His Other Lover

by Lucy Dawson

  “There’s something I’ve got to tell you,” she says slowly. “It’s really early days and you’ve got to keep it a secret because I haven’t told anyone—well, except Nick and our parents, obviously—but I’m nine weeks pregnant!”

  I freeze to the spot, mouth open. “You’re what? But you can’t be!” I say. “When we met up, you said you and Nick hadn’t…and you were drinking!”

  “I know, I know!” she laughs. “I had no idea I was, but I asked my doctor and she says it won’t have harmed the baby and I’ve stopped now. And smoking. Which, FYI, is killing me.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m going to turn into a beached whale—stopping smoking and eating for two.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say.” I’m completely stunned. “But…but I didn’t even know you were trying,” I blurt.

  “We weren’t!” she admits. “God knows how it happened. Nick’s over the moon. Keeps going on about how strong his swimmers must be considering, as you quite rightly said, we’ve hardly been in the same bloody room for more than ten minutes over the last three months. Must have been a dodgy condom or something.”

  “Wow. This is just…just such a surprise and…my God. Congratulations!” I finally manage to smile and do a little cheer. We both half stand up and I hug her. I am happy for her, I really am. Keep smiling.

  We sit down and I just stare at her.

  “What?” she says, laughing.

  “I just…I just thought you didn’t want children yet, for ages. I never thought…” I tail off as I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.

  “I know!” she agrees, sitting back. “I swear, I was as surprised as you are. I mean we’re not married; we have a fucking third-floor flat, for God’s sake. It’s going to utterly bugger up my chances of promotion, and that little shit Gavin who’s been after my job for ages is going to come in his pants when he finds out I’m going on maternity leave. And that’s before we even start on everything we’ll have to buy for this…” She points at her tummy accusingly, but then her hand relaxes and she rests it there protectively. Her face softens. “But, Mia, I think I love it already. Is that possible? Can you love someone before you can even see them?”

  She looks at me earnestly and I feel a lump in my throat.

  “Because I know Nick is a complete twat sometimes, and I swear, if this child winds up with his nose I’ll pay for the surgery myself, but we were in bed last night and he was kissing my tummy, stupid arse, which is ridiculous,” she rolls her eyes, “because there is nothing to see at all and I just thought, oh my God, we’re going to be a family. And it didn’t scare me at all! I’m just so excited!” A huge grin spreads across her face and she looks totally incandescent. “I mean, obviously, I know that you’re not in the safe period until you get to twelve weeks, so we’re not telling anyone till then, but I knew you’d guess! Can you believe it? I mean, can you fucking believe it? But listen, if I ever turn into Lou and start telling baby stories and farting in public, you’ve got to promise you’ll tell me. You will, won’t you?”

  I smile faintly and nod. “I promise.”

  “I’ve been so tired over the last few days! I didn’t know it would be such hard work, but Nick has started calling me Moggie because I’m like an old cat when I get home, I just want to curl up, sleep and be stroked.”

  “Well, you’re building fingers and toes—it’s no wonder you’re tired.”

  “Actually, toes aren’t till much later. At the moment it looks like a gross bony-backed tadpole thing. Nick’s bought me this book with actual pictures of each stage. They’re incredible…honestly, it really is amazing; I’ll show you when you next come round. Nick’s so into it—I’ve been really surprised. D’you know, I reckon Pete will be like that when it’s you two. It’s incredible, Mi, you just start looking at them and realizing, shit, I’m bound to him forever. There goes the father of my child…” She shakes her head in disbelief. “It just changes everything. I said to Nick…Hey! Hon?” She suddenly looks at me, her face knotted up with concern. “You okay? You look like you’re about to cry.”

  I look at her through my swimming eyes and I do a little gulp and laugh. “I’m just so happy for you!” I reach up and wipe my eyes fiercely. “I really am.” I grab her hand and she squeezes back, her eyes welling up too.

  “I know, it’s insane, isn’t it?” she says softly. “We’re growing up! Who’d have thought it?”

  Later that afternoon, I am walking slowly up the South Bank with my hands buried in my pockets, hair catching on the fresh breeze, looking up the Thames, wondering what the fuck I am going to do.

  A couple walk past me, arm in arm, and he plants a kiss on the top of her head. She gazes up at him with a heady mixture of love, pride and comfort—it’s all there. He looks down at her and squeezes her to him a little more tightly, and they walk past me, oblivious to anyone but each other.

  That’s all I want. I don’t need babies, I don’t even need weddings.

  I think back to the wedding reception I went to alone. What would it be like doing things like that all the time if I really was single? It’d be like living inside one of those mechanical claw games you see at fairs and amusement arcades. Me, stuffed into a glass case with a load of couples, waiting to be rescued by the big claw over my head.

  I don’t want to be standing at parties with one of my friends’ boyfriends being sent off to get me a drink and the friend in question waiting until we’re alone and then saying sympathetically, “So how are you really?” followed by the assured philosophy (while they twist their engagement and wedding rings idly) that I am better off without him and there are plenty more fish in the sea.

  It’s easy for them to say. I don’t know any single girls I could hang out with, and the only single bloke I knew is now having a thing with my sister, and anyway, lovely as he is, he is not Pete.

  Now there are two things that are scaring me. One is that I am going to lose Pete. I am so, so frightened of losing him. The other is that I don’t want to be this person; I don’t feel like I know who I am any more. Everything is shifting so fast I can’t put my feet anywhere safe…I am desperately trying to hang on to the threads that are holding my life together but they keep slipping from my fingers. I can feel myself grasping at them madly, but it’s falling apart around me and I can’t keep up. I simply don’t recognize myself or how I got here.

  Diving into my bag, I fumble around desperately for my phone.

  “What do you want that for?” Patrick says doubtfully, moments later. “And where the hell are you? You sound like you’re in a wind tunnel.”

  “I’m in town. Just, please—text it to me?” I wobble slightly as a particularly strong gust of wind blows. It really is a perfect day—the skies are bright, bright blue and the chill in the air is making my fingers turn red.

  “Is everything all right, Mia?” he says.

  “It’s fine—promise. You all right? How’s Clare?”

  There’s a pause and then he says uncertainly, “I’m going up to see her tonight actually.”

  I wondered why I hadn’t heard from her in the last couple of days. “That’s nice.” I smile faintly. “Say hi from me.”

  “I will,” he says, sounding relieved. “I really do like her, Mi, I think this could be the start of something…Well, anyway…” He peters out, embarrassed. “I promise I won’t mess her around.”

  “Good. You will text me that number right now, won’t you? Lots of love.” Then I hang up.

  A few seconds later, my phone buzzes and there it is. I dial carefully, not allowing myself to stop and think about this in case I lose the nerve. She will understand. She’s the one person who will really understand.

  Staring at a small boat chugging determinedly through the choppy water, all I can hear is the ringing tone, and I start to feel slightly faint and light-headed.

  “Helloooo?” says a voice cheerily. Oh God—she doesn’t sound different at all. Exactly the same.

  “It’s me.” My voice cr
acks.

  The pause seems to go on forever. “Me who?” she says eventually; her tone has changed.

  “It’s Mia—please don’t hang up!” I beg.

  Again there is silence. “How did you get this number?” she says, her voice suddenly flat and expressionless.

  “Patrick gave it to me. I hear you’re going traveling.”

  She says nothing.

  “So when are you off?” I try again.

  “The end of the month. What do you want?” She’s blunt and direct.

  “Look, Katie, I need to speak to you. I think…I think Pete’s having an affair.” The words rush out of me. “I just…” And then I falter. I just what? “Oh God, I’m sorry!” My voice hiccups as I try to steady it. “I’m so sorry. I just don’t know what to do and I thought about that day, when we rowed and…”

  “And what?” she says.

  “I…I don’t know,” I stammer. “I just want to see if…”

  “See if I was telling the truth? Start things up again? Sorry, Mia, not interested.”

  “Oh, Katie, please!” I start to cry. “I don’t know what to do…”

  “You made your choice, Mia. You’re on your own.”

  “But you have to—” I begin.

  “I don’t ‘have to’ anything.” She talks over me.

  “Please,” I beg. “Please at least just tell me if it was you or if—”

  “Don’t call me again.”

  And then she hangs up.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Patrick came up last night to see me. Was nice. I think I like him more each time I see him. How you?

  I’m reading Clare’s happy little text over breakfast as Pete comes in and finds me at the kitchen table. “What are you still doing here?” he says, surprised.

  “Got a meeting at ten thirty,” I manage through a mouthful of cereal. Which is crap, because I phoned Spank Me yesterday and asked for the rest of the week off as holiday. I asked him not to tell Lottie, but just to say I was still ill. He wasn’t happy, but reluctantly agreed when I said I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t absolutely vital. “It’s not worth going all the way over to the office and then back to Covent Garden again. I’m off in a bit, though. How about you? Busy day?”

  “You could say that.” He sinks down tiredly on to a chair and yawns as he runs his hands through his hair. “God, I’m shattered.”

  We sit in silence, just the clink of my spoon on my bowl as he reaches for the cereal packet. Then the letter box rattles and Gloria barks importantly, rushing into the hall.

  “That’ll be the post,” I say matter-of-factly. “I’ll get it.” And before he can do anything, I’m smartly up and striding out of the kitchen.

  The letters are sitting on the mat. Is it there? Has it arrived?

  Picking them up and sorting through, my heart skips a beat as I see that it has. I look at my disguised writing on the envelope I posted yesterday and walk back to the kitchen.

  “A handwritten one for me.” I try to sound absent and tear it open.

  Pete doesn’t look up, just pushes his muesli around his bowl.

  I pause for dramatic effect.

  “Eh?” I say, all pretend confused. “Why have you sent me half a card? And why have you signed it Peter?”

  Pete glances at me with a frown on his face, and I toss it over to him. It lands on the table in front of him and the color drains from his face as he recognizes it. He goes very, very still.

  “I don’t get it,” I say. “What’s that about?”

  “I, er…” He is lost for words, completely lost for words. Pete! You can do better than this. Think, think! I know it’s early in the morning, but come on! What are you going to say? How do you explain half a card you sent to another woman arriving at our house when you don’t even get it yourself?

  “I don’t understand,” I pretend to puzzle. “Why have you sent me half a card with weird writing on the envelope. Is it a joke or something? Am I being thick and not getting it?”

  He just stares at it. God knows what must be running through his mind right now. He obviously recognizes it, knows where it’s from. He’s turning it over and over in his hands as if the answer to my questions is written somewhere on it.

  “OOOOHH!” I squeal excitedly. “Is it part of a game? Are you going to send me the top half and all will be revealed?”

  It’s lame, and he knows it…but it’s the best option he has. So he seizes it with both hands.

  “There’s no getting anything past you, is there?” He forces a smile up at me. “Yup, all will be revealed. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

  Oh Pete…

  “Well,” I say slowly, “I’ll do as I’m told! Right, I’m going to brush my teeth then I better get going,”

  He smiles again and I blow him a passing kiss as I walk out of the room.

  I sneak back downstairs when I’m done. He doesn’t see me as I peer round the edge of the door; he is out of the chair and examining the envelope that I left on the side. I cough loudly as I come back in and he jumps guiltily, stepping away as if he wasn’t even looking at it. “So are we going somewhere, for this surprise? What’s it in aid of?” I say as I go and pick up my handbag.

  He taps the side of his nose and murmurs, “I know nuzzing!” in a mock-French accent.

  And the sad thing is, he’s right. He has no bloody idea.

  I laugh dutifully and he says he’d better get in the shower. I say I’m off anyway now and I’ll see him tonight. We kiss each other briefly and I bang the front door shut loudly as I step outside. I wait for a minute or two on the doorstep before silently slipping my key in the lock and easing back into the house.

  I creep into the hall, leaving the door open behind me. I can hear him talking. God, he just couldn’t wait, could he?

  “Hi, it’s Peter. I thought you’d be up but you must be still asleep…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next and I stand very, very still. “I’m at home but I’m going soon so don’t call back. I just don’t know what to say, I really don’t. First the house, and now this morning your card arrived.” He’s gathering pace now and it’s almost like he’s having a conversation rather than leaving a voicemail. “It’s not funny, Liz, it’s not funny at all. And why the fuck did you cut the card in half? Is that supposed to be some crap dig? What are you trying to say? You’re cutting me out of your life? You don’t want to share me? I thought we’d sorted this, Lizzie. I thought you knew the score. You say you’re fine with it and then you go and do something mental like this! I just don’t know what to…Oh, look, I’ll call you later.”

  Quickly, so that he doesn’t come into the hall and realize I’ve just heard every word, I slam the door and shout loudly, “Only me! Forgot my umbrella!” I wait for a second, then add a “Bye, darling!”

  “Bye! Have a good day!” he calls back. He must have wet himself when he heard me come back in then.

  Outside in the fresh air, marching down toward the station to get on a train that will take me into London and then a tube that will take me to her flat, I feel grimly determined. On the one hand I can’t quite believe I have just heard him leaving a message for some other woman with such familiarity, as if they speak all the time. But on the other hand he was really angry. I see Liz in my mind as I saw her yesterday, all glassy, glossy and shiny and grinning widely from the stage.

  Who’s laughing now?

  TWENTY-THREE

  Hi. It’s Lottie here.” I am standing outside the tube station, leaning on the wall and watching a flower seller eyeing me hopefully. “I’m about five minutes away and just wanted to check I wasn’t too early.”

  Mobile clamped to my ear, I look up the street that I know will lead me to her front door. “No, that’s fine. I’ll be right there.”

  Hanging up and putting the phone back in my handbag I take a deep breath and close my eyes briefly. I can’t believe I am finally about to meet the woman who is sleeping with my boyfriend, and give h
er money. Four hundred pounds in cash is sitting in my handbag, ready to be swapped for a key to her house.

  Someone bashes into me, making my eyes snap open again as they shoot me a filthy look. It’s fair enough—it is a bit stupid to be standing in front of the tube entrance with your eyes shut. Come on. Only you can do this. You’re on your own.

  Gathering myself, I clench my jaw, set my shoulders and start to walk purposefully. This is it. I’m going to do it.

  The strap of my bag is digging into my shoulder, but I barely notice. Is it going to be her that answers the door, or Debs? I’m confident she isn’t going to recognize me. She’s only seen me once—at the theater—and for all I know Pete didn’t tell her who I was or even that I was there. I could have been a stranger, just someone sitting next to him. My heart is starting to thump and my breath is nervous and shallow. I am aware of the noise of cars around me, the siren of a police car shrieking past and the clicking of my heels on the pavement.

  I’m fucking going to do it. I can do this. She’s not getting him. I know what I’m doing is working, I heard him say so this morning. I just have to keep focused. And anyway, what have I got to lose?

  My shoes are rubbing where I have the remains of a blister but my eyes are fixed ahead. As I turn the corner, the flat comes into view and my pulse quickens, my breathing coming in fits and starts.

  The front door gets closer and closer. Is it going to be her that answers, or Debs?

  Then I’m right outside and I’m shaking, actually shaking. I close my eyes briefly and exhale deeply. Oh my God. It’s going to happen. I imagine it’s like being in a plane and looking down at tiny fields through an open hatch: the deafening roar of the wind and the engines, the light-headed rush and the prickle of adrenaline at my fingertips.

  I hold my breath for what feels like forever, and then I jump.

  My finger shoves the bell and it rings shrilly.

  Footsteps start to thud down the stairs.