The Passionate Mistake

by Amelia Hart

  The terror and the loneliness grew too much to bear. Then she made the second mistake. She called her sister.

  Which in itself wasn’t too bad. Understandable that she should reach out to the one other person who – like her – would one day be a mother using the emotional resources she had learnt from their family. Not that she had any plans to tell her what the call was really about. She just wanted to make contact; to feel less alone.

  Perhaps the call itself wasn’t the second mistake. If she had used the office phone to call, there would have been no harm done. But she didn’t have a phone on her desk – she never used one. She had no need to connect with the outside world. So there was no phone sitting on her desk.

  If she had thought it over at all, she wouldn’t have made the next mistake. She would have gone downstairs, found a workstation with a phone, and sat there for ten minutes to ring Janet.

  But she didn’t think it through.

  She just pulled her own phone from her bag, and dialed.

  She didn’t realize the mistake right away.

  “Hi Kate. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. Nothing in particular. I was just calling to see how things are.”

  “You mean at home? There’s been a bit of a stink. Dad’s really pissed off at you. What did you say to him?”

  “Nothing you need to worry about. The same stuff I was talking about with Damian, more or less. He wanted me to do something for the family business and I wouldn’t. Don’t worry. He’ll get over it.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried. I mean, he’s being a drag but I just steer clear. I haven’t been home much anyway.”

  “Out partying?”

  “Nah, nah you know me. At the library. I’ve picked out my uni papers and I’m getting a head start on the readings. I’m so going to ace this year.”

  “Wow. Impressive.”

  “You know it. So what’s up with you? You sound a bit off.”

  “Oh, nothing. But it’s good to hear your voice. And about uni and all. I . . .” and that’s when she realized the mistake. Because while she was turned away from the door Mike had swiped himself through the locked entryway into the office and while walking past her on his way to Hamish, glanced at her to give her a friendly nod, and froze. Straightened. Turned his whole body towards her, the color draining from his face. And his eyes were on her phone.

  Her sparkling, bedazzled phone.

  Realization was like a white hot arrow through her brain. In a single motion she took the phone from her ear and flung it into the gaping mouth of her open satchel.

  But now he was looking at her face, his gaze sweeping over it. Over the glasses, the flat brown hair in childish pigtails, the bare skin. His eyes were wide in dawning outrage.

  He stalked to her desk, put his hands on it and leaned in close, snarling: “Kate? What the hell is this? What is going on?”

  She stared back at him, a deer in headlights, stunned and wordless.

  “Answer me, Kate.” His tone dripped with rage, and when she still said nothing, he shouted, “Answer me!” and slammed his hand down on the desk as punctuation.

  She flinched, and his lip curled. Heads were turning in their direction. People stopped in the corridor to stare through the glass windows.

  He rocked back on his heels, and pointed: “Get into my office. Now!”

  She got to her feet and walked, stiff, mechanical, her back ramrod straight, feeling like she was going to her execution. She let them both out of the Platform Division’s offices, along the walkway overlooking the atrium and into his office.

  He closed the door behind him with a slam, and again she flinched, her hand flying protectively to her abdomen.

  He didn’t see the gesture. His head was up, nostrils flared, as he operated the blinds with a swift viciousness, shutting them off from curious eyes.

  “Tell me why you’re hiding out in my company. Is this some sort of sick game? Are you stalking me?”

  “No! No, this is nothing personal. Or at least, it didn’t start that way.” She couldn’t think straight. Her gut was churning with nausea. She had no idea what to say to explain this. “It was all business to start with.”

  “All business? Taking on a disguise and coming to work for me was all business? What business, exactly? What reason could a woman who works in a software company possibly have for hiring on in another software company in disguise?” His tone rose until he shouted the last two words.

  He was so clever. Of course he knew right away. What explanation was there except for the right one? None she could think of.

  “That’s how it started. Yes. But Mike-”

  And she saw it. Actually saw the moment when incredulity was replaced with certainty. It was like a curtain closing. His face closed. Closed to her, all feeling washed away. His eyes went dead.

  “But Mike,” she pleaded, “it changed. Almost immediately it changed for me. I mean, I never stole anything from you. Not one thing.” She was begging him to understand. He just looked at her with that blank stare, as if he didn’t even see her.

  “I liked it here. I liked you. I . . . I wanted you-”

  “So you told me your lies to get me.” His voice was detached, distant.

  “No, no. Not as Kate! Everything I told you as Kate was true. Or . . . well . . . almost everything. Most things. I was myself when I was with you like . . . like that.” It was an almost physical pain, to speak of the intimacies they had shared – even obliquely – to this hard-faced stranger. She saw his lip curl again in contempt, almost a reflex action as if he smelt something foul.

  “Please, Mike . . .” she whispered brokenly, and tears streaked down her face, two hot trails over her cheeks.

  “If one line of code from DigiCom’s programs is reproduced by your or by your family’s company in a single product, I will have you prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law,” he said in a monotone, his eyes narrowed.

  “I would never . . . I couldn’t . . . I wouldn’t think of it. I swear!”

  “You did think of it. You just said so.”

  She was silent. Looked into his dead eyes and saw nothing left for her there.

  She sobbed, just once before she caught herself, her hands flying to her mouth.

  “Get out,” he said with infinite weariness.

  “Mike? Please, I-”

  “Get out.” He didn’t even bother to raise his voice. But even said softly, the towering contempt was obvious.

  She had lost him. As she had always known she would. Here it was. The moment she had dreaded.

  It was here. It was over. They were done.

  She was in the corridor. No, stop. Her satchel.

  She went back to the Platform Division, picked it up, put it back down on the desk so she could slide her laptop and tablet into it. Checked the drawers. Cleared all trace of herself away. She moved slowly, as if underwater. Everything felt muffled and distant.

  She walked out. People stared. But they were so far away, they didn’t matter.

  On the pavement she stood at the curb. Next to a rubbish bin. Stared at the traffic. Stared at the rubbish bin. Took a step and was violently sick into the rubbish bin. Braced herself on it until the trembling stopped and she could stand again. Then she walked away.

  Walked and walked, on streets she knew but didn’t see, then streets she neither knew nor saw. Walked and walked, for hours; until her feet hurt, even in her sensible flat shoes. It was a distant pain, though.

  There was a bench here, on the street. She sat for a while; Maybe another hour. Or more. Or less. Did it matter? It didn’t matter.

  What did matter was she hadn’t finished it. He still didn’t know about the baby.

  She didn’t want to tell him.

  Oh God, she did not want to tell him.

  But she had to do it. It was the right thing to do. A truth that she owed him.

  She had to do it right now. Right now when she was numb. Mostly numb. Cauterize the wound right now.
/>   There was a taxi rank two blocks away. Where was she? Onehunga. The Mall, in Onehunga.

  She caught a taxi to her car, back in the centre of the city. Then she drove her car to his house, sitting in rush hour traffic most of the way. For once she didn’t tap her fingers on the steering wheel and curse the wasted time. She was in no hurry. She didn’t want to arrive.

  As she pulled up outside, it occurred to her he might not be home. Probably wouldn’t be home. He never left the office this early.

  She might have to wait until he got home.

  She opened the gate onto his property and walked to the big door.

  It was ajar.

  She should knock anyway; shouldn’t invade without his permission. But he might make her stand on the doorstep to deliver her news. That was very likely. Or simply slam the door and refuse to listen. She could imagine herself trying to bellow through the double-glazed panels on either side of the door: “I’m pregnant,” at the top of her lungs.

  She walked in without knocking. The house was still and silent.

  She took her shoes off and left them by the door so she could go silently. Though sneaking up on him wouldn’t improve anything. Maybe she should go back for the shoes . . .

  There he was. His hands were thrust deep in his pants pockets as he gazed out of the window onto the harbor view. She didn’t approach him, staying just at the entryway to the room, feeling like enough of invader.

  For long minutes she stood there, summoning the courage to speak.

  Finally she said, “Mike,” in a voice that cracked in the middle.

  He whirled with a snarl. “What the hell? How dare you? Get out of my house!”

  “Stop. Wait. Yes, I’ll go. I’m sorry.” She held her hands out in front of her, palms towards him. “But there’s just one other thing. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m pregnant.”

  “You . . . What?!” His eyes went impossibly wide. “So you lied about contraception too? My God, is anything sacred to you?” He drove his hands into his hair and clenched them there, looking like he would tear it out by the roots. His eyes were black as night with rage. “So what’s this baby to you? A hostage against me? Blackmail? What the hell were you thinking?” He took a single step towards her, every line of his body a threat. Instinctively she backed away, her hands at her throat. “I tell you, whatever it was, you’ve made a mistake. The biggest mistake of your life.” His tone was loaded with menace. Yet even under his towering fury, anger was not all he was feeling.

  He stared at her with such a look . . . It shriveled her soul. She couldn’t bear it. Everything she had learnt in a lifetime of angry confrontations was as dust. She couldn’t face him down. Couldn’t bear to stand there as he looked at her like that. Like she’d betrayed him. Like she was a stranger to him. A vile stranger.

  Her pregnancy was a mistake. He had said it. And up to the very second he said it, she thought it was true.

  But as soon as the words were on his lips, there was no more doubt in her mind. She was crystal clear.

  Her tiny, unformed baby. Her new family.

  Family was everything.

  It was the only thing. All she had left to her. She had lost him forever. He wouldn’t forgive her and she didn’t deserve it anyway. She had lost her family trying to hold on to him and do the right thing. All she had left was the baby and she would not listen to him say it was a mistake again. He had the power to break her and she couldn’t take that from him. She had to get away.

  When he turned from her to stride through the open doors to the balcony and gripped the railing with straining fists, she broke. Broke and ran on soundless feet, out of the room, down the stairs and out of the front door. She left it swinging open, left her shoes, jumped into the car and shoved her bare foot down on the accelerator, gunning it, only remembering her safety belt as she was swinging round the first curve in the road.

  She had to protect the baby. The precious little treasure in her womb. Not a mistake, no, never a mistake.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured to it. Sorry she had got things so wrong for it, sorry she had even considered for a moment she might not want it. This would be her family. And no one would get the chance to call her child a mistake. Not ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The beach house was like a hug. Like warm arms folded around her, keeping her safe.

  It wasn’t a house, really. It was a tiny cabin on the waterfront; meters from the high tide mark. Two rooms and a bathroom, shabby, the painted wood walls faded to soft pastels.

  She kept the woodbox fired up through the quiet evenings, fighting off the winter chill, with the covers peeled back on the bed so all the thick layers warmed through. Then she went to bed with a hot water bottle to cuddle, and wrapped herself up tight around her bump, feeling the slow aqueous movements inside with a little thrill, sometimes taking an hour or more to slip into sleep, singing softly to her baby.

  She felt so secure here. The walls were lined with summer memories, all the years they had rented this cabin for weeks on end and squeezed themselves into it, falling over each other, laughing, playing, happy to be together. Dad had been a different man then, expansive and cheerful, ready to tussle on the floor with his children. And Mum had been there; singing, making simple meals on the stove, sitting at the table to prepare food or play board games, her hair carelessly bundled up and coming down in long wispy strands.

  Kate could sit at that table and remember twining her fingers in that hair, plaiting it or forming it into corkscrews while mum held her head still, long minutes drifting by in quiet togetherness, or chatting about anything and nothing.

  Janet taking new, wobbling steps from one sibling to a parent to another sibling, all of them so close to each other; Just toddler-steps apart. Summer naps on the couch – a couch infinitely more ragged now, and cool with impregnated salt from a hundred holidaymakers – wearing baby Luke like a small, twitching rug, totally relaxed and asleep on his big sister.

  It reassured her. She did know how to make a family. It was all inside her. She could hold a baby, love it properly. Here where Mum was so close, she had faith in herself.

  Her days were quiet. Peaceful. She had a little routine of walking, meditating, doing a couple of yoga poses. She had been teaching herself from a book that had been half price on the discount table at the local bookshop. Yoga for Pregnancy. Then she would settle in for a couple of hours programming on the couch, her laptop on her knees. Though there wasn’t much room left on those knees now. In another week or so she’d have to move to the table when working.

  Another walk, or some more yoga, to get the blood flowing to extremities that felt clogged when she sat for too long, or to relieve the pressure of backache. More programming. Heating up soups or frying some eggs to eat with toast, popping her vitamins and drinking glass after glass of water.

  A couple of times a week she drove to the library, where there was free internet access, downloaded her email from her friends or from Janet or – wonder of wonders – occasionally Luke. Then she checked her bank account with a never-ceasing sense of amazement, watching the sum in it swell and swell, tumescent with a life of its own.

  She was almost ready to load up her third app, to join her little suite of fertility and pregnancy aids. She’d put all her avid reading on the subject, her programming skills and her loads of time and freedom together and come up with a solution that had grown her savings of a few thousands into a nest egg that – with careful management – could last years.

  She hadn’t told anyone about it yet. She should. She knew her friends came to visit and worried that she was living like this out of some lack of funds. And maybe that’s how it had started, the long-term rent cheap as the off-season approached and the owner was happy to get a tenant who would commit to nine months and understood the price would be dramatically hiked come the return of summer.

  By then – surprise surprise – she would be able to afford it. If she wanted to stay. She didn
’t know yet, and wasn’t worrying about it. This place had provided a home when she was desperate to get away from her life. More than that, it provided a connection with a better time in her life, a person she was relearning to be.

  Yes, her friends worried a little. Janet didn’t. She swept in every couple of weeks on a high. Life was fantastic, uni was amazing, her boyfriend was incredible, look how pregnant Kate was getting, oh wasn’t she lucky to be having a beautiful little baby, it would be wonderful to be an auntie, she promised to be the best, most loving auntie in the world, could she and Kate please go for a walk, the fresh air was great, especially in winter when it was so easy to be lazy and stay cooped up indoors. This was just the best spot to work, she envied Kate the solitude and the space to think, she loved the cabin, she had found a family photo that might have been taken there on holiday, she was almost sure, and yes, it was, look, there was that tiny tree, grown all big now, what a lovely place to be.

  They had baked a couple of times, convincing the reluctant old oven to surrender trays of biscuits without burning them, despite itself. They had collected shells and driftwood on the beach – it was getting hard to rise from a squat now, but Kate persevered, determined – and talked and laughed, closing a gap in years that had seemed immense in childhood but was surprisingly small now, in many ways.

  Sometimes Kate imagined Janet must be as Mum had once been as a young woman starting in independent life. Sometimes she thought this baby might grow to be like Janet one day, smart and bouncy and unexpectedly droll.

  When Janet was gone Kate would arrange the flotsam and jetsam on the windowsill or stick the photo to the wall with the ancient, rusty brass pins that had probably been there for decades. Then she would cry bitterly at the return of her loneliness, this hole she could not fill, no matter what she did. She would cry and cry until finally, emptied, she would remember the baby that was a piece of him. Not him. Never a replacement for him. But a comfort, nonetheless. And she would go on, reaching always for the inner calm she had made her goal.