Back After the Break

by Anita Notaro

  It must have been the performance of her life because they seemed to accept it and left around eleven, promising to join her in getting in shape.

  When they’d gone Lindsay sat in the dark and tried to think clearly although her heart started beating very fast and she felt sick every time she thought of the unthinkable.

  She couldn’t remember when she’d last had a period, but she knew it was ages ago because she hadn’t bought tampons for months. Normally, she was as regular as her Visa bill. She knew stress could affect a woman’s cycle and she’d sure had her quota of that. She had been tired and a bit queasy but not sick in the mornings but, most important of all, she was taking oral contraceptives, which were virtually 100 per cent effective and she never forgot to take them. Ever. She remembered considering stopping after Paul but she’d always had problems with painful periods and decided to wait a few months because she couldn’t cope with anything else, even a pain at that stage.

  By midnight, she’d convinced herself that she was being ridiculous but she slept badly and found herself in the car at seven-thirty searching for a pharmacy.

  Hoping the Sunday newspapers weren’t following her and trying to see the irony of it all she bought a test and went home, where she sat for twenty minutes staring at the unopened box.

  What was she doing? She couldn’t be pregnant. It was impossible. Oh God, no, please don’t let it be, she silently begged. Please, I’ll accept anything else you send me but not this. Then she calmed down. This simply couldn’t happen to her. Panic again. What would everyone say? She wouldn’t be able to cope. Round and round it went until her head felt like a tumble dryer, and fear caused her to break out in a cold sweat and endure palpitations that could surely bring on a heart attack. What if she was? And if she was so sure that she wasn’t then why did she not want to know?

  Suddenly she threw the box into a drawer, deciding she was being irrational and stupid. She simply could not be pregnant so she decided to forget about it and go to work.

  An hour later she couldn’t stand it any longer and made some excuse and drove home again, where she sat for the same twenty-minute period staring at the same box.

  It was the longest, shortest two minutes of her life and one of the toughest waiting rooms she’d ever endured and when she saw the result she didn’t cry, she took the only option open to her. She went into complete denial.

  If the girls thought she was behaving oddly up to this, it was nothing compared to her behaviour over the next week. She was like a mad woman. Every time they talked to her she was either in the office at the oddest hours or else she was painting her kitchen, digging the garden, or walking Charlie to within an inch of his life. Or avoiding them. Again.

  Alan Morland came back to work, looking much thinner and with no definite word on his illness. All the tests had revealed nothing and he hadn’t had the pain since, so he ignored advice and came back, insisting he was OK. Lindsay was glad to see him yet dreading his return, and he brought her for coffee and seemed more concerned about her than himself.

  ‘You look awful, you’ve lost weight and your face is grey. I’m worried about you. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing, honestly, I’m fine.’ She was sick of people telling her how awful she looked.

  ‘Why don’t you take a few days off, get away from here? You’re due the time anyway.’

  ‘I’ll think about it. Thanks.’

  That evening she pulled her kitchen presses apart and was sitting on the floor with a basin of warm, soapy water, surrounded by flour and rice and spices when the phone rang.

  ‘Hi there, stranger. What ya up to?’ It was Colin Quinn. They’d been in touch by e-mail several times and she thought he was in the middle of a new movie so she was surprised and pleased to hear from him.

  ‘Sitting on the kitchen floor looking like a witch cleaning manically.’ There seemed no point in lying. ‘How about you? How’s the movie going?’

  ‘My co-star has developed chickenpox, would you believe? So, I’ve ten days off and I’m just back home. They’re furiously trying to reschedule so they can continue shooting. I’m glad of the break but the kids are in Chicago with my sister for a week so it’s pretty lonely. Fancy coming out for a few days?’

  ‘Yeah right.’

  ‘You sound pretty down. Are you OK?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  ‘I don’t think I can.’

  ‘OK, look, I’m hanging up now and Shirley will ring you in a couple of hours with flight details. I’m bringing you to New York and if you don’t come I’ll tell the newspapers we’re getting married and just think what that will do to your already complicated life.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m going now. I’ll see you soon.’ And he hung up. Just like that.

  Lindsay abandoned what she was doing, took a bath and went to bed, unable to cope for the first time in ages. She would have liked a drink, but was afraid to, just in case. She got into bed and jumped out again five minutes later and made a hot port, just to prove she didn’t really believe what she was thinking.

  At six the next morning she awoke to her phone ringing.

  ‘Hi, Lindsay, it’s Shirley. How are you?’ She didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Sorry to call you so early but Colin was anxious that I talk to you before I went to bed. I hear you’re coming to visit, so, I have you booked on a flight tomorrow at twelve noon. Is there somewhere I can e-mail you details?’

  ‘Shirley, hi.’ She sat up in bed and pulled on her dressing gown. ‘Listen, I’m not sure yet—’

  ‘I was told not to take no for an answer. It’s already booked.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry but I cannot accept. I’ll compromise though. I will come,’ she said, surprising herself, ‘but I’ll book it myself. Give me your number and I’ll call you later.’

  ‘Lindsay, I’ll be in trouble over this.’

  ‘Tell him I’m a tough old Irish boot and I cannot be bought.’

  They argued for a while longer and Lindsay hung up and jumped into the shower, feeling a bit better.

  In the office she asked Alan if she could take him up on his offer and he was delighted. This week’s show was a special tribute that had been planned for months and it was Alan’s baby anyhow. She arranged to be back in the office the following Wednesday, giving her four nights and five full days in New York. Next she called Debbie.

  ‘Any chance you could get me a seat on a flight to New York tomorrow, one that doesn’t cost as much as a new car?’

  ‘Does this trip involve a well-known Irish actor, by any chance?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Yes or no?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Give me half an hour. Bye.’

  Her phone rang five minutes later.

  ‘You’re going to New York to see Colin Quinn?’ Tara, sounding shocked.

  ‘Not really. Well, yes, I suppose so, but I need a break and he asked me and we’re just friends so . . .’

  ‘I’m delighted. Want to borrow my new Gucci bag?’

  ‘I’d love to. Thanks.’

  ‘I’ll call round tonight. I suspect I’ll have Debbie with me. Bye.’

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  SHE ARRIVED ON a typical New York day – clear blue sky, not too cold, much too busy. She’d felt better as soon as she boarded the plane. It seemed like she’d been stuck forever in the rut of her too small world of the office and the house, same faces, same routine, same problems, so it felt really good to be leaving it all behind – and being upgraded to first class, courtesy of Debbie, certainly helped. So did Tara’s Gucci bag and Debbie’s brand-new, long, black leather coat. She’d had her hair cut and treated herself to a facial the previous evening and she felt human for the first time in weeks. Her new Prada sunglasses combined with the cascading hair and leather made her look like a movie star herself but she felt shy and inadequate as she entered the terminal building and didn’t see Colin.
What the hell am I doing here, she asked herself for the tenth time. Trips to New York to meet a movie star don’t get offered to girls like me. She wondered if he’d sent his driver and scanned the placards nervously but their passengers all had much more exotic sounding names and no doubt much more exciting lives.

  Suddenly she saw him and he looked nothing like a movie star in his jeans, denim jacket, baseball cap and dark glasses. He looked more like a building worker. He smiled shyly and hugged her.

  ‘You are one stubborn old broad.’

  ‘And you’re one hell of a motherfucker, thinking you could buy me off.’ They laughed and slipped into easy mode immediately and she was glad she’d come.

  He was driving what looked like a glamorous pick-up truck but turned out to be the trendiest ‘Mammy-wagon’ in town.

  ‘All part of being a single parent with two Barbie-crazed kids,’ he explained. ‘Between the clothes and the cars and the houses and the horses – theirs, not mine – I need a trailer really.’

  His apartment was one of the most spectacular homes she’d ever been in, about as different to her little cottage as it was possible to find, anywhere in the world. It was on two floors, the top being the living quarters, with spectacular views – a New York skyline so perfect it looked like a backdrop – and a terrace the size of a football stadium. Outside, it had a very Mediterranean feel with huge ferns, old, glazed pots, comfy chairs, wrought iron and shutters. On the upper terrace was the most amazing roof garden with a vast array of exotic plants, aromatic herbs and even vegetables and an old, much-used Victorian conservatory. There was an outdoor dining-area under a mass of greenery, fragrant even at this time of year. Huge candles nestled in antique holders; she could imagine the scene here at twilight. Inside, the pale, wood-panelled living room was filled with light and big, squashy couches, faded rugs and magnificent paintings. The kitchen had every available gadget and was cool and shiny and home to miles of stainless steel and cold, black granite.

  Lindsay wasn’t even sure she was staying here but he showed her to a burnt-orange room with its own terrace and ornate French doors and at least three other windows and a chaise longue and a massive four-poster bed with big, thick, old-fashioned, snow-white linen and covers.

  ‘Wow,’ was all she could manage.

  ‘Can’t take any of the credit, I’m afraid. It was all Megan’s doing.’

  ‘Did I tell you that I used to do interior design?’ He shook his head. ‘Well, I did and I’ve been in a lot of houses but this is the most amazing blend of styles I’ve ever seen. It feels very old, but has a modern streak – almost European, yet with an American edge.’

  ‘Well, her grandmother was French so she loved the Mediterranean and she tried to bring a bit of that here. She was an avid collector and was always rooting in antique shops. And as you saw she devoted a lot of her spare time to the garden.’

  ‘You must love it.’

  ‘I do. I really look forward to coming home here.’

  It felt odd to be in his home, he was famous, after all, and celebrities didn’t usually invite people they met in TV studios into their lives. But he seemed relaxed as she joined him later, having unpacked and changed into a simple, long black Ghost dress and redone her make-up. ‘I know you’re probably tired after the flight, so I thought I’d just cook us some steaks and a salad here tonight. OK? Or would you rather go out?’

  ‘No. That sounds great. And thanks for inviting me, making me come. I didn’t realize until I got on the plane how badly I needed to get away.’

  ‘Glass of wine?’

  ‘Spritzer, please. Is it OK if I look at your photos?’

  ‘Sure.’ He handed her a glass and she wandered round the room. There were pictures everywhere, snapshots of an idyllic life. They looked like a very happy couple and Megan obviously adored the two girls, there were dozens of photos of the three of them and they seemed to be laughing all the time.

  They had dinner tucked up on the sofa. Afterwards he made her bundle up, lit the candles in the roof garden and they took coffee there. It was magical.

  ‘It’s my favourite place. It’s what keeps me going when I’m far away and under pressure. It makes me feel lucky, even at the worst times.’

  ‘You are lucky, you’ve got so much, even though you’ve lost a lot too. I’m sorry I won’t get to meet the girls.’

  ‘Some other time. Now, tell me, what’s so bad at the moment that you needed to get away?’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’ It had escaped at last and it hung out there somewhere, in the night-scented air and she knew she’d finally admitted it to herself, yet it still shocked her, but this time only for a split second.

  He looked at her for a long time. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ Quietly. ‘No.’ Louder. ‘Yes, I think so,’ in a barely audible whisper. ‘At least, I did one of those home tests, after the girls slagged me about being tired and sick looking. Imagine, I hadn’t even realized. What an idiot.’

  ‘How long?’

  She gave him an odd look. ‘Do you know, I never even thought of that. I’ve been so busy pretending I wasn’t.’ She thought about it for a second. ‘It must have happened around Christmas. God, that makes it about two and a half months.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Are you going to keep it?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Her voice was barely audible. ‘I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t want a baby. I have no maternal instincts. I hate the idea of getting fat. This will ruin my life, I’ll have nothing, no social life and I won’t be able to do my job properly. Besides, I’m too young to just give it all up for . . . something . . . that I’m not even sure I want.’ She was shocked at her callousness. ‘I know that sounds terrible and I hate myself for feeling this way but I can’t help it.’ She was crying now, for Chris, for herself, but mostly for the baby she didn’t know what to do with.

  He came and put his arms around her and his not judging her made it worse somehow.

  After an age he gathered her up and put her to bed, waiting while she put on a big T-shirt and cleaned her face. He tucked her up like a child and pushed back her hair and she fell asleep immediately, exhausted yet relieved that she’d finally said it aloud.

  When she awoke the next morning it was eleven o’clock and she couldn’t remember where she was for a second. It was all so unreal. She lay there, remembering the time she’d been to New York with Paul, realizing with a thump of her heart that she couldn’t quite remember all the details. She panicked, trying to bring his face to mind but it was another image that flooded her now and she jumped out of bed to escape him. Colin was reading a script in the kitchen when she padded in, in her bare feet with her hair tossed, desperate for some water or juice.

  ‘Great. I thought you’d never wake up. I’m starving. Fancy some breakfast?’

  ‘Could we go out? To a real New York diner? It’s one of my favourite things to do here. That, and eating Chinese food out of cartons.’

  He grinned at her. ‘OK, get ready and don’t be long.’

  ‘Can I grab some juice first?’

  ‘Help yourself.’

  He took her to his favourite breakfast place and she was starving and ate a huge plate of pancakes with bacon and maple syrup and drank at least a litre of one of their famous smoothies, this one a yoghurt and mixed-berry sensation. Afterwards they went for a walk in Central Park and talked some more.

  ‘The first thing you need to do is get yourself checked by a doctor, just to make sure.’

  She nodded, knowing he was right but not at all certain she was ready. He sensed it.

  ‘I have a friend. She’s an M.D. on the other side of town. I know she’d see you. Today. How about it?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Good girl, I’ll ring her now.’ He took out his mobile and she knew he’d already talked to her. He made an appointment for five that afternoon. In the meantime, he seemed determined to keep
her busy and when the time came he dropped her at the address and said he’d be waiting.

  ‘You don’t have to. I can catch a cab.’

  ‘I want to. I have a script with me to read, anyway. I’ll grab a coffee and see you back here.’

  ‘I’m sorry for dumping all this on you.’

  ‘That’s what friends are for.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Now scoot.’ So she did and the doctor was young and pretty and talked to her for ages and got her to do a urine test before feeling her tummy, asking her all sorts of questions in a soft, gentle, voice as if she were a sixteen-year-old.

  ‘Did you take any precautions?’

  ‘Yes, I was on the pill and as far as I know I didn’t forget to take it.’

  ‘Were you taking any other medication at the time?’

  ‘No, at least I don’t think so . . . oh, except for a course of antibiotics for a bout of flu.’

  ‘That may have been a factor, Lindsay. You are pregnant, about eleven weeks, although it’s hard to be precise at this stage.’

  She nodded stupidly, as if she should have known.

  ‘You should probably see your own doctor once you get home.’

  ‘What are the options?’

  ‘Well, you’ll need regular check-ups and a scan, if you decide to keep the baby. Everything seems fine at the moment. You’re healthy and you’re still young enough.’

  ‘And if I don’t want to keep it?’ She never thought she’d be even thinking this way but she wasn’t sure she could go through with it.

  ‘Your own doctor will advise you. It’s a relatively simple procedure but if you are considering a termination, you should think about having it as soon as possible.’

  Lindsay nodded.

  ‘I know it must seem like a shock now, but give yourself a few days. Do you smoke?’

  She shook her head, hardly able to believe she was having this conversation.

  ‘Good. Well, eat healthily, avoid shellfish, soft cheese, pâté, raw eggs and you’re advised not to drink alcohol. Here’s some bedtime reading to keep you going,’ she smiled calmly as she handed Lindsay a bunch of leaflets. ‘Colin has my home number and, if you need to talk things through again, I’d be happy to see you.’