The Closer You Get

by Mary Torjussen

  * * *

  • • •

  It was an awkward walk to the café. Neither of us said a word, but I was aware of his presence and could feel the tension in him as he walked behind me. It mustn’t have been easy for him, either.

  “Coffee?” he asked when we were sitting at a table. “How do you like it?”

  The thought of coffee was enough to make my stomach turn. Tea, too. I said to the waitress, “I’ll have a glass of water, please. Plenty of ice.”

  Tom looked surprised. “Sure? What about some juice?”

  My stomach tilted again. “No, I’m fine, thanks. I’ve already had coffee,” I lied. “I don’t want to get too jittery.”

  “We have decaf,” the waitress said.

  “No. Water’s fine, thanks.” I waited until she’d gone, then I leaned forward and said quietly, “I’m sorry I left like that. The other day, I mean.” I felt an idiot then. When else could I have meant?

  He looked away. “That’s okay.”

  “It’s not,” I said. “I woke early and couldn’t go back to sleep. I didn’t know what to do, so I just left. I should have written you a note or something. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It never happened.”

  If only that were true.

  Our drinks arrived then and he spent a while opening the little bags of sugar and fiddling around with them. I sat watching him, my stomach clenched as I wondered what he was going to say. I decided to preempt him.

  “Did you speak to Ruby about Harry?”

  “No,” he said. “Did you speak to Harry?”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t said a word. After . . . after that night at your house, I didn’t feel I had a leg to stand on.”

  “I didn’t say anything, either,” he said. “I was hoping you were wrong. I couldn’t stop thinking about it but I was waiting.”

  “What for?”

  He shrugged. “For any sign there was something going on, I suppose. She was just the same as usual, that was the thing. I started to think that you’d read more into it than had really been there. But then she left me.”

  I leaned forward, shocked. “What?”

  He nodded, his face flushed.

  “Where’s she gone to?”

  He shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

  I thought of how he must have felt, being told that his marriage was over. Even though we’d spent only that night together, I thought I knew him well enough to know he’d be clinging to his pride. And yet I had to ask.

  “Did she say why she was leaving?”

  It was clear he didn’t want to talk about it. “She just said she wasn’t happy.”

  Impulsively I touched his hand. “You poor thing. Have you been okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “So have you heard from her since she’s gone?”

  “Not really. Just the odd message. She won’t be coming back.”

  I looked up at him and didn’t know whether that was his decision or hers. I squeezed his hand. “When did she go?”

  “Two weeks ago. On Friday night. I’d been to London for a meeting and got back around seven. She was waiting for me and said she was leaving.”

  My mind raced. “On the twenty-first?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Why?”

  “Oh, nothing.” That was the day that I’d discovered I was pregnant. The day that Harry came home with an armful of flowers and a guilty expression on his face. My breath caught in my throat. Had he been going to leave me that day? Were the flowers meant to be compensation? A consolation prize? “Is she still working for Harry?” I asked casually. I could have kicked myself for not checking. But Harry was so involved with the baby and was calling me from work several times a day, often from the office phone. He hadn’t sounded furtive as though she might be beside him when he called. I wasn’t going to ask him; I didn’t want him to see my face if he said she was still there.

  “She’s not told me anything.” He hesitated, then said, “You and Harry . . . you’re getting on all right now?”

  I tried to keep my expression blank. I wasn’t going to tell him I was pregnant. “Things seem to be okay again. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have told you anything. It seems to have blown over.”

  “No, you were right.” He pushed his coffee away from him and put his head in his hands. “I hadn’t seen any of this coming, that’s all.”

  I leaned back, away from the smell of coffee, but suddenly it seemed so strong, so pungent, that I knew I had only a minute to find a bathroom.

  “Won’t be long,” I managed to say as I leaped to my feet.

  When I came back, pale and shaking, my hair damp with perspiration, Tom was sitting back in his chair, looking out of the window. The waitress had cleared away his coffee and juice and there was just a large glass of water waiting for me.

  I sat down and apologized.

  “So, Emma,” he said. “When were you going to tell me you were pregnant?”

  CHAPTER 34

  Emma

  I stared at Tom. “What? What are you talking about?”

  His eyes were cool as they met mine. “You’re pregnant,” he said. “When were you going to tell me? Or did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Come on, Emma.” His voice was calm and steady, just the opposite to how I felt. “Don’t even think of denying it. You’re what? Midthirties? Married a long time with no children? We slept together a few weeks ago.” His eyes didn’t leave mine and I knew he remembered every moment. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  Well, nor do I, I wanted to say.

  “What makes you think I’m pregnant?”

  He said nothing at first, then leaned toward me and said in a voice so low that I automatically leaned forward to hear him, “Well, I could tell you that there’s a look that pregnant women have. You’re pale. You have a greenish pallor. That’ll be the sickness, right? You should probably try to eat something, even though you don’t want to. Perhaps give some plain toast a try?”

  My head swirled. Was he threatening me or giving me medical advice?

  He smiled then. “Or I could just tell you that I’d seen a book in your bag.”

  I could’ve kicked myself. Shoved into my open handbag on the chair beside me was a book called Pregnancy: Week by Week.

  “It’s not yours,” I said. “It’s Harry’s.”

  “How come you hadn’t had children before?”

  “Not that it’s anything to do with you,” I said, “but we decided to wait for a while before having a baby.”

  “So you’re saying that your decision to have a baby coincided with you sleeping with me? I don’t buy that.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “You know I have a son, don’t you?”

  “Yes, you told me.”

  “My ex-wife got pregnant before we married. That was the reason we married, if I’m honest.” I flinched. It sounded such a cruel thing to say. He must have noticed my expression, because he went on, “Actually it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I hadn’t wanted a baby at that point; I was only twenty-five. But she came off the pill because it was giving her headaches and the next thing we knew, she was pregnant.” He smiled at me. “It was wonderful. From the moment he was born I loved him. Before then, even. The intensity”—he laughed—“it’s just staggering. Nothing prepares you for it.”

  I knew exactly how he felt. I was sorry for his ex-wife; I didn’t even know her name, but here I was learning all about her private medical history. My mind was racing. She’d gotten pregnant so easily. Tom had proven he could make a woman pregnant. Wasn’t it much more likely that the baby was his? My head pounded. I didn’t want his baby. I did want this baby, though.

  “So who do you think is more likely t
o be the father?” His voice was soft and persuasive. “Your husband? Really?”

  I looked down, feeling sick again. “Yes. Really.”

  He touched my hand. “Did you think the problem lay with you?” he asked gently. “Is that what’s been on your mind all these years?”

  I couldn’t speak.

  “Maybe the two of you together . . . maybe it was never going to happen that way. That’s not uncommon, you know. And now that you’re with someone different . . .”

  “I’m not with you!”

  “Not now,” he said. “But you were. And this is my baby, so who knows what’s going to happen?”

  He leaned forward and I could smell coffee, sour on his breath. I tried to lean back, to keep my distance, but his eyes were fixed on mine and I didn’t seem able to move. “I would have thought,” he said, “that a woman of your age who thought there was the slightest chance she might get pregnant would be very sure to use contraception if she slept with another man.”

  “Do you really think I carry condoms around with me on the off-chance I’m going to sleep with someone?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. But if I’d been in your position, I would have made sure I didn’t get pregnant.”

  “And vice versa.”

  He laughed. “You took me by surprise.”

  I’d had enough. “Do you like black-and-white movies?”

  He looked startled at the change of subject. “Yeah, some. Why?”

  “Oh, I saw one the other day. It was called Gaslight. Have you seen it?”

  Slowly he shook his head.

  “You remind me of someone in it. But you know what?” I leaned forward and whispered, so that he had to lean forward to hear me. “I can see through you.”

  He sat back and drank some water. I would have bet my house that he wished it was vodka. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Really?” I stood up, took some money for my drink out of my purse, and put it on the table. “Maybe you should watch it.”

  “Don’t go yet,” he said. “What are we going to do about it? About the baby?”

  “We’re not doing anything about anything.” I put my face down close to his. “I am happily married. I love my husband. You and I had one night. One night! And you think that’s enough to get me pregnant?”

  “One night, maybe, but three times.”

  I flushed. “It makes no difference,” I said. “Don’t come near me again.”

  * * *

  • • •

  I hurried back to my office. Annie was talking to someone in the kitchen at the end of the corridor so I managed to sneak into our office to pick up my emergency toiletry bag from my desk drawer. In the bathroom I brushed my teeth and tried to sort out my hair and face. I still looked shocking, though, and when Annie came back into our office, she took one look at me and said, “Are you okay? You look terrible! You should go home to bed.”

  “I will, just as soon as we’ve talked about your meeting in London.” She was going there that morning to talk to a couple of fashion designers about their new website, and we needed to go through some figures and dates before she went.

  “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “I can call you from the train. Have you caught a bug?”

  I shook my head. I couldn’t be bothered trying to fool her; she’d know soon enough. “No, nothing like that.”

  “What is it? Have you had bad news?”

  “Not bad news,” I said, though in a way it really, really was. “Most people would see it as good news.”

  I watched the cogs fall slowly into place. Her eyes opened wide. “You are kidding. Really?”

  I nodded and we started to laugh.

  “This is wonderful.” She hugged me tightly. “Congratulations. How many weeks are you?”

  “My last period started on May sixteenth, so that makes it seven weeks. A pregnancy is dated from the first day of my last period, right?”

  Annie nodded. “That confused the life out of Patrick when I got pregnant.” She laughed. “He was convinced I was wrong and tried to challenge the midwife. She soon set him straight. Have you told your mum yet?”

  I tried not to think of how that conversation would go, if Tom was the father. “No, I’m trying not to tell anyone, just for a bit longer.”

  “Until the scan?”

  I wondered how she’d react if I said, No, until the DNA test results come through to tell me whether the father is my husband or my husband’s girlfriend’s husband. I could only imagine the silence that would follow.

  Instead, I said, “Just the usual thing to do, isn’t it?”

  “It’s such good news. I won’t say a word. Shall we tell people you’ve got a bug?”

  I nodded. “Tell them it’s catching; that way I won’t have to see anyone.”

  “How’s Harry? He must be over the moon.”

  I smiled. “He just keeps saying he can’t believe it.”

  “I won’t say a word to Patrick,” she said. “I’ll let Harry tell him when he’s ready.”

  I agreed but as she carried on chatting, so excited by my news, I couldn’t help thinking: If the father was Tom, what would happen? I’d have to tell Harry. There was no way I would keep that from him. But what would he do?

  At the thought of his reaction, at his disappointment and sadness at not having this chance to be a father, I wanted to put my head down and cry. He would leave me—I knew that. He wouldn’t be able to watch me bloom with someone else’s child. I couldn’t blame him.

  CHAPTER 35

  Ruby

  When I saw Harry kissing Emma on their doorstep, I knew that it was all over between us. I know it sounds crazy but until that time I’d had daydreams where he’d call me and say he was so sorry. He’d tell me it was all a mistake, that he should never have let me go. In my dreams I’d put up a good resistance, but eventually he’d wear me down and we’d live happily ever after.

  But when I thought of the way he leaned toward Emma and cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, just as he had with me the first time he kissed me, I knew that wasn’t the sign of a man who was coerced into staying with his wife. My daydreams were just that, an avoidance of real life. I was never going to be with Harry and that was his choice.

  I brushed the tears from my face and found some resolve from somewhere. Once the house was sold, I could move away. Far away. That moment couldn’t come soon enough, but right now I had to find a job.

  So by eight o’clock I was back in my flat, smartly dressed and ready to respond immediately to any job offers. I sat at the table in my living room, looking through the agencies farther afield, given I seemed to be barred from the local ones. I knew from experience that as jobs came in, they’d update their websites, and I was going to be ready for them. I’d spent Sunday honing my résumé. I still hadn’t heard from the other jobs but knew I had to give them time. It was a numbers game. The more applications I made, the more likely it was I’d get something.

  Oliver rang at nine o’clock.

  “Ruby, I’ve been thinking. There might be some jobs at my place,” he said. “Shall I put your name forward?”

  “That would be great,” I said. “Anything will do at the moment. I’m just looking for something to tide me over until the house is sold.”

  “Great!” He gave me his e-mail address. “Send over your résumé and I’ll be in touch.”

  I sent Sarah a text:

  Did you give Harry the letter?

  She replied after ten minutes, saying:

  I’ve only just got in! I’ll put it in his drawer in a minute.

  I felt a rage then that he was there in the office as though nothing had happened. He’d just replaced me with Sarah and carried on with his life. It was so hard not to phone him and tell him what I thought of him.

 
Just then an e-mail came through from a new agency in Liverpool in response to my inquiry, asking whether I could come in to see them. An hour later I walked through their door and was seated at Lesley’s desk. She told me that most of the jobs they had were permanent, but I hoped that if I impressed her she’d be able to find me work. As long as she hadn’t heard about my reputation, that is.

  “So what have you been doing recently?” she asked. “I can see here you worked for Sheridan’s in Chester. They’re a great employer, aren’t they? Did you enjoy it there?”

  Interesting question. I felt like telling her just how much I’d enjoyed it but I managed to stay calm and said, “Yes, I was working as PA to Harry Sheridan, the MD.”

  “And that was a permanent job?”

  The only thing I could do was to lie. “It was a long-term temp job. His PA had health problems and needed to be at home for a while.”

  “For eighteen months?”

  I shrugged, desperately trying to think of a reason why someone would need that long off work, but Lesley’s phone rang then and when she’d finished with the call it seemed she’d accepted what I had said. “Right, I think we might have something that we could consider you for. Are you sure it’s only temporary work you’re looking for?”

  “Yes. I’m planning to move in a few months and I’m not sure where I’m going to,” I said. “I don’t want to tie myself down just yet.”

  Her eyes narrowed and I could see her wondering whether it was going to be worth investing her time in me.

  “Of course,” I added quickly, “I’m staying in this region, so I hope to keep working with you for longer than that. It’s just that I’ll be buying a house and want to work nearby, so I’ll find a permanent job after that.”

  I had no intention of staying in this area once my house was sold. I’d be off. I thought of my friends from university who lived in Edinburgh, others in Devon. One lived in the South of France, another worked for the British embassy in Iceland. Suddenly my heart lifted. I would be free to go wherever I wanted to. I had a sudden flashback to something Tom said after a holiday we took. He’d told me he was busy but that I should book something. He said he was happy to go anywhere. I booked us a trip to Italy, to a little place near Sorrento. I thought he’d enjoyed himself, thought we’d had a good time, but right at the end, on the flight back, he said, “You never quite manage to choose the right place, do you?” My stomach fluttered with panic at the memory. What if I moved somewhere new and hated it?