Two's Company

by Jill Mansell

  Except that instead of either, she had neither. The stick hadn’t turned pink. There was no baby to devote the rest of her life to, no adorable bundle to set the seal on their love.

  Such bitter disappointment was outside Imogen’s experience. All her life, she had gotten what she wanted. That she could now be denied something as simple and natural as a baby, when across the world, so many thousands of unwanted ones were being born every day, seemed cruel beyond belief.

  “I’ve changed my mind.” Imogen clung to him, drenching the front of Jack’s shirt with her tears. “I want a baby…your baby! It’s just, I really thought we had one. God, why is life so unfair?”

  Chapter 26

  Pandora knew she wasn’t going to be able to carry on working for much longer. The tables at the Moon and Sixpence, in true bistro style, were crammed in willy-nilly, the gaps between them growing narrower by the week. With her ever-expanding stomach, squeezing past with plates of cassoulet held high was becoming an increasingly risky procedure. Her back ached too, more than Pandora would have believed possible. She felt like a woman sawn in half.

  “I’ll be sorry to lose you.” Maurice, her boss, genuinely meant it.

  “I’ll miss you too.” Massaging her spine, Pandora gave him a rueful smile. “But in this state, I definitely won’t be sorry to go.”

  Tuesday, luckily for her, was a quiet night. A combination of appalling weather and the fact that the coming Thursday was Valentine’s Day, so everyone was revving up for that, meant the bistro was almost empty. Pandora was resting behind the bar with her aching feet propped up on an empty wine crate when the door swung open and Cleo came staggering in.

  “Stinking bloody weather,” Cleo gasped as half a dozen Harrods bags slithered to the floor around her. “Whoever invented winter needs to be shot. Roll on tomorrow.” She broke into an unrepentant grin. “I’m off to Hawaii.”

  Pandora, who was delighted to see Cleo, lowered herself carefully down from her barstool.

  “It’s a tough life.” She pointed to the green-and-gold bags. “What’s all this? Stocking up on sunscreen?”

  “My agent sent me a massive royalty check this morning.” Cleo looked smug. “For that yogurt campaign I did last year, filthy muck. Anyway, I decided if I’m going to be a doting maiden aunt, I may as well do it properly, so this is for you. Well,” she amended, “for the baby.”

  Pandora stared at the bags. “Are you serious?”

  “Oh, thanks.” Cleo gratefully accepted a glass of Chablis from Maurice, who was overwhelmed to have such a glamorous celebrity in his humble backstreet bistro. Everyone else might be bundled up in winter woollies, but Cleo was having none of it. In a fuchsia-pink jacket and violet trousers, she looked every bit as exotic as her namesake. When she flashed her dazzling smile at him, he felt almost faint. “Quite funny, really. All the assistants in the baby department were trying not to stare at my stomach. I had to keep saying, ‘It’s not for me. It’s for a friend,’ and you could tell nobody believed me for a second. I bet the papers will be on to it before the end of the week. Come on,” she urged when Pandora didn’t move. “Open them up. Have a look.”

  “This is far too much… Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

  Pandora couldn’t believe it; Cleo must have spent an absolute fortune. Hand-embroidered bootees, intricately knitted baby cardigans, lace-trimmed satin stroller covers, and a perfect Moses basket woven through with white silk ribbons appeared out of the bags like conjurers’ rabbits. Next came an ivory cashmere shawl, a set of framed Beatrix Potter prints, and the most exquisite musical mobile Pandora had ever seen.

  “I mean it.” Pandora was overwhelmed. “Really, this is far too much. It must have cost…hundreds!”

  The total bill had run into thousands. Cleo, glad Pandora didn’t know, said, “It isn’t for you. It’s for my new relative, whom I have every intention of spoiling rotten.” She shrugged happily. “So there.”

  “Well, thanks.” Aware of Maurice hovering behind her and hoping his tongue wasn’t actually hanging out, Pandora said, “At least let me get you another drink.”

  Cleo shook her head.

  “Sorry, got to dash. That’s why I had to drop the stuff in to you here. I’m just on my way to the airport now.”

  “What a beauty,” Maurice breathed when she had gone. “Now if she were to come to me asking for a job…”

  Pandora laughed. “Cleo doesn’t get out of bed for less than ten thousand pounds a day.”

  “Fine.” Lost in admiration, Maurice rolled his eyes. “Who’d want her to?”

  * * *

  The bistro was empty of customers by the time Joel arrived to drive Pandora home. Looking enormously pleased with himself, he strode in waving three white Mothercare bags.

  “Wait till you see what I bought today!”

  Pandora didn’t have to wait; Joel was already spreading the contents across the bar like a hard-sell market trader. Not daring to look at Maurice, whose mouth was twitching beneath his mustache, she said, “I can’t believe you actually went into Mothercare. I can’t believe you even knew what Mothercare was.”

  As proud as any new father, Joel beamed.

  “Chose it all myself. Well, not long to go now. Can’t have the poor little sod turning up with nothing to wear, can we?”

  Pandora had been too superstitious to buy anything too soon, but he was right. She had reached seven months now; it was definitely time to begin stocking up.

  And Joel had definitely stocked up. She counted a dozen serviceable sleepers, six white crib sheets, ten onesies, three yellow cellular blankets, and a potty shaped like an elephant.

  “It plays a tune when you pee in it.” Joel grinned. “So they tell me anyway.”

  “You are brilliant.” Reaching with difficulty across the bar, Pandora gave him a hug. “This is great, just what I’m going to need.”

  “Come on, you two.” Maurice, having read Pandora’s mind, held the front door open. “Let me lock up.”

  Joel was carrying the Mothercare bags, and Pandora was halfway through the door when Molly, the dishwasher, came charging like a rhino out of the kitchen.

  “Hang on a second, pet! I don’t know, young people these days…sieves for brains.” Panting, she thrust the glossy Harrods bags into Pandora’s arms. “Whatever you do, don’t forget these!”

  * * *

  “Well,” Joel said stiffly, “it makes my stuff look pretty poor by comparison.”

  He had insisted, as soon as they arrived home, on laying out the rival gifts next to one another on the living-room carpet. The fact that Pandora had tried to leave Cleo’s presents behind at the bistro only proved, in his eyes, how hopelessly inferior his own purchases were.

  Pandora couldn’t believe how much he minded.

  “This is silly,” she protested, waving a minuscule pair of hand-smocked, apricot satin dungarees. “You’re being silly. OK, so it was kind of Cleo to buy all these things, but they’re hardly practical, are they? Sleepers and onesies are what I need. They’re what the baby’s going to be wearing every day.”

  “She did it on purpose.” Joel wasn’t to be appeased. “She just has to flash her money about to show us how much better she is than everyone else. Or thinks she is,” he added darkly.

  “Cleo didn’t do it on purpose. She isn’t like that.”

  “Ha.”

  “Look.” Pandora’s dark eyes widened in despair. “She doesn’t even know who you are, so how can she be doing it on purpose? I wish you’d stop all this and meet her properly.”

  “I met her quite properly enough, thanks.” Joel began shoveling the sleepers back into their bags. “Even Maxwell-Horne had the sense to dump her. Said she was a spoilt rich bitch.” His mouth narrowed. “And frigid.”

  “Nice of him.”

  “Yes, well.” Joel, who couldn’t abide Da
mien Maxwell-Horne, concentrated on retrieving the last of the cellophane-wrapped onesies. “He’s a git, but for once in his life, he’s right.”

  “Ah.” Pandora smiled. “You mean he’s a right git.”

  Chapter 27

  Sophie, having decided drastic action was called for, had phoned her father and asked to make a formal appointment to see him. Alone.

  So alarmed by her subdued tone of voice and by the fact that for the first time in years, she was calling him Daddy, Jack cut short an editorial meeting and arranged to pick Sophie up from school. His heart went out to his younger daughter when he saw her waiting alone on a wall adjoining the school gates, white-faced and swamped by a miles-too-big gray sweatshirt that reached almost to her knees. Rain, to which Sophie seemed oblivious, was running down her owlish glasses. When she climbed into Jack’s car, they promptly misted up.

  “Sweetheart, you sounded so low. What is it? Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Even as he hugged her, Jack knew it must be something serious. He had never seen Sophie this withdrawn.

  “Everything’s wrong,” Sophie said quietly. “I hate it at home. It’s just awful. Oh, Daddy, can I come and live with you?”

  Jack couldn’t have been more stunned if Sophie had announced she was joining the Folies Bergère.

  “Awful? How can it be awful?” His arm tightened around her shoulders. “Sophie, it’s your home.”

  “It’s not like home anymore. Mum’s not like Mum anymore.” Sophie paused and drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Sean’s never there. Bloody Terry Brannigan’s always there. Cleo’s OK, I suppose, but she’s away most of the time… It’s so horrible, Daddy, I really can’t bear it.” Huge gray eyes searched his face. “Please, please say I can come and stay with you.”

  * * *

  Imogen thought she was hallucinating when she arrived home from work that evening to find five suitcases strewn around her pristine sitting room, spilling out awful-looking clothes and a vast number of books. Since she was dying for a pee, she was even more outraged to find the bathroom door firmly locked against her. Inside, some unearthly music blared.

  “What’s going on?”

  Jack was in the kitchen, burning sausages under the broiler. When she saw the look on his face as he turned to greet her, Imogen’s worst suspicions were confirmed.

  “Darling, I’m sorry. I tried calling you earlier, but they said you were out of the office all afternoon.” He kissed Imogen’s unresponsive mouth, as if it would help. “It’s Sophie; she was in a dreadful state earlier. I know this is a bit of a bombshell, but basically I was just too worried to leave her. Sweetheart, she was so desperate to come and stay here, what else could I do? You don’t mind, do you? Not terribly at least?”

  Imogen minded far more than that. She couldn’t believe Jack seriously expected her to smile and shake her head.

  Finally, she felt able to speak. “For how long?”

  “Not long.” Jack’s tone was soothing, like a hypnotist assuring a smoker they no longer want a cigarette. “Just until we get things sorted out. Honestly, she’ll be no trouble at all.”

  The sausages were about to ignite. Like an automaton, Imogen switched off the broiler and opened the kitchen window to clear the billowing black smoke.

  “This is a one-bedroom flat.”

  “Don’t worry.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Sophie’s more than happy to sleep on the sofa.”

  At this, Imogen’s temper flared.

  “Oh well, as long as Sophie’s happy,” she mimicked, “that must mean everything’s fine. Never mind the fact that my bladder is about to explode.”

  Without looking at her, Jack turned and headed along the landing, rapping efficiently on the locked bathroom door.

  “Out of the bath, sweetheart. Now, please.”

  The music stopped, and the door opened less than a minute later. Clouds of expensively scented steam gushed out. Sophie, wet and pale and with Imogen’s favorite pink bath towel around her skinny frame, emerged with a tentative smile.

  “Sorry, did you knock earlier?”

  The bathroom was like a South American swamp, the ceramic floor tiles awash and every towel crumpled and damp. Tight-lipped, Imogen replaced the top on her precious bottle of Jo Malone’s French Lime Blossom bath oil, although there wasn’t much point, since Sophie had almost completely used it up. The matching triple-milled soap—at fifteen pounds a bar—was quietly dissolving in the dregs of the bathwater. The basin was littered with Jack’s razor and strands of straight, mouse-colored hair where Sophie had hacked at her bangs. There were grubby footprints on the toilet seat and—Imogen shuddered—toenail clippings floating in the toilet.

  But if what was now happening to her was Imogen’s worst nightmare, it was at the same time Jack’s dream come true.

  Jack’s children were his blind spot, and Sophie, in particular, the beloved baby of the family, could—as far as he was concerned—do no wrong. To feel needed again after so many months of cold-shouldering more than made up for the minor inconveniences Sophie’s arrival was likely to cause. Jack was implacable. Worse still, he couldn’t for the life of him understand why Imogen wouldn’t want Sophie there as much as he did.

  “I’m not trying to be difficult. I’m just saying this flat’s too small for three people.”

  This was ridiculous. Here they were in bed, forced to converse in whispers because Sophie, exhausted after all that mess making, had settled down for the night on the sofa.

  And—in disbelief, Imogen rechecked her watch—it was only nine o’clock.

  “Cheer up.” Jack, putting the finishing touches to this week’s column on his laptop, was only half listening. “It won’t be forever.”

  As far as Imogen was concerned, it was already too long. “I had no idea one girl could be so untidy.” She looked mutinous.

  “Sophie isn’t untidy. You should have seen Cleo in action at that age. Anyway,” Jack pointed out, “children do make a mess. If you’re so hell-bent on having a baby, this is just about the best training you could have.”

  If I have a baby, thought Imogen, I’ll have a nanny to deal with all that.

  Aloud, she said, “Babies don’t use half a bottle of your best bath essence at a time.”

  “No, they chuck the lot down the toilet instead.” Jack sighed. “Look, I’m sorry if this is a pain for you, but Sophie was desperate. How could I have turned her down?”

  Simple, Imogen thought sulkily. Just say no.

  Jack glimpsed the rebellious flicker in her eyes. “If you had children, you’d understand. Sophie has a mind of her own. If I’d turned her down, who knows where she might have ended up? Imagine how many teenagers living on the streets were rejected by their families when they needed help…”

  Talk about a losing battle.

  “OK, OK.” Imogen smiled as he switched off the laptop, and she resolved to give in gracefully. Since they were in bed, she may as well make the most of the situation. It was coming up to her fertile period too.

  “What are you doing?” said Jack.

  Imogen’s hand moved further downward. She grinned. “Oh, I think you know.”

  “Better not.” Gentle but firm, Jack removed her wandering hand. “We wouldn’t want to disturb Sophie.”

  * * *

  “Mum? It’s me.”

  “Sophie! Darling, is everything all right? Why are you whispering?”

  “These walls are like cardboard. And yes, everything’s fine.” Sophie giggled. “I’m having a lovely time. Imogen’s gritting her teeth, trying to be nice for Dad’s sake, but she really hates me being here. Not that I blame her,” she went on happily, “considering the mess I made of her bathroom.”

  “Oh dear.” Cass sounded worried. “You aren’t doing anything too awful, I hope.”

  Sophie rolled her eyes in despair. Ho
w absolutely typical of her mother; before you knew it, she’d be feeling sorry for Flooze and taking her side.

  “You mean compared with Imogen being all best-friendsy with you and at the same time having an affair behind your back with Dad?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Mum, don’t you dare tell me to behave myself!” Sophie pulled the duvet over her head. Goodness, it was hard work keeping down to a whisper. “Why should that double-crossing bitch have everything her own way?” she demanded briskly. “I haven’t even started yet. Married men with children have responsibilities, and I’m going to make Imogen realize she has to share them. By the time I’ve finished, she’ll wish she’d never even met Dad.”

  At the other end of the line, Cass cringed. Sophie sounded so determined, so bitter. Over six months had passed now since Jack had moved out, but the pain clearly hadn’t diminished.

  Cass knew how that felt, only too well. She was beginning to wonder if the wounds would ever heal.

  “Well, I can’t stop you,” she said quietly, “but please don’t stay away too long. It seems strange already not having you here. I’m going to miss you terribly.”

  “I miss you too, Mum. It’s just something I have to do.” A lump came to Sophie’s throat. She realized she had to hang up fast. “And don’t worry. I’ll give it a couple of weeks at the most.”

  Chapter 28

  Having given up work a week earlier, Pandora announced she was going to stay with friends in Bath for a few days.

  “Why?” Sean was instantly suspicious.

  “Because they’re friends and I’d like to see them.” Pandora was unperturbed. “They’ll feed me up and spoil me rotten. What could be nicer?”

  As if she wasn’t fed enough already. Sean could barely get his arms around her these days. He wasn’t too pleased either by the implication that she wasn’t being spoiled rotten here.

  “Look, you know I’ve been busy. Once this TV thing has finished filming at the club—”