Miranda's Big Mistake

by Jill Mansell

  ‘You just wait until tomorrow,’ said Danny.

  She looked up at him, startled. ‘Why? What happens tomorrow?’

  ‘You’ll be recognized. Everywhere you go, people who saw the program will come up to you and tell you how wonderful you are.’ He grinned. ‘Trust me, it’ll happen.’

  Huh, fat lot of use that is, thought Miranda. If everyone else thinks I’m so wonderful, why can’t you think it too?

  Biting her lip, she rummaged in the cutlery drawer for teaspoons. ‘Just as well, then, that I’m not going out much.’

  Five teaspoons. Sugar. What else was missing? Ah, cream…

  ‘Look.’ Danny hesitated and pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘You’ve been through a lot and I know these things take time to get over, which is why I’m not pressuring you. But if you do ever feel like going out, give me a ring. I mean it. Any time, okay?’

  Miranda winced. Oh dear, those three little words that were another dead giveaway. Everyone knew that when a man says he means it, he doesn’t mean it.

  Still, he was being polite, she had to give him that.

  Even if he did sound as if he was thanking some dotty great-aunt for the gorgeous crocheted tank-top she’d given him for Christmas.

  ‘Right, definitely.’ Plonking the cream jug on top of the saucers and picking up the tray, Miranda said brightly, ‘That’d be great.’

  Me, you and Ms Cordon Bleu. Oh yes, couldn’t get much cozier than that.

  ***

  Several weeks passed. One Tuesday at the end of October, Chloe was working in the shop when the bell above the door went ting.

  ‘Hello,’ said Greg.

  Even though she’d been expecting him, her stomach squirmed. So did the baby. Probably wondering who the total stranger was, walking through the door, thought Chloe. Don’t worry, pet, no one important, only your father.

  ‘Hello, Greg.’ Laying down the order slips she’d been filling out, she glanced first at her watch then across at Bruce. ‘Okay if I take my lunch break now?’

  ‘Take it, take it.’ Bruce nodded vigorously, jowls aquiver. As the owner of a gift shop stacked with china and glass, he was all in favor of members of staff holding their marital disputes off the premises.

  ‘I’ll be back by one.’ Chloe pulled on her coat, aware of Greg’s gaze on her expanded body.

  ‘Don’t be late. I’ve got an important meeting this afternoon,’ said Bruce.

  ‘He means an important round of golf,’ Chloe told Greg as the door swung shut behind them.

  The car was parked on double yellows outside the shop. Greg unlocked the doors.

  ‘How’s Miranda?’

  ‘Missing you terribly. Pining for you. Actually, that’s a joke,’ said Chloe, arranging the seat belt around her stomach. ‘She’s fine and not missing you at all.’

  ‘That was a lousy trick the two of you played.’

  ‘Oh, it took more than two of us.’

  Greg gave her the kind of long-suffering look he generally reserved for irritating office juniors who forgot how many sugars he took in his tea.

  ‘I didn’t deserve any of it, you know.’

  He thought being set up like that had been embarrassing, Chloe marveled, and the program hadn’t even gone out yet. Just wait until all his friends saw him on Sweet Revenge.

  ‘Oh well, let’s not argue about that,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Let’s argue about something else instead. I know, how about the divorce?’

  ‘You’re in a funny mood,’ said Greg. Warily, he eyed her stomach. ‘How much longer to go?’

  ‘Another three weeks yet. Don’t worry, your car seats are quite safe.’ Chloe marveled at how easy it was to be flippant when you genuinely couldn’t care less. ‘Actually, I’m pretty hungry. Could we go to Sadler’s?’

  Greg looked irritated. Sadler’s was expensive.

  ‘I thought you rang me because you wanted a divorce.’

  ‘I do. Well,’ said Chloe, ‘I assume we both do. But can’t I have lunch too?’

  Chapter 57

  It was strange, seeing Greg again for the first time in months. Over lunch at Sadler’s, Chloe caught up with all the news, learning that he had found himself a new girlfriend—a chiropodist called Antonia—and that yes, this time she knew all about his estranged pregnant wife.

  ‘How about you?’ He watched Chloe’s white teeth as she bit into a stem of asparagus.

  ‘Me? Just going for the quiet life. Giving the rock climbing and the paragliding a miss,’ said Chloe. ‘Playing quite a bit of Scrabble though, drinking loads of cocoa, that kind of thing…’

  Bravado, thought Greg.

  ‘You’ll meet someone else, you know. One day.’ For some reason—guilt, probably—he felt compelled to say it.

  ‘Will I? Who knows?’ Chloe shrugged and raised a playful eyebrow. ‘I’m not such a catch as you.’

  She was teasing him, Greg was stunned to realize. What was more, he found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. It really was the weirdest thing; Chloe had this massive bulge sticking out in front of her but somehow she didn’t look pregnant. She waddled when she walked and massaged her back from time to time but she didn’t seem pregnant either. Her gold-blond hair was glossier than ever, her eyes sparkled, she was laughing and making jokes…It was uncanny, thought Greg, bemused. Where had all this confidence come from? Because he’d certainly never seen any evidence of it before.

  Actually, it was quite erotic.

  ‘Okay, this divorce,’ said Chloe, bringing him back to earth with a bump. ‘Cheap and cheerful, are we agreed? Oh, yes, please, I’d love another orange juice.’ She gave the waiter loitering beside her a dazzling smile and Greg realized with a jolt that the waiter had noticed it too. He wasn’t looking at Chloe as if she were pregnant at all—putting it bluntly, he was ogling her.

  Jesus, wondered Greg, what was going on here? His ex-wife was exuding sexuality like some fifties starlet and she was managing to do it in white cotton maternity trousers and a man’s pink and white striped shirt.

  ‘Greg? Are you having another drink?’

  Still baffled, Greg shook his head.

  ‘Shouldn’t you do up a couple more buttons?’

  ‘What?’ Chloe glanced down. ‘My bra isn’t showing, is it?’

  ‘Your cleavage is.’

  He was frowning at her chest. Chloe suppressed a sudden urge to burst out laughing.

  ‘Greg, don’t you worry about my cleavage. It’s my problem, not yours.’

  But you’re still my wife, Greg longed to yell out. He realized how desperately aroused he was. Good grief, he’d never wanted to make love to a pregnant woman in his life—just the thought of it had always been enough to make him feel sick.

  But he badly wanted to make love to Chloe now.

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ chided Chloe, leaning across the table and pinching one of his grilled mushrooms. ‘You’ve hardly touched your food.’

  In his mind, Greg raced feverishly through the options open to him. It was twelve thirty—there was clearly no time to whisk Chloe back to his flat now. And Antonia was coming round this evening at eight, dammit.

  ‘I’m glad we’re still friends,’ he blurted out. ‘Civilized, like this. Better all round. You’re looking fantastic, by the way. Honestly.’

  Chloe sat back, eyeing him with amusement. Whatever had possessed Greg to come over so complimentary, all of a sudden?

  ‘Well, thanks. Now let me give you my solicitor’s address—’

  ‘I could pick you up after work, if you like. Talk about it then. You haven’t even seen my flat yet, have you?’

  It was the casual shrug that did it. The innocent, oh-so-casual shrug accompanying the boyish smile. Like a great gong clanging in the pit of
her stomach, Chloe remembered when she’d encountered these particular signals before. Oh yes, almost four years ago, just after she and Greg had first met. When he was doing his damnedest to charm her into going to bed with him.

  And now, incredibly, here it was again, unchanged in every detail, the mating ritual of the greater crested git.

  Well, well, who’d have thought it? Some men, marveled Chloe, really were in a class of their own.

  Stifling the urge to shriek with laughter, she fixed him with a sultry gaze—well, as sultry as she could manage at short notice—and lowered her voice to a whisper.

  ‘What would we do when you’d finished showing me your flat? Or,’ her smile was slow, complicit, ‘can I guess?’

  Greg grinned. Of course, she hadn’t had sex for…how long? Seven months? Blimey, talk about a cat in heat, she must be desperate.

  ‘Don’t see why we can’t have a bit of fun.’ He cocked a playful eyebrow at her. ‘For old times’ sake.’

  Picking up another asparagus stem, Chloe snaked it slowly through the puddle of hollandaise sauce on her plate.

  ‘You mean, bed-type fun?’

  ‘Why not?’ Mesmerized, Greg watched her eat the asparagus. Jesus, was she doing that on purpose? ‘Just because we’re getting divorced doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company every now and again.’

  Actually it was a pretty exciting thought—illicit sex was always so much more of a thrill than the ordinary kind.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Chloe frowned and laced her fingers together. ‘I’m just a bit worried…’

  ‘About damaging the baby? Don’t be!’ Greg, who had heard all about this on a recent radio phone-in, broke in eagerly. ‘I promise you, it doesn’t hurt the baby, not one bit.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking about the baby,’ said Chloe.

  ‘It won’t hurt you either—I’ll be gentle, I swear I will!’

  ‘Look, I’ll tell you what’s bothering me,’ Chloe said patiently. ‘Think back to when you were six or seven years old, okay? Your front teeth are loose and you keep wobbling and wobbling them but they won’t come out. Remember that?’

  She stopped. Baffled, Greg nodded.

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘Good. And there was always some older boy in your street, telling you that what you needed to do was tie one end of a piece of string around your wobbly tooth and the other end to a door handle. Then someone else slams the door shut and your tooth is yanked out and blood gushes everywhere…remember that story as well?’

  ‘Uh, yes, I suppose so.’ Greg shrugged, mystified by all this.

  ‘Right. Well, the thing is, I’m just a tiny bit worried that when I do exactly the same thing to your bits and pieces’—Chloe’s gaze flickered sorrowfully in the direction of his groin—‘it might hurt you.’

  It took a couple of seconds for this to sink in. Greg’s face fell. Finally, to make sure he’d got it right, he said, ‘So you’re saying you don’t fancy a quickie, just for the hell of it?’

  ‘You mean one with no strings attached?’ Chloe couldn’t resist the pun. ‘I don’t think so, thanks all the same. In fact, if I’m honest I’d rather stick red-hot pins under my fingernails and jump blindfold into a snake pit than have sex with you.’

  ‘I only offered because I felt sorry for you,’ Greg hissed back. ‘I mean, Christ, who else would want to?’

  Their waiter reappeared with the pudding menu.

  ‘The coffee and walnut tart sounds gorgeous.’ Chloe smiled up at him. ‘But I have to get back to work. Could you possibly wrap a piece up for me?’

  Blushing furiously, the young waiter said, ‘I can put it in a patisserie box if you like. Stop it getting squashed.’

  The possibility of an entertaining evening having crumbled to dust, Greg scraped back his chair.

  ‘If you can’t even be civil, I don’t see why I should have to pay for your meal.’ He dug into his pocket and hurled a handful of money on to the table. ‘There, that should cover my share. I’m off.’

  Startled, Chloe said, ‘I thought you were going to give me a lift?’

  He glared at his ex-wife, then at the waiter who had been making such a prat of himself over her.

  ‘Find your own way back. Or better still,’ Greg snapped, ‘get your toyboy here to give you a lift.’

  ‘Gosh,’ said Chloe when he’d stormed out. ‘Sorry about that. Ex-husband,’ she added, by way of explanation. ‘Bit of a wally. Actually, quite a lot of a wally.’

  ‘I can’t give you a lift.’ The waiter looked worried. ‘I’m only sixteen and a half. All I’ve got’s a pushbike.’

  Chloe tried for a moment to picture herself on it, eight and a half months pregnant and riding on the back of a bike.

  Maybe not.

  ‘Don’t worry. Better cancel pudding, though.’ She flicked open her purse, praying she had enough to cover the bill. Scattering notes and coins across the table like that had been an undeniably dramatic gesture, but now that she’d counted it up, Chloe discovered that Greg had actually left her with a petrol receipt, a parking ticket and the fabulous sum of three pounds twenty-seven pence.

  Hey, small spender.

  Then again, it didn’t come as any great surprise. He’d always been a bit that way inclined. Even before he’d taken to recycling engagement rings.

  When the young waiter brought the bill, Chloe discovered that thanks to the large Scotch and ginger Greg had secretly knocked back at the bar while she’d been in the loo, she had enough money on her to pay for lunch and twenty-four pence left over for a tip.

  On the pavement outside the restaurant, Chloe watched the bus she could no longer afford to catch sail past her. Stamping her cold feet and pulling her army surplus greatcoat around her huge stomach—oh yes, glamour no doubt—she set off down the road in the direction of the shop. Just over a mile to be covered in twenty-five minutes. It was achievable, but it would have been a lot easier if only her back didn’t ache so much.

  Four hundred yards along the road, Chloe was forced to stop for a rest. She had a raging stitch in her side and the backache was gathering force. Leaning against a phone box, she waited for the stitch to subside. And then something awful happened…

  Oh, good grief, thought Chloe, I’ve wet myself!

  Warm liquid trickled in an unstoppable stream down her legs. Thank heavens, the phone box was empty. Crushing her knees together, squeezing her pelvic muscles for all she was worth, Chloe shuffled penguin-style into the phone box.

  Phew, right, shame about the glass sides—not a lot of privacy to speak of—but at least nobody could see the puddle forming at her feet, which was the main thing. Flushed with embarrassment—especially when she glanced down and saw that in the cold air the puddle was actually steaming—Chloe leaned her forehead against the welcoming cool glass for a moment and tried to work out a plan.

  No money, that was the first stumbling block, not even ten pee. Oh dear, don’t even think of that word, at this rate she’d soon be up to her knees in warm water and the glass would start misting up like a sauna.

  Chapter 58

  Taking a couple of deep breaths—not that it was doing anything to help the stitch in her side—Chloe dialed the operator.

  ‘I’d like to make a reverse-charge call please.’

  She told the woman the number of the shop and waited to be put through. It was all right, no need to panic, everything was under control. Bruce would be able to help.

  ‘Chloe, is that you? What the bloody hell d’you think you’re doing?’ Bruce sounded irritated beyond belief. ‘Have you any idea how much it costs to accept a reverse-charge call?’

  ‘I’m sorry. Look, I’m in a phone box on Dempsey Street.’ Chloe tried to find a nice way of saying it. ‘My…um, waters have broken and I’m in a bit of a mess
and I haven’t got any money on me—’

  ‘Good grief, girl! If you’re in labor, tell that husband of yours to get you to the hospital.’

  ‘Greg’s gone.’ Chloe felt the prickle of perspiration at the back of her neck. ‘But the thing is, I don’t think I’m actually in labor. I mean, I haven’t had any real contractions—’

  ‘So you want the afternoon off? For crying out loud, Chloe, you certainly pick your moments! I told you I had a vital meeting lined up—’

  ‘Bruce, please, I need some help here.’ Don’t be a selfish bastard all your life, Chloe longed to yell, but didn’t. ‘I really hate to ask, but you couldn’t come and pick me up, could you?’

  ‘What, miss my meeting and wreck my leather car seats? I do hope you’re joking, Chloe.’

  ‘I’m not joking.’

  ‘And who’s going to look after the shop?’ demanded Bruce. ‘I’m sorry, but somebody has to stay here. Dial 999, get yourself an ambulance.’ He paused and tut-tutted indignantly. ‘You have no idea how inconvenient this is.’

  ‘But I can’t call an ambulance if I’m not even in labor!’ Chloe was desperate to make him understand.

  ‘So? Just pretend you are,’ Bruce snapped back. ‘Clutch your stomach and scream for an epidural, that’s all Verity did the whole time she was in bloody labor with Jason. Then when you get to the hospital, tell them the contractions have stopped. They’ll clean you up and give you the bus fare home.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Have to go, customer wants serving, ’bye.’

  Brrrrr went the dial tone in Chloe’s ear. She shifted her balance from one foot to the other and felt another warm trickle of amniotic fluid slide down the inside of her leg.

  A cramping pain in the depths of her stomach increased in intensity, making her gasp. Was that one? Was that an actual contraction or just another of those Braxton Hicks practice ones she’d been experiencing for weeks?

  It was all very well draping yourself across the sofa reading the books, thought Chloe, perplexed, but when it came to the real thing, how were you supposed to tell?