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Chapter 2
Chapter 3
An hour later they're still at the kitchen table when the doorbell rings. Sam jumps up and goes to the door, to find Dan standing on the doorstep. As her heart jumps into her mouth, Dan grins his sexy grin, apologizes, and explains he went on a job to interview an American rock star who's in town performing, but the rock star had an unfortunate experience with one of the tabloid journalists scheduled just before him, and subsequently put a stop to all other interviews. "Who were you doing it for?" Sam is so impressed she can hardly breathe. "Telegraph. I just spoke to the editor. I'm going to do a piece on celebrity tantrums instead. Ironic, naturally." "Naturally.'' "When the stories fall through, the freelance hack gets to play. So here I am." "To play?" She can't help herself, and even as she stands in the front door, one hand on her hip in a suggestive pose, one eyebrow raised, she remembers that Maeve is in the kitchen, and instantly wishes she'd go, wishes Maeve were anywhere else but here. "What's that delicious smell?" Dan doesn't rise to the bait, and Sam is surprised, disappointed, but then she remembers how she hadn't risen to the bait in their phone conversation earlier, and she knows he is just getting back at her. She forgives him. "Homemade banana bread." She smiles as she steps back to let him in. "I've got a friend here. Come in and meet her." Maeve eyes Dan up and down with caution. She knows men like this. Has slept with men like this many, many times. He is flirtatious and dangerous, and she is (much to Sam's relief) cool as she says hello, and quiet as she sits at the table and watches how Sam changes when this man's around. He is, she reflects, as he stretches long legs out in front of him and leans back in his chair while Sam fusses around him, a man who is comfortable in his skin. Too comfortable, perhaps. He expects everyone to love him, and Maeve has never been good at loving men like that. Sleeping with them, yes. Loving them, no. But he is, without question, dangerously attractive. And Sam has, without question, fallen hook, line, and sinker. No wonder she had made such an effort with the house, had baked banana bread. It was all for Dan. Dan finishes his banana bread, lavishes praise on Sam, who almost melts into his arms, and turns on Maeve, firing charming, disarming questions at her. Asking her who she is, where she lives, what she does, how old is Poppy, what kind of birth. At this point Maeve, who is uncomfortable enough in this situation anyway, notices that Sam too is dismayed by Dan's attention to her. I will not get involved in this game, she thinks, standing up to leave. She shakes Dan's hand with a forced smile, and gives Sam a hug. She knows Sam is in dangerous territory with this one. She knows Sam is blinded by his attractiveness, cannot see how harmful he could be, how she could be risking everything for a fling with this man. But, more than that, she can see he doesn't feel the same way about Sam. Sam is in love, and he is not. He is loving the attention, loving encouraging Sam, but for him it's all a game, and the most he'll commit to is a sordid little affair. Does Maeve know Sam well enough to tell her? And if she does, what on earth is she going to say?29"You know what this sounds like?" Julia has heard Sam's voice like this before. Not for many years, but she knows Sam better than anyone, remembers how Sam always fell for the unobtainable. Julia was there when the latest love of her life turned out to be the greatest shit of her life. "This sounds like Paolo all over again." Paolo had been Sam's gym instructor. Everyone in the class had drooled over the six-foot Italian, who had loved every second of it, but none had fallen quite so heavily or seriously as Sam. Sam turned up at every class, made sure she was in the front, had soon progressed to clear favorite. Paolo would tell the others to watch Sam, would nod his approval at her, wink and smile, and have whispered conversations after the class. Sam was a woman obsessed. A woman possessed. The only benefit, she had later joked, was that she'd never been so thin in her life. All her time was spent at the gym. Soon she was suggesting coffees, then drinks after the class. Sam was astonished Paolo said yes, but Julia kept warning her to be careful, that he was a man who needed women to fancy him, who would encourage Sam to feed his own ego, but who wasn't really interested. One night she ended up seducing him. The sex was terrible. Neither particularly interested. Paolo dressed and left immediately afterward, and she lay in bed relieved he was no longer there, and wondering where it had all gone so horribly wrong. She couldn't see it immediately, but in time she realized Julia was right. He was a natural flirt, a man addicted to women's attention, who would take it as far as he could to ensure those women still fancied him, disregarding any emotions that might arise along the way. It didn't surprise her when she later discovered he had a long-term girlfriend and two children. It does surprise her, however, to hear his name right now, on the phone with Julia, when she has finally cracked and told Julia everything. She knew Julia would disapprove, knew she wouldn't fully understand, but she wasn't expecting this. "Paolo? He's nothing like Paolo! How can you say that when you haven't even met him?" "You've just told me that Dan is, to all intents and purposes, happily married--" "I didn't say happily," Sam interrupts fiercely. "No, but he's still with his wife and he seems to get on with her--he is, after all, commissioning you to do a picture for her birthday so it's unlikely they're heading for the divorce courts next week." "So? It doesn't mean they're happy." "No, but they're together. Anyway, he's married, happily or unhappily, and yet he's sending you clear signals that he wants to get involved with you. He's flirting with you in front of his wife and your husband. I'm really sorry to say this, Sam, but I just don't believe decent people do that sort of thing." Sam snorts in disbelief. "Decent people? You're being ridiculous. What if I'm right? What if he knows he married the wrong person, just like me, and he can't help it when I'm around?" "Sam," Julia says gently, "if that were the case, if he really did think he'd married the wrong person and was trapped by a child, he still wouldn't make those leading comments to you, encourage you the way he's doing. The whole thing smacks of Paolo. It smacks of a deeply insecure man who's married and reasonably happy, but is either constantly having affairs because he's addicted to sex and tries to justify it by saying he loves his wife and child and the affairs are just satisfying a physical urge, or a deeply insecure man who's never going to cheat on his wife but likes to know that he still could if he chose, and encourages any woman who shows him the slightest bit of attention. "Either way I can't see how this is going to result in a happy outcome. If you really want to know what I think, it's that you've got another Paolo-league crush, and he has no intention of doing anything about it other than bask in your adoration." "I knew I shouldn't have told you," Sam says belligerently. "I knew you wouldn't understand." "I'll tell you what I don't understand, Sam. I don't understand how you can even think that Chris is the wrong man for you when you've been together six years and he's wonderful to you, and you love him, despite what you're saying now. The only reason you're feeling so unfulfilled is because, I think, you've been suffering from some kind of postpartum depression, and you're miserable and looking for something, or someone, to blame, and Chris is closest to you so Chris gets the blame." Sam considers putting the phone down, slamming it in anger, but then decides she has a few choice words of her own for Julia, and tries to interrupt instead. "I haven't finished," Julia says. "If you walk out on Chris now, you're going to regret it for the rest of your life. I thought you were getting better. I thought these last few weeks you'd sounded more like the old Sam, had got some of your energy back, and I thought you were pulling yourself out of it, and now I realize it's just because of some dodgy bloke. Sam, you're married now. You have a child. "When are you going to take responsibility for your life?" Sam doesn't even wait for the dramatic pause. She slams down the phone and bursts into tears. Chris phones five minutes later. "What's the matter?" "Nothing," she sniffs, unable to tell him the truth. "I'm just feeling a bit hormonal." Chris doesn't need to ask anything further, well versed in sudden outbreaks of tears due to hormones. "Poor love. Can I bring you home anything?" "No. I'll be fine." "Listen, Jill just phoned saying we should all get together, and I thought maybe, given the baby- sitter situation, we should have them over for dinner. Say thank you for them having us for tea. What do you think?" "Yes," Sam says immediately. "Great idea. It's her birthday next Friday, so what about next Sunday? Nothing fancy," she says, already planning a gourmet feast with which to impress Dan still further. "Just a casual supper." "Great! I'll ring her back and suggest it. You know, it's so nice to hear the old Sam again. I'm so happy that you want to go out again, that we're starting to see people." "Only Jill and Dan." "But it's a start. And I really think this Maeve is good for you. I'm only beginning to realize how hard it must have been for you with Julia going away. You've been a different person since you met her." "Have I?" She laughs inwardly at the irony, for of course it is Dan that is making the difference, but how convenient that Maeve has entered her life at roughly the same time. "Yes. Actually, that's an idea. What about inviting Maeve and Mark too? I know Mark would get on with Jill and Dan, but obviously I don't know Maeve. Do you think it would work? Or," he hesitates, "would it be too weird for you, seeing Maeve and Mark together as a couple?" "I think that's a brilliant idea! Maeve was here the other day when Dan popped in and they seemed to get on." She knows that's not exactly the truth, and that Maeve didn't seem to take to Dan all that well, but surely that will be diffused when all six of them are together. Maybe before her phone call with Julia today she would have felt awkward about seeing Maeve and Mark together, would have felt it was something of a betrayal to Julia, but not now. Now she's covering up the hurt with bravado, and deciding that Maeve is going to replace Julia in every possible way.Thank God it's Sunday. Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday morning she finished the painting of Dan and Jill's house. Wednesday afternoon she joined Maeve at the One O'Clock Club on the Heath, then spent the rest of the day sitting on the floor of Maeve's living room while Poppy and George respectively lay and crawled about. Sam thought she was going to feel strange, walking into Julia's house, knowing that Julia no longer lived there, but, after the initial shock, she could see that Maeve was far more comfortable in the house than Julia had ever been. Maeve had filled each room with books, and paintings, and flowers, had turned the bare bones of a house into a proper home. The house had come alive since Maeve had moved in, and for the first time Sam understood what Julia had meant when she said she had never felt comfortable there, had always felt overwhelmed by the size. The house was imposing, but Maeve had made it feel cozy, had made it hers. The strangeness that Sam had expected to feel lasted about five minutes. Five minutes of walking through the rooms, silently reminiscing about the good old days, wondering why it felt so very long ago. She had invited them for Sunday evening, had said that she knew Maeve hadn't taken to Dan but that Jill was lovely and anyway, she'd like Maeve to meet them both properly, she was sure she'd change her mind about Dan. Plus she wanted Maeve to meet Chris. Then surely Maeve would see why Sam was so sure their marriage wasn't working. And if Maeve is to be her new best friend, she needs to support Sam unequivocally when the shit hits the fan. Maeve had been delighted and had phoned Mark at work on the spot. He insisted on talking to Sam, who had almost cried at the familiarity and warmth in his voice, had put the receiver down softly feeling safe and loved. Jill had phoned to ask if she needed anything, if Sam wanted her to make pudding, or a starter, and had then offered bread-and-butter pudding, laughing as she confirmed what Dan had said: It was the only pudding she could make but she did it fantastically. Sam felt momentarily saddened after Jill phoned. Were she not planning on stealing her husband, she would almost certainly have been Jill's friend. Sam is warm toward Jill, but not too warm. Responsive without being gushing. Sam has to keep her distance or she knows she'll never be able to run off with her husband.Now, tonight, there are fifteen minutes to go before everyone starts to arrive. The salmon is marinating on the worktop, the vegetables are sliced and diced in preparation, the olive ciabatta sits waiting to be warmed up in the oven. Chris carefully stacks the bottles of wine in the fridge, and checks his stock of mixers. Tonic? Check. Soda? Check. Orange juice? Check. Lemonade? Check. He's looking forward to this, had forgotten how much he enjoyed socializing, how often Sam and he had done this BG. He smiles in appreciation as Sam walks into the kitchen. Ghost has done her proud tonight, a dark green beaded top hiding her rapidly shrinking hips, a floor-length bias-cut skirt swishing sexily as she moves. "You look lovely." He kisses her on the cheek, turns to embrace her, and she smiles as she moves away, out of his reach, pretending to check the salmon marinade. She has not bought the outfit for Chris's benefit, naturally, but it's nevertheless important that he approves; makes her feel even sexier than when she had first checked herself in the mirror this evening. The doorbell rings and Chris walks out to answer it, followed by Sam, her heart already pounding in anticipation, her breathing already shallow with nerves. Jill makes a face, starts apologizing as soon as the door opens. "We didn't know what to do," she says, bread-and-butter pudding in hand as she gestures to a sleepy pajama-clad Lily, arms wrapped around her daddy's neck as she struggles to stay awake. "The bloody baby-sitter phoned just as she was supposed to turn up, saying she had a headache and couldn't make it. We didn't know what to do, so we brought the travel cot. We'll have to put her down here. I'm so, so sorry." "Don't worry about that." Sam gestures them in. "But will she be okay to go home again?" "Unlikely." Jill makes a face. "But what can we do? It's always a bit of a nightmare when her routine's broken, but hopefully she'll sleep in the car on the way home and we'll be able to lift her straight out and into bed. I'm so sorry about this. Where can we put her?" Jill, Dan, and Sam tiptoe quietly upstairs, and unfold the travel cot outside George's room. "I won't put her in George's room," Jill whispers. "I don't want to wake him, but it's nice and dark out here." "What about the monitor?" "Don't worry. We don't use one anymore. We'll hear her." "Okay, but let me open George's door a fraction, just in case." "Really, you don't have to." "I'd feel better about it." Sam quietly pushes George's door ajar.Jill stays to put Lily down. Dan follows Sam down the darkened stairway, putting his hand on her shoulder halfway down. They both stop, a wave of nausea washing over her as she knows this is it. The moment she's been waiting for. The answer to her dreams. She turns as if in a dream, everything happening in slow motion. Dan's head moves slowly to hers, and she stays still, eyes closing, head tilting slightly to one side. A soft kiss lands just at the side of her mouth. Her head still tilted, she waits for more, only opening her eyes when she feels the shadow of his head move away. "I just wanted to say thank you," he whispers. "For the picture. It's beautiful." "Oh. Thank you." Her voice is a whisper, and she waits for more, for a continuation of the kiss. "No, really. I mean it. You're incredibly talented." "Flattery," she says, a smile playing on her lips, "will get you everywhere." "I bet you say that to all the boys," he teases softly. And here it is. The invitation. The one she can't resist. Not anymore. "No," she whispers, looking deeply into his eyes. "Only you." "Is everything okay?" Jill whispers behind them, coming down the stairs, even her whisper managing to be cheerful. Sam is furious and embarrassed in equal measure. What if she heard? What if she saw? No. Impossible. She would not be so cheerful in the face of an adulterous husband. "Fine, darling," Dan says. "I was just telling Sam how incredibly talented she is." Jill's hand flies to her mouth. "I can't believe I didn't say anything. Sam! I love it, I love it, I love it! You're amazing! It's the best birthday present I've ever had and I can't believe you painted it! Thank you!" She flings her arms around Sam, who reluctantly pats her back lightly, waiting for her to disengage. "You can see it was a hit," Dan says, smiling, and Sam smiles back at him over Jill's shoulder as the doorbell rings again, forcing them all to disengage and go downstairs."God, it's good to see you." Sam smiles up at Mark and rubs his back with affection. "We've missed you." Mark shrugs, a twinkle in his eye. "So? You didn't call . . . you didn't write . . . what was I supposed to think?" "I do feel guilty," she says, realizing with a start that she does. "Don't," he admonishes gently. "I know how it is when relationships end. I know you're not supposed to take sides, but it's difficult not to. And besides, you were always Julia's best friend. You had to take her side even if"--he nudges her playfully--"I was the one you wanted to stay friends with." "Come inside," she says, linking her arm through his. "Come and meet our friends," and they follow Maeve and Chris into the living room.The women lead the small talk. Jill's baby-sitter nightmare leads to further stories of child-care horrors, and the men listen with amusement, punctuating the stories only with the sounds of Pringles and peanuts being munched, and glasses being refilled. And then the men switch places, group together to find common ground, start with the match of the day, move to the horrors of having wives obsessed with babies, gradually reveal their softer sides as they compare notes and eulogize the joys of fatherhood. Maeve and Jill are instantly at ease. Sam does her best to relax and join in, but all the while she is sitting chatting with them she is aware of Dan directly opposite her. She isn't consciously trying to catch his eye, but she keeps pretending to glance at Chris, her eyes sweeping over Dan on the return journey, hoping to catch his, to swap a secret smile. The corner of her mouth still burns where he kissed it. She tries to focus on Jill and Maeve, pretending to concentrate, to listen to their experiences at Gymboree, but all the while she is going over their kiss, wondering what would have happened had Jill not interrupted, wondering how far they would have gone on that darkened stairway had they not nearly been caught. "Darling? Shall we sit down?" Chris is blossoming in his role as benevolent host, and leads the way to the dining table, assigning seats to their guests. If Dan loves me, he'll smile at me before he sits down. "Mark, why don't you sit on the left of Jill, and Dan, you sit on the right next to Sam." Dan looks at Sam and smiles. Thank you, God. I promise I'll go to church soon.The evening is a great success. Maeve is still unsure of Dan, is not unaware of Sam's eyes following him around the room, of Sam's attention being focused almost exclusively on Dan. Maeve drops her napkin at one point, convinced she will see Dan's hand fondling Sam's leg under the table, but a quick crawl in their direction proves her wrong. She's surprised. More so having met Chris. Sam's flirtation with Dan, her desire to take it further was so obvious, Maeve had assumed there had to be something intrinsically wrong with her husband. He would surely have had to be arrogant. Dislikable. Charmless. She had not expected Chris, had not expected the quintessential boy-next-door, and does not miss his constant glances at Sam, glances filled with love, hope, and confusion. She can see he so clearly still loves his wife, is so clearly hurt by her lack of interest in him, despite not having cottoned on to her deepening crush on Dan. Maeve tests the waters, tries to find out what he knows, whether he suspects. She waits until Jill is deep in conversation with Mark, and Sam deep in adoration with Dan, before turning to Chris. "So Jill and Dan. How long have you known them?" "Jill I've known for ages through work. But we've only become friendly as a couple very recently." "Hmmm. Jill's lovely." "Isn't she? I'm glad you've hit it off." "And Dan. Tell me about him." "Lovely guy," he says, his face a picture of innocence. "The pair of them are salt of the earth." She doesn't push it any further."Who's for pudding? Jill's made bread-and-butter pudding," Chris says gratefully when the salmon has been finished and the conversation has drifted to a natural halt. The table murmurs its approval, and Maeve gathers some plates, following Sam into the kitchen. "Do you mind if we just dash upstairs and check on Lily?" Jill pops her head round the door. "Of course!" Sam forces a smile as Jill and Dan disappear upstairs. Mark and Chris clear away the last of the plates and follow the girls into the kitchen. "It's good to see you, mate," Chris says. "I've missed you. I've got some old port I've been saving for a special occasion, and I think tonight may just be the night. It's a Fonseca 1987. What do you think?" "I think tonight is definitely the night," Mark says. "Down in your wine cellar, is it?" They both laugh at the old standing joke between them. Chris has always referred to his dingy damp basement with a rickety old Habitat wine rack in one corner as his wine cellar. Mark's professional wine cellar, housing hundreds of rare and important wines, is referred to between them as the crappy wine rack. "Are you coming?" Chris opens the door and starts walking down. "Be there in a sec." Mark takes his plates over to the sink and leans over to plant a kiss on Maeve's neck. Sam sees the kiss and smiles. She never saw Mark and Julia like this. Never saw displays of affection between them, and it is reassuring, life-affirming, to see that two people can be this happy, this loving. This is what she will have with Dan. This is what her future holds. "You're terrible." A tinny voice drifts across the kitchen and all three of them jump, laughing as they see the monitor perched on a shelf. Sam moves over to turn it off. After all, it's hardly fair to eavesdrop. She is not even halfway there when Jill's voice continues. "That poor Sam has got the hugest crush on you and you're encouraging it, you naughty thing." All three of them freeze in horror. "I know." Dan's voice emerges, laughter and pity intertwined. "The poor cow's having multiple orgasms whenever she looks at me." "Oh, don't be mean. I think it's rather sweet." "Only because of what she looks like. If she were five foot nine and gorgeous you wouldn't think it so sweet." They both laugh softly as Sam prepares to throw up. She wants to switch it off, to pretend this isn't happening, but she can't move. "True. But be nice. And do stop leading her on. I know it's your favorite game, but those puppy-dog looks are getting too much even for me." "I know, it is rather pathetic, isn't it? You're just jealous," Dan says softly. "Come here." The sound of them kissing jerks Sam out of her inertia, and she flicks the monitor off, turning to catch the shocked expression on Maeve's and Mark's faces. "Excuse me," she whispers, as she turns to flee from the room. "I think I'm going to be sick."30The one saving grace was that Chris didn't hear. At least, that was what Sam told herself. Repeatedly.The rest of the evening was, unsurprisingly, something of a disaster. Jill and Dan came back downstairs to find everyone, bar Chris, pale and shaky. Sam couldn't even look at them, and within a few minutes had retired to bed, claiming to have a sudden migraine, where she lay curled in the fetal position, shame and humiliation engulfing her to the point where she was unable to do anything except moan. Jill realized very quickly what had happened. She had walked into the kitchen to ask Maeve if Sam was okay and spied the monitor, still switched off, on the window shelf. She visibly paled as she turned to Maeve and asked in a thin voice, "The monitor . . . ?" She had intended to say more, but Maeve's steely gaze stopped her. "Yes," Maeve said, "the monitor." She stared her down, and Jill quietly turned and whispered something to Dan. A few minutes later they said good-bye to Maeve and Mark, unable to look them in the eye, collected a very tired and unhappy Lily, and left.The only one who didn't have a clue about what was going on was Chris. "What's happened?" he said, immediately after Jill and Dan left. "Did I do something wrong? Or was it you, Mark? Did you piss them off? Scare them away?" He had fallen into the easy banter he and Mark once shared, but his grin elicited nothing from Mark, just a shrug and a shake of the head. Mark and Maeve left shortly afterward. Chris cleared up in silence, taking a cup of tea and three Nurofen Plus up to Sam when he had finished. He hesitated outside their bedroom door, listening to her moaning, then padded in and sat next to her on the bed. "How do you feel?" he said, stroking her back. "Is it really that bad?" "It's terrible," she groaned. And burst into tears. Chris rubbed her back gently, his hand moving in slow rhythmic circles until her sobs reduced to uneven hiccups. She was so filled with shame she could hardly bear to look at him. As for Chris, he was aware that something had happened. He might have been thick-skinned, but he was not thick. He had, despite what everyone thought, noticed the way Sam shone when Dan was around, and was aware that she had been harboring a secret teenage crush. But he believed in his marriage, believed in Sam, and knew it would pass.He also knew that something must have happened. He could guess, but he didn't want to go down that route, didn't want to think about what might have taken place. It was enough to see that that night would almost certainly mark the end of her crush. That it, whatever it was, had passed. Abruptly and definitively. It was over. And that was the only thing that mattered to Chris.Sam doesn't sleep much that night. For a change. Instead of lying there fantasizing about Dan, she hears his voice, his patronizing tone, over and over. Trying to push it out of her head, she forces herself to focus on other things, but his voice keeps slipping in. The poor cow's having multiple orgasms whenever she looks at me. Oh God. Oh God. Sam cringes, physically, at the humiliation, at how wrong she'd been, how stupid for ever thinking it was anything more than Dan leading her on. And, worse, he'd seen her for who she really was. She thought she'd been sexy, and curvaceous, and gorgeous, and he thought she was ridiculous. The poor cow. He'd seen the person she was terrified others would see: the fat, suburban wife. A laughingstock. She knew what he was thinking: She was a joke, a nothing, an object of ridicule. Pathetic. This is, she thinks, the worst night of my life. I will never be able to live this down. I will never be able to see Maeve and Mark again. I will never get over this. At 4:34 A.M. Chris starts snoring gently. Sam sits up in bed and watches him, watches his body moving gently as he snores, his back softly rising and falling, and she waits for the hatred to come. She had lain awake these past few months, waiting for him to snore. Had waited for him to justify her irritation, her rage. Had lain in bed hissing at him to shut up and hating him for not being the man she was supposed to have married. Tonight she waits for those feelings to rise up through her throat, like bile, and is astonished to find none there. It's Chris, she thinks, tears welling up in her eyes. Look at his body; that back I know so well I could map out every mole with my eyes closed. Look at that hair, that thick shaggy hair I would recognize in a sea of a million people. The familiarity of him, the safeness of the man she knows almost as well as she knows herself, is suddenly overwhelming, and she finds her throat closing with emotion. Oh my God, she thinks, shaking her head in amazement. What was I thinking? What have I done?"Chris?" she whispers, reaching out to touch him. "Sorry," Chris mumbles, rolling onto his side, so used to being prodded and hissed at in the early hours of the morning that he now does this automatically. Sam smiles even as the tears start rolling down her cheek, and spoons in behind him, tucking her knees in tightly behind his legs, wrapping her arm around his chest. "Mmm," Chris murmurs, drifting out of sleep just for a second. "I love you," she whispers, smiling, as the horrors of the evening gradually start to leave the room. She clutches him tighter, holding onto him, knowing that he truly is her rock, will always look after her, will always rescue her. My husband, she thinks, burying her nose in his hair and inhaling deeply, thanking God he didn't hear, didn't know. Father of my child. The man I love.Maeve turns up three days later. She's waited what she considers to be an appropriate time, given that Sam hasn't returned her calls, and she wants to make sure she sees Sam before Christmas. "I was going to ring first," she says, unzipping Poppy's snowsuit, "but I figured you'd probably think of an excuse for me not to come over and I was worried about, well . . . you know. How you'd be . . ." Maeve looks uncomfortable, but Sam laughs as she holds the door open. "I'm fine," she says. "Coffee?" Maeve follows her down the hallway, concerned about the act Sam is putting on. After all, Maeve was there that night. She heard. She can only imagine the humiliation Sam must be feeling. Sam busies herself with the coffee while Maeve transfers Poppy to the bouncer, only turning to look at Sam when Poppy is strapped in and quiet. "Sam? Are you okay? Really? I mean, I heard the other night too. It was horrific, and I would be mortified if it happened to me, and I don't mind, you know, I understand, I'm just worried about you." Sam sits down at the table with two mugs of coffee and a wry grin. "I can't even think about it," she admits, "because every time I do I feel absolutely sick." "I've got to tell you I think the guy's a total fuckwit. I always did, you know. That time we met here I thought he was an arse, and you could see he was totally leading you on--" "Stop!" Sam puts her hand up, because the one thing she can't cope with hearing again is how Dan led poor pathetic Sam on. "I didn't mean that," Maeve says earnestly. "I meant, he fancied you! He so obviously fancied you." "He didn't," Sam sighs, reaching over and squeezing Maeve's arm. "I know he didn't, and it's okay, you don't have to say it to make me feel better. I think the worst thing is I feel so completely stupid. I've spent these last few weeks obsessing about him, thinking that I was married to the wrong man and that Dan would give me my happy ever after, and it was just a stupid teenage crush that I took way too far, and . . ." She looks at Maeve with a pleading expression in her eyes. "And I'm married, for fuck's sake. I'm not supposed to be having crushes. What the fuck is that all about?" "How the fuck do I know?" Maeve shrugs, and they both laugh. "I thought about it for hours that night," Sam says wearily. "And you know, when I got married to Chris, I thought I'd never ever look at another man again. And I didn't. For six years I haven't been the slightest bit interested. But I suppose I felt so fat and unattractive, and dull, and Dan seemed to be interested in me, and the fact that anyone could be interested in me went straight to my head, and I blew it up out of all proportion." "Plus," Maeve adds gently, "being married, or, as in my case, having a live-in partner, doesn't mean you stop fancying people." "Really? You mean you fancy people too? Even though you've got Mark?" "Not all the time, but I've certainly entertained the odd fantasy. It's about choice, though, isn't it? Weighing up what I've got and what I stand to lose. I never thought I'd choose a partner and a child over wild sex and wicked men, but now that I've got Mark and Poppy, I wouldn't let anything jeopardize that." Sam nods thoughtfully. "You're right. I only realized it that night. It took Dan to make me really appreciate what I have. You're so right. I should have left it as a fantasy instead of blowing it up into a potential reality." "You couldn't help it. He led you on. You were feeling shitty about yourself and he preyed on that." "He did, didn't he?" "Yeah. The fucker really did." Sam sighs. "I've been so stupid." "So what about Chris, then? Now's probably not the best time to say this but I thought he was lovely." "He is lovely." Sam smiles. "I think I'd forgotten how lovely he is until about four-thirty Monday morning. Oh God." She makes a face. "I think Julia was right." "Right about what?" "She said a while ago that she thought maybe I was suffering from postpartum depression, and even though I don't think I've had it badly, I swear to God I've felt as if I've been living in a fog for the last few months. I hated my life, I hated my marriage, I hated Chris. The only thing I didn't hate was George, he was the only good and perfect thing, but I was convinced my marriage was over, that everything would be fine if I wasn't with Chris." "And that's changed now?" "I feel as if I've turned a corner. That huge humiliation"--she shudders again at the memory --"well. It made me question everything. I suppose it's exactly as you just described, but in my case it wasn't weighing up what I stood to lose, it was reassessing and realizing how thankful and grateful I should be." "You managed to switch the hatred off overnight?" Maeve is slightly incredulous but curious nonetheless. Sam does appear to have a glow that Maeve has never seen before. "I know. It sounds crazy. But it's as if it's all gone. All that resentment. That anger toward Chris. It wasn't about Chris, it was about me, and I'm not even sure it was about me. Actually I think it was probably chemical. And maybe it hasn't gone away, maybe this is just a temporary reprieve, but it feels so good to love Chris again, to wake up in the morning and feel happy, positive." "I never realized," Maeve says. "I wish you'd told me." "I didn't tell anyone. I didn't know. It went on for so long it felt normal. I forgot that life could be different." Maeve grins. "So if truth be told, you have to thank Dan for patching up your marriage and restoring you to sanity. If I were you I'd send him a card. Hell, why not flowers?" "Fuck off," Sam laughs. "Fuck off yourself," Maeve shoots back, placing her hands over Poppy's ears. "And do you mind not swearing in front of the children?"Chris has got his wife back. His life back. He comes home now to find a smiling Sam, the Sam he always loved. She's attentive, affectionate, glowing, and this time he knows it's not because of anyone outside their marriage. Unless of course you count Maeve. Maeve, who has filled Julia's shoes in more ways than she knows. Sam was determined not to phone Julia, her pride too strong, her self-righteousness too marked. One week went by. Then two. Then suddenly it had been nearly two months and Sam was desperate. She missed her. She had Maeve, but Julia knew everything about her, Julia had shared her history, her past. It just wasn't the same. She had tried to phone, had picked up and started to dial many times, but pride always stopped her from making the connection, from making amends. One evening she sat and looked through old photos, photos of her and Julia, photos stretching back over the years, and, swallowing her pride, she picked up the phone and rang. "I've behaved appallingly," she said contritely. "You were right and I was wrong, and you have to forgive me because I miss you and I don't want to lose you." "I miss you too," Julia said, and they both smiled through their tears. "Anyway," Julia continued, "I know what an old battleaxe you are but you always see sense in the end." They talked for a long time. Sam told her about Chris, about emerging from the tunnel into the light, and Julia did not sound the least bit surprised. "Okay, okay," mumbled Sam. "I know you were right about that one too, but that's enough about me, what's going on with you? How's your wild and wicked love life?" "Actually," Julia said sheepishly, "not too wild and wicked." Sam gasped. "You haven't met someone, have you?" "Not someone. Jack. It's on again." "Oh," Sam said dully. "For how long this time?" "No, no. It's different this time. We're seeing one another exclusively." "Oh God, you sound so American. I take it that's his expression?" "Of course," Julia laughed. "But it's . . . nice." "Nice is good. We like nice." "Yes. Funnily enough, we do," Julia said dreamily. "Okay," Sam took a deep breath. "Seeing as you're in such a good space, there's something I have to tell you, too." "What?" Julia asked sharply, anxiously. "You know Maeve?" "As in, redhead Maeve? Mark's girlfriend? Mother of Mark's child?" "Yup." "What about her?" "I'm kind of friendlyish with her." "And?" "And I just felt uncomfortable about it. I wanted to let you know." "Oh for heaven's sake. I thought you were going to tell me something terrible. Why would you feel uncomfortable about it? I met her once, ages ago, and she's lovely. I can totally see why you'd be friends with her." Sam breathes a sigh of relief. "I just didn't want you to feel usurped or anything." "Usurped? Just how friendly are you? I hope she's not your New Best Friend?" "Don't be ridiculous," Sam says, figuring she's said enough for one day. "She's just someone I meet for the occasional coffee. That's all." "Well, that's okay, then."It's not necessary to tell Julia the whole truth. Unnecessary to tell her that Maeve has, in fact, become Sam's confidante, soulmate, sister. That Maeve has, unbeknown to her, helped drag Sam out of her well of self-pity. The four of them--Maeve, Poppy, Sam, and George--have become inseparable. They have braved One O'Clock Clubs, Gymboree, Tumble Tots, and Baby Gyms, and have started to find other women just like them. For Maeve's birthday Sam took a secret snap of Poppy, and presented Maeve with a delicate and beautiful drawing of her little girl, beautifully encased in a simple wooden frame Sam had hand- painted with tiny butterflies and bows. Maeve had shown it to everyone, and Sam had started doing them for other people, initially for fun, for something to do while George was asleep, but Maeve had berated her for not being more businesslike, and had sat Sam down and worked out a price. Fifty-five pounds! Sam had gasped at the expense. No one would ever pay that, she had said, but she was wrong, and the commissions were coming in thick and fast. "I told you you'd never have to go back to an office again," Maeve said, when Sam moaned that she was swamped with pictures of babies. But Sam was loving it, and was making money, and was able to work from the kitchen table while George crawled around at her feet."Happy birthday, darling." Chris kisses Sam on the lips as Maeve and Mark cheer. "Happy birthday!" they echo, clinking champagne glasses and leaning over the table to kiss Sam on the cheek. They have dressed up and gone out. Properly out. Not local pizza and pasta, but the Belvedere in Holland Park. A restaurant for special occasions. A restaurant in which to feel special. And indeed they do feel special. Sam in her knee-length chiffon skirt and camisole top, a pair of perfect diamond studs in her ear--a birthday present from Chris--and Maeve in a tight, tailored dark pink suit, her red hair drawn back in a glamorous chignon. Sam sips her champagne and smiles. "Thirty-four. A whole year since my last birthday. Feels more like ten." "I'm not surprised. Look at what's happened in that year," Chris says. "Georgenius!" Sam and Chris say at the same time, their voices filled with love and affection. "Amazing." Sam shakes her head. "Amazing how your life can change so much in a year." "Just think," Chris says. "This time last year you were--what--eight months pregnant? The size of a small whale--" "Fuck off." She hits him, only able to smile because she has now lost all her pregnancy weight and, much to her delight (but not Chris's), has even smaller breasts than when she started. "Okay, okay. The size of a small dolphin?" "Better." She grins. "The size of a small dolphin, swigging Gaviscon like it was champagne . . ." "Touch�." She raises her glass. ". . . with no idea whether the baby was going to be a boy or girl." "Life Before George." She shakes her head in disbelief. "I can't believe we ever had a life before George. What a year." "I know the feeling." Maeve smiles as Mark puts his arm round her and kisses her on the temple. "Life Before Children. A distant dream." "But I wouldn't change it for the world. Wouldn't change my life for anything." "Not even Chris?" Mark says, with a grin. "Especially not Chris." She smiles, turning and planting a huge kiss on his lips as he grins. "I love you," she whispers in his ear, pulling away. "I love you too," he whispers back. "Bugger." Sam reaches down and rummages in her bag as her mobile phone rings and other diners look at her disapprovingly. She has to keep it on, she wants to explain, because she has a baby at home, and needs to be contactable at all times in case of emergencies, but of course she can't tell the restaurant, and of course she can't find the phone. "Shit." She tips the bag upside down and empties the contents onto the floor, reaching down and flipping open the mobile, too quickly to see whether her home number flashes up. "Hello?" She holds her breath for a second, praying it's not the baby-sitter, praying nothing's wrong. "Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday dear Sa-am, Happy birthday to you. I'm so sorry I didn't call you earlier," Julia trills. "I was out shooting all morning. How are you? Have I disturbed you? Are you in some desperately swish restaurant about to be lynched for having a mobile switched on?" "No," Sam laughs. "Well, yes. Ish. Hang on a sec, I'll go outside." She scrapes back her chair, shrugs an apology to the table, and walks quickly outside. It's a beautiful spring night. Only April but it's warm, and the tulips and daffodils are out in the park, summer almost there. "Can you believe it?" Julia laughs down the phone. "Can you believe how much has happened since last year?" "I know. We were just talking about it." "I'm so sorry I'm not there with you, and I have got you a present that I meant to post last week but I didn't so I'm posting it this afternoon, but there's something else, another kind of present. Well, not actually a present but something I have to ask you." Uncharacteristically, Julia sounds nervous. "I can't promise I'll say yes, but you can ask anything you want." "Okay." Julia takes a deep breath. "Will you be godmother?" "What?" "Will you be godmother?" she says again, the bubbles of excitement rising up in her voice. "You mean . . . you're not . . . are you saying . . . ?" Sam doesn't want to say it, because surely she's misunderstanding, surely it's not possible. "I am! I'm pregnant! Can you believe it!" "Jack?" "Of course Jack!" "But how?" "I have absolutely no idea. I thought I'd picked up some terrible stomach bug because I kept throwing up, and eventually I went to see the doctor and when he said he thought I might be pregnant I told him that was ridiculous, not to mention impossible." "I don't understand." "Neither do I, and neither does the doctor. Apparently, though, this often happens. The stress of wanting to conceive can stop conception happening, and he says he's seen loads of women like me, who conceive as soon as they stop thinking about it." "So how many weeks?" "Six. I'm not supposed to tell anyone until twelve, but if I can't tell my best friend, who can I tell?" "Oh my God!" Sam starts to shriek. "This is the best birthday present I've ever had in my life." "So will you?" Julia laughs. "Will I what?" "Will you be godmother?" "Of course I'll be godmother!" she shouts as the tears come. "I'll be the best godmother the world has ever seen!" Also by Jane GreenStraightTalk ingJemimaJMr.MaybeBookendsSpellboundBABYVILLE . Copyright � 2003 by Jane Green. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information, address Broadway Books, a division of Random House, Inc. BROADWAY BOOKS and its logo, a letter B bisected on the diagonal, are trademarks of Broadway Books, a division of Random House, Inc. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Visit our website at www.broadwaybooks.com Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Green, Jane, 1968� Babyville: a novel / Jane Green. p. cm. 1. Parenthood--Fiction. 2. Childlessness--Fiction. I. Title. PR6057.R3443 B3 2003 823'.914--dc21 2002028368 eISBN: 978-0-7679-1225-9 v3.0
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