58

Stella was outside with Arthur on Sunday afternoon, trimming back the ice plant by the hedge on the right-hand border of the garden. It was a stunning day, the autumn sun still warm, but a light breeze blew pleasantly cool on her sweaty face. She was working hard and fast, had been since early – as soon as she’d cleared the breakfast – needing to find physical relief from the turmoil in her head.

‘Here’s another one, sweetheart.’ She reached forward across the bush to hand Arthur a faded pink flower head, the spiky petals soggy and papery from the previous day’s rain.

Arthur took it and threw it into the wheelbarrow. ‘We’ve got lots now, Bibi. The bonfire’s going to be huge.’ He threw his arms in the air to demonstrate just how huge, then went back to stamping with his yellow wellington boots on a molehill on the wet lawn.

Stella stopped for a moment, secateurs in her gloved hand, and looked across the garden. She’d done well enough over the summer, in her attempt to retrieve the plants from the wilderness. But there was still so much to do. And all of it made her think of Iain. They had not been in touch. In her entanglement with Jack, she had paid so little attention to her partner. But he was always there, in the background, up for a call about which plant to prune, supporting her when she was worried about Eve, listening to her family gossip. She had taken him so much for granted.

About Jack, she could hardly bear to think. Lisa’s pregnancy had cut her to the quick. She felt as if Jack had been playing her all summer, when all the while he’d been carelessly fucking his wife, making a baby he didn’t want. It was such crap behaviour, it made her gasp for air just thinking about it.

But despite the disgust she felt, she could not help her heart breaking for what might have been. She had not been brave enough to admit to Jack how she felt about him, but clearly it was just as well she hadn’t.

Now she had to play nice. Jack and Lisa were dropping round later, to give Eve her present, and she would have to pull herself together – for Eve’s sake. She would have to coo and smile and hug and generally enthuse about the baby. She would have to look Jack in the eye. How the hell will I do it? she screamed silently. Could she be ill and skulk upstairs in her bedroom with a pretend cold, maybe a stomach upset? Eve said they wouldn’t be staying long. But part of her wanted to confront Jack, see the guilt in his eyes as she smiled sweetly and said how simply marvellous it was that he was going to be a father again. Let him know with what utter contempt she viewed him.

The day stayed fine, the evening sky shot with gold and pink as dusk settled on the terrace. Eric had laid the nibbles outside on the garden table: crisps, olives with chili and pimento, quail’s eggs still in their shells, a bowl of carrot, celery and courgette batons with a hummus dip, some smoked salmon on little squares of granary bread and a pile of seedless tangerines.

‘Looks lovely,’ Stella remarked when she came down after a shower.

Eric must have heard the strain in her voice, because he eyed her anxiously as he polished the wine glasses and set them carefully on the worktop.

‘Are you OK with seeing them?’

Stella gave him a wry smile. ‘Needs must.’ She sat down. ‘I promise I won’t kick off and make a scene,’ she joked half-heartedly.

Eric raised his eyebrows. ‘Of course not,’ he said, looking slightly alarmed at the thought.

She assumed he knew about her and Jack, although they had not had the conversation. It made her blush to the roots of her hair, knowing that everyone – even Lisa, perhaps – was aware of what had gone on between them. It felt almost sleazy, at their age, to have been sneaking around like that. And worse, she felt like a complete mug.

Lisa and Jack looked dreadful. Lisa was pale and drawn, her make-up, although beautifully applied as usual, sat on her pretty face like a mask. Jack looked unkempt, his broad shoulders slumped, his greying hair in need of a comb. Both of them wore the forced smiles of people who would rather have been anywhere else in the world, but were determined to make sure nobody found out.

Lisa said virtually nothing, just clung to Jack’s hand, leaving her husband to do all the talking, his chatter – after the initial wave of awkward congratulations – about anything that did not relate to the baby they were expecting: the microscopic elephant in the room.

Stella hovered on the sidelines. When they arrived, she had hugged Lisa with genuine warmth, feeling an odd mixture of guilt and pity. For Jack, she had pecked vaguely in the direction of his cheek, holding him at arm’s length. She had not met his eye. As they danced this ritual greeting, she felt his hand on her shoulder, his fingers clutching at her flesh, almost painful in their desperation. But she would not look up.

They drank wine – Lisa, an elderflower spritzer – crunched on crisps, peeled eggs, dipped batons and made desultory conversation as they stood about on the terrace. Eve opened the present her father brought: an elegant, antique silver photo frame containing an image of little Mairi asleep in her mother’s arms – which Stella remembered Jack taking the day of the baby’s tea party. Then, around the time the sun dipped beneath the horizon, leaving the party in shadow and aware of the evening chill, the conversation flagged and Eve, finally, plunged in.

‘So, come on, Lisa, tell us! When’s the actual due date? April? May?’

Lisa looked taken aback, glancing around as if she thought Eve had mistaken her for someone else. She seemed to struggle with a reply.

‘Maybe too early to know for definite?’ Eve went on helpfully. ‘I couldn’t remember when I had my last period with Arthur. It wasn’t till I had the first scan that I got a proper date.’

‘You’re, what, not quite two months?’ Jack intervened, sitting with Arthur on his knee. As he looked at his wife, Stella saw him give a small, almost imperceptible shrug.

Lisa, ignoring Jack, gave Eve a grateful smile. ‘Me too! My periods are always rubbish. I didn’t really want Jack telling anyone till the twelve weeks were up.’ There was definite chastisement in her words.

Jack looked sheepish and helped himself to a tangerine, tearing the skin off as if his life depended on it, then offering the peeled fruit to Arthur.

‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Eve said soothingly. ‘But it is a nerve-wracking time. Have you been sick?’

Lisa nodded. ‘Once or twice, just certain things – like bacon, for instance – make me feel a bit queasy.’ Again, a reproving look was sent in her husband’s direction, and Stella remembered that Lisa rarely ate bacon.

She got up, excusing herself to everyone with a smile, suddenly unable to take another minute of baby talk about Jack’s child. She saw Eve glance up at her, eyebrows raised in concern, but Stella, trying not to rush with indecent haste, kept going, through the kitchen, up the stairs and into her bedroom. Once inside, she quickly shut the door and leaned heavily against it, as if keeping out the Viking hordes. I won’t go down until they’re safely gone, she thought, as she threw herself on to the bed.

But the desolation she felt – realizing properly for the first time that this pregnancy was real – was like a dull twisting in her gut.

Stella did not hear the knock. She must have dozed off to the sounds of voices coming up from the garden, the chink of glasses, the baby’s cry. When she opened her eyes, he was looming there, beside the bed, the room almost dark. She let out a soft cry, quickly sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Without asking permission, Jack sat down beside her, his hands clasped in his lap.

‘I’m so sorry, Stella.’

She swallowed. ‘Why, Jack? Why did you do it?’ She spoke softly. She just wanted to know.

‘I didn’t do anything. We always used a condom. Always. I honestly don’t know how it happened.’

‘Sex, perhaps? That’s usually the way it works.’

She heard him sigh. ‘Be sarcastic all you like. I’m telling you, I was incredibly careful.’

But you were still having sex, she thought, bitterly, while you were implying you cared for me.

‘So things weren’t as bad as you made out, between you and Lisa.’

‘Don’t, Stella.’ Silence. ‘Yes, we were still having sex. But not very often.’

Jack sounded exhausted. ‘I was on the verge of telling her when she sprang this on me.’

‘Well …’ Stella’s voice was brisk as she got up off the bed. She wanted to scream at him, to beat him to a pulp for his casual male lust. ‘You’d better get back, your wife will be wondering where you are.’

Jack rose to his feet, but he didn’t speak. They stood face to face in the fading light, not quite touching, for what seemed like an eternity. She saw the desolate expression in his eyes and felt her own fill with tears.

‘Go!’ she cried after a while. ‘For God’s sake, Jack. Just go.’

Jack brought his hand up and cradled her cheek, his thumb gently brushing away the tears. She heard him make a small sound in his throat. ‘Go,’ she repeated softly.