The door was still ajar from when I’d first entered hours ago. He bundled in, saw me on the bed and threw his arms around me. I leant on his shoulder and continued sobbing.
‘What is this godawful place?’ he said, scanning the room in disgust. ‘What are you doing here, Sophia? Who lives in this hovel?’
Shit. I wasn’t even thinking. Charlie had just come to ‘rescue’ me at Lorenzo’s place. Lorenzo. The man I had fallen in love with. I shouldn’t have let Charlie come here. I should have said I was okay. So stupid! How an earth was I going to explain this?
I sat up straight, then, as gently as I could, gave Charlie a top-line summary of everything that had happened.
I explained that I’d met Lorenzo in Italy, that he’d come to London and I’d agreed to see him, but only when I was on a break from Charlie and I insisted that I didn’t mean to hurt him.
When I broke the pregnancy news and asked Charlie about whether he’d taken the condom off early, he simply shrugged his shoulders and mumbled that he ‘couldn’t remember’. Given the bombshell I’d just dropped, I didn’t feel that I was in a position right now to push him on this. I could see his cheeks burning with anger and that he was ready to vent.
‘So let me get this straight,’ said Charlie, grinding his jaw. ‘That Sunday, you told me you needed some time away from me, to be alone to consider the future of our relationship and then, literally days—no, in fact, mere hours later, you jumped into bed with another man?’ Charlie began pacing up and down the flat.
‘I know how it sounds,’ I replied ‘but—’
‘And now you’re pregnant, and the baby might be mine, but then again it might be that chef’s, and now that he knows you’re knocked up, he’s dumped you and left the country?’ he snapped.
‘Well…no…well, yes…it’s true that I can’t be sure who the father is, and yes, it does seem like he’s left, but it doesn’t make sense that he’s gone when…’ I stopped myself mid-sentence. Charlie didn’t want to hear my thoughts on Lorenzo and the fact that whilst before, I would have thought it was typical for him to leave, now that I knew him, it was out of character because I truly believed Lorenzo was a good man.
I reconsidered my words. ‘Charlie…I don’t know what to say. Other than that I’m so sorry,’ I added, wiping the tears that were now streaming down my cheeks with my sleeve.
He continued pacing up and down the room, scowling as if he’d just been offered a cockroach sandwich.
‘Would you excuse me a moment, Charlie?’ I said as I crept past him. Not an ideal time to break the conversation, but I’d been bursting for the loo for hours, which couldn’t be good for my bladder. ‘I just need to go to the bathroom.’
I shut the door behind me and glared at myself in the mirror. Puffy, red eyes, smudged mascara and eyeliner, messy hair. My outward appearance was definitely a reflection of the turmoil that was going on inside my brain.
I splashed some cold water on my face and tried to straighten myself up a little. I then sat on the lid of the toilet seat whilst I tried to gather my thoughts.
As tempting as it was to hide away in here and not have to deal with everything, I needed to face Charlie and whatever angry insults he wanted to throw at me.
I took a deep breath and unlocked the bathroom door. Charlie was standing by the coffee table, pushing something into his pocket. Couldn’t see what. Couldn’t see much of anything, really, as although I’d temporarily stopped the waterworks, my eyes were still a little blurry.
‘Sorry I took so long,’ I said. I then began to frown. Charlie was acting weird. It wasn’t his anger. That was surely still there. It would take longer than the ten minutes I’d spent in the bathroom for him to calm down. He was fidgeting. Flustered. Strange.
‘I have to go,’ he snapped. ‘I…I need to get out of here.’ He quickly shuffled towards the door.
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘I know this must have all come as a massive shock…once again I’m sorry,’ I added, but before I could even finish my sentence, he was gone.
I plonked myself down on the bed and reached for my phone to order a taxi home. The longer I stayed here, in the place which held so many memories of my time with Lorenzo, the worse I would feel.
I stood up, gathered up my things, then surveyed the bedroom, kitchen and living room areas to check I had everything. Something was different, but I didn’t know what. I still wasn’t even thinking straight. How could I? Lorenzo had left me. Charlie hated me and my friends were barely speaking to me.
My whole world was spinning out of control and this time, I had no idea how to fix it.
Chapter Forty-Two
It was now fast approaching the end of March. Things had been pretty shitty. I was still struggling to get my head around everything. Particularly the pregnancy.
For years I’d longed to have a child, and yet now that it was actually happening, rather than feeling on top of the world, I just wanted to hide under the duvet for the next five months.
It’s all a mess.
I had my dating scan last week. Something that I’d hoped would be one of those idyllic moments. Lorenzo would hold my hand as we gazed lovingly at the ultrasound screen whilst the sonographer confirmed that everything was fine. We’d squeal with joy and Lorenzo would wrap his arms around me, tell me how much he loved me and shower me with kisses, as we happily pictured the beginnings of our family.
We’d then walk arm in arm to the taxi and I’d clutch the coveted ultrasound photo firmly in my hand. The photo that I’d seen so many mums-to-be post on social media before me. I’d always wondered if it would ever be me, and now after all the wishing and longing, I was finally about to become a mother.
But that was just a dream. The reality was that I went alone, and as I left, I tucked the scan photo safely away in my bag, which now lay hidden away in my bedroom drawer.
It had been almost six weeks since I’d last heard from Lorenzo. In truth, it felt like six years. I still longed for him every single second of every day.
Rather than being strong and in control Sophia, I’d spent most nights sobbing into my pillow. So much for never being able to cry. Now my eyes were like leaking taps. I couldn’t seem to stop the waterworks from flowing.
And even though I had tried to focus on work, the comfort blanket that normally cured all ills, it just wasn’t helping. When I managed to crawl out of bed and make my way in, I spent most of the time locked away in my office. Firstly because I was frequently throwing up (why they call it morning sickness when it happens throughout the day, I do not know), but mainly because, as I had realised, even if you give yourself a million ‘pull yourself together’ pep talks, sometimes deep, raw emotions cannot be controlled.
No matter how hard I tried to fight it, my thoughts would always turn to Lorenzo. I just couldn’t understand why he’d left. It didn’t make sense for him to disappear like that. Especially when I believed with every fibre of my being that he loved me. How did I get it so wrong?
Every time a notification sounded on my phone, I’d hope it was him, but it never was.
My head was constantly spinning. On the one hand, I knew Lorenzo was the man I wanted to be with, but how could I rationalise that when he’d deserted me so spectacularly?
Could he not handle the responsibility of being a father? Was it because he didn’t want to commit himself to living in London, or to me?
Was it the way I had broken the news to him? Perhaps I should have thought about it more. Chosen my words more carefully. It would have been a lot for him to take in. Particularly as I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure that he was the father. How would he feel if the baby wasn’t his?
When he’d told me he needed time, should I have contacted him sooner rather than waiting until that Saturday before going to see him? But equally, shouldn’t he have called to say he was leaving or explained how he was feeling so that we could discuss any concerns he had? I just didn’t get it.
For weeks, I also fe
lt bad because of Charlie. I should have just ended it with him cleanly, instead of wimping out and saying that I needed more time. Although technically, yes, we had been ‘on a break’, deep down, I had known he wasn’t the one for me, so rather than making him think there was some hope, when things had started progressing with Lorenzo, I should have told him outright that there definitely wasn’t a future for us.
The way Charlie had looked at me when he’d stormed out of Lorenzo’s flat haunted me. The glare of disgust and disappointment as his eyes burned into my skin. He couldn’t get out of there and as far away from me as possible quickly enough.
I considered leaving it alone. Letting Charlie just move on and forget about me. But of course, it was no longer just about me. There was a baby to consider. A baby that still could be his. And if it was, it was important that Charlie is involved. I wanted us to be on good terms. So I called him. After several attempts, he answered and reluctantly agreed to meet face-to-face.
I apologised for any pain that I’d caused and tried to explain that hurting him was the exact opposite of what I’d intended.
Charlie graciously accepted my apology. He said that whilst he did not condone my actions and was still appalled at the speed at which I’d moved on, as we couldn’t change the past and Lorenzo was now permanently out of the picture, the important thing was to focus on the future.
If the baby was his, Charlie assured me that it would want for nothing. He or she would have the best. He said we’d need to work closely as a ‘unit’ to raise it.
I couldn’t be sure, but at times, the way he looked at me and spoke about ‘us’ and ‘our baby’ did make me wonder whether he had ideas of us reconciling. This, of course, sent my overthinking into overdrive and caused me to consider if I should try again with Charlie.
As my friends with kids have always told me, raising another human being is no walk in the park. So if Charlie was still interested, wouldn’t it be stupid to turn down that stability and the opportunity of being with a kind, caring man who was willing to share that enormous responsibility with me? Yes, I’d be unhappy, but isn’t making sacrifices what parents do all the time? Even if it means staying in a loveless relationship ‘for the sake of the children’?
I’d quickly come to my senses and reminded myself that I’d already wasted too much of my life when I’d settled with Rich. And I’d also concluded that I was just imagining that Charlie wanted anything more than to do the right thing and be a good father.
Eventually, I had to be honest with myself. I could try to do this alone, which was what I’d planned to do when I’d set the MAP goal of looking into adoption, but I’d prefer not to. I wanted to be with Lorenzo. I wanted to raise this baby with him.
When we were together, everything just felt right. I felt alive. At ease. Deliriously happy. Like being beside him was where I was supposed to be. Just thinking about him made my heart beat faster.
But he was also the man who, on paper, was the illogical option. A troubled man. A man who had seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth.
The last time I looked (which, true to my obsessively checking WhatsApp form, had been barely an hour ago), he hadn’t been seen online since the day I’d told him I was pregnant.
Lorenzo’s non-existent contact was his way of telling me that it’s over. That he didn’t want to be with me. That he didn’t want to be a father.
Somehow I had to face the fact that Lorenzo had gone and I would never see him again.
Chapter Forty-Three
To help take my mind off things, I’d been busy organising my fortieth birthday party in just over a week’s time. Whilst it had been challenging juggling this with work, dealing with my mind muddles, mood swings and ever-changing body (although I must admit, I did quite like having these bigger boobs), the party would be one of the last main things to tick off on my MAP plan. And after having to put it off last year, I’m now really looking forward to it.
I’d decided last year to hold it at my aunt Cynthia’s Mansion Flat in Victoria. It was actually Lorenzo that had given me the idea during one of our Sunday afternoon conversations. Whilst he was cooking, knowing that they get booked up far in advance, I was on my iPad looking up some of the many amazing venues we’d used to host lots of launches and parties for our biggest clients. But despite being beautiful, none of them felt right for me.
Lorenzo had innocently asked me why my party had to be in a fancy place. He suggested it may be better to keep it simple by just having it at home or somewhere more relaxed, like an intimate dinner party with music and dancing.
‘Just because it is a big birthday, it is not necessary to spend big money to make it special,’ he’d casually commented whilst chopping up the vegetables. ‘What is important is to celebrate with people you love. It is family and friends you are inviting, not clients. No need to impress them. If people are relaxed and have good food, drink and good company, then they will have a good time. If they have a good time, so will you. That is is all that matters,’ he’d said like some wise party guru.
And he was right. This past year had shown me that I was much more content when I just did ‘me’. Happiness didn’t come from being flashy, or having designer clothes. In fact, I’d found that when I relaxed more, things were just better.
I’d thought about having the party at my place, but it would have been a bit more of a trek for Bella, Roxy, Fran and Annabel to get to. Whereas Victoria was more central and my aunt loved entertaining. She threw dinner parties every week, so if I was to have one in a home setting, this was the ideal choice. Thankfully, she was delighted to play host, so it was all settled.
Harrison had created the playlist based on a selection of around two hundred songs I’d sent over, covering everything from classic soul hits to modern dance and pop, plus some sixties and seventies music to keep Dad and the elders happy.
My mum and her sister, Aunt Sheri, were organising the food and I’d ordered plenty of prosecco, wine and spirits, as well as some mixers and sparkling fruit juices for the non-drinkers like me (it was going to be weird not being able to toast my birthday with alcohol this year).
I’d spotted an up-and-coming guitarist at a work event, so I had hired him to sing on the night. My giant birthday cake had been ordered. I’d bought some tasteful individual letter gold balloons which spelt out ‘Happy Birthday’, along with some other decorations to dress the room, and that was that. With a baby to plan for, I didn’t want to stress myself out more than I already was. So even though everyone had offered to help, I kept things simple.
I’d invited fifty of my closest friends and family, including Marie, Henri and Geraldine from France, and so far, everyone bar one person (understandable that Grace couldn’t travel from Australia) had confirmed their attendance, which was exciting. Well, everyone bar two people, I should say.
Lorenzo had said he was coming and had made a note of the address when we had last seen each other. But that was before I’d dropped the baby bombshell the following day. If he couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye or send a one-line text message, there was no way he was going to fly hundreds of miles to my party. Especially when he’d know how angry I’d be and the fact that my friends and family would be after his blood because he’d left me in the lurch.
I just had to try and push him out of my mind and find a way to move on.
It was the night of my party, and I was feeling calm. The playlist was lined up, a slideshow of old photos of me with family and friends over the last four decades playing on the flat-screen TV in the large open-plan room with sky-high ceilings. Perfect for entertaining, it had large comfy nude-coloured sofas all around one side of the room, a great empty space dividing the living room from the dining area, which was ideal for doubling up as a mini dance floor, and then a large grand solid mahogany dining table where guests could also be seated if they wished to eat more formally.
The prosecco was chilling in the fridge, the cake had been delivered, and Aunt Sh
eri was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches to the food, so now all we needed were the guests.
Josh had stopped by earlier to style my hair, and make-up artist and good friend Brie was just adding some gloss to my lips to finish my natural look, and then I was done.
I slipped into a long blue dress which was pleated and loose at the front to hide my expanding stomach. Only a handful of people knew about the baby: Harrison, Dad, Mum (who I constantly had to remind to keep it a secret, which was difficult for her, as she was bursting with excitement about becoming a nana again ‘at long last’), plus Bella and Roxy.
On the subject of the frienmittee, things had now kind of got back to normal. We hadn’t seen each other much as, since Lorenzo had left, I hadn’t really felt up to going out or chatting—especially knowing that they had never really thought much of him.
As always, Bella was more calm and sympathetic, but with Roxy, it had been a rockier path.
Now that ‘Loser Lorenzo’, as she called him, had in her view shown his true colours, there had been far too many ‘I told you so’ mentions for my liking. And whilst I didn’t entirely agree with her assumptions on what was right for me or her opinion of Lorenzo (although his disappearance had made it harder to defend him), I was looking forward to seeing her tonight.
Two hours in and the party was in full swing. The handsome young guitarist, Valentino, was a huge hit (especially with the female guests). From The Script’s ‘Man Who Can’t Be Moved’ to ‘Three Little Birds’ by Bob Marley and ‘Head Over Heels’ by the Ecletic Detectives—the band that Lorenzo and I both adored—Valentino’s acoustic versions of my favourite songs were performed to perfection and had everyone singing along.
The atmosphere was buzzing, drinks were flowing, food was being consumed with lots of ooohs and yums, people were chatting, laughing and dancing. The evening was almost flawless.
Every time the doorbell rang, I would secretly hope it was Lorenzo—the missing piece of the puzzle that would make an already magical night, perfect—but sadly it never was.
The Middle-Aged Virgin: A Chick Lit, Romantic Comedy Novel: Newly Single And Seeking Spine-Tingles... Page 36