Selena had rehearsed what to say. She had imagined the perfect outcome, hoped for it with all her being: David would be delighted with the news, a baby, a new future for them both, away from Manchester, away from Veronica. She’d believed a new start was everything they had both wanted. She had been wrong. His eyes had darkened with anger; he’d shouted, she’d protested, he’d sulked, she’d cajoled, then he’d held her away from him and hissed, ‘No, Selena. It can’t happen. I didn’t sign up for this. I’m sorry, but I can’t do it. It’s not what I want.’ Then he had picked up his coat and left without another word, like a slap to the face.
Now, much later, as she gazed through the bedroom window at the night sky, at the busy road below, cars passing, people’s lives continuing normally, Selena was numb. The harsh tone of David’s voice still echoed in her ears. His mind had been made up in an instant, and she still couldn’t believe the shock of it all.
Selena crawled into bed and stared into darkness, unable to sleep, unable to stop her mind racing. The conversation was playing over and over again, as if it was still happening, although David had left hours ago. She had watched him turn away, noticing the stubborn set of his shoulders as he closed the door. How had it gone so badly when she had imagined he’d take her in his arms and promise to look after her? She’d hoped this would be the reason he would finally leave his wife.
Selena rolled over, her hands cradling her abdomen; the baby was not showing yet at seven weeks. She asked herself how she felt, and immediately three powerful emotions charged back at her. She was hurt: David had broken her heart, along with all her hopes and dreams. She felt foolish: she should have seen the signs. Claire had warned her: once she’d discovered that David was married, she knew that it was wrong to love him. Then she felt a happiness, a lightness: she was expecting a baby, a new life, and it filled her with joy. The three emotions battled for supremacy. Of course, the baby won hands down, but Selena felt deeply hurt and embarrassingly foolish.
She heard the door to the apartment click: Claire, her flatmate, was keeping late hours: she had been to a party. Selena’s first thought was to slip out of bed, reach for her dressing gown, run to Claire, hug her and burst into tears. Claire would fling her arms around her, give her a shoulder to cry on; she would say ‘I told you so.’ And it was true, Claire had repeated it, many times: a relationship with a married man was bound to end in tears, especially one like David, often self-absorbed, uncommitted and capable of manipulation. But Selena had not meant to fall in love with a married man. David had not mentioned his wife for the first six months, then, out of the blue, he had held her hand tenderly, gazed into her eyes and told her he had something he desperately needed to tell her. He promised that he truly loved her, that he and Veronica were long over, that his wife was vulnerable, brittle, and he was waiting for the right moment to leave. They no longer shared anything together, not their lives, not their bed: the marital home was an empty, loveless shell. Selena had believed him eagerly, loved him passionately, she had trusted him completely. Then, a month later, she’d discovered that she was pregnant.
Selena heard a soft thump, a muffled expletive. Claire had probably stubbed a toe: no doubt she had drunk a few glasses of wine. Tonight was not the best time to ask for sympathy. Selena would talk to her tomorrow.
She rolled over in bed because her phone was buzzing: David! She had texted him earlier, twice, begging him to reconsider, and now he had answered. She grabbed her phone from the bedside table, imagining a frantic apology, promises of love: he would tell her he had reacted stupidly; he’d changed his mind – everything would be all right. But the number wasn’t one she recognised.
She held the phone to her ear and mumbled ‘Hello.’ There was no reply, just silence, the strange sound of someone listening, then the line crackled, dead. Selena groaned, wondering who would call a wrong number at almost two o’clock in the morning. She cradled her belly and squeezed her eyes shut. Sleep was the best option, but it would not come easily.
The following day, Selena’s sleepless night showed in her bleary eyes as she hunched over the breakfast table in her dressing gown clutching a cup of peppermint tea, her red hair held back in a ponytail, her brow smudged with tiredness.
Claire, in contrast, was bright-eyed and fully dressed. Her spiky blonde crop was damp from the shower as she stood by the worktop pouring black coffee. She told Selena what she already knew. ‘You look like death. I assume it went badly with David.’
‘Worse than badly.’ Selena’s eyes filled with tears again. ‘I’ve been so stupid, haven’t I?’
‘You know you have,’ Claire said kindly, sitting across the table, reaching over and taking her hand. ‘What did he say?’
‘Basically…’ Selena shook her head. ‘He doesn’t want to have a child with me; it was unplanned, and he said – what was his phrase? – “I didn’t sign up for this.” Then he suggested I was trying to trap him. Do you know…’ her eyes widened, ‘… he even said that his wife would be devastated if she knew he had a pregnant girlfriend because she can’t have children. In all of this, he put Veronica first, and that tells me what I already suspected, that he has no intention of leaving her.’
Claire wrinkled her nose. ‘Do you think she knows about the two of you?’
‘She doesn’t. He’s been promising for the last month to tell her when the time was right. There was always something – her mother was ill, then she was too fragile. And, of course, I trusted him. But now…’ A tear slipped down her cheek.
‘Now what?’ Claire sipped her coffee, her expression quizzical. ‘What are your plans?’
‘I’ve learned a hard lesson.’ Selena wiped the tear away with the back of her hand. Another tear followed quickly. ‘But I’ll bring up my baby alone. I can manage – oh, my goodness, Claire – I never thought – this is your flat. I’ll find somewhere else…’
‘Don’t even think about it.’ Claire’s tone was firm. ‘You’ll stay here. You can look after the baby and keep painting. We have the gallery together. You are in a strong position financially. Look at everything as a positive, Selena.’ She squeezed her hand. ‘It’s a baby, a new life. That’s so exciting.’
‘I wanted to share it with David. I hoped we’d find our own place together; I hoped…’ Selena took a deep breath. ‘Oh, I’ve been so stupid. I should have left him as soon as I found out that he was married.’
‘Okay. Positive thinking.’ The toaster ejected bread and Claire was on her feet, knife poised, spreading butter. ‘We’ll go down to the gallery together and sell some paintings. The latest ones you’ve done are attracting so much interest, the landscapes, Pendle, North Yorkshire.’
Selena sighed. ‘All painted from photos I took when I was with David.’
‘David’s let you down. He promised so much, but he just never came up with the goods, did he?’
Selena shook her head miserably. ‘I truly believed that he wanted a new start with me. He swept me off my feet. How could I have been so naïve?’
‘He’s unreliable. And selfish. Seriously, there are better people out there, trustworthy men, nice ones – or no man at all. That’s a choice too.’
Selena nodded weakly. ‘David was a terrible choice – you always said that.’
‘Even before he told you he was married – and how long into your relationship did you discover that nugget of information? Six months?’
‘Yes – he always had to be somewhere else, and I just believed what he told me, that he was travelling for work, staying in hotels, photographing different locations. I can’t believe how deluded and pathetic I’ve been,’ Selena said. ‘And when I found out he had a wife, it was too late. I was in love with him. And he told me not to worry, he was going to leave her…’
Claire sighed. ‘I have to say, I always knew he was a liar, with his flowers and flattery and that soft wheedling voice he has.’
‘You told me often enough,’ Selena admitted. ‘We don’t have much luck in love, do we, Claire?’
‘Let’s not go there, regretting things, feeling sorry for ourselves. Our luck is fine. We’re single, independent, solvent.’ Claire hooted a laugh, the wave of her hands dismissive, carefree. ‘I’m over a bad marriage. I have this flat; we share a business that’s doing really well, our paintings sell like hot cakes. You have a baby on the way. It all looks good from where I’m standing.’
‘Do you really think so?’ Selena wasn’t sure. ‘We both left uni – what – fifteen years ago? This isn’t how I thought things would be by the time I was thirty-eight. A single mum-to-be, painting my pictures in your flat…’
‘We’re fine.’ Claire’s mouth was full of toast. ‘Come on – get dressed and we’ll go down to the gallery, open up, make some money, chat to some clients.’
‘That’s where I met David. He was so interested in my paintings, in me, so charming and attentive.’
‘The D-word is banned.’
‘But what if he comes in to see me? What if he apologises, says he’s sorry and he’s changed his mind?’ Selena was surprised to hear the hopefulness in her voice. She was annoyed with herself, with her weakness where David was concerned.
Claire laughed again. ‘So what if he does? You tell him where to go. He’s let you down. He’s spineless.’
‘You’re right. But I feel so – dreadful.’ The tears still shone in Selena’s eyes. She took a breath, now determined. ‘Yes, okay, just give me twenty minutes to get my act together. I can do this. Life goes on.’ Her phone buzzed and Selena picked it up, murmuring a hello, listening for a moment, then she put it back on the table. ‘Nothing. Just silence. How odd.’
‘Wrong number,’ Claire said. ‘Come on – let’s get Saturday underway. We have a living to make – three mouths to feed.’
Claire winked and Selena eased herself up into a standing position. Her back was aching and she felt lethargy creep into her muscles and settle there, but she would put her best foot forward. Claire was right. She’d give herself a month to get over the heartache, then she’d be fine.
An hour later, Selena and Claire had opened the doors to Ariel Art, their gallery in a lively bohemian street close to the centre of Manchester. Claire had filled the coffee machine, which was bubbling away at the back of the gallery, the aroma of Arabica beans filling the shop. A few customers had arrived, perusing the paintings on the wall. Several pictures were Claire’s, bold images in the Social Realism style: gaunt families, distorted faces, splashes of bright colour. There were many other artists’ work, Cubist, Abstract, African art, but it was usually Selena’s paintings that took people’s breath away as they stared at stark landscapes, dark moody hills, low-hanging skies, turbulent storms.
She was seated on a stool, watching an older couple gaze at her interpretation of Pendle Hill, murmuring in low voices. Claire strode across to talk to them confidently, all crimson smile, tight jeans and shining blonde crop. Selena was feeling cold; she rubbed her hands together briskly. It was a blowy March morning outside, a few leaves and a stray piece of litter whirled up in the wind; she shivered. Despite being wrapped in a shawl, a long dress and thick boots, her bones ached. As she watched Claire chattering animatedly to the couple who were praising Selena’s painting, she suddenly felt weary.
Selena gazed around the little gallery, once a second-hand clothes shop which she and Claire had chosen for its perfect location and wide, double-fronted windows. They had painted the whole place sail-white, installed gold lighting and marvelled at how popular their project had quickly become. That had been ten years ago: Claire had been married to a musician called Ross and Selena had been living with Flynn, who had been her boyfriend since university.
So much had changed since then: her life had been a steady merry-go-round of unsuccessful partners, every relationship beginning with new hope and inevitably ending badly. The gallery and Claire were the only constants in her life.
Claire was talking to the cheerful couple; a bearded middle-aged man was loitering near the coffee machine. A professional-looking woman with huge round glasses was gazing at Selena’s painting of the Yorkshire Moors, Robin Hood’s Bay, another place she’d visited with David. A woman swathed in a black coat had just entered the gallery, her dark hair and sunglasses making her look a little like a sixties film star, like Jackie O.
Selena caught Claire’s eye, noticing the small wiggle of her finger as she called her over. ‘Perhaps you’d like the artist to tell you a little about the painting?’
Selena moved across to the couple, the slim woman in a smart suit, the man in a heavy overcoat with a neat goatee beard.
The woman’s eyes shone. ‘Oh, I know exactly where this view is. Pendle Hill is such an incredibly atmospheric place. I love the way you’ve captured the mystery and the magic of the place.’
The man agreed. ‘I was born near there, in Blackburn. Daphne and I know the area well. It’s a fabulous painting, so bleak and beautiful. When did you paint it?’
‘Last winter. I went there with my b— with my brushes and paints,’ Selena said. ‘Yes, Pendle Hill is such a great place to paint. The scenery somehow pulls you in.’
‘Oh, it does – once you’re there, you feel so swept up in the history of it all.’ The woman smiled at her husband. ‘We should buy it, Bob – it would be lovely in the hall.’
‘We saw it on your website,’ the man added. ‘We both thought then that we’d have it.’ He gave a light laugh. ‘We’ll spend the inheritance before the grandchildren get it.’
‘Great idea,’ Claire enthused. ‘Selena’s landscapes don’t hang around in the gallery for long.’
There was a pause, then a strained voice came from behind them. ‘Selena Cain?’
Selena whirled round. The woman wearing the black coat spoke her name as she whipped off the sunglasses.
‘Yes, I’m Selena…’
‘I’m Veronica Marsh. David’s wife.’
Selena stood completely still. ‘Oh…’
‘I saw something on his phone last night – two texts from you, begging him to visit you. So, I asked him straight out and David told me everything – about how you’ve been throwing yourself at him for months, how he’s told you to leave him alone. Now I’m here to tell you to stay away.’
Selena’s legs weakened and she felt Claire move to stand next to her, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. The cheerful couple shifted closer, looking at Selena with sympathy.
Veronica stared around the gallery and back to Selena. ‘You won’t take him from me, no matter how hard you try, how often you follow him round and send him texts.’
‘What…?’ Selena’s words were suddenly sucked from her mouth.
Veronica jabbed a shaking finger in the direction of the bearded middle-aged man by the coffee machine. ‘I wouldn’t stay here – I have it on good authority that she chases everything in trousers.’ She turned her anger on Selena. ‘David has told me everything.’ Veronica whirled towards the older couple who had moved away from the painting and were staring. ‘Don’t buy anything from this woman. She’s been chasing my husband since Christmas. She rings him constantly, texts him and she stalks him non-stop. She’s fixated.’
‘That’s really… not true,’ Selena stammered.
‘You should ask David for the facts,’ Claire began, but Selena’s eyes were tearful, begging her to say no more.
‘I have, and he’s told me the truth,’ Veronica said, her voice quivering. ‘You’re nothing but a homewrecker, a man-eater, a sly scheming witch.’ She seemed to lose strength; her body sagged weakly beneath the coat and for a moment she looked close to tears. With a quick movement, she replaced her sunglasses and moved towards the door. Her voice was strained. ‘I’m going home now to be with my husband. I hope you can sleep at night after what you’ve done.’
The door slammed, a light chime of the bell, and Claire helped Selena back to her stool, sitting her down with a gentle pat on the shoulder, then she turned to the customers and flashed a smile. ‘Local theatre group, practising their latest amateur dramatics.’ She whispered, ‘Sit tight, Selena. I’ll get you a peppermint tea in a minute. She’s said her piece. She won’t be back.’ Claire offered the older couple a charming smile. ‘So, do you want to buy the Pendle painting? I’m so sorry about the interruption by the fishwife.’
Selena watched, in a daze, as the couple spoke softly to Claire, approaching the till, taking out a credit card. She put a hand to her brow; the room was spinning in front of her like a fairground carousel and she felt light-headed. She could hear the echo of voices as people mumbled, Claire’s light chatter, the woman’s sympathetic tutting as she gazed across at Selena. Then she felt something move deep in her abdomen, a tightening cramp, a gripping and a sudden letting go. Then she felt the trickle of blood.