Hayley could see that Lucas was already bristling with irritation within five minutes of waiting to check their bags in. He despised waiting for anything. Changed days. When they’d first met, and in their first couple of years together, he’d been so much more laid-back. If they got held up, they’d just plonk themselves down on their backpacks and chat or listen to music while they waited. Delays hadn’t pleased him back then, but, at least, he didn’t go straight to grinding teeth and darting eyes, searching out someone important he could complain to. Sometimes the change in him still surprised her. It had started as soon as he began getting a bit of power at work, and sometimes Hayley wasn’t sure any more which Lucas was the real one – the cool guy she’d met back then, surfing at the beach, or the one who was so wrapped up in his own mind that he was wound tighter than a drum. Although, she knew which one she preferred.
‘Why the fuck are we not in business class?’ he hissed, staring at the priority queue for first-class and business-class passengers.
Hayley’s heart sank. They’d already had this argument when she’d booked it, but he’d probably forgotten. He had so much other stuff on his mind.
‘Because business class was fully booked,’ she told him, keeping her voice calm and even. It was like trying to defuse a bomb before it went off, never sure if you were about to cut the right wire. Red or blue? Fury or understanding?
This time, she didn’t have to find out, as one of the furthest away desks freed up, and the agent behind it beckoned them over, defusing Lucas instantly. To strangers, he was all charm and suave Alpha male.
They both handed their passports to the agent and waited as he checked them. Or rather, Hayley waited, while Lucas turned on the charm.
‘Can I just check if there are any upgrades available? We tried to book business class, but it was full. I’m more than happy to pay for it – I’m not looking for a freebie.’ He finished that with the smile that she’d seen him turn on with every patient, every restaurant manager, every highbrow colleague, his mother and just about anyone else he wanted to impress, reassure or get something from.
‘I’ll just check, Mr…’ The agent glanced at Lucas’s passport. ‘Sorry, Doctor Ford.’
Another blinding smile and Hayley felt her heart sink a little as she saw that the agent was genuinely trying to help him. In term time, and in the summer holiday camps she ran for children in struggling areas, she spent all day, every day, with kids who could never dream of jetting off to St Lucia for their holidays, and yet here he was, totally dissatisfied because he didn’t have a fold-down bed and china plates. This was yet another example of how Dr Ford always got what he wanted. At least, almost always. Her reproductive system wasn’t being quite as co-operative as the bloke who was currently trying to shift them to better seats.
‘Sir, I’m very sorry…’ The agent paused, squinted at the screen again, then sighed. ‘I’m afraid first class is full, and we only have one seat available in business class. It’s a very busy flight.’
Ah, that was that then. Nothing ventured. They could just sit in the seats she’d booked in premium economy, order a couple of glasses of good wine and make the most of it. It wasn’t exactly a hardship.
‘Not to worry…’ Hayley began, then realised that, although he’d turned to look at her, Lucas wasn’t listening to what she was saying because he was talking over the top of her.
‘Darling, would you mind?’
‘Would I mind what?’ It should have been obvious really, but he completely caught her off guard. He couldn’t possibly be going there with this. Could he?
‘Would you mind if I upgraded? It will give me the chance to do some work and to rest before we get there.’
The guy behind the counter was watching her reaction, one eyebrow raised in surprise, and Hayley knew exactly what he was thinking. Don’t do it, love. Don’t let him take you for a chump.
Lucas was still arguing his motion to proceed. ‘It’s just been such a long week.’
And there she’d been, skipping through daisies all week as she spent forty hours teaching at a dance and drama summer camp for special needs teenagers – although, in fairness, she’d loved every minute of it – and then the rest of her waking hours getting the house sorted and the packing organised for this trip.
She was still way too conscious of the glare of the man behind the desk. It sat somewhere between pity and disapproval and it was making her cheeks burn. Or maybe that was down to her husband being a complete and utter dick.
She did the only think she could possibly do in that moment – she tried to save face. ‘Of course I don’t mind.’ She did. ‘I’ve downloaded some great books on my Kindle that I’m dying to read.’ She hadn’t. ‘I probably won’t even notice you’re gone.’ Oh, she definitely would.
He leant down and kissed her on the top of the head. ‘That’s amazing, thank you.’
That’s amazing. Not you’re amazing. Hayley felt hot tears spring to her bottom lids, but she blinked them away. She damn well would not cry. She wouldn’t. No way. Neither Lucas bloody Ford… Sorry, Doctor bloody Lucas bloody Ford, nor Mr Judgement behind the desk were going to get the satisfaction of seeing her weep. Instead, she kept a 100 per cent fake smile on her face while the desk agent printed off a new boarding pass for her husband, replacing the one he had on his phone.
‘There you go, Dr Ford. I see you’re a member of our executive club, so I’m happy to waive the upgrade fee on this occasion. And, of course, you’re welcome to use the club lounge before your flight. You can sign Mrs Lucas in as your guest at the desk.’
His guest? The check in guy was trying to be nice and smooth the situation over but he had probably just unwittingly summed up this whole bloody situation. It was Lucas Ford’s world, and she was just a bloody guest in it. Hayley felt her face begin to burn. Her husband was acting like a prize asshole and she was just having to smile and go along with it.
‘Thank you, you’ve been excellent.’ Lucas fired back his most sincere nod of appreciation, then practically skipped away from the desk. ‘Right, let’s go grab a drink and maybe a bit of brunch before we board,’ he suggested, with not even so much as an apology for ditching her.
Why? Why did she let him do this to her? When had he become this guy, this unbearable tit? She was absolutely sure that the man she fell in love with was under there somewhere, but it was getting harder and harder to dig her way through to him.
But then, he hadn’t got what he bargained for either in this marriage. She had enough self-awareness to know that her guilt and devastation over being unable to get pregnant had changed her and caused a shift in their relationship. It was only natural that he would pull away from her. She’d read somewhere that 30 per cent of couples struggling with infertility end up in the divorce courts and she believed it. The stress was incomparable.
They’d be fine, though. She’d get pregnant, Lucas would check back into their marriage and go back to being the sweet guy she’d fallen in love with. Okay, maybe he was never sweet. Let’s just say, the incredibly sexy, fun guy she’d fallen in love with.
Barely more than a few sentences were exchanged between them in the two hours they were in the club lounge. Lucas had a glass of wine – his one concession to being on holiday was a decadent daytime vino. Normally Hayley would decline – she wasn’t much of a drinker and she’d abstained altogether since the beginning of her fertility treatments. Today, though, she was making an exception to the alcohol ban, because right there and then, she’d decided that she bloody deserved it.
Lucas obviously noticed her glass of Prosecco. She could have opted for champagne, but this didn’t feel like anything worth celebrating. Besides, she’d never developed a taste for it. Just like some other aspects of her life now.
‘Darling, remember, I talked about this. We recommend staying away from alcohol when you’re trying to get pregnant.’
She wanted to point out that in the annals of history, there were probably billions of women around the world who had only got pregnant because of alcohol. She didn’t engage in the argument.
‘I’m sure just one will be fine,’ she replied through a tight smile and gritted teeth. He responded with a disapproving shake of the head, which made her want to take her Prosecco and tip it over his bloody head. But she didn’t. Waste of good wine. Instead, she gave herself a talking-to.
Okay, so not the start you were hoping for here. But he’s stressed, he’s preoccupied and he’s trying his best. The whole reason you’re both on this holiday is to give you the time and space to cut off from the world and hope that the sun, sea and sand will help you to relax.
He’s taking the time off for you and he’s doing it because he loves you. It doesn’t matter a toss what seat you sit in to get there. What matters is that tonight you’re going to go to bed in a bungalow on the shore, with the waves crashing on the sands outside, and he’s going to be very naked, and so are you, and you’re going to make love until the sun comes up. Just you and him. The way it used to be.
You’re going to be the carefree spirit that you used to be and he’ll be that guy again, the one you fell in love with, the one who adored you and swept you off your feet. Those two people are going to emerge from all the strains and stresses of the last couple of years and you’re going to find each other again. And then you’re going to go home and in two weeks, three weeks, maybe a month, you’re going to see a second line on a pregnancy test.
That was what was going to happen. She just had to keep believing it.
Lucas glanced up from his newspaper and checked his watch. ‘Time to go.’
She still had about a third of her glass of Prosecco sitting in front of her, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she picked it up and knocked it back, ignoring his tight jaw of disapproval. Sod him. The speech she’d just given herself might not have sanded off all the spikes of resentment she was feeling. She was an understanding, accommodating wife, not a fricking angel.
They made their way from the club lounge to the departure gate and got there just as a boarding call was being announced for groups one and two. She checked the boarding pass on her phone. Group five. They could just grab a seat and…
‘Ah, that’s me, darling. Group two.’ He reached over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I’ll pop back and see you as soon as we’re in the air. Thanks for being so great about it. Love you.’
And off he strode, leaving her standing there on her own.
Hayley could feel her heart rate increase, her anger beginning to rise, her outrage working its way through every single cell of her body.
He. Wasn’t. Even. Going. To. Wait. With. Her.
There was a group of three ladies sitting over to her right, and she suddenly realised they were watching this play out in front of them, wide-eyed and intrigued. The suave, incredibly attractive tall guy in the casual suit kissing the woman goodbye and striding off onto the airplane. She could hear the questions they were asking themselves in their own minds and she didn’t like the answers to any of them.
Something inside her snapped. From her bag, she pulled out the second mini bottle of Prosecco that she’d slipped in there when they were back in the club lounge, opened the top and took a swig. Fuck it. If that’s how he wanted to play this, that was fine by her, because right now she was sick of being the good wife. For this flight, she wasn’t going to be Dr Ford’s wife. Nope. She was just going to be Hayley. The old version. The one who didn’t wake up with a knot of anxiety in her gut and then feel it grow by the hour throughout the day. For the next nine hours, she was just going to chill out, maybe drink a little, watch some movies and enjoy every minute of it. She was going to be Hayley Parker, the old version, before Dr Lucas Ford had married her and her ovaries had gone on strike.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for your patience. At this time, can we ask all passengers in groups four and five to come forward for boarding.’
Hayley threw back another slug of wine, caring not a jot that the three women who’d been watching her goodbye with Lucas now had their eyes on sticks. Let them judge. She reached down, grabbed her huge white Valentino tote bag, grinned, winked at them and headed to the gate. She bleeped her mobile boarding card through the scanner while the nice lady at the gate checked her passport and wished her an enjoyable flight.
‘Thank you. I’m sure it’ll be wonderful,’ she told her, meaning it, while hoping that her wine breath didn’t knock the poor woman out.
There was a minor traffic jam on the airbridge at embarkation, but when she reached the front, the attendant directed her to the right. She didn’t even glance left, no desire to see her husband living it up in business class. Keep moving, Hayley, keep moving.
She followed the directed path, across the galley, turn right, first row in the next cabin. When she got there, she saw that there was already someone else in the row. A guy. Shoulder-length, tousled hair. Black T-shirt. Beat-up jeans and boots. A couple of silver rings on his fingers. A whole ‘rock dude’ thing going on. She almost laughed. If you could imagine a guy who was completely opposite to Lucas in every way, this was probably it. Excellent. The last thing she needed was a reminder of the husband who was currently missing in action. Or, at least, missing in business class.
‘Excuse me, I think I’m in the seat next to you,’ she said.
He glanced up, then nodded. No smile.
Fine. She couldn’t care less.
While he was standing up, she grabbed her wine, her Kindle and her phone out of her bag and then stretched up to put it in the overhead bin. One of the perils of being five foot four – overhead bins were a stretch.
The unsmiling bloke reached out towards her. ‘Let me help you with that.’
‘Nope, I’m fine,’ she snapped. Shit, where had that come from? She was never rude. She was just altogether sick of men, of being told what to do, of the whole fricking world.
The guy… he reminded her of a young Jim Morrison, maybe? Her slightly hippy, sex therapist mother had loved The Doors. Played their music all the time when she was younger. Anyway, he just shrugged, stood back and waited until she was organised.
When they finally sat down, him on the outside, her on the seat inside him, she realised he smelled of toothpaste. At least he was hygienic, because by the look of his stormy face, he wasn’t going to be the chatty fun type. Suited her fine. For the next nine hours, all she was going to care about was herself. But still…
‘I’m Hayley,’ she told him. Duh. She blamed the Prosecco and her complete inability to be impolite. ‘Sorry if I snapped there. Rough day.’
‘No worries,’ he shrugged. Irish accent. The ‘Bang Bang’ summer of Jessie J, Ariana and Nicki on Bondi Beach had been with an Irish guy she’d adored. Long hair, a bit like this one. Colm had been a laugh a minute though. Somehow, she wasn’t getting the same vibe here. This guy barely smiled. He gave off no sense of friendliness at all. Hayley disliked him already. In fact, she barely reacted when he finally reciprocated her introduction in a dismissive tone that made it quite clear that he had no interest in chatting.
‘I’m Tadgh.’