up my stride again, and I can sense a few people looking at me as I pass them by.
And I accept that my world with a piece of Jack needs to slowly fall apart in order for it to be rebuilt again. With him. All of him.
* * *
With a coffee in my grasp, I wander over to Hyde Park. I walk the entire circumference before breaking through an opening in a barrier on Park Lane and strolling down to the Serpentine. I see Micky in the distance, just on the crest of a hill, squatting while shouting encouragement to a guy doing press-ups with a rucksack on his back. I sit on a bench and watch their entire training session, then remain where I am for another hour and watch him putting another client through her paces—this one Charlie. When they’re done she gives him a hug, and he reciprocates. It seems so affectionate, something that doesn’t go hand in hand with Micky. Not with his conquests, anyway. He couldn’t have got her in the sack yet. He’s slacking; he’s been training her for months.
I had no intention of waving to attract his attention, but when he turns and starts toward me, I realize he’s probably known I was there the whole time. He’s all sweaty, the muscles of his arms glistening in the mid-morning sun as he approaches me. Offering a small smile, he sits next to me, but he doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. I’m scared to death of a repeat of Lizzy. Will I lose all of my friends in my mission to have all of Jack?
I feel his hand take mine and gently squeeze, and I glimpse to the side, finding him looking straight ahead. My eyes fall to our held hands resting in his lap. We don’t speak for an age, both of us staring out across the grassy planes of Hyde Park as the world goes by.
After a quiet eternity with unspoken words hanging between us, he pushes himself to his feet and bends to kiss my forehead. “I’m here,” he says, and I look up at him, unable to smile or say thank you, but I make sure he sees the gratitude in my eyes. They’re full of water again, and he sighs as he wipes away a stray tear. Then he strolls off, leaving me on the bench.
I count three people who take a seat next to me over the next hour. One old boy for a rest, another man to eat a sandwich, and finally a runner to stretch. They all come, and they all go to get on with their lives. Probably simple lives. Lives not tainted with deceit and hurt and guilt.
A lady on the opposite bench looks across to me when she’s settling her baby in its pram, smiling. I return her smile before getting to my feet and going on my way. I don’t know where I’m heading next, but my pace is steady. Then it slows, my mind slowing with it, until I come to a stop in the middle of the pathway. I slowly turn back, watching the woman pushing her baby toward me.
The possibility hits me like lightning, the bolts tearing through me and making my stomach churn in dread. I fumble for my bag, feeling around with shaky hands for my phone. When I finally find it, I press the wrong icons dozens of times in my panic, trying to load my calendar. It takes a few seconds to count back the weeks. Then only a few more for the sick feeling to come over me. I’m suddenly very hot and dizzy. I start to hyperventilate—my breathing diminishing to virtually nothing, sending my surroundings into a whirl of nothing.
“Are you okay?”
I look to the side blankly, finding the woman with the pram has stopped beside me. She looks genuinely concerned for me. My eyes fall to the baby, now sleeping peacefully. My stomach clenches and I double over, throwing up at my feet.
“Oh my goodness!” she cries, her hand rubbing my back.
I manage to hold my hand up while I wretch, the strain on my stomach bringing water to my eyes. Or are they more tears? “I’m fine,” I croak, accepting the baby wipe she is holding out to me and wiping my mouth. “Thank you.” I straighten and rush away, too worried to be mortified by my public spewing episode.
* * *
I eventually find myself in a public toilet. Not that I ever imagined I’d be in this situation, but if I had I would never have anticipated I would resort to the impersonal location of a lavatory that maybe a million people had used. Yet here I am, sitting on the seat of the loo, staring down at a pregnancy test.
Positive.
The two lines are glowing, taunting me, yelling in my face that I’m a careless, stupid bitch. Careless isn’t a word that will be used by many others. Deceitful will be one, as well as manipulative, scheming, and calculating. Nothing I can say or do will change that. It’s something I will have to live with, along with the judgments for stealing another woman’s husband.
The crushing pain is only amplified by the fact that the one person who will trust I didn’t do this on purpose isn’t available for me to call today. I can’t phone him and I can’t see him. I have no one to turn to, no one who I can be sure won’t annihilate me and will instead give me the cuddle that I need.
My world isn’t slowly falling apart. It’s crashing down around me, and I feel like it’s all out of my control. I feel no sense of achievement while I look down at the positive test. I don’t feel even a glimmer of excitement through the turmoil I’m in. This is without doubt the worst thing that could have happened. This changes everything.
I drop the test into my bag, exit the cubicle, wash my hands, and avoid the mirror as I walk out. I don’t need a reflection to tell me I look like a ghost. I’m cold, my blood feels like it has drained from my body, and my breathing is shallow. I feel like a shadow of a woman, and I know I must look like one, too.
* * *
I think I must have walked around every park in London by the time the sun starts to set. My feet ache, but nothing in comparison to my head, my stomach, and my heart. There’s been no word from Jack. I wonder if he’s had to take her to hospital because she’s done something reckless. I wonder if he’s even told her. I wonder if he’s covered in scratches. I can’t go home and sit there alone. I can’t face my parents or my friends. I have nowhere to go. I’ve never felt so lonely.
As I drag myself into a coffeehouse, my phone rings and my heart leaps. I retrieve my mobile from my bag quickly and glance down at the screen. I don’t even have the room to feel guilty when I sag with disappointment, seeing the caller’s not Jack. I contemplate ignoring Lizzy’s call for a few moments, worried that any more negativity might have me folding to the ground here and now, but a glimmer of hope shines through my fear, and I answer.
“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her voice trembling. “I’m just so worried about you, Annie. I’m trying so hard to hope for happiness for you, and it’s truly killing me that I can’t. You deserve so much more than this shit. You deserve the fairy tale. Why did you have to go and fall in love with a married man?”
“I didn’t plan it.” I drop to a chair at a nearby table. “I so didn’t want this to happen. I tried to walk away; you have to believe me.”
“It really doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re in up to your neck.”
I stare at thin air. She has no idea. “I love him,” I say simply. We could go around the houses for years, argue about the whys and wherefores. We’ll only ever come back to those three simple words. “I can’t turn that off, Lizzy,” I say quietly, shamelessly stealing her words.
“I know.” She sighs. “Have you heard from him?”
“No,” I admit, wondering once again where he is. What he’s doing. What’s happening.
“What have you been doing all day?”
“Wandering.”
“On your own? All day? Why didn’t you come to me?” she asks, disturbed.
“You weren’t exactly warm on the phone this morning,” I point out gently. “I didn’t want to push you.”
“Annie, I don’t love you any less. You’ve done something I don’t agree with, but I would never turn my back on you.”
“That’s good to know,” I say robotically. “Because I’m pregnant.” It just falls right out, and I’m not even shocked. I have nothing left in me.
“What did you say?” she asks, her voice high and worried.
“I’m pregnant,” I repeat, though I know she heard me just fine the
first time.
“Oh, Jesus,” she whispers, truly horrified. “Oh my God.”
“I know.” It’s all I have the energy to say. No explanations. No pleading for compassion or understanding. I’m done for the day. Maybe even forever.
“Where are you?”
“In a coffeehouse near Regent Park.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to go home. Because I don’t know whether Jack’s told Stephanie he’s leaving her yet. Because I haven’t heard from him and it’s driving me crazy. Because I can’t call him. Because…”
“Come here,” she orders without hesitation. “Please.”
I smile down the line, strangely reaching the conclusion that I just want to be alone. No talking and no one surmising the crappiness of my situation. I’m doing a stellar job of that all by myself. “I’m fine,” I assure her.
“Annie, please.”
“Lizzy, trust me, I’m okay. I just need to process it all.” Or more like torture myself some more. “I’ll head home soon, I promise.”
She’s silent for a few moments, but she finally relents. “Call me if you want me to come and get you, okay?”
“Okay.” I hang up, but before I can put my phone away, it rings again. This time it is Jack, and my heart commences a strong, consistent beat. I rush to answer. “Jack?”
“Hey, baby.” He sounds absolutely broken, and I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Did he bottle it? Did she beg him not to go? Did he cave under the pressure to stay? “Where are you?” he asks.
I don’t tell him where I am. I don’t want him worrying about me. “At Lizzy’s,” I lie. “Are you okay?”
“No,” he answers quickly and honestly. “No man should be okay with seeing a woman falling apart at his feet.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I told her there was someone else.”
“What?”
“She wasn’t listening to me, Annie. I got desperate.”
“Did you tell her it’s me?”
“Jesus, no,” he breathes.
I’m only mildly relieved. He’s given her something. She’ll be obsessing on that and going to the end of the earth to find out who. “Where are you?”
“At Richard’s. I’m having a few beers and trying to wind down. It’s been…” His words die. He doesn’t need to tell me that it’s been a long day.
“Okay,” I agree, unable to protest and strangely not feeling hurt that he needs a few bottles and man time. I still need my own space to process something Jack is yet to be hit with. I need to think about how I’m going to tell him and when.
“I love you,” I blurt out, if only to remind him in his mayhem why we’re going through this.
“I never once doubted that, Annie.” He sighs heavily, sounding tired. “Get a good night’s sleep, baby, and I’ll call you in the morning.”
“I will.”
“Love you, gorgeous. More than anything.”
His declaration brings a small smile to my face. “Even more than Giant Strawbs?”
“Even more than them. And I love them a lot.”
“I know you do. I love you, too.”
I hang up and start to make my way home. I’d like to think the hardest part is done with, but I’m not stupid.
It’s only just begun.
Chapter 24
It’s dark by the time I get home. I go to my room and throw my bag on the bed, rummaging to the bottom until I lay my hands on the long plastic stick. Pulling it out, I gaze down at its window, hoping a miracle has occurred. There are still two lines looking up at me loud and proud. I throw it back into my bag and make my way to my bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror for the first time today. I don’t think I’ve ever seen myself look so terrible. My skin is sallow, my green eyes clouded, my dark hair limp, and my clothes crumpled. I lower my head to avoid seeing the wretchedness of my face, and my gaze falls to my stomach. My flat stomach. For the first time, I consider the most important question I should be asking myself right now. Not what people will think or how they will react—I should be asking myself if I can do this. Be a mum. Not once has the thought to rid myself of the problem crossed my jumbled mind. I haven’t asked myself whether I’m keeping the baby or not.
I am keeping it.
After showering, I make myself a bedtime cup of tea. I don’t question the smile I have on my face as I clear up sweets wrappers from around the sofa. And I don’t second-guess my reasoning for loading Top Gun and snuggling down on the couch to watch it. My eyes wander from the television from time to time, falling to the floor and seeing me and Jack, a tangle of arms and legs, sweets and pillows. And I see a third person: a baby. Me, Jack, and a little person—half of him and half of me. My hand falls to my stomach and circles absentmindedly. I’m going to have a little human to take care of within a year. Someone to rely and depend on me. Being a mum has never featured in my plans, maybe because I’ve never had any plans beyond my career. My life has been turned upside down and I asked for it all. Now I need to take charge. I know what I’m faced with, but with this baby growing inside me, I’m caring less about the reactions of the world and Stephanie, and more about being a good mum. I can do it. With Jack, I can do anything.
For the first time today, I see hope amid the ruins and I cling to it with all my might, lying back on the couch and sipping my tea. I get a text before I doze off.
From Jack.
I was always yours. Even when I didn’t know you. And you were always mine. It just took us a while to find each other. I love you x
I fall asleep with those words on loop in my mind.
* * *
I wake up feeling chilly, and the credits for Top Gun are rolling on the television. I groan, not wanting to move and take myself to bed, but too cold to stay where I am. I shiver and get up from the couch, flicking the TV off, grabbing my phone and pulling the blanket over my shoulders. Then I trudge to my bedroom sleepily.
I nearly make it to the god-glorious warmth of my bed, where the covers are calling to me, but a knock on the door stops me on the threshold to my room. I look down the hallway to my front door, wondering who it could be at this hour. I glance down at my phone. 10 p.m. Not so late at all.
I shrug the blanket off my shoulders, toss it on the bed, and grab my gray hoodie from a chair, putting it on as I make my way to the front door. I decide and hope on my way that it must be Jack. The possibility injects some urgency into my legs and I pull the front door open, ready to throw myself at him and never let go.
But my face falls the moment I register my visitor.
“Stephanie,” I breathe shakily, desperately trying to stop my eyes from bugging in shock. Oh my God, what is she doing here? Shit, what do I do? She looks a wreck, her hair unwashed and pulled into a tatty ponytail, her face red and blotchy, and her body huddled up, wrapped in a khaki fluffy-hooded coat. I release my hold on the door when it starts to tremble mildly from my movements.
I must appear as anxious as I’m feeling. She’s staring blankly at me, in a bit of a trance. This would be the point that any normal person would ask if she’s okay. But I know she’s not okay, and I’m not any normal person. I’m the woman her husband has left her for, and I need to get rid of her before my nerves begin to fray again and she figures it all out.
“Stephanie?” I prompt gently, forcing anything close to a friendly face.
“I didn’t know who else to turn to,” she croaks, her arms wrapped around her midriff protectively.
“What?” I startle myself with my abrupt tone, fighting to pull myself together. So she came here? To me?
She bursts into tears.
Oh fuck.
“He’s left me,” she sobs. “He’s gone!”
My insides tangle up. No part of me seems willing to give me a heads-up on what I should do. “Stephanie, I—”
She falls into my hallway, leaving me no choice but to move back, and thumps the wall. I definitely get a waft
of liquor as she passes me. She’s been drinking. “He’s gone, Annie! He’s gone and left me all alone!” She pulls away and faces my shocked form, her expression suddenly straight, her eyes round and wild. “But he needs me,” she says evenly.
“I’m so sorry, Stephanie.” My mouth kicks into action, reminding me that I should be being the sympathetic outsider. “I’m sure he’ll come back to you.”
“Yes, he will,” she sniffs, wiping at her nose. “He’s confused,
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