, not even if a woman has told me she’s on the pill. I know too many guys who have been trapped by a woman playing the card that you’re now trying to deal me.’
‘I haven’t been unfaithful,’ I said, aghast that he could think I’d want to sleep with anyone other than him. ‘Accidents happen.’
‘No they don’t,’ he said, ‘not to me.’
‘Well this time, it has,’ I insisted miserably. ‘But it’s okay. I’m not trying to trap you. You don’t have to whisk me into the nearest Registry Office and make an honest woman out of me. Nor do I expect you to raise the child with me. I’ll see to it.’
Relief flooded across his face. ‘Good. I’ll pay. Obviously.’
I stared at him in confusion. ‘Pay?’
‘For the abortion.’
‘Who said I’m having an abortion?’
‘You just said you’d see to it.’
‘Yes, I meant, as in bringing up the child. I’ll see to it.’
Nick stared at me incredulously. ‘You’ll see to it?’ he repeated, his voice going up an octave. ‘This isn’t a bloody tin of baked beans you’re talking about, Hattie. You’re talking about nine months of pregnancy and a life-long commitment. How the heck are you going to “see” to having a kid when you’re still living at home with your mum and dad, and sleeping in your childhood bedroom, eh? Are you under some sort of misguided impression that you’ll simp
ly shift over in bed, and make a bit of room under that childish unicorn quilt so you can tuck Baby in alongside you? Is that what you’re naively thinking?’
Well, yes, something like that. Put like that, the idea sounded preposterous.
‘I’m sure—’
‘Sure of what? That Mummy and Daddy will be thrilled to bits they’re going to have a grandchild? Delighted that their daughter will become a stay-at-home mum and they have to fund not only you, but a kid that grows at the rate of knots?’
‘They won’t object—’
‘Well I bloody do!’ he roared, causing the background hum to dip as several eyes pinged over to the couple in the corner clearly having an exchange of words. Nick slammed his pint down on the table, causing it to slop everywhere.
Oh God. I should have told him at his flat after all. He was giving me exactly the reaction I’d sought to avoid by being in a public place. Instead we were making a spectacle of ourselves. My face flushed an unfetching shade of beetroot. He shifted in his seat to stare at those bold enough to gawp in our direction. Eyes slithered away. Men studied their drinks while women whispered behind their hands.
‘Get rid of it,’ he said, turning back to me.
‘I can’t.’
‘Don’t give me any bollocks about it being your body and your decision. It takes two to make a baby. Therefore, it takes two to decide whether to keep it.’
‘I really can’t—’
‘Now you listen to me, Hattie,’ Nick interrupted, his face turning an unattractive shade of magenta. ‘I do not want to be a father again. I do not want another child. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘I’ll sort it out,’ he said, picking up his dripping pint glass and draining the contents in one gulp. He set the empty glass back down with an air of finality. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll find a private clinic and book you in. You’ll get the best care and—’
‘But—’
‘No buts.’
‘WILL YOU LET ME SPEAK!’ I shouted.
Once again there was a hush as this time the entire pub ground to a halt. It was Nick’s turn to look uncomfortable.
‘Aye, let the lass speak,’ quipped someone as another tittered.
‘Is this really the place to have this conversation?’ Nick hissed.
‘It’s as good as any,’ I retorted.
The punters once again turned back to their drinks, resuming conversation. When the volume was at a suitable level to stop anyone overhearing, I leant in closer to Nick.
‘You’re absolutely right.’
He immediately looked happier, thinking I was seeing sense from his point of view, but he was misunderstanding me, and I was quick to rectify that.
‘It does indeed take two to make a baby,’ I continued, ‘but that baby is carried by one person. Me. Not you. So don’t you ever, ever tell me what I can and can’t do with my body. Is that clear?’ My voice caught in the back of my throat and I broke off, struggling for composure.
He regarded me furiously. ‘Exactly how pregnant are you?’ he demanded.
‘Four months.’
‘Four months?’ Nick gasped. ‘Why the heck have you kept so quiet about it?’
‘I didn’t know,’ I said.
‘Didn’t know?’ he repeated, his expression one of disbelief. ‘How the hell could you not have known, Hattie?’
Yes, indeed, how could I have not known? However, I was speaking the absolute truth. It was everything after this moment that became a lie.
Forty-Five
Your vibration is changing to grey, Hattie. I can tell you’re distressed. Shall we resume the review in the Halfway Lounge?
Y-yes please, I stammered.
The pub disappeared and, with it, Nick’s angry face and the inquisitive clientele who had still been casting us the odd surreptitious glance, curious to know what was going on with the angry man and the young woman with huge scared eyes.
‘Oh, Josh,’ I said, my voice despairing. ‘What must you think of me?’ And with that I burst into tears. ‘Sorry,’ I bleated, as a box of tissues manifested in mid-air. Josh was clearly expecting the full waterworks. Again.
‘I’ve told you before, Hattie,’ he said gently, ‘there is no judgement. You’re not here to repeatedly beat yourself up. You’re here to make peace with yourself and let the past go in a mindful and self-healing way.’
‘It wasn’t very mindful and healing for Nick though, was it?’ I howled.
‘I hear what you’re saying, but he didn’t have to stay with you. Later, he made that decision for himself.’
‘Under duress.’
‘Duress or not, it was ultimately his choice. But this isn’t about Nick and, anyway, karma later played out its hand to you for your actions.’
‘What do you mean, karma?’
‘That old law of cause and effect came into play after you and Nick got together. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you?’
‘You mean the bit where—’
‘Hang on, we’re getting ahead of ourselves,’ said Josh, interrupting me. ‘One thing at a time. Firstly, everything happens for a reason. Nick had outstanding parenting issues to address that were left hanging when he dumped the first Mrs Green for the second Mrs Green. So rest assured that he got to deal with those issues when your son was born.’
‘This karma stuff is beyond complex,’ I said, trumpeting noisily into a second tissue.
‘Life is full of complexities,’ Josh agreed, ‘and yet there is simplicity in the most complicated of things.’
‘You’re not convincing me,’ I said, giving a watery grin.
‘I don’t need to convince you, because that’s not what this is about. Let’s start with why this situation arose in the first place.’
‘You mean, why I lied to Nick.’
‘If you want to put it that way, although I think the word “lie” is rather a strong one, don’t you? Let’s try another word. What about “deluded”? It fits the circumstances. You literally duped yourself into believing Nick was the father of your unborn child. And that’s understandable.’
‘Because of what happened with… ’ I almost gagged saying his name aloud, ‘…with Martin?’
‘You wince every time you say your ex-boyfriend’s name. That also needs addressing. But yes. With Martin. You had a total mental block about what happened. A coping mechanism came into play and your memory acted like shutters clanging down, blocking out the fact that no contraceptives were used which, in turn, obstructed you questioning why your period was late, month after month after month, until your jeans didn’t do up and your belly had the start of a swell.’
I reddened, not entirely at ease discussing my menstrual cycle with a man who, for heaven’s sake, wasn’t even my GP. But then again, I seemed to be talking about no end of embarrassing things with Josh. If he wasn’t fazed, then presumably I shouldn’t be.
‘Yes, I understand what you’re saying, and you’re right. I was in denial. But there did eventually come a point where I realised it wasn’t just my body that was about to go pear-shaped. My whole life was crumbling around me.’
‘It was a stressful situation, Hattie. There’s no doubt about it. Your memory block lifted enough for you to finally buy a pregnancy kit, but that was all. You’d been banned from Martin’s funeral, which also kept a lot of much-needed grief at bay and unwittingly aided the denial and memory block.’
I nodded, accepting Josh’s explanation, because hearing him voice it was lifting the lid on the whole sorry episode. Everything was flooding back with clarity and I found myself admitting important things that I’d never allowed myself to acknowledge before: that what had happened was not my fault. No was no, and whether he’d been drinking or not, Martin hadn’t taken notice of that. Afterwards, I’d convinced myself that I was to blame. That Martin had been hurting from my ending the relationship, so it was only natural for him to want to hurt me back. That perhaps he’d genuinely thought we were sexual
ly play-acting a ‘catch me if you can’ scenario. I’d told myself that perhaps I was at fault for going to his apartment to end the relationship, allowing him to misconstrue things and that, callous as it seemed, I should have done what hundreds of other women so often do – dumped him by text. Such an action would have avoided misunderstanding on his part and vulnerability on mine.
All these unleashed thoughts came rushing back to me. I’d blamed myself and, disgusted, shoved it from my mind. Whenever the memory had threatened to return and overwhelm me, I’d simply turned my back on it all, mentally distancing myself and berating myself: It’s your fault, Hattie. I’d done something stupid. Handled it badly. End of story. Much better to move on and make a fresh start with a man I’d loved from afar for the last six months.
Despite the trauma of what had happened with Martin, I’d had no compunction about sleeping with Nick again. Firstly, a part of my brain had shut down, consequently putting distance between myself and the event. Secondly, I’d welcomed my body joining with Nick’s. It had been cathartic. Cleansing. The action became the cement in the brick wall that I’d put up over Martin, and I concentrated only on having a fun time with the man I adored. So when I missed my period, I told myself it was just a hormonal blip. I was now well and truly in denial, you see. And that denial remained steadfast when the second period failed to make an appearance. And then the third. I refused to acknowledge what was going on in my body. It was only when I could no longer do up buttons on waistbands that a chink appeared in the cemented-up wall. It was only a small chink, you understand, but enough to send me scurrying off to the local pharmacy. An over-the-counter pregnancy test was purchased and, later, I trembled as the twin lines turned blue. And still I refused to acknowledge Martin’s role in my new situation. Never. Not in a month of Sundays. This baby was Nick’s. Of that I was adamant.
Forty-Six
‘So,’ said Josh, bringing me back to the present again, ‘you’ve recognised why the delusion was established about Fin’s father, and reviewed with fresh eyes the reason for the denial, and you now understand the precursor to that action. Martin raped you Hattie. What happened was never your fault.’
The Man You Meet in Heaven: An absolutely feel-good romantic comedy Page 20
