Oh. My. God.
My head snaps back as though it’s on elastic. Did he see me? I don’t think so. He looked uncertain, but not angry. Anxious. Intense.
He looked amazing.
The music starts up – the wedding march, for goodness sake, which seems particularly inappropriate right now – and I try to calm my breathing.
‘Lipsy,’ I hiss.
‘What?’
My mother steps up to the front of the church where my dad is waiting. He’s wearing a dark grey suit with the faintest pinstripe and looks dignified and handsome. He turns to face her and beams. The sound of chatter that has filled the church dies down and there is an expectant pause.
‘Paul’s here,’ I whisper. Lipsy pulls a face, mouths, ‘What?’
I lean over and whisper into her ear. ‘Oh,’ she says, smiling widely and nodding. ‘That’s great, Mum.’
‘No,’ I tell her, ‘it is not great. It’s a bloody nightmare. What is he doing here, anyway?’
‘Shh,’ says someone behind me. I don’t bother to turn around, for obvious reasons.
Someone must have invited him. How would he even know about it otherwise? Someone who has a vested interest in getting us back together, perhaps. Someone who likes to meddle.
‘Is this your doing?’ I say to Lipsy.
She gives me a wide-eyed look, innocence personified, then gestures to the lectern. The vicar is stepping up, smoothing down his black robes and smiling benevolently at the congregation. He starts to talk. His voice is high-pitched and artificially loud. I lean over again, and tell my daughter, ‘If it was, I’ll never forgive you.’
Lipsy shakes her head and looks away, but I’m sure I can detect the trace of a nervous frown across her forehead. I turn back to face the lectern. The vicar’s words are a blur to me, just a buzz of noise. Dad starts to speak, reading from a crumpled piece of paper.
Surely Lipsy wouldn’t do that to me? Surely my little girl wouldn’t go behind my back and invite Paul without telling me anything about it? Maybe it was my mother. Maybe she invited him just to spite me.
But why on earth would he accept?
I don’t dare risk turning around to see if he’s still there. Maybe it wasn’t him after all. Maybe I was hallucinating. I mean, he can’t be here, can he? That would be crazy. Unless …
Unless he’s come to confront me about the baby. Of course. That’s it! Sharon’s only just told him and he’s furious. Or she told him a while ago and he’s been brewing, waiting for the right opportunity to humiliate me. What could be a better venue for my humiliation than my mum and dad’s blessing? It’s kind of poetic.
I thought he hated confrontation. I underestimated him.
My stomach gurgles with anxiety. I’m trapped here now, until the service is over, but as soon as possible I’ll find a way to get out of here before Paul sees me. I try to focus on the ceremony; my mother is talking now, her voice low and indistinct. But my reaction to seeing Paul is messing with my head. The first thing I felt? Total and utter joy.
Followed by complete panic, of course. But there’s no denying that lifting of my heart when I saw him. His face, so dear to me for so many years; that walk of his with his shoulders held wide and strong; his curly blonde hair glinting in the sunlight. My Paul. My nearly-husband. Why, oh why, just as I’m starting to get over it and find the silver lining, why does he have to turn up now?
I risk a quick glance around the church, searching for an alternative exit. There is a door to the left of the lectern. As soon as the service is over, I’ll jump up and make a run for it. Let Lipsy deal with Paul. I’m not a coward, far from it. I’m perfectly ready to face him and face the consequences. But not like this. Not with my beautiful bump poking out like an accusation and sixty pairs of eyes upon us. We’d be a spectacle. And if Paul has come to confront me, it will happen in a place of my choosing, not his.
And it will happen with me wearing something more demure than a Tiffany Rose tube dress and high heels.
The ceremony wears on; my mind is blurry with half-formed thoughts and imagined conversations. But most of all I’m thinking: How has it come to this? How did Paul and I end up this way, estranged, poles apart, with our values and our goals so misaligned? I should have seen it coming. I should have been more careful.
Bump gives me a sharp kick, and I blink away sudden tears. Not that kind of careful, I say to my baby. Not so you wouldn’t be here. But maybe if I’d done things in a different order, maybe it would have worked out better.
Or maybe it would have just been much, much worse.
Before I’ve had time to properly prepare myself, the service is over and my mum and dad are turning to face the expectant eyes of the congregation. I look around wildly. Any minute now they will walk past me and I’ll have to stand and follow them out of the church. Right past Paul’s seat. My heart hammers and my palms begin to sweat.
It’s Phoenix who saves me.
The baby is sitting on Robert’s lap, and Robert has been struggling to keep him quiet throughout the entire ceremony, jiggling his knees and bouncing Phoenix up and down and saying, ‘Shush now, shush now,’ under his breath like a meditation. But all this has done is work Phoenix up into a frenzy of frustration, and now he’s kicking up a storm. Robert passes him to Lipsy, who passes him back to Robert so she can take a photo of her granddad and grandma as they prepare to leave the church. We all stand as they walk past, and I suddenly see my opportunity.
‘Here, give him to me,’ I cry, holding out my arms.
‘No, it’s OK.’ Lipsy looks confused, scanning the pews behind us. Everyone is standing now, and the organ has started up again. The noise level is rising, and so are Phoenix’s cries.
‘Give him to me,’ I tell Robert, who gladly obliges. ‘You go on ahead,’ I say encouragingly. ‘You and Lipsy.’
With Robert’s arm at her back, Lipsy has no choice but to move forward with the crowd, leaving me behind. I bury my face in Phoenix’s neck and breathe a silent thank you. He smells of talcum powder and vomit. The two best smells in the world right now.
I sit down to wait it out. My eyes are closed and I listen to the chattering and the congratulations die away as everyone leaves the church. Phoenix is calm now. I have that effect on babies. I’m good with babies. This thought cheers me, and pushes some of the anxiety away.
Then I hear his voice behind me.
‘Stella?’
I take a deep, shaky breath, and stand up. Shift Phoenix to my right hip and turn, slowly, to face him.
Chapter 22
At first, his face is open and happy. Not angry. That’s a good start. But before I’ve had time to process this fully, his eyes slide down to my stomach.
‘Stella? What the ...? Jesus Christ.’
He sits down heavily on the pew behind him, now at eye level with my huge, magnificent bump, and proceeds to stare at it wordlessly.
For once, words fail me too. I jiggle Phoenix on my hip, the silence in the church impossibly loud and invasive.
Paul says, ‘Is this some kind of a joke?’
I laugh; I can’t help it. It’s a sharp, unexpected sound, and Phoenix gurgles in response. Does Paul think I’ve shoved a pillow up my dress? Am I the kind of person who would do that at her parents’ blessing? I know he thinks I’m flaky, but honestly. That’s just ridiculous.
I see by Paul’s expression that laughter was not the correct response. I take another deep breath. The intensity of his stare makes talking difficult, but I have to find out what he knows.
‘Obviously it’s not a joke. I thought you knew. Didn’t you know?’
‘How the hell would I know?’ He looks up at me incredulously. ‘You’re pregnant?’
‘Sharon,’ I say, struggling to make sense of the shock on his face. ‘Sharon told you. Didn’t she?’
‘Sharon?’ Paul says, standing. Clearly being at eye level with my stomach is not where he’s most comfortable right now. ‘Why the hell would Sharon tel
l me? Are you saying she knows about this?’
‘Of course she does. She came to see me – didn’t she tell you?’
He shakes his head slowly, his expression clouded and confused.
I can’t process this. She didn’t tell him. But why? It doesn’t make sense.
Unless …
Oh, I’ve been very stupid. Even more stupid than usual. It was such an easy conclusion to jump to: Sharon and Paul; her scheming to get him back; me the injured party. I thought the worst of her. But it seems I got her very wrong indeed.
She didn’t tell him because it wasn’t her secret to tell. And right now I’d put money on the fact that Paul hasn’t seen hide nor hair of her since she found out I was expecting. I guess it brought it all back, reminded Sharon of her own pregnancy, of her own rejection. That’s what she was trying to tell me as she left; I was too stupid to pick up on it.
But here I’ve been, thinking he knew and was choosing to do nothing about it, when all along he still had no idea.
‘You’re pregnant?’ he says again. I nod, then look down at my bump and stick it out a bit further. A tiny shrug, more of a twitch really, lifts my shoulders. It’s the body language equivalent of, ‘Well, duh!’ and it’s a huge mistake. Paul’s expression hardens.
‘I see,’ he says. Something like a shudder goes through his body and the colour drains from his face.
‘Paul,’ I say, reaching out my hand automatically, ‘I didn’t mean for you to find out like this. It’s just, well, you see, I was waiting for–’
If my hand was a poisonous snake he couldn’t have thrown it off any faster. I take a step back, concerned about the anger in his eyes.
A movement at the rear of the church catches my attention, and I turn to spot Robert hovering there, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Beyond him I can see out into the sunshine, pockets of people milling around, unaware of the drama they’re missing out on. Once the photos are over they’ll pile into cars and head for the pub where my mum and dad are treating us to lunch. Really, it is just like a proper wedding. It’s a much better attempt at a wedding than mine was, at any rate.
‘Shall I take Phee?’ Robert calls when he realises I’ve seen him. I nod and he walks forward tentatively. Lifts the baby from my arms, says hello to Paul, then hotfoots it from the scene. I don’t blame him. Right now I wish I could go with him. And I miss the feel of Phoenix on my hip. I had a feeling Paul might hold back in front of Phee. Now there’s nothing to hold him back.
‘So,’ Paul says, ‘this is the big secret, is it?’
He’s leaning against the high wooden back of the pew, feigning a relaxed posture the way men do when they are trying to intimidate. ‘This,’ he waves his hand at my bump, ‘is what it was all about, is it?’
No point denying it now.
‘Yes,’ I tell him, keeping my voice soft. ‘This is why I couldn’t marry you.’
He nods slowly. I can almost hear the cogs shifting, processing. Will it all fall into place for him now? Will he remember the conversations we had?
‘Paul?’ I say tentatively. I reach out for his hand but don’t touch him yet. I visualise the next few minutes, how it’s all going to come together. I’ll rest his hand on my stomach, and then he’ll look at me with tears in his eyes and say, ‘We’re having a baby?’ And then I’ll nod and kiss him and all will be well.
There’ll be a lot of crying. And a hell of a lot of explaining. But at the very least, Paul and I can get on with being parents-to-be. I know he’ll want to be involved. We can go back to being friends again. It will be better than nothing, better than not having him in my life at all. And I’ll do my best to make it up to him. No matter what he said, no matter how he wants to live his life, it was wrong of me to keep it from him for so long. Wrong to break up with him without telling him the real reason.
However confused I was, however hormonal, it was still wrong.
I reach out a little further and touch his fingers.
He snatches his hand away and takes a step back. ‘You’re pregnant,’ he says, spitting the words out like an accusation.
‘We’re pregnant,’ I correct him with a gentle smile. ‘I’m having our baby. I’ve been wanting to tell–’
‘And this is why you called off the wedding?’ he shouts, not listening. ‘You must have been pregnant already, then. And what, you were just going to keep it to yourself forever? Leave me always wondering why?’ His expression is starting to cause me pain: he looks stricken, desperate. This is not the reaction I was hoping for.
‘I was going to tell you, Paul,’ I say with a nervous laugh, suddenly aware of how lame it sounds. ‘The week before the wedding I tried and tried. Don’t you remember? When I asked you how you’d feel about starting a family? But it didn’t … I didn’t … I was going to tell you about the baby. Honestly. But–’
‘Honestly?’ Paul’s voice is hoarse with emotion. ‘Honestly? You wouldn’t know honest if it jumped up and smacked you in the face. You are a disgrace. I’m disgusted with you. And as for that,’ he points at my bump, ‘I feel sorry for it.’
My cheeks burn with shame. Paul’s words are like arrows in my heart, but worse is the look on his face. His expression is one I have never seen before, and hope I never see again. He is looking at me like I’m scum, shit on his shoe, like I’m the absolute worst person in the world.
‘Come on, now. There’s no need for that.’
We both whirl around. My dad is standing at the back of the church. The double doors are closed behind him, and in the gloom his face is unreadable. He starts to walk around the perimeter, not looking in our direction, a silent guardian. I want to run to him, but I’m rooted to the spot.
Paul turns back to me. He’s not finished with me yet. ‘So this is why you invited me here today.’ His voice is low, urgent. ‘So you could humiliate me again. Isn’t it enough that you broke my heart, destroyed my future, took away everything I believed in? What the hell did I do to deserve this, Stella? Just tell me that. Tell me what I did that was so terrible you had to let me find out like this?’
I can’t speak. He’s almost crying. There are no words to explain how painful it is to see my wonderful Paul reduced to tears. I want to hold him, to try and explain. It’s not all bad news, is it? Yes, we want different things out of life, and my falling pregnant meant that we couldn’t carry on with the future we’d planned. But he’s talking like I’ve done something terrible, like I’m a truly horrible person. All I did was fall pregnant by the man I love. The man I thought, wrongly, would be happy to start a family with me. And what does he mean, I invited him? He seems to be talking in riddles.
My dad is standing somewhere behind me now. I can sense him. Not too close, but close enough.
‘We’re having a baby,’ I whisper so only Paul can hear me.
‘And I’m very happy for you,’ he says through gritted teeth. ‘I hope you and the father, whoever he is, will be very happy together.’
Shock makes me slow. That and the sinking in my stomach as the full impact of his words hits me. I stumble forward, reaching out blindly for support. The polished wood of the pew is warm to my touch from where Paul was leaning against it only moments ago. But even as I grip it, it starts to cool. My hands are like ice. My teeth begin to chatter.
A pair of arms around me. Strong, capable, but not the arms I want. Dad presses me to his chest, and I rest my cheek against his white carnation and let the tears come.
‘Don’t worry, Stella,’ he says softly. ‘He’ll come round.’
But he doesn’t know Paul like I do. No one knows Paul like I do. He is stubborn, and once he gets an idea in his head it’s almost impossible to remove it. And right now, Paul Smart thinks I’m carrying another man’s child. Which is not very smart at all. In fact, it’s downright the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard.
*
Next time I look up they’re all here. My mum, Lipsy, Robert and Phoenix, all crowded round me in a great big extended hug.
Lipsy looks terrified; Robert is gazing off to the side, embarrassed, with Phoenix asleep in his arms. My mother is the only one whose expression offers me any comfort. She’s smiling, a warm, forgiving smile, and when I meet her eyes she takes my face in her hands.
‘Come on,’ she says, ‘let’s go and eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’
I could cry all over again, but I’ve cried all my tears. I’m desiccated from crying – there is not a single millilitre of moisture left in the whole of my body. Also, I’m so hungry I could faint. When you’re pregnant, your bodily functions don’t stop just because your heart is breaking. When you’re pregnant, you just have to carry on.
‘I know a hotel up the road where they’re having a wedding breakfast right now,’ I say with a sniff, wiping my eyes on my mum’s sleeve and then taking her hand firmly in mine, ‘and we’re all invited.’
And like that, we exit the church. Connected by a hand or an arm or at the very least the brush of a coat, we walk out into the sunshine. My family and me. Five adults and two babies, ready to face the world.
Chapter 23
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: 30 June 2012 15:31
Lipsy,
I cannot imagine what you think you’re playing at, but thanks to what I can only assume are your efforts, at least now I know the real reason your mum dumped me. All that “you should come see my mum, then you’ll get all the answers” stuff – well, at least now I know what it was all about.
I thought I deserved better, after being a friend to your mum and your family for all these years. Never mind what she’s done, I expected more of you. Someone should have told me. Well, I hope she’s happy with her new man and their baby. It all makes sense now. Tell your mum that even though I’m back in MK I’ll keep out of her way. I’d prefer it if you didn’t contact me again either.
The Family Trap Page 17