Babies in Waiting (4 page)

‘Honestly, what ghastly people. If that’s what Rachel is aspiring to, then I . . .’ He ran out of words.

‘I know. And all that sucking up she and Richard were doing. Eurgh.’

‘Still, I wish we’d had a chance to tell her,’ Simon said sadly.

‘I know. I have to go back home tomorrow morning, and I don’t want to leave it till I come back. She has to hear it from me.’

‘I know, love. I wish I could do your dirty work for you, but if I tell her, it’ll just give her something else to be upset about.’

‘I’ll ring her tomorrow. No. I’ll email her.’

‘Email her?’

‘I’m a coward. She can’t cry at me over email.’

‘But she can then ambush you with a phone call.’

‘Well, I’ll have to deal with that if it happens. Made my bed, lie in it, et cetera, et cetera. I’m going to take flack from a lot of people for this choice; I might as well start now.’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Simon said, hugging her. ‘I know I talked you into this. I hope you don’t feel . . .’

‘Come on. You don’t really believe you could talk me into something I didn’t want to do?’

‘Are you saying you might be a little bit stubborn, sweet sister?’

‘Like you’re a little bit gay?’

‘Fair enough. As long as you’re sure.’

Louise grinned at him. ‘Do you know what? I know it’s mad, but I’ve never been surer about anything in my life.’

The next morning, she caught a 6 a.m. train back to Leeds, and was at her desk by 9 a.m. She had a raft of work emails to deal with, but she decided to get the Rachel one out of the way first, before she lost her nerve.

‘Dear Rachel and Richard,’ she wrote (she had to; they shared a home email address).

Thank you so much for a lovely lunch yesterday. It was good to meet your friends and the food was wonderful as always.

(That was all very formal and correct, just what Rachel would like. Now how to carry on? How do you take a deep breath in email terms, she wondered? Best just to press on.)

I have some news which I had hoped to share with you yesterday, but as it’s a family matter, it didn’t seem the right time as you had other guests. I’m pregnant. I was in a relationship that has ended, so I will be raising this baby as a single mother.

(No need to share the details of Brian’s marriage, the extreme brevity of their ‘relationship’ or the fact that he currently had no idea about his impending fatherhood, she decided).

Simon has been very supportive, and I plan to come down to live in London before the baby is born.

(And before the pregnancy begins to show and all of Yorkshire is gossiping.)

I know this must come as a surprise. I haven’t told anyone else yet as it’s early days, so please don’t spread the word.

She sat staring at the screen for a very long time and tried to think of a way to end the email. ‘Be happy for me’? How could Rachel be happy for her? ‘I hope you’ll enjoy being an aunt?’ That just rubbed it in that she wasn’t a mum. In the end, she just wrote ‘Love, Lou’ and hit Send before she could change her mind.

She was madly busy for the next three hours or so, working through all her emails, catching up with her staff and checking paper orders for the magazine print run coming in that afternoon. She spent an hour or two on the shop floor, making sure everything was running as it should, then, as she was starting to feel a bit dizzy, made herself go to the caff opposite and eat a bacon roll.

When she got back to her desk, she saw there was an email from Rachel. She read it, then read it again. She was going to get back on a train, go round to her sister’s house and disable the exclamation mark on her keyboard.

Dearest Lou!
OMG!!!!!!!!!!! I cant believe you got a BFP!!!!!!! I didnt
even know you were TTC!!!!!! I’m soooooo thrilled for you and the daddy. Phone me soon!!!!! I want to hear all about it.
(((((((((((((((((hugs))))))))))))))))
Rach

Disable the exclamation mark and possibly the brackets as well. (What
is
that? A hug? Via email?)

She read the email again. To be honest, she didn’t understand a word of it. BFP? TTC? What were these? Political organisations? And what was the bit about ‘you and the daddy’? Clearly she’d chosen to ignore the information that Louise was no longer with the father. Rachel knew not to ring her during the working day – Louise wouldn’t pick up, as she was usually too busy. But she had no doubt that she’d come home to two or three messages on her mobile and a blinking light on the answering machine.

She would have to deal with Rachel later. The email after it was from Edward, the general manager. Her new and urgent priority was the Macintosh report. She had to have it checked, proofread and off her desk by 2 p.m., or there would be hell to pay. It was just . . . well, that tiny
little baby, no bigger than a sultana, made her feel so damned sick every afternoon. Well, never mind. She’d just have to ignore the nausea. Work to do. The Macintosh report waits for no sultana. If only her stomach would stop roiling and filling her mouth with bile, like she was on a rowing boat on the sea. She could not, would not, be sick at work. No way. Too humiliating. Too much of a giveaway. Too late.

She managed to walk rather than run to the Ladies, her lips tightly pursed, and dashed into a cubicle. To her relief, there was no one else there. Her bacon roll came up quickly, followed by a few agonising minutes of dry heaving, through which she prayed that the bathroom would remain empty. Finally, it stopped. She flushed and came out to face her own horrifying reflection: damp hair, smudged mascara, swollen lips . . . and the equally unwelcome vision of Deidre from HR, who peered at her curiously.

‘Oooh . . . not well, are we?’ Deidre said, in a cutesy, wheedling tone.

‘I’m fine,’ Louise said briskly, going to the basin and turning on a tap to repair the damage. ‘Dodgy bacon roll.’

‘From the caff?’ Deidre looked horrified. Deidre was not a small girl. The caff was her spiritual home.

‘Yes,’ Louise said firmly, and, she hoped, finally. She folded a paper towel and wet it, using it to mop up the worst of the panda eyes. She combed her fingers through her hair: it was short and straight, and this temporary repair would have to do. She desperately wanted to rinse
out her mouth, but she was damned if she was going to do that with Deidre staring at her. Not one to take a hint, she hadn’t moved.

‘Can I get you anything, Louise? A glass of water? An antacid?’

(A gun? Louise thought.) ‘No thanks, Deidre, I’m fine now. Really. I’d just like a minute . . .’

‘Of course,’ she said, still not moving. Then Louise caught Deidre’s eye in the mirror. It was as if she could see the cogs creaking in Deidre’s not-very-bright mind. She could see Deidre adding the vomiting to what she had no doubt heard about Louise’s fling with Brian. She saw Deidre glance at her breasts, then look up guiltily and catch her eye again. Then Deidre turned away and went quickly into a toilet cubicle, locking the door behind her.

Louise went back to her desk and sat very still, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t imagined the gossip would start so soon. But now she could just see Deidre sitting in the staffroom with her packet of smokybacon crisps, whispering to Ethel from Accounts and one or two of the shopfloor boys. It would be a matter of hours before it crossed the branch barrier and someone in Brian’s branch, or, God forbid, Head Office, got wind of it. She needed to get out . . . out of Barrett and Humphries, out of Leeds, as quickly as possible.

She thought about ringing Simon in a panic and explaining what had just happened. He’d tell her she was being paranoid, that she was seeing spies round every corner. Deidre couldn’t possibly know, and she could
speculate all she liked . . . nobody would believe her. She was a notoriously unreliable gossip. And anyway, who was to say Louise wasn’t in a relationship with someone else? They didn’t know. That’s what Simon would say. She took a deep breath. She didn’t need to ring him . . . just thinking about speaking to him had calmed her down. It would all be fine.

That evening, she got home to a long, breathless message from Rachel on her answering machine. She couldn’t face talking to her, so she sent a text saying thanks for the good wishes, but she would be out all evening and couldn’t chat. She knew that the following evening was Rachel’s yoga night, so she had a day or two’s grace.

Work carried on as normal. She kept an eye on Deidre from HR, but she didn’t seem to be watching Louise too closely or looking too suspicious. Louise began to relax. She knew that the next step was speaking to Brian. She didn’t have the courage to ring or email him and ask to meet. That Friday was the branch managers’ meeting. She had decided she would corner him after the meeting and ask to go for a quick coffee. She’d tell him then, with the minimum of fuss. She’d do it in a public place, so he couldn’t yell at her, and so she couldn’t get over-emotional and cry.

She arrived at Head Office early. She’d dressed carefully in a navy suit that she knew looked good: professional, but not sexy. As she got out of her car, Stephanie, who was the new assistant manager at Brian’s branch, pulled
into the parking lot. She waved enthusiastically at Louise, who felt obliged to wait, so they could go in together. Stephanie was tall and blonde, with a wide toothy grin and a tendency to talk a lot and very animatedly. She was not the companion Louise would have chosen that morning, but she plastered on a smile and nodded while Stephanie rattled on about the monthly figures and the big contract she and Brian had just signed. Reception soon filled with management from all the branches, and everyone chattered around her. Stephanie went off to talk at someone else, and Louise poured herself a cup of tea and waited in a corner. She saw Brian arrive, and saw him glance at her and frown. He was wearing a crisp, ice-blue shirt and he looked very handsome. She felt a little tug . . . this man was the father of her child. Maybe things would be okay. Maybe he would want to be involved . . . how she couldn’t imagine. But maybe they would find a way. She wanted to go to him then. But she hung back.

That was how she saw what she saw. Edward’s PA opened the doors of the conference room and they all began to file in. Brian and Stephanie walked in together and Louise was just a few steps behind. As they got to the doorway, she saw Brian reach out and slide a finger inside the cuff of Stephanie’s jacket and stroke her wrist.

Louise stopped dead. She felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. Someone behind her bumped into her, and there was a flurry of apologies and laughter which carried her into the meeting, Somehow, she didn’t know how, she made it through the meeting and even gave her
report in an even, clear voice. As soon as they finished, she made an excuse about an urgent phone call, ran to her car and sped away.

As soon as she got back to her branch, she shut her office door, then opened the filing cabinet. She had her employment contract on file, and she took it out to go through it carefully. She was enormously relieved to see that her notice period was only a calendar month. The contract did include a restraint of trade, but that only stipulated she couldn’t work for another printing business within a fifty-mile radius of Leeds for the next year. She’d be able to get a job in London, if anyone was mad enough to take on a pregnant single parent.

Well, sooner rather than later, she said to herself. She pulled the computer keyboard closer and began to type:

Dear Edward,
It is with great regret that I tender my resignation with immediate effect . . .

She put in some gumph about a change in family circumstances and the need to be in London – that was roughly true – the baby was her family, after all – and signed off saying how much she’d enjoyed working at Barrett and Humphries. That was entirely true. She’d loved the challenges of her job: climbing the ladder, getting her own branch to run, making it one of the most successful in the group. She would miss it, and she would miss her staff, even tiresome Deidre from HR. No time for
sentimentality, though. She printed the letter, signed it and popped it in an envelope. She’d drop it off at Head Office on her way home. Once the envelope was sealed, she felt an odd sense of relief, as if the plan was now in motion.

She knew Edward wouldn’t just accept her resignation, so she was prepared for the call she received at home as soon as she got in that evening. She’d worked out a list of things to say: yes, her family definitely needed her. No, she couldn’t be persuaded to stay. No, it had nothing to do with dissatisfaction, she was very happy in her job. No, more money would not make her change her mind. Edward paused, and she could practically hear him arguing silently with himself before he finally, hesitantly said, ‘It’s not . . . a man, is it, Lou?’

‘Definitely not,’ she said, keeping her voice steady. She had no idea what gossip Edward might have heard, but the less she said, the less she could incriminate herself.

‘Good,’ said Edward, sounding relieved. He wasn’t one to pry about emotional issues, so she knew he’d rather not have asked the question at all. He certainly wasn’t going to pursue the matter. ‘Well, Louise,’ he said seriously, ‘I really am gutted to see you go. Truly I am. If there’s anything I can do . . . you know . . . to help you find your feet down south, just let me know.’

‘Thanks, Edward,’ Louise said, genuinely moved. She hadn’t expected that. ‘Well, if you do hear of anyone looking to hire someone, let me know. My . . . er . . . family commitments will be quite heavy, so I’ll be looking to work
predictable hours, not too much travel, that sort of thing.’

‘I’ll keep an ear to the ground,’ Edward promised, and rang off.

So this was it. A month from now, she’d he heading for London . . . jobless, homeless and pregnant. She felt so, so afraid, and suddenly, irrationally, she wished Brian was there. She wished he wasn’t a faithless, immoral slug of a man, but instead was single, sexy and desperately in love with her. And she wished, more than anything, that she could share this life-changing experience with the father of her child. And then she began to cry.

Edward had rung the minute she walked through the door, and now, through the tears, she noticed that her answering machine was blinking away like mad. Rachel. She’d put her sister off for days and days, but she had to face up to it and speak to her. Not quite yet, though. She sniffed and looked around for a tissue to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. But before she could find one, the phone rang again. And as soon as she picked it up, Rachel began talking.