Yesterday morning she’d thought it a possibility—why else would she be such an emotional wreck, crying over baked goods of all things? But then today she’d woken up with stomach cramps, signalling the start of her period, and her dreams of carrying Hugo’s child had died.
One month, that’s all it had been. She knew she shouldn’t feel so despondent but she couldn’t help it. In the past, most things had come easily to her, but this felt out of her control.
Madeleine swallowed as she grabbed her handbag from her locker in the staffroom and replied to Celia’s question about her cycle. ‘Tomorrow,’ she lied, not yet ready for sympathy. She wanted to go home and be alone, not spend an evening with Hugo’s girlfriend offering pep-me-up advice, telling her she’d have better luck next time. Celia didn’t want children, so how could she ever understand? To her this was some kind of experiment, a bit of fun, much like watching a drama unfold on your favourite TV show—but for Madeleine it was real.
‘Ooh, I’m so excited I could burst,’ Celia squealed, hurting Madeleine’s eardrums, exasperating her already pounding head. ‘You go home and get some rest. I’m working tomorrow but be sure to buzz me if you have news.’
‘Will do,’ Madeleine promised as she shut her locker and hooked her bag over her shoulder. She’d have to tell them eventually but not tonight; knowing Celia and Hugo they’d cancel their dinner plans and come around to try and make her feel better. They’d bring her favourite Chinese takeaway and a bottle of vino, but they’d come together and she couldn’t handle the dynamic duo tonight. She disconnected the call and walked out of the hospital, relieved she wasn’t on call that evening. She’d already delivered two babies that day and seen numerous pregnant patients, but one more could quite possibly push her over the edge. It was hard to be encouraging and excited for a woman in labour when you wanted the same thing. What she really needed was someone who understood her predicament, someone who knew the disappointment of not getting pregnant.
As she strode along the sidewalk towards her apartment building, letting the cool spring evening air wash over her, her mind drifted to Lucinda. She hadn’t always seen eye to eye with her sisters. Quite often they drove her insane—and Lucinda more than any of them—but since spending time together at Christmas, she’d been missing them more than usual. What would Lucinda say if she called and confessed her plan to have a baby on her own?
She glanced up and saw she was passing a bottle shop—a sign if ever there was one. And the shop just happened to be next door to her favourite Chinese restaurant.
Ten minutes later, a bottle of chardonnay tucked under her arm and her dinner smelling delicious in a plastic bag in her other hand, Madeleine let herself into her apartment. She kicked off her shoes, shrugged out of her jacket and took her bottle and food to the couch, detouring only to collect a wine glass from the kitchen. After guzzling half a glass and shovelling half a container of fried rice into her mouth, she picked up her mobile and dialled Australia.
‘Hello?’ Lucinda sounded a little sleepy.
‘Did I wake you?’
‘No. I’m just getting ready for work. Only two weeks to go and I can sleep as late as I like.’
‘That’s right, you quit. What’s that all about?’ She took another long gulp, settling back to listen.
‘It just felt like the right thing to do,’ Lucinda confessed. ‘I want to focus on my marriage and getting pregnant and I shouldn’t be teaching unless I’m one hundred percent dedicated to the job.’
‘I see. No baby jackpot yet, then?’ Charlie and Abigail both believed that was why Lucinda had quit work—they’d been debating this over text and email ever since Lucinda had made her announcement. But Madeleine thought if that were the case, she’d tell them.
Lucinda exhaled deeply. ‘No. So, what’s new with you?’
Madeleine couldn’t quite bring herself to admit her failure, so instead of being entirely honest with Lucinda, she said, ‘What would you think if I decided to have a baby as well?’
There was a weird sound at Lucinda’s end, then a pregnant pause in conversation. ‘I’m sorry, I think there was interference on the line. What did you say?’
Madeleine laughed. And it felt good after the disappointment of the day. ‘You heard right. All your talk of babies at Christmas got me thinking. Maybe I want that too?’
‘I think I need to sit down,’ Lucinda said and Madeleine heard what sounded like the toilet seat clunking shut. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Deadly.’
‘Who with? I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.’
‘I don’t.’ She paused a moment. Lucinda would be the first person she’d told besides Hugo and Celia. ‘I’m going to use a donor.’
Lucinda whistled. ‘Wow, that’s big.’
‘You don’t mind do you?’ She’d been hoping for solidarity but realised Lucinda might be upset if she got pregnant first.
‘Mind? Of course not, I’m just a little shocked. I’ll be happy if you succeed. A niece or nephew might be the closest I ever get to children, but I wouldn’t go getting your hopes up. After seeing your doctor friend and finding out Joe and I are perfect breeding material, I’m seriously beginning to wonder if there isn’t something in the Patterson curse. But good luck to you.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ scoffed Madeleine, lifting her wine glass and taking another swig. Truth was the same thought had crossed her mind that morning when she’d been peeling the plastic off her tampon, but she didn’t abide such stupidity.
One failed attempt did not a curse make. She’d allow herself the disappointment over not being pregnant—hence the takeaway and vino—but she refused to waste time dwelling on such things. If she placed any credence in the curse, she may as well start believing in unicorns, which she hadn’t even done as a young child. Fairy tales and folklore had never held her interest. Madeleine was a woman of facts and science. Her worldview simply couldn’t accept such mumbo-jumbo.
She told Lucinda this now. ‘You’ve had tests and there’s nothing wrong with you.’
‘But what about Aunt Mags? What about Sarah and Victoria?’
‘Forget them,’ Madeleine said firmly. ‘You’ll go insane if you keep thinking like this. And then quitting work and focusing on you and Joe will be for nothing. Relax, try not to stress, and it’ll happen.’ She cringed the moment the words escaped her mouth because they were the last thing any woman struggling to conceive wanted to hear, but as a health professional she believed they had merit.
‘I’ve got to get ready for work. Keep me posted on your efforts.’ Lucinda disconnected before Madeleine could say anything else.
She put her phone down on the coffee table and sighed. Fabulous, now not only did she feel like shite herself but she’d likely put Lucinda in a bad mood. Her schoolkids wouldn’t know what they’d done wrong. As she took another sip of wine, enjoying each bittersweet mouthful because tomorrow she’d be back on the wagon, her phone beeped, signalling a message. Not on call, she almost ignored it, but curiosity got the better of her and she leaned just far enough forward to see the screen.
Her heart did a pitiable somersault as Hugo’s name flashed up at her. She snatched up the phone and swiped the screen to read his message.
Are you okay? Celia said you sounded weird when you talked to her earlier.
Madeleine swallowed. Did Celia have a sixth sense or something? I’m not pregnant, she typed back and pressed Send before she could think better of it.
‘Fuck,’ she muttered, immediately regretting telling him. Celia might have a sixth sense but Madeleine was psychic—her friends would never let her suffer in solitude. There’d be a phone call, or worse, the two of them would land on her doorstep, all dressed up, having cut short their fancy dinner to look after poor, pathetic Madeleine. Resigned to some kind of intervention, she picked up her dinner and began to eat, one eye on the phone and one ear cocked towards the door.
When her plate was empty and the phone still silent, sh
e thought maybe she’d been wrong. Maybe a quiet night to lament her situation would be hers, but less than a minute later, the intercom buzzed signalling a visitor.
‘So predictable.’ Taking her sweet time, she heaved herself off the couch and went across to answer. ‘Yes,’ she barked into the wall.
Hugo: ‘Buzz me up.’
Without replying, she pressed the button that would let him into the building and then opened her door to await her unwanted visitors.
It wasn’t long long before the doors to the elevator opened and Hugo appeared. On his lonesome. And he wasn’t dressed up—instead faded jeans clung to his muscular thighs and he wore a Red Sox sweatshirt up top. You could take the boy out of Boston but you couldn’t take Boston out of the boy. ‘Where’s Celia?’ she asked as he approached her door.
He leaned down and pecked her on the cheek, then stepped inside. ‘She got called in to work.’
‘I see.’ Madeleine closed the door, unsure whether it was the truth or whether Celia had stayed away on purpose, but she couldn’t help being glad. ‘Can I get you a glass?’ she asked, gesturing to her half-drunk wine bottle on the coffee table.
He shook his head and looked down her body. Her nipples tingled at the assessment and she turned away, hoping he didn’t see her blush. ‘Get out of those work clothes and put on something comfortable. We’re going out.’
‘Comfortable?’ He couldn’t be taking her to a restaurant or a club then. ‘Where are we going?’
‘It’s a surprise.’
‘What if I don’t want to go out?’ She crossed her arms over her chest.
He raised one eyebrow. ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.’
And at his terrible impersonation of Rhett Butler, she smiled for the first time that day and went off to slip into jeans, all the while trying to guess where they were going.
‘Are we going to the movies?’ she asked when she emerged.
He merely grinned and held open the front door. As they descended to the ground floor and then drove through the city, she kept firing possibilities at him and he infuriated her by not answering.
Then, he turned into a car park of a building with a bright flashing bowling ball on the top of it. ‘No way,’ she said.
‘Yes, way,’ he replied, still grinning.
Lacing up her shoes a few minutes later, she looked across at him and laughed. ‘I cannot remember the last time I went bowling.’
‘Me either. Celia refuses—says she wouldn’t be seen dead in goofy clown shoes.’ Sitting next to her, he stretched his legs and flexed his feet, modelling the shoes he’d just put on.
‘She may have a point.’ But, shoes aside, Madeleine couldn’t imagine perfect Celia ever stepping into a place like this.
‘Once you get past the terrible outfits,’ Hugo said, ‘bowling can be addictive. And very therapeutic.’ This reference was as close as he came to mentioning today’s disappointment. Then he stood, walked over to the ball chute and picked up a bright orange bowling ball. ‘I hope you’re not a sore loser,’ he called over his shoulder as he launched his ball right into the gutter.
She was still laughing when it was her turn to bowl and she staggered to her feet, picked up her hot pink ball and hurled it down the alley, knocking down all ten pins in one shot.
‘What the fuck!’ Hugo roared. ‘Do you come here and do this on your lunch breaks or something?’
She smiled smugly and shrugged. ‘Beginner’s luck.’ They both knew doctors didn’t get lunch breaks.
‘I’m just warming up,’ Hugo said, going forward for his next turn. And this time he hit nine balls and got the last pin on his second bowl. Both her balls went down the gutter, which sent her and Hugo into another round of hysterics. On either side of them were serious groups, dressed head to foot in goofy bowling outfits. They all seemed to have their own balls and special bags to carry them, each embroidered with their name. Larry, Wayne, Alvin and Dennis were clearly unimpressed with Madeleine and Hugo’s silliness, but she was having the best time.
Hugo was right. Staring down an alley at ten little white pins and then trying to hurl a heavy ball right into them worked wonders for her mood. The two glasses of wine she’d gulped before Hugo arrived might also have had something to do with it, but either way she felt a million times better than she had a few hours ago. Between games they ordered hot dogs and chips from a pimply, gangly teenager at the café and then washed it all down with beer.
Although it was late and there weren’t any kids around, Madeleine couldn’t help imagining Hugo taking their child bowling and that made her smile. Just something else to add to list of why he’d be the perfect donor; another argument for ignoring the reasons he was not.
‘What are you grinning at?’ Hugo asked, taking another slug of his beer.
She blinked. ‘Nothing. Just happy I guess.’
‘It’s fun, isn’t it.’
‘Yes. Thank you for dragging me out. I needed it.’
‘No worries. Now, drink up, we have another game to play. And tomorrow, we’re both back on the wagon.’
Madeleine guessed that meant he was still happy to be her donor, but she decided not to mention that right now. Tonight wasn’t about babies. It was about letting loose and having fun with a good friend. They played another game and if anything they were getting worse, but neither of them cared and when they were finished he took her home and saw her right back to her door.
‘Would you like to come in for coffee?’ she asked, and then blushed in case he thought she meant something else.
He shook his head. ‘I better not.’
‘All right. Good night then.’
He smiled and turned to go but then turned again when he’d gone only a few steps. He walked up to her and grabbed hold of her hands. Her heart, pounding uncontrollably, shot up to her throat.
‘It’ll be all right, Mads,’ he said. ‘We can do this. I promise.’
It sounded like the kind of pep talk Joe would give Lucinda—one partner bolstering up another. As if they were in this together, as if Hugo wanted this as much as she did.
‘I know.’ Madeleine forced a smile, inwardly reminding herself that he was not her partner and they were not doing this the traditional way.
No matter how much she wished they were.
Chapter Thirty
Don’t forget your violin!
Abigail laughed at Nigel’s message and then typed back, Maybe. Her naked violin recitals were becoming a bit of a thing for them and she had to admit they turned her on as much as they did him. Her dad would be appalled if he knew how she was putting all those years of tuition to use but she couldn’t summon one iota of guilt. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
Tease, came his reply. I’ll see you soon.
Putting her phone down on the dresser, she turned back to the mirror to finish scrutinising her outfit. ‘Do I look ready for a ball?’ she asked her reflection. The bathroom light glinted off the gold silk of her floor-length dress. Her legs may have been covered, but the way the fabric hugged her figure and dipped low at her back left little to the imagination. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Nigel’s face when he picked her up.
Okay, so it wasn’t exactly a ball, but the way Nigel had described it, this advertising awards dinner sounded pretty flash and she didn’t want to let him down. She applied the finishing touches to her makeup and then went back into her bedroom to grab her evening bag, overnighter and violin.
‘You going out again?’ Pamela asked from her position on the couch as Abigail trekked through the tiny living room to get to the front door. It was a lovely spring evening out; waiting outside for Nigel would be preferable to making small talk with Sam and Pamela for the next ten minutes.
‘Yep,’ she replied, her voice light to match the spring in her step. ‘Don’t wait up.’
They probably thought the violin a ruse, and that her frequent late nights were because she was stripping in a bar or something. How else
could someone who’d been expelled from the orchestra possibly be earning money?
They could think what they like. Abigail didn’t give a toss.
She closed the door behind her, walked down the front steps and then killed time catching up on Facebook while she waited. Charlie had dragged the Meadow Brook Motel into the era of social media by creating a page on which she regularly uploaded photos of her redecorating progress. Abigail had to hand it to her. The improvements made the old place look better than she’d ever imagined possible. In some photos, it almost sparkled. Of course it would never be able to compete with the kind of hotel Nigel was whisking her away to tonight, but it wasn’t fair to make such a comparison.
At the sound of a car approaching, she looked up and smiled as a sleek, black limo slid to a stop just in front of her. When the chauffeur walked around to open the door for her, Abigail couldn’t help glancing back at the townhouse. Sure enough, Pamela and Sam had their beady eyes pressed up against the window. Nosy parkers. She waved her immaculately manicured fingers at them, passed her violin case to the driver and then uttered her thanks as she climbed inside.
‘Hey, good looking. Can I tempt you?’ Nigel greeted her with a crystal flute of pink bubbly and patted the plush leather seat.
‘Do you mean with the champagne or with something else?’ Because he looked very temping in that swish, black tux. She slipped in beside him and kissed him firmly on the lips.
He placed the champagne glass in the holder and pulled her up against him. ‘Vixen,’ he murmured before recapturing her lips.
She loved it when he called her that. She loved it when he kissed her too. She couldn’t recall a night they’d been together when she’d done anything but smile. And it wasn’t just the earthmoving sex. He made her laugh all the time, and she could talk to him about anything. Well, almost anything.
She slipped her hands inside his jacket, loving the way his firm abs tightened beneath her touch.
Nigel groaned and pulled back. ‘We can’t. Not now. Not here. Not before …’
The Patterson Girls Page 28