Come Back to Me

by Sara Foster

  Mark.

  Why on earth was Alex calling Mark?

  She flung the phone back onto the table, hating it for reaffirming her fears, and crept up to bed, rubbing her stomach gently. She opened the bedroom door as quietly as she could. It gave a tiny wail as it was pushed aside, then another one as she held the handle firmly and re-latched it.

  Chloe tiptoed towards the bed, guided by the light of the streetlamp outside, and looked at Alex’s still form, then his face, to check she wasn’t disturbing him. She found his eyes – coal-dark in the dim light, but wide open, staring at her. She jumped slightly and took a quick breath, blinked and refocused. Now his eyes were shut and his breathing seemed even. She shook her head, wondering if she’d imagined it after all. But her heart was racing.

  17

  Mark was in the office early, keen to get a headstart on work this week, but his thoughts kept returning to his dad. He wondered if his father were still snoring his unshaven head off in Mark’s bed. By the time Mark had finished his dinner last night, Henry had shown no sign of moving. Mark had watched him for a while from his chair, and the longer he stared at the inert form, the more irritated he felt. Eventually he’d got up and given Henry a sharp poke in the ribs, which seemed to have no effect on his consciousness, but did cause him to curl up into a foetal ball.

  At the movement, Mark had decided he’d had enough. He’d yanked hard on Henry’s arm, bending at the knees, his muscles straining as he pulled with all his strength to get his dad’s arm around his shoulder and heave him up into a sitting position. ‘Come on, Dad,’ he yelled. ‘For fuck’s sake.’

  Henry had responded with a load of mumbled slurs, which Mark could make nothing intelligible of, but he seemed to have got through, as his father moved obligingly, and Mark managed to get him to his feet and propel him towards the bedroom. Once Mark had Henry sitting on the bed, he had let go of him, and his dad had immediately fallen smack back against the mattress like a dead weight. If Mark hadn’t been so cross and out of breath he would have laughed at the sight. It was too surreal. Henry’s mouth had opened upon impact and he began to inhale in gurgling snores.

  Mark had taken his pillows from the bed and a spare blanket from the walk-in wardrobe, and dumped them in the lounge. He’d returned with a pint glass of water and the washing-up bowl – in case his dad felt like throwing up. To make sure Henry would see it, Mark left it on his father’s stomach, the bowl moving up and down gently with Henry’s breathing like a boat bobbing in the breeze.

  Then he’d gone into the lounge, turned the TV up higher than was necessary, and nestled under the blanket, half-watching the screen while he flicked through his papers until he fell asleep.

  When he’d woken up he’d had to go into his bedroom for clothes. Henry had moved in the night. The bowl was on the floor, unused, and the water glass was only a quarter full now. Henry was on his side, back to the room, breathing evenly, but Mark had the feeling his dad was awake. He was grateful for the pretence. He couldn’t even begin to frame a suitable conversation with his father since they had been thrust into such uncharted territory.

  As he doodled on a legal pad, he wondered whether to phone his mother and tell her that her wayward husband had made an appearance, but he had no particular desire to talk to her either, since she seemed somehow to be holding Mark accountable for Henry’s actions.

  He hadn’t got much done by the time everyone started arriving around nine. Half an hour later he got a phone call telling him one of his clients had decided to settle, which meant he didn’t have to go to court that afternoon, but also that quite a lot of the work he had been doing for the past week, not to mention that morning, had been a waste of time. Mark secretly loathed parties who chose last-minute settlements – they lacked the gumption to call proceedings to a halt early and save themselves money and their legal team time; and they also lacked the integrity to follow through on their cause. He was especially curt to the opposing party’s solicitor on the phone, and she ended the call having barely got out her final sentence.

  A few hours later, he had just sent the temp running out of the office near to tears after he’d berated her for bringing the wrong case file, when David Marchant stuck his head round the door, glanced briefly at the secretary’s hunched, departing back, and said, ‘Everything okay, Mark?’

  ‘Fine, fine,’ Mark replied, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly, hoping he could replicate a confident, relaxed manner, which was in reality eluding him right now. ‘And you?’

  ‘All good.’ David came in and sank onto the chair opposite Mark’s desk. ‘I heard Dawson and Hamish settled.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mark said, smiling. ‘Eleventh hour.’

  ‘Oh well.’ David leaned forward. ‘At least you can shift that one along now, it seems to have been dragging on for an eternity.’

  Mark had the feeling David was making small talk, and was intrigued. It wasn’t characteristic of his boss. He smiled and waited.

  ‘So,’ David continued, settling back into his chair again after a pause. ‘How’s Henry? We haven’t seen him round here lately.’

  A-ha. Mark felt his shoulders stiffen and froze in an attempt to appear relaxed, then realised that was a dead giveaway. He began to shift a little in his seat. Neil and David seemed to accept his father’s frequent office visits, although Mark had managed to glean a few signs of irritation over the years when Henry overstepped the mark in company matters that really no longer concerned him. He usually dropped in to the offices once a week, and did the rounds, meeting and greeting people whose doors were open, offering advice where he felt it needed to be dispensed. When Mark heard his father talking to Neil and David, he was usually bragging about the heaven of retirement – long lunches after rounds of golf, afternoons at his club, where he dined and supped with former judges and barristers. It was obvious to Mark and, he presumed, others too, that his dad was struggling with an excess of spare time and a recess of status far more than he was admitting.

  ‘He’s fine,’ Mark smiled pleasantly, thinking of his father’s inert form in his bed a few hours earlier. ‘Just… busy, I think.’

  One of David’s eyebrows twitched slightly. ‘Well, give him our regards, won’t you,’ he said, getting up.

  Mark sighed impatiently once David had gone. His desk was cluttered with case files, but now he had nothing urgent he didn’t have any desire to look at them.

  He thought of Alex’s phone call yesterday morning, and the piece of paper stuffed in his top right-hand drawer. He needed a distraction.

  He looked at his watch. It was one o’clock. Her flat wasn’t all that far away. And he could drop off the Blythe documents to the barrister en route.

  Don’t be an idiot, he berated himself. You’re not a love-sick teenager with bad acne any more. It was bad enough last time. You’ll just look like a stalker now.

  Yet as he got up, his legs didn’t seem to be following his brain’s commands.

  18

  ‘Mrs Markham to Doctor Chen’s office, please.’

  Chloe got up and walked quickly to a bright blue door, knocking once and then opening it when she heard the doctor call, ‘Come in’.

  Juliet Chen swivelled round in her chair and gave Chloe a smile. Chloe had only seen Dr Chen a couple of times, mostly for repeat prescriptions, but she was instantly put at ease by the other woman’s sympathetic bedside manner.

  ‘Hello, Chloe,’ Dr Chen began. ‘What can I do for you today?’

  ‘Well,’ Chloe paused, ‘I think I’m pregnant.’

  ‘How wonderful!’ The doctor’s smile broadened, then she noticed the lack of excitement from Chloe and asked, ‘And are you happy about this?’

  ‘Yes, yes I am.’ Chloe tried to animate her face but her features were like stiff dough. ‘It’s just…’ She felt tears prickle her eyelids. ‘It’s a difficult time.’

  ‘Okay.’ Dr Chen nodded as though she understood everything. ‘Let’s start from the beginning. When was your
last period?’

  ‘About six weeks ago, I think.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I’m never very regular, and it’s always pretty light, so I find it hard to keep track.’

  ‘Well, I’ll take a urine sample in a second.’ The doctor moved to glance at her notes, then looked back at Chloe. ‘But I’d just like to do an exam. Is that okay?’

  Chloe nodded, and wished away the ensuing five minutes as she lay on the bed while the doctor poked and prodded her. Once she was sitting back down, Doctor Chen turned to her and paused, looking at Chloe intently.

  ‘You certainly are pregnant, Chloe, but I would say you’re quite a bit further on than six weeks.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’d say more like nearly four months, judging by the size and shape of your uterus.’

  Chloe sat up, incredulous. ‘But I can’t be. I’ve had periods.’

  Dr Chen smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Chloe. As you say, they’ve been light, and it does happen with some women. I’m going to get you organised for a scan straightaway, to make sure. But I’d prepare for a baby in about five months, not seven, if I were you. Didn’t you notice your stomach changing?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose.’ She had noticed the roundness to her stomach recently. ‘But only in the last week or so, since I’ve known. I just thought that was what happened.’

  ‘It does, but normally a little further on than six weeks,’ Dr Chen said kindly.

  ‘But I haven’t felt sick at all.’

  ‘That’s a good thing.’ Dr Chen smiled, then paused again on seeing Chloe’s unhappy face. ‘Is something wrong, Chloe?’ She sat patiently, hands in her lap. Chloe wondered if the pose had been taught to her at medical school.

  ‘It’s my husband…’ Chloe started, but trailed off, unsure how to explain.

  The doctor looked briefly at her notes. ‘Is he unhappy about the baby?’ she asked.

  Chloe shook her head. ‘He doesn’t know.’

  If the doctor was surprised she didn’t show it, but laid a hand on Chloe’s arm. ‘Tell him,’ she encouraged. ‘He needs to know, and you need to be taken care of right now.’

  Chloe nodded. It wasn’t as simple as that, but doctors’ sessions usually lasted ten minutes, and if Chloe started pouring her heart out she would be here a lot longer than that. So she just took her referral for the ultrasound and left with a quiet ‘thank you’.

  When she got outside she suddenly felt nauseous, as though all the morning sickness she had avoided so far had been stacking up inside her to come in one enormous wave at that moment. She got halfway along the surgery path, then had to lean into some bushes and deposit most of her lunch, thankful that there was no one around to see her.

  This was no good. She had to tell Alex about the baby. In fact, it now seemed stupid she hadn’t done so already. Whatever his thoughts about Julia, the idea of being a father would distract him so much that this little hiccup would pale in comparison. Wouldn’t it?

  Before her thoughts could take hold of her she tried Alex’s mobile, but there was no answer. That was weird. He normally picked up when he was working at home.

  A jolt went through her as she remembered looking at his phone the night before, and before she could question what she was doing, she was dialling Mark.

  19

  Mark was walking out of the office when his phone rang. He reached inside his jacket pocket, pulled it out and flipped it open.

  ‘Mark, did Alex call you at the weekend?’

  Mark heard the sharpness in Chloe’s tone and was surprised. ‘Er, yes, he did,’ he said, then paused, not knowing how to follow it up.

  ‘Oh, okay. What did he want?’

  She asked it as casually as she could, but the pause that followed was packed with tension, as though she were holding herself still in readiness for his answer. A strange wave of emotion came across Mark, and with some surprise he found himself saying, ‘He dialled me by mistake, it was a five-second call. I don’t think Alex and I have all that much to talk about.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose you do,’ Chloe answered, but the suspicion was still clear in her voice. ‘Okay, then. Thanks.’ And she was gone.

  Mark made his way out, thinking of the restaurant last Thursday: Julia’s obvious distress, Chloe’s blatant innocence as to what was going on; and Alex’s shocked face. Then he remembered the man’s haughty voice on the phone at the weekend.

  Why should he bloody well get away with it? Anger rose in him, crushing every other thought, and he turned back. He pushed open his office door, pulled out the rumpled piece of paper from his desk drawer, and marched into Chloe’s room, flinging the miserable scrap on to the table. He borrowed a biro to annotate it.

  ‘I think this was what Alex wanted,’ he wrote, the pen scratching out every word. ‘I’ll leave it up to you whether he gets it or not.’

  20

  Alex was exhausted. As he tussled with each waking minute, a dark-haired wraith-woman paced the corners of his mind, darting out before him then back to the shadows again before he could stop her. In his dreams the night before she had been there too, wearing a vest top and a short skirt with thick ugg boots, her back to him, walking fast. Although he was running, lungs stinging with gasped oxygen, he could not close the gap. He had cried her name, but she gave no sign she had heard him. Then fog descended around them and she disappeared.

  By the time he had got up, Chloe was gone, just a note from her on the table telling him she had an early meeting at work and signed with a ‘C’ – love and kisses conspicuously absent. He had tried not to read anything into that, but who was he kidding?

  He thought about ringing her. At work she was invariably with clients or colleagues, however, so she would hardly want him to start pouring his heart out. He felt terrible that he hadn’t come home until the early hours. He’d ended up finding a panicked Jamie at his local police station, his brother having locked himself out of the house. Not only had they and a helpful constable had to break into Jamie’s flat, but then he’d had to stay with his brother until he’d calmed down enough for Alex to be sure he’d be safe on his own. Looking out for Jamie could be a thankless and depressing task at times, but his parents relied heavily on him to do so. It was they who had decided to buy Jamie a flat close to Alex when their younger son had insisted on moving out. Thinking back, Alex couldn’t ever remember a conversation where he’d agreed to this responsibility, but it seemed to have been handed to him anyway.

  Frustrated, he tried to turn his mind to his work, relieved he didn’t have anything urgent today. Making his way through the house, he simultaneously began to effect the mental transition from home to work mode. It was a relief to get down to the cellar, which also functioned as his office and was one of his favourite places. Everything there was set up and streamlined so he could get through the maximum amount of work in a day – working for himself, time really was money. He’d put strip lighting in there, but it rarely went on; instead, spotlights and desk lights illuminated his work space, as well as his top-of-the-range Apple Mac, the machine he spent most of his days in communion with. The walls were peppered with the works of some of his favourite artists – including plenty of Dali and Magritte, a couple of Rousseau’s jungle scenes, and a particularly large print of L’Ange du Foyer by Max Ernst – the latter always causing him to smile when he remembered Chloe’s expression the time he’d suggested putting it up in the lounge. As the house was an old-fashioned one, there was a tiny strip of window at the very front of the room, which allowed a snippet of a view of the front pathway. It was quite grimy on the inside, and Alex had decided that, since cleaning it would involve moving Apple Mac, desk and god knew how many wires to allow access, it would stay that way for quite some time.

  As he switched on the computer, the whir of it coming to life was drowned out by the buzz of his fractious mind. He needed to talk to Chloe… and to Julia… He was still fuming from his conversation with Mark yesterday morning, when
the arrogant wanker had not only been utterly unhelpful, but had sworn at him and hung up.

  Wearily, he turned to his work. There were about half a dozen emails waiting, two of which involved current jobs. When he had quit his in-house job at ArtSpace he had anticipated some time out, and then going back into the fray – never this. It had been Chloe who encouraged him to resign, seeing how unhappy he was with the office politics and backstabbing, which for most people seemed to take up a far larger part of the day than design work. There had been constant frayed nerves and speculation over the next round of redundancies; and an endless succession of ‘bright young things’ coming in, impetuous and overconfident in their abilities to transform the company, quickly becoming bitter and twisted as they morphed unwillingly into the status quo.

  Then one of his clients from ArtSpace – Jed Morenzo, who he would thank forever – had put Alex in touch with an associate. Although Jed’s company was tied to ArtSpace and they were disappointed that Alex was no longer working on their account, they had loved his designs enough to show them around, and from that one recommendation things had snowballed. Every now and again he put an ad in one of the trade presses, but for the most part his work evolved through word of mouth – the very best form of advertising there was, and, best of all, the only one that was free. He did some posters, bits of marketing material, but enjoyed logo design the most. He loved getting to grips with the essence of a company and trying to sum it up so that their vision shouted out from a small, often abstract motif. One of his proudest moments had been having his work featured in HOW magazine – at that point he’d finally begun to think he was getting places.

  Now, he replied to those emails he could deal with straight away, and checked his schedule for the week. He had only two meetings with clients, both on Wednesday, so the rest was design time. Yet he had a feeling that the week wasn’t going to go very well. As he flicked open his web browser he started typing a name in, hoping against all odds that something would come up.