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.
I think it’s time we arranged to meet up.
He replied almost instantly.
I’d love to. When and where? Andrew xxx
My eyes focused on the kisses by his name. I wasn’t just in a pickle; I was in the pickle jar with the lid clamped shut.