The Baby Group (37 page)

Gary's brow furrowed.

‘That's horrible,' he said. ‘I know what that's like.'

Natalie looked up at him. ‘Do you?' she asked.

He nodded and she saw in his face the echo of a past pain. ‘It takes a lot to get over it. I'm not really over it now. I mean, I don't miss my ex any more. But it's my girl. I've got access rights but she moved away. I can't find my daughter, I think she's gone overseas. I haven't seen her in years . . .' Gary took a deep breath. ‘I'm worried that she thinks I don't love her.'

Natalie looked at him then and this time it was her hand that rested on his shoulder.

‘That's awful,' she said.

Gary shrugged, the muscles of his shoulders moving under her palm.

‘Keep looking for her, Gary,' Natalie said. ‘Because even if you don't find her, one day she'll be big enough to come and find you, and if you can show her that you wanted her and you really tried to find her it will mean a lot to her. It will mean everything.'

‘I'll never stop trying,' Gary said with a sniff, glancing away from Natalie and perhaps brushing a tear away. ‘Look, let's not talk about me. I don't usually like to talk about it. I'm not good at talking about . . . stuff.'

‘Me neither,' Natalie said. ‘Not real stuff anyway. I'm very good at talking about nothing in particular, or making things up off the top of my head. But when it comes to talking about anything that is actually important and serious I turn into a total moron. I never seem to be able to make it happen in real life the way I see it in my head and then people get upset and cross and storm off and I'm always the one to blame somehow, even when they are quite clearly in the wrong just as much if not even more so than me and . . .' She stopped herself before she said too much, and shrugged. ‘I'm babbling. Babbling is also one of my fortes.'

He looked sideways at her and then took a breath. ‘The other night when you nearly kissed me . . .'

‘Oh, look, don't feel like you to have to start talking on my account,' Natalie interrupted him hastily.

‘I like you, Natalie,' Gary said. ‘Have done since I first saw you, even though you were all covered in crap and looked awful.'

‘Oh thanks,' Natalie said, with a small laugh. ‘You charmer, you.'

Gary blushed. ‘I'm not good at that sort of thing either,' he said.

‘I like that about you,' Natalie assured him, leaning just a little closer to him so that her bare forearm almost touched his. Gary continued looking steadily at his intertwined fingers.

‘I mean, you've got something about you, you're very attractive, a sort of . . . womanliness,' he said, obviously struggling to form the compliments.

‘Are you saying I'm fat now?' Natalie teased him gently, unable to resist.

Gary shook his head. ‘You know that's not what I'm saying. What I mean is for all your brashness and self-confidence you've got this vulnerability – a sort of fragility. Sometimes when the fronts drop you look like you need someone to put their arms around you and protect you.'

Natalie didn't speak. She couldn't. Somehow Gary had managed to encapsulate exactly how she was feeling at that moment, and the urge to have his arms around her overtook any challenge she had set herself to kiss him simply as a diversion.

‘It's obvious you're not completely happy at present,' Gary went on. ‘And I know it's because you miss your husband.' He managed to look her in the eye. ‘So what I'm saying, Natalie, is that you shouldn't lunge at any old bloke you happen to find to try to get back at him when he's not even here to know about it. You're worth more than that. If you miss him that much you should tell him to come home, tell him to pull his socks up before he loses an amazing woman and maybe even his son. Give him the chance to do the right thing. Marriages are worth working at.'

Natalie looked at Gary steadily. ‘You are an amazingly perceptive and lovely man,' she said. ‘And far,
far
too nice and kind to get involved with me and my car crash of a life but . . .'

Gary blushed deeply and Natalie thought she saw the whole of his body tense at her words.

‘What I wanted to say was that if you hadn't been married I'd have kissed you back,' he said. ‘But I make it a rule not to get involved with married women. I
know
how much it hurts people and besides, the last thing I need is angry husband on my case.'

Natalie froze for a second as she digested his words.

‘Look,' Gary went on. ‘I'm sure he'll come to his senses if you talk to him. I'm sure he would come back if you asked. Think about everything you've got. Your little boy, this house – it's too much to throw away over an electrician. Even a hot one like me.'

‘Gary.' Natalie was getting that familiar feeling in the pit of her stomach. The feeling she got whenever she was about to do something utterly insane that was bound to have all sorts of consequences she hadn't thought of until after they'd happened. How could Gary be so right and so wrong about her at the same time? She didn't know, but one thing she did know was that she didn't have a husband at all, angry or otherwise.

‘Yeah?' Gary asked her.

‘I'm not married,' Natalie told him.

‘Pardon?' Gary looked at her blankly.

‘I haven't got a husband in Dubai. I made him up because . . . well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. You were right about Freddie's dad, about how I feel about him. But he's never coming back. I'm on my own, I'm not married.'

Gary and Natalie looked at each other for a long moment.

‘Right,' Gary said.

‘I'm hardly ever that honest with anybody,' Natalie said. ‘I pretty much never tell the truth.'

‘So why now?' Gary asked her, his voice low.

‘Because it's been a horrible day, and because I think I'm sort of changing, maybe even growing up. And I'm realising that I don't need to pretend I'm someone I'm not for people to like me – at least I hope not.' She bit her lip. ‘And because I feel lonely and vulnerable and worried about what's going to happen next, and you are a nice, decent man so I thought I should tell you everything first.'

‘First?' Gary asked her, warily.

‘Yes,' Natalie said, aware that with her make-up spread across her face, her jogging bottoms on and hair that hadn't been brushed all day she must look only slightly more appealing than her mother. ‘Before I try to kiss you again.'

Gary blinked at her and before Natalie could lean forward he held her shoulders, and stopped her in her tracks.

‘Don't kiss me,' he said, looking into Natalie's eyes. There was a second's silence. ‘Let me kiss you. I'm old-fashioned that way.'

Chapter Twenty-one

Meg could not sleep.

She wanted to sleep, she longed for the oblivion of sleep more than anything, but she had to stay awake because Iris was poorly. Her nose was blocked, her head was hot and she must have been feeling very uncomfortable, the poor little mite, because as soon as Meg tried to put her down in her cot she became distraught again. So Meg had no choice but to walk her up and down the hallway, taking one step over Gripper on the way to the kitchen and one step over her on the way back towards the foot of the stairs; it felt like she had been making the trip for hours, and as she checked her watch she realised it was almost four in the morning. Gripper had been lying with her nose on her paws pointing at the front door for several hours now, which Meg had found disturbing. Normally it would be a sign that Robert was about to arrive, but she was certain that was not going to happen. Perhaps the dog sensed what was going on. Perhaps she was pining for what had been lost.

‘I've made some camomile tea,' Frances said, keeping her voice low. ‘And some toast. You need to eat.' Meg looked at the kitchen table. Frances had turned the butter out into a butter dish, made the tea in a pot and even found a napkin which she had folded next to the plate and knife she had set out for Meg.

‘You should go home,' Meg told her. ‘What about Henry?'

‘Henry will be all right with his dad for one night. Besides, you need me here now to look after you. That's what friends are for.'

Meg could not say that actually she would do better without her sister-in-law. Just having Frances here, despite how sweet and supportive she was trying to be, was exhausting. At least with Natalie or Jess, or even Tiffany and Steve, Meg would feel free to crumble, to dissolve in her misery. But with Frances in charge there was simply no room for self-pity.

‘You'll get through it,' Frances told her stoutly. ‘You have no choice. Giving up isn't an option, with four children to care for you can't put yourself first.'

Meg felt it would be impossible to explain to Frances, whose whole life seemed to have been built on those stoic foundations, that what she wanted more than anything was to give up and give in. That just for now, just for a little while, she wanted to be able to surrender to the agony that was wracking her body. Somehow, feeling the full intensity of the pain she was in would give her a cruel kind of comfort.

Frances took Iris from Meg and nodded towards the table.

‘You eat, I'll walk,' she said. ‘She must need to sleep soon. She's been crying for hours. It's not like her – she's probably sensing how unhappy you are.'

Meg sat down at the table, trying to shrug off Frances's comment which was probably meant harmlessly enough but somehow felt like an accusation. She obediently poured the hot golden liquid into her mug, laced her fingers around the cup and felt the warmth seep through the ceramic and throb against her palms.

‘You realise that if I had known anything I would have told you, don't you?' Frances asked her as she paced. Meg nodded – if she was sure about one thing it was that Robert hadn't told anyone else in his family. His parents, upright and ultraconservative, would probably disown him once they knew.

‘I can't believe that this is happening,' Frances added. ‘I honestly can't believe that he would be so stupid. If Mother and Dad find out that will be it, you know. They'll be finished with him.'

Meg laboured over buttering her toast. She wondered if it was that Frances, like her brother, simply wasn't capable of facing the real issues that his affair had created, or if she really did believe that parental approval was the most precious thing at stake here.

‘It can't be kept from them,' Meg said. ‘They will have to be told.'

Slowly and very carefully Frances sat down at the table opposite her. Iris was sleeping at last.

‘He was in a terrible state when he arrived at my house,' Frances whispered across the table. ‘Really shaken up, Meg. He felt awful.'

‘
He
felt awful? Probably only because he'd been caught,' Meg replied, tasting the bitterness of her own words in her mouth. ‘Trust me, I saw him with that woman and whatever he was feeling it wasn't awful.'

‘I know it's a horrible thing to have happened,' Frances went on. ‘And I know you must be feeling pretty low at the moment, but these things don't have to mean the end of a relationship. I know you haven't just instantly stopped loving Robert . . .'

‘Frances!' Meg cried loudly, clapping her hand over her mouth as she heard the pitch of her voice. She went on in a ragged whisper, ‘Of course I still love him, of course I do – that's why I feel as if my guts have been ripped out of my body and dragged through broken glass. That's why I feel like I want to die. It's not me stopping loving him that's the problem. He doesn't love me any more. He can't. If he did he would never have . . .' Meg trailed off.

‘He says it was just meant to be sex but that it all got out of hand and that the woman started to expect more from him. He knows he's been foolish, an idiot, but he says that he'll finish it for good if you say you'll give him another chance.'

‘You mean he hasn't done that yet?' Meg asked Frances, feeling the spark of her anger rekindling into a fierce flame in the pit of her belly. ‘You mean he's hedging his bets? Keeping his options open?'

Frances looked exasperated.

‘He still loves you, Meg. You and the children mean the world to him.'

‘He was fucking her for months, Frances.' Meg pushed the plate of toast away so hard that the plate spun and tottered on the wooden surface. ‘I think he was even with her on the day I gave birth to Iris.'

Meg knew that Frances would be appalled at her language, but she said nothing about it. Instead she took a breath and tried again.

‘It hasn't been easy for him either. He felt excluded from the family, excluded from you. He says you stopped paying him any attention.'

Meg furrowed her brow and glowered at Frances. ‘This is not my fault,' she said quietly.

‘I'm not saying that it's your fault,' Frances replied hastily. ‘All I'm saying is that there were reasons for what he's done. If he hadn't been unhappy here he would never have had an affair.'

Meg found that her foot was tapping against the tiled floor. Her fury was burning brightly now. It was new to her, this constant fury; she didn't think she had ever felt anything like it before in her life. But if it was at all possible she liked feeling it, preferred it at least, to the alternative – the excruciating sense of loss.

‘He could have told me how he felt. He could have said that our four children were taking up too much of my time. He could have said he wasn't happy. We could have talked about it, perhaps worked it out. But he didn't do that, did he?'