Lover in Law (38 page)

Silence.

His hands twitch, like Jasper’s. I watch Anthony like a hawk. Perhaps it’s only fair that I break the ice. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Anthony puts his head in his hands and runs his fingers through his hair, over and over.

Silence.

“Fuck me Ali,” he says, head still in his hands.

I’m tempted to lie, to pretend I’m as surprised as he is, but he deserves better than that. It’s time for some kind of honesty. ‘
VERITAS VOS LIBERABIT
’ – the truth will set you free.

“I know. I’m really, really sorry,” I say. “I should have said something, but I wasn’t sure.”

I feel better, straight away, for the unburdening. He turns to look at me, at long last. It’s confusion, bewilderment I see. Not anger. Not the bubbling like a geyser, about to explode kind of stuff I’d have predicted. Perhaps that’s for later, for when he’s had time to sleep on it. More likely, that’s what’s coming from Adam. I don’t want to even go there.

“What do you expect me to say? How do you expect me to react?” he asks evenly.

I expect temporary loathing. I expect to be shouted at. I expect him to leave the room, slam the door shut. I expect to be ostracized. I expect all these things, but I hope for more. It’s nice, fitting that Anthony was here. Perhaps it was serendipity.

“I don’t know,” I shake my head.

I’m ashamed, eager to lower my gaze from his, but he won’t let me.

“I’ve always secretly wanted a little boy,” he whispers.

He turns his focus back to the little bundle in the cot. I want to take his hand. He is after all the father of my child. We did, after all, have quite some connection. This situation is, after all, a product of both our doing. 

“I thought you didn’t want any more kids,” I whisper back.

I don’t mean to whisper, but my voice has gone. The symphony of screams has finally rendered me hoarse. Anthony turns to me again.

“Yeah, well, that was then.”

He’s being decent, civil. He merits more from me, a better explanation, but the words just won’t come out.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize again.

It’s an easy word to say and not mean, only I do, I really do. I’m not sorry I’ve had his child. I’m sorry I didn’t come clean with him, with Adam, sooner. The tips of my fingers are still itching to reach for his, both because I want to and for reassurance, to check he doesn’t hate me.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he says. “He’s simply beautiful.”

Anthony leans forward. I close my eyes, in preparation, kidding myself this is it, because subconsciously this is what I’ve wanted all along, this is my fairytale ending, this is how it’s meant to be. Only his lips don’t reach their target destination. They land, softly, gently, sentimentally, slap in the middle of my eyebrows, another, bloody, forehead kiss. My lips tremble, in disappointment. I bite them hard, open my eyes and turn away. I’m an idiot, fool, so damn stupid, having dared to hope for more. I deserve nothing. I need to toughen up. This isn’t just about me. Two other very important people are part of the equation.  

“Do you want to hold him?” I ask.

“In a second,” he says. “There’s something else I’ve got to do first.”

He leans forward again. I offer him my forehead, but he lifts my chin with a finger. This time his mouth meets its target expertly, precisely, deliciously, spot on.

Chapter 42

SIX MONTHS LATER

I’m sat at one of only two tables in a small Italian deli, a place Adam and I have never been to before, looking at my watch, waiting. This is a place with no memories attached. It’s where we’ve agreed to meet. I haven’t seen him since he came to visit in the hospital, five hours after giving birth. Sitting here, nervously turning towards the door each time it opens, I can’t stop thinking back on how the whole sorry business had unfolded. How, after Anthony had recovered from learning he’d become a father for the second time, I’d panicked, looking for a phone.

My index finger had got a blister from frantically pressing the redial button, trying to get to Adam before he got to me, but each time I’d rung his mobile I got an American ‘sorry, this network is busy, please try later.’ I’d spoken tirelessly to our home answer-machine, in the unlikely event he’d drop off his luggage before coming to the hospital, saying it was urgent, he had to call me AT ONCE. The last contact that had been made was Anthony leaving a message on his phone when my waters had broken. I’d contemplated sending Kayla to the airport, to intercept, but quickly dispensed with that idea. It wouldn’t have been fair to involve her that way, such a ghastly go-between and in any event, I’d been certain he was on the first plane back to London, whatever the cost, whichever the airport. Which meant there’d have been only the remotest chance Kayla would even go to the right place.

And so it was he got to me before I got to him, one hour after Anthony had left. Unkempt, unshaven, a huge bunch of flowers peeking out the top of his rucksack, he’d been jumping with excitement when he’d spotted me, propped up on my hot, rubber mattress in an NHS post-natal ward for four. It had been the dreaded moment, panning out in the most frightful way, no privacy and nowhere to hide. How can you tell a lawyer’s about to lie? He opens his mouth. That’s how the joke goes, but this was no joking matter. I’d been lying to Adam for months, not expressly, but by omission. As he approached my bedside I braced myself for the guts and gore of the Trojan War, for the launching of a thousand armoured ships. 

“Adam, I’ve got something truly terr-”

He’d interrupted, leaning down to kiss me and only then had he glanced sideways at the incubator with Jasper in it, shifting from side to side, stirring.

“Where’s our baby?” he’d asked.

It had been the lowest moment of my life. My revelation was always going to be appalling, but leaving it so late to break the news was monstrous. What I’d done, to Adam of all people, a good person, an unwitting, thoroughly undeserving victim of my weakness was shameful, unforgivable. His face had been so bright, so elated and so anticipatory. I’d shaken my head.

“I’m sorry, Adam. I’m so sorry.”

Against all the odds those were the last words spoken. He’d just stared and stared first at me, then at the baby, standing, completely still, reading my expression, his face a complete blank until suddenly his eyes registered a click of comprehension. His reaction was completely unexpected. He didn’t throw daggers, he didn’t hurl hatred, and he didn’t lay a finger. He swung one arm free from his rucksack, pulled out the bunch of flowers and turned to leave without giving me a second glance. He’d been about to dump the roses in the bin by the door, but changed his mind at the last minute and gave them to the new mother opposite. The only sound that had filtered into the powerful silence was Jasper, who had started to cry.

***

I’d left it a fortnight before knocking at his door, not to reclaim half of what was mine, but to explain. I hadn’t wanted to leave it like that. An ending without words after eleven years. It wasn’t until the final hurdle that our edifice had started to crumble. Most of the time we’d spent together had been brilliant. I’d been lucky to share a third of my life with him. All this, I’d felt, needed to be said, but Adam had had no desire to hear it. He’d looked out the window to see who it was and refused to let me in. I didn’t bother getting out my key because not only would that have felt like trespassing, I knew for sure that it wouldn’t work. He’d told Kayla he’d had the locks changed when he went to dump most of my stuff in her flat the day after he’d come to see me in hospital. Poor Kayla! She’s still with Paul, despite her invidious position as piggy-in-the-middle.

It was Adam’s prerogative not to see me. If I’d been in his shoes I wouldn’t have wanted to see me either. If I’d been in his shoes I too would have refused to answer the door the handful of times I visited. I too would have returned unopened the lengthy tomes I’d penned. The last letter I sent, however, never winged its way back to me. I’d got so used to the charade that I’d presumed it lost in the post. Until a postcard, in his handwriting, landed on my doormat, saying ‘I think we should meet’. Which is why I’m still here, twenty minutes after our arranged rendezvous time, praying Adam will actually turn up.

***

The Adam I knew hated facial hair and lived in a pair of brown moccasins so worn out that the soles had started to flap. The Adam who’s just walked in, however, has grown a goatee and is wearing a new pair of shoes – designer, suede slip-on mules. He looks comfortable and at ease. He probably wouldn’t be here if it were otherwise. Because of Kayla, I’ve known exactly what’s going on in his life. His recovery was relatively swift. He’s now got a new (much younger) sexy blonde Psychiatrist girlfriend who’s recently moved in. All this makes how my life’s panned out much easier to bear. I’d been prepared to get a place on my own, with Jasper, but Anthony wouldn’t hear of it. His home was now ours, he’d said. That was where we belonged. From day one it had felt a perfect fit. We’re a good team and that special connection hasn’t dwindled, despite the demands of a newborn baby.

Telling my parents, the gang at chambers, well, it was a shock to everybody, requiring a huge leap of faith. My Mother’s primary concern was whether Anthony planned to marry me. Neeta was insistent I was spinning a yarn. Maxwell Hood QC was the only person to give his unequivocal blessing. “Good luck to the two of you,” was what he’d said. Most of the people that matter have slowly got their heads round it. It’s not all been easy though. Like this, right now. I’m far more anxious than Adam. My hands are slightly wobbly. I haven’t touched my café latte. Adam orders a freshly squeezed orange juice at the counter, comes to join me, pulling out a chair. I gulp hard. It feels awkward, strange to have this man feel like a stranger.

“Hello Adam,” I say.

He stares at me, like he did in the hospital. There’s no telltale sign of nervousness, none of the usual thumbnail chewing. His fingers are calmly clasped on his lap.

“You need to know that I’m here for Paul, not you,” he says.

I nod.

“He didn’t want there to be a lifetime of bad feeling, just in case, you know-”

“That’s fine,” I say. “I completely understand.”

This is Adam’s get-together, his call. I know what I’d like to tell him, but think he should take the lead. There’s a long, long pause, broken only by the clank of his orange juice being laid on our table and Adam’s ‘thanks’. I’m about to break the silence, wondering if he’s waiting for me, for the full-blown face to face apology, when he starts to speak.

“You know, I’ve gone over and over what I would say if I ever set eyes on you again,” he starts. “I was going to shout and swear and spit, tell you exactly what I thought of you, and now……….now………you know what, now that you’re sitting in front of me Ali, the moment’s gone. Now none of it seems to matter quite so much.”

He shakes his head.

“It doesn’t excuse what you did. What you did was utterly reprehensible.”

“I know,” I whisper. A gush of apologies, begging forgiveness, screams of repentance, are stacked up in my mind, pushing against the back of my throat, but when I open my mouth it’s simple. “I never meant to hurt you.” That’s it. That’s the truth.

He focuses on the glass that he’s holding in both hands for a while, then looks up.

“You were right about one thing though, Ali.”

“Sorry?” I splutter. Nothing I did could be considered ‘right’.

He explains how at first he’d wanted to hate me and hurt me and wish all manner of evil on me. I’d destroyed his life, his hopes and his dignity. But as time passed and with the help of Fiona (new Psychiatrist girlfriend) he’d come to realize that I’d been right. Not in my actions, but that our relationship had run its course. I thought he’d been in blissful oblivion, but even he had recognized that we’d become stale. It had been easier to stay together than to split up. We were all we ever knew. Our comfort zone had become too comfortable, only we hadn’t wanted to admit it. There’d been lots of love, but somewhere along the line we’d stopped being ‘in love’. He’d not been able to put his finger on it, but he’d sensed something was up for months, which is why the revelation in the hospital hadn’t been the complete, utter surprise I’d have expected.

“All I want is for you to be happy,” I speak quietly.

I wipe away a tear with the back of my hand, the emotion of the occasion overwhelming me. Adam was my best friend for years. My desire is genuine. I want him to have what I have.

“Then your wish has been granted,” he says.

“Good.”

I smile through my tears as I start to cry properly, unleashing a ton of feelings that had been put on hold, yank a handful of serviettes from the metal holder on our table.

“Have a nice life Ali,” says Adam.

For the briefest of seconds he touches my arm, makes eye contact. And then he goes. Without drinking his orange juice, without giving me the chance to give back my engagement ring. It’s still sitting in my trouser pocket, wrapped in tissue. He leaves me under no illusion that we can ever patch things up, that there’s room for one another as friends in each others lives, but somewhere, somehow, out of all this mess, we’ve reached some kind of resolution, a sense of closure.