by Pamela Fudge
I’d had no cause to regret the decision I’d made all that time ago – had even allowed myself for years to believe the lie that I lived every day – right up until the past had come back to haunt me in the guise of the man who was the possible – probable – father of my child.
Now the unsafe foundation of sand I had built my perfect family life upon was shifting alarmingly, causing great cracks to appear in the not so solid foundations of that life, and I knew I had to do something before everything I held dear fell apart around me. Above all I had to protect my son, because William was the one total innocent in all of this.
As the first fingers of the dawn light reached through the gap in the curtain I had formulated a plan that involved finding and confronting the Adonis, because until I did I had absolutely no idea what – exactly - he wanted.
Chapter 13
How do you set about finding a man you had just the one intimate encounter with several years ago, when you have only a first name and a few vague details to go on? Well, as I quickly discovered, it wasn’t going to be easy and it wasn’t going to be possible to devote the time I would have liked to the search, either, because there was too much else going on.
With the arrival of September the orders for celebration cakes suddenly increased in such quantities that, for the first time, I began to seriously consider hiring some regular help in the form of an assistant. Besides Christmas, plus all the usual birthday and anniversary celebrations, it suddenly seemed that Halloween and even bonfire night were reason enough to throw a party and, apparently, no party was complete without the appropriate cake for the occasion. I had never been so busy.
Added to that, with the start of a new school year imminent, shopping for as yet un-purchased items of uniform for Will became a matter of urgency and, because I’d been so distracted and had left it so late, sourcing said items took far longer than they should and Will’s aversion to shopping – even when it was for him – didn’t help.
This left me little time to search for the elusive Adonis, especially as I had to be careful not to arouse Jon’s suspicions. The fact I wasn’t being anywhere near careful enough was brought home to me with a shocking start when I very nearly got caught red-handed.
Not realising the time, I had foolishly left the lap-top open after Googling rugby players named Gareth, while I went to check on a cake that had just about finished baking. I had my back to the door, all of my attention on lifting the cake carefully from the oven and, in that moment, Jon came wandering into the room after work looking for Will and me.
‘What’s this sudden interest in rugby players, then?’ Jon asked, sounding amused.
He had obviously glanced at the screen as he passed and was merely curious, but the shock of his question almost caused me to drop the large fruit cake on its journey from the oven to the cooling rack. I deliberately took my time setting down the cake, but when I turned towards him I was aware my face was still flaming, but hoped he would put it down to the heat.
‘Rugby players?’ I repeated, carefully suppressing the horrified squeak that threatened to make itself heard in my voice.
‘Mmm,’ he said, ‘you’ve got a page of them up on here.’ He indicated the open lap-top. ‘Not thinking of taking it up, are you?’ He didn’t sound at all concerned, in fact barely interested at all, and just making light conversation.
I matched my careless tone to his. ‘Oh, yeah,’ I said, ‘one of the eighteenth birthday cakes I have among my orders is for a rugby playing lad. I thought I could make a run-out from icing that looked like a real rugby player. You know, to put on top. It was just a thought – they all look much the same actually – especially when you put one of those daft hats on them.’
‘Ten foot tall and muscle-bound,’ Jon guessed, laughing, before turning his attention to where Will was making a creditable attempt of creating a lion cub out of left-over marzipan.
While they were both bent over with their heads together, intent on viewing the animal critically from this way and that, I took the opportunity to log off of the internet and close the laptop lid with a serious reminder to myself to be far more careful in future.
I had quickly discovered how common the name Gareth seemed to be among the rugby playing fraternity. Most club, however small, appeared to have at least one, especially those in Wales, but I was completely certain that none of those pictured was my Gareth.
No, not my Gareth, I reminded myself hastily and with a shudder, because he had never been that. There was one reason and one reason only for his importance in my life.
I tried Facebook, but that was no help either, because I had no surname and because Gareths on there were ten-a-penny, too. Clutching at straws, I thought it a shame I didn’t still have any of the contact details for Mr and Mrs Meat-and-two-veg from back in the days when I’d worked for Tina and her home-cooked meals company, because it was at their wedding reception that the fatal meeting had taken place. I tried and failed to recall the real names of either the bride or the groom, and was actually on the verge of contacting Tina to see if her memory was better than mine. I thought better of it when I gave some thought into how the conversation with the couple might go if I did find a way to contact them.
‘Erm, hello, Mr – or Mrs - Meat-and-two-veg (correct name substituted obviously). I don’t know if you remember me but I worked for Tina Reynolds providing you with the meals the two of you used to pass off to each other as your own home-cooking when you were courting. How are your cooking skills these days, by the way? We were guests at your wedding and I wondered if you recalled the surname of the very tall rugby player who was also a guest at your wedding reception seven years ago?’
If they hadn’t hung up on me by that point I would have been very surprised. I could think of no other avenues to explore and, without further sightings to upset the status quo, I became caught up in the urgency of my to-do lists, and things settled down once again.
After all, I reasoned, when a spare moment gave me time to think and give the matter the full attention it deserved, if he was interested in me and my son, then surely he would make his intentions toward us – if he had any – clear to me soon enough.
Sadly, my monthly cycle continued to be as regular as proverbial clockwork, despite our continued best efforts to boost Jon’s sperm count and increasingly concentrated activity in the bedroom. I tried not to let my frustration show and agreed when Jon reminded me the information had said any improvement would take around three months. In my heart I was already accepting that Will was going to remain an only child, leaving the question mark over his paternity firmly and worryingly in place.
Eventually, my initial eagerness for love-making began to dwindle to the point that when Jon drew me into his arms with all of his usual enthusiasm, it was all I could do not to turn away. Instead, faked orgasms became the norm for me. What was the point of sex without the possibility of procreation? I felt so sad, so empty, and such a failure for not being able to at least get that right, and prove my husband was man enough to father a child.
Against all the odds I eventually delivered William to the school gates dressed from head to toe in his new school uniform. The replacement of every item was a necessity since he appeared to have grown several inches during the six week holidays.
‘Look, he’s taller than Tristan,’ Lucy pointed out, when we were bemoaning the horrendous expense of providing brand new everything, from outerwear, to underwear, footwear and sportswear. ‘I’ve also got Trixie growing out of everything right in front of my eyes as well,’ she reminded us, pulling a face. ‘It’s all right for you two - you’ve each only got the one.’
‘Ah, well, that’s where you’re wrong,’ Jade said, and then paused for dramatic effect, ‘because – I’m pregnant!’
Of course, we bounced around, yelling, ‘Oh, my God,’ over and over, and Lucy’s enthusiasm, at least, wasn’t feigned.
I felt as if my heart had been torn out of my chest and stamped on. The pain was
so bad that I actually felt physically ill. In that moment I was quite sure I would do anything to become pregnant myself – yes, up to and including, finding the man who had impregnated me before and using him again as a sperm donor. I immediately felt deeply ashamed and hated myself for entertaining such treacherous thoughts.
After making all the appropriate noises for the appropriate length of time, I drove home so erratically that it was a wonder I didn’t crash the car. I was aware of nothing but the pain in my heart and the lack in my life. I also knew I was being absolutely wicked, because I did already have William. I had always despised women who behaved the way I was behaving just because they couldn’t have another baby, but at that moment I just couldn’t help myself.
I fell through the door, and prostrating myself in the middle of the hall, I howled my frustration out at the top of my voice. I was angry, furious, desperately wanting to vent my spleen on inanimate objects, to smash, to tear and destroy until nothing was left.
It wasn’t fair, I sobbed. It just wasn’t fair. I honestly didn’t begrudge Jade her pregnancy – well, that was actually a lie because I did. She had, after all, nothing to prove to herself or anyone else. She lived her cosy, happy little life and one child more or less made absolutely no difference to her. One child for me right now would change everything and set my life back on an even keel once more. A baby would give me the peace of mind I craved and allow me to leave the mistakes of the past where they belonged.
I lay there until I had no more tears left to cry and then I rose very slowly to my feet. I couldn’t go into my work room, despite the orders waiting for my attention there, because I couldn’t trust myself to be among all those cakes in various stages of delicate construction without trashing them. I seemed to recall a very pretty Christening cake that was all but finished and knew seeing it would be enough to tip me over the edge again.
In the end I sat myself in the lounge in front of a TV recording of One Born Every Minute and dredged more tears from somewhere to shed over each new birth. That was where Jon found me when he popped home for the sandwiches he’d forgotten to take with him that morning.
He came and stood in front of me. ‘You’ve got your period?’ he hazarded a guess that might account for the sodden mess I had turned into in just a few short hours.
I sniffed loudly, shook my head, and wept, ‘Jade’s pregnant.’
‘Oh, love,’ he sat down beside me and gathered me into his arms, he smelled of fresh air and faint traces of the aftershave he favoured. ‘I am so sorry, sweetheart.’
‘You don’t have anything to be sorry for,’ I told him, but in my heart I believed that he did. He couldn’t make me pregnant and that’s what had started the whole sorry business seven years ago.
‘There’s still time for us – and, you know, we are doing pretty much everything we can.’
He was trying to be encouraging but it really wasn’t working and life was becoming more and more like being on a roller coaster – hitting the heights when I managed to convince myself that anything was possible, and plumbing the depths when I realised that nothing was. At that moment I was more down that I had ever been, and that made me want to hit out.
‘I want a baby, Jon. I want a baby now.’ I heard the words leave my mouth, heard the tone I’d used and I was horrified with myself, but now it was out I felt only relief.
Jon let me go and stood up. The look on his face alarmed me. ‘And you think I don’t,’ he said. It was a statement rather than a question.
I didn’t answer and that was damning in itself.
‘Is that what these last few weeks have been about?’ His tone was quiet, dangerously so. ‘Has the action in the bedroom only been about you getting pregnant – not about love, about sharing, about enjoyment, but just about getting pregnant? It has been, hasn’t it? Hasn’t it?’ his voice rose quite suddenly to a roar and I jumped. ‘That’s why you’ve suddenly lost interest in our sex life, isn’t it, because you’ve given up? Oh, you thought I hadn’t noticed? Well, I had, but I was trying to make excuses for you, believing you were just tired because of your workload.’
‘Well, yes, that is part of it,’ I offered, beginning to come to my senses at last, to accept that I had gone too far.
‘Don’t lie,’ he spat, and dragging me to my feet he glared down at me. ‘You already have a wonderful child, Wendy, and you have a husband who loves you dearly, but what you are saying – and saying loud and clear – is that we aren’t enough for you.’
‘I’m not - I’m not,’ I insisted. ‘You are enough for me.’
‘I don’t feel that,’ he said, and the sadness in his voice squeezed my heart like a vice. ‘I don’t feel that at all, not when I can sense the longing to turn away from me in bed. I don’t feel that when you fake an orgasm in my arms, and can barely hide your impatience for our lovemaking to be over.’
He turned away and walked towards the door. I knew I couldn’t let him leave like that, not when this was my fault – all of it.
I hurried after him, caught hold of his arm and said firmly, ‘I do want you,’ I said, ‘I do.’
He looked at me with hurt, anger and disbelieve in his eyes, and then he shrugged, ‘So – show me.’
He stood there with his hands by his side and watched me struggle with buttons and reach for zips until he could obviously stand it no more – and then he reached out and rent my dress from neck to hem, literally tore it from my body, along with my underwear and entered me without preamble.
He was rough – and Jon had never been rough - he was selfish - and he had never been selfish. For the first time in our married life he was taking his pleasure as if I wasn’t there.
I raked my nails along his back and, hissing at him to look at me, I sank my teeth into his shoulder in a grim effort to catch and keep his attention. It became wild, almost vicious at times - with biting, scratching, and swearing – it was everything that was foreign to us and so exciting. The phone rang twice, the doorbell chimed, but we could stop for nothing and nobody in a fierce and mutual attempt to make us the centre of our world, as our kisses softened, and scratching became caressing, and there was only tenderness and tears as we reached mutual satisfaction.
Afterwards we showered together and then walked hand in hand to meet William from school and, on the surface everything was just as it should be between us. However, I could only be aware how close I had come to destroying everything by not facing up to a couple of truths that I kept making a frightening habit of over-looking.
I may not get pregnant again but that in itself didn’t necessarily mean that Jon wasn’t Will’s biological father, just that - like many people - we simply weren’t intended to have a second child. The cause could be Jon’s low sperm count or even that age was against us both, but I should learn to accept that it was out of our control and move on.
I should also get a grip and accept that just because the Adonis had suddenly pitched up in my life on one or two occasions, it didn’t mean he was stalking me. I had met him at a local wedding and we had probably crossed paths loads of times in the last seven years without even realising it. If he was really out to cause trouble he would surely have made his presence and his intentions known to me long before this?
‘Are we ok now, Wendy?’ Jon asked over the top of Will’s head as we made our way home. I tightened my grip on Will’s hand as he swung like a little monkey between us.
‘Of course we are,’ I insisted. ‘I just had a wobble – what with Jade’s pregnancy and everything. I should have remembered that they are several years younger...’
‘And he probably doesn’t have a low sperm count,’ Jon reminded me. ‘Perhaps I really should go and get it checked out further – I know I chickened out before but I’m sure I can be more adult about everything now. At least we would know where we stand.’
‘Another month or two won’t make any difference,’ I said hastily, still unwilling to take the chance that we might get the no sperm count result I
secretly dreaded - a result that would blow everything apart, ‘and by then the supplements and diet might have done the trick.
‘Hello,’ Jon’s attention was no longer on me, ‘it looks like we have a visitor waiting.’
Looking ahead, I could see a woman standing on my doorstep. That in itself wasn’t so very unusual, with customers coming and going, but there seemed to be something vaguely familiar about her. She was tall and blonde and stood with her back to us pressing the doorbell.
William ran up the path towards the woman, calling, ‘We aren’t in there, we’re out here.’
She turned quickly, smiling down at him, and I staggered and would have fallen if Jon hadn’t caught me by the arm. I had only seen the woman once before, at the theatre in London, but I immediately knew who she was and exactly who I had seen her with.
I had a horrible feeling I knew why she had come.
Chapter 14
‘Are you Wendy Hammond?’ the woman said, as we approached and, guessing what was coming I dragged my scattered wits together with a speed that impressed me.
‘Yes, I am,’ I said. ‘Do come inside.’
Sending Jon and Will in the direction of the kitchen, with instructions to get a meal started, I ushered her swiftly in the direction of my work-room chatting all the time in an effort to stop her getting a word in edgeways. Once inside with the door closed I turned and prepared myself for the attack on my morals that I so richly deserved, because it was quite obvious that she was here because she had discovered what had happened between her husband and me.
‘I can guess why you’re here,’ I began, ‘but...’