The Baby Group (25 page)

For a few intense moments Meg felt utterly powerful, an omnipotent goddess holding the dreams of all men in the palm of her hand. She cried out, experiencing the shock of orgasm just moments before Robert climaxed himself and then collapsed, his face falling into her shoulder.

For several moments she listened to him breathing and then he rolled off her and drew her into his arms, pressing her back against his chest and kissing her hair.

‘I love you,' she whispered happily.

But Robert was already asleep.

‘It doesn't matter,' Jess said, stroking Lee's back with the palm of her hand. ‘Honestly.'

‘It does matter,' he said. He was sitting up in their bed, his forehead in his palms. ‘It does bloody matter. I don't get it. I mean, I want to. I want you so much . . . it's never happened before.' He looked at Jess over one shoulder. ‘You do know it's not you, don't you, Jess?'

‘Of course I do,' Jess said. She wasn't sure how to react, whether or not she should seem really upset or try to shrug it off. ‘Look, we're both shattered. And stressed and . . . just come here.' She put her arms around Lee's shoulders and pulled him back down onto the mattress. Once he was lying next to her she rearranged his arms so that she could fit in the crook of his shoulder, her cheek on his chest. She wasn't sure whether she should tell him that being in his arms like this was what she loved best of all.

‘He's asleep and we're in bed. Just to be here with you is bliss,' she said.

Lee hugged Jess closer to him and kissed the top of her head.

‘But I really wanted to . . .' he started again.

‘Me too,' Jess said. ‘I'd almost forgotten I had a sex drive.'

‘You do know, don't you,' Lee said again, ‘that it's not because I don't love you.'

‘I do,' Jess repeated her response. ‘I do know that you love me and I love you too.' She sat up a little and looked down at Lee. ‘I really do love you.'

His smile was puzzled. ‘You look like you've only just realised,' he said with an edge of uncertainty.

‘No, that's not it. I've always known, it's just that in the last few weeks with all the worry and stress of having Jacob I'd sort of forgotten exactly how much. But even if we haven't quite . . .' She smiled at him. ‘I feel better somehow anyway. Natalie must have been right about the power of a pair of sexy pants!'

Lee laughed. ‘Damn, and I thought what you needed was the healing force of my penis.'

‘Lee!' Jess laughed, punching him lightly in the ribs.

‘It's good to see you laugh again,' Lee said, sliding a few inches down the bed so that his eyes were level with Jess's. ‘Actually it's quite a turn-on.'

Unable to sleep, Meg eased herself out of Robert's arms and picked up his hastily discarded trousers that were lying crumpled on the floor. As she held them by one leg, a few loose coins and his mobile phone fell out of the pocket. She picked it up, realising that it couldn't have gone flat because the display had lit up as it hit the floor.

Meg looked at the screen. It was displaying a text message. He must have forgotten to close it after reading it. She saw the letters on the small screen for a split second before she actually read the words. Some intuitive part of her warned her just to put the phone face down and walk away right then, but it was a warning that came too late. She had read the text already before she realised what it meant.

Quickly Meg closed the text and put the phone down on her dressing table. She looked back at the bed where Robert was sleeping soundly. She thought about that exciting, unfamiliar look in his eyes as he had made love to her and then she thought about that text.

That was what it said.

Chapter Fourteen

Natalie arrived on Willoughby Street at seven forty-two, a full eighteen minutes early. She had tried very hard not to be early. She had, in fact, tried actively to be rather late. But despite her efforts, fate had conspired for her mother to be unusually compliant, not to mention sober, a taxi to be stopping right outside her house just as she opened the front door and the usual Saturday-night traffic nowhere to be seen.

Willoughby Street was a very short street. More of a dead end than a proper street, Natalie thought resentfully as she hovered on the corner. Willoughby Close, they should call it, or Avenue. It most certainly was not a street. A street would have offered a far greater opportunity for walking up and down, uncertain of your next move. Almost the only door on Willoughby Street, apart from the side entrance to a comic-book shop, was the main entrance to the flat where Jack was staying. A door just waiting for her to approach it, almost indecent in its obviousness.

Well, at the very least she could not be early, she decided, as she set off with a plan to take a brisk mind-clearing walk around the block. But her plan failed almost instantly as she found herself entering the Museum pub on the corner. She circumnavigated several tourists enjoying the authentic British pub experience and asked at the bar for a Virgin Mary.

‘Sure you don't want the vodka in it?' an authentic Australian barman asked her with a jaunty smile.

‘Oh, I want it,' Natalie said. ‘I really, really want it but I can't have it. I'm breastfeeding and I try to keep my baby's alcohol intake down to three or four units a day.'

He didn't bother her again after that.

As she sipped her drink Natalie realised that she was utterly unprepared for this moment.

She also realised that there was never going to be any time, at any point in the future, when she would be prepared for it. It was unpreparable for, if such a word existed, which she was fairly sure it didn't. The thought, though, gave her a small sliver of comfort, a sense of friendly fatalism. What happened next was entirely out of her control. All she had to do was remember her promise to Freddie, not let her feelings cloud her judgement and make sure that she behaved with dignity and integrity.

It was the last part that she had worried about the most as she got ready earlier that evening.

Inevitably, Sandy asked her where she was going.

‘Out,' Natalie said automatically. Sandy had been standing outside smoking several cigarettes in quick succession after an extended period without her nicotine hit. She had talked to Natalie between puffs through a five-centimetre gap in the French doors.

‘I just thought that as you are asking me to look after your son for the whole day, the very least you can do is tell me why,' Sandy said, hugging herself as if chilled, even though it was a fairly mild evening.

‘Why do you think that?' Natalie said, rooting through her make-up bag for her eyeliner. ‘You came here to help me look after your grandson so I could have a break. I'm having a break.'

‘Actually, that wasn't the only reason I came back. I have a life too, you know, in Spain. Things I'd like to talk to you about.'

‘Look, Mum.' Natalie paused, sitting at the breakfast bar, her compact hovering in mid-air, her eyeliner pencil millimetres from her lids. ‘I can't do this now. I'm really, really grateful that you've had Freddie for most of the day and I know I'll have to pay for it with emotional pain for the next ten years or so. But I have to go out tonight, it's important. Now please come in and stop smoking for five minutes. You're no good to me at all if you spontaneously combust.'

Sandy took one more deep drag of her cigarette before reluctantly stubbing it out with the toe of her slipper and coming in. She stood at the end of the breakfast bar watching her daughter carefully outline her eyes.

‘You look lovely,' she said after a while.

Natalie nearly poked her eye out. ‘Pardon?' she said, dropping the pencil, which rolled off the marble counter and clattered onto the floor.

‘You do,' Sandy said. ‘You look really lovely . . . are you meeting a man?'

Still stunned by the unprecedented compliment, Natalie was almost tempted to tell her mother everything. The urge to unburden to Sandy the truth about the momentous occasion that she was about to embark on was so great that she nearly couldn't resist it.

But this was still Sandy she was talking to. Still the woman who told a boy she once brought home from school that she had written that she loved him over a hundred times in her secret diary.

Just because at that moment she wasn't half-cut and spouting a load of rubbish, it didn't mean that she wouldn't revert to type at any moment. Her seemingly spontaneous compliment was probably just a cunning trap to try to lure Natalie into divulging information that could later be used against her. All Natalie had to do was to think of how her mother had behaved around Gary (while quietly editing out her own behaviour on that front) to remind herself what Sandy was really like. No, it was too dangerous to trust her with anything so important.

‘Not a
man
man,' she said cagily. ‘A business contact. Alice asked me to step in. She's got the collection to sort out for the show and it's just a one-off meeting. A business dinner, that's all. I won't be long. You will stay sober until I get in, won't you?'

Sandy sighed. ‘Well, don't stay out too long,' she said. ‘I can't promise anything after ten o'clock.'

Natalie tasted the thick and tangy tomato juice on the back of her tongue as she watched the clock behind the bar, waiting for what seemed like an aeon for it to be eight o'clock. At last the hour hand clicked into place and she knew that every second that passed now made it one more second that she was officially late. It was a small gesture of rebellion, but one that made her feel a little better nevertheless.

She stood. She straightened her shoulders, she lifted her chin and made her way to the place where Jack was staying.

‘This is the moment,' she said as her finger hovered over the buzzer. ‘This is it.'

Despite being prepared for not being prepared for anything, it turned out that what Natalie was least prepared for happened the minute that Jack opened the front door of the apartment.

He kissed her. And not just on the cheek.

He planted a kiss full on her lips. Not with tongues or anything overtly sexy, but a mouth-to-mouth kiss, after which Natalie could have done with some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

‘Hello, Natalie,' Jack said, as she tried her best to look nonchalant and unconcerned, as if attractive men threw smackers her way on an hourly basis. ‘I'm here.'

‘You are indeed,' she said, catching her breath. ‘Sorry I'm late, traffic you know.'

‘You're not late,' Jack said as he stepped out into the evening and closed the door behind him. ‘You're right on time – what were you doing, waiting by the door watching the clock?' He laughed but Natalie didn't. And then Jack didn't.

‘I booked Alistair Little,' he said as they left Willoughby Street. ‘Is that OK?'

Natalie nodded and they paused on the pavement, caught in the difficulty of the moment. One thing was certainly clear. The instant easiness and spontaneous rapport that had once existed between them was now quite gone.

‘Well, then, shall we?' Jack asked her.

They walked side by side on Great Russell Street, with that awkward gait of two people who did not know each other well enough yet to be able to walk comfortably down a street together. And it wasn't surprising, considering that for most of the time they had spent together prior to this moment they had been horizontal.

‘Looks like the weather is improving,' Natalie said.

‘Mmm,' Jack replied. Small talk too, it seemed, would take a little while to find its flow.

The evening was clear, but an earlier shower had left a mirrored slick on the streets and roads, reflecting the lights of the city as they walked, not quite in step. Natalie kept her head down, watching the toes of her boots as she went, trying hard to think of how she was going to say what needed to be said. She decided that there was almost no way to say it, or at least only one way, which, though utterly obvious, seemed impossibly hard.

‘I've missed London while I've been away,' Jack said suddenly, picking up her hand and tucking it through his arm as if he was determined to move their stilted reacquaintance on. ‘I suppose loads of famous people, poets and writers and such have probably said it a million times better, but it's so full of life. Chock-full to the brim with millions of heartbeats. Of course, it's not as beautiful or as romantic as Venice, or as glamorous and slick as New York, but it has just as much style. It's got this collective spirit. It's . . . indomitable. Makes me feel glad to be alive.' He stopped for a second and looked down at Natalie. ‘Glad to be here with you. It's good to see you, Natalie. It's good to be walking next to you down the street and I'm sorry if I've been a bit odd or awkward since we bumped into each other. It was just that I didn't expect to see you there, I wasn't prepared.'

He smiled at her and Natalie couldn't help but return his smile, even though she wished she knew what it was he had to be prepared for. His smile, she noticed, was not quite the same smile that had charmed her as she sat beneath a Venetian sunset all those months ago. His face was even leaner now, his eyes less uncertain and more intense. It was as if he had lived through many experiences in the twelve or so months that had passed since she had seen him last. She would have been glad if this new, unknown experience that was etched on his face hadn't suited him, but unfortunately it did. Never storybook handsome, Jack somehow looked stronger, more comfortable within himself – despite the tiredness in his eyes. He looked stunning; not a word that Natalie normally applied to men but the only one she could think of when it came to Jack Newhouse. Stunning.