Bloody whining carol singers, Bridget thought as she fought her way past last-minute shoppers to get into the pharmacy. It was Christmas Eve and she was livid she had been denied the best present of all. She had taken three pregnancy tests to see if her plan had worked. All were negative. Bridget cursed the fact that the opportunity to sleep with Hartley again hadn’t arisen before he decided to cast her aside. How dare he! She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
But all was not lost. Her friends weren’t to know when she last slept with Hartley. Creating the rumour that she could be pregnant was a stroke of genius. Hartley wasn’t to know she wasn’t expecting, either – lots of women didn’t find out until they were a few months gone.
She had confided in Dorcas that she had decided to take a pregnancy test, asking her tearfully over the phone if she would mind coming with her to the chemist. Her doctor was only doing emergencies over Christmas and this didn’t qualify, his secretary had told her, suggesting she buy a home pregnancy test.
How very Jerry Springer, Bridget had told the gormless woman.
She’d need moral support as she queued with all those methadone addicts she’d read about. She had told Dorcas how she’d had a little drunken accident with Hartley. They had got carried away, were careless and now she feared the worst.
She could trust Dorcas to tell everyone who mattered within a ten-mile radius of Fulham about that little gem of gossip. She might not be carrying his child but at least news would be out that her relationship with Hartley had well and truly left the shores of friendship. It was not the game plan Bridget had hoped for but she had no choice. Hartley had all but banished her from his life and had ignored her many calls. This was the only way she could think of to get him back. If he believed she was pregnant, he would have no choice but to let her back into his life. In fact, he would have no choice but to marry her. It was the only decent thing to do and she could count on him to do the right thing. All she needed was the chance to sleep with him again, then it really could happen.
Annoyingly, Dorcas looked like she’d lost weight, her frame undeniably svelte under her Vera Wang cashmere wrap in duck-egg blue. Bridget consoled herself with a swift look down at her friend’s Mulberry loafers. Dorcas had always had fat ankles: fankles, she liked to call them when talking about Dorcas to others in their set.
Must remember to chew every mouthful of Christmas dinner thirty-two times, Bridget reminded herself, to start the digestion process in the mouth rather than the stomach.
Bridget bought two tests, just to be sure, she told Dorcas. She wasn’t quite ready to give her friend the result just yet so made an excuse about wanting to get Christmas out of the way before taking the test.
Dorcas had nodded sympathetically and Bridget air-kissed her goodbye, her eyes full of sincerity as she thanked her for being such a good friend.