61

‘How was the train?’ Jack asked.

‘Yeah, good,’ Lisa replied, although she seemed evasive, twitchy and quickly changed the subject. ‘Dad sends his love. He was so pleased you came up.’

Jack doubted that very much. Jack, for Lisa’s sake, had done his best over Christmas, then wimped out of New Year. He and Lisa’s father, Neil, did not get on. He could tell the man saw them both – even his daughter – as smug media types; his jibes about journalists, London and Lisa’s celebrity clients, regular and barely veiled. Jack had felt sorry for Lisa.

‘Are you feeling OK?’ Jack asked. His wife, he thought, looked stressed out and pale, with dark circles under her eyes. ‘Shall I make you a cuppa? You look done in.’

She shook her head quickly. ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll go and have a lie-down.’

Jack let her go and went to make himself one. God, this is hard, he thought, suddenly guilty as he remembered the conversation he’d had with Stella a few days earlier. He should never have called her; it was pointless. But he couldn’t bear not having contact with her.

Things had been total crap with Lisa for months now. It wasn’t just the pregnancy. He’d decided, way back in October, to embrace that. It was the only way. No one could be angry with an unborn child. And he felt much better for making the decision. But Lisa did not seem to appreciate his efforts. It was as if she didn’t want him to be happy about the baby, to involve himself in its life. It was only because he’d insisted that she allowed him to accompany her to the twelve-week scan. If he hadn’t asked her why she was going into work so late that morning, and she had finally admitted what she was doing – after a lot of prevarication about being in a hurry and not having time to chat – he would never have known about the antenatal appointment.

But seeing the tiny curled image on the screen had filled him with wonder. My child, he’d thought, struggling to take in the concept of this miraculous new life. Lisa had not seemed similarly affected. She’d been strung out that morning, jumping when the sonographer put the cold jelly on her stomach, barely looking at the screen: it was as if she couldn’t wait to get the whole experience over with. He wondered if she would have behaved differently if he hadn’t been present.

He knew that pregnancy affected women in different ways, but she had changed so much. Gone was the slightly giggly, fun side to her character. She no longer snuggled into his side when they were watching television or in bed together – she didn’t seem to want him to touch her at all – and was regularly snappish with him, brushing him off as if he were an annoying bug. Jack was bewildered.

When she got up later that evening, wandering down in her sweatpants, an old pink jumper hiding her swelling tummy, he got her a large glass of water and sat down next to her on the sofa. She looked at him askance and moved away a little.

Jack held up his hands. ‘What’s the matter with you, Lisa? I appreciate pregnancy is a big deal … but do you have to be so hostile all the time? You just looked at me as if you thought I was about to molest you.’

She didn’t answer, just sat with her head bowed, cradling the glass with both hands. But he could see the muscle in her cheek twitching as she clenched her jaw.

‘Are you still punishing me?’ he tried again, his voice rising with frustration. ‘You know I’m totally on board with the baby now.’

She still didn’t say anything beyond a small grunt and Jack had no idea what that signified.

‘Please. Can we not do this.’

Her head shot up and she turned her round blue eyes on him. ‘What do you mean?’

He was taken aback by her aggression. ‘I just meant we’re both miserable. Can’t we talk about it, whatever it is, find some solution?’

She dumped the glass on the coffee table and flopped back against the cushions on the leather sofa. He stared at her face: the tight jaw, the eyes squeezed shut, her full lips skewed as she chewed the inside of her cheek.

‘Lisa?’

Tears were spilling down her cheeks now, and he wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t dare touch her, not in the mood she was in. He thought, fleetingly, of his call to Stella on New Year’s Day. But Lisa couldn’t possibly know about that.

‘Would you cheat on me, Jack?’ she asked then, out of the blue, hunching over, arms crossed tight around her breasts. She didn’t look at him.

Taken aback, Jack didn’t immediately reply. She turned to him. ‘Would you?’ Her voice was low and pleading suddenly, all hostility gone.

‘Where’s this coming from?’ Jack was baffled. ‘Lisa … I’m not sure what’s happening here. We seem to be on different pages.’

Then she threw herself into his arms, clutching him to her as if her life depended on it. Through the renewed sobbing, Jack just managed to make out, ‘I’m sorry, Jack. I’m so sorry.’

He had no clue what she was on about.