Page 26 of The Three of Us
He has known Molly since school, although she was two years below him and their paths didn’t really cross until he came back from uni, living on the farm and working in town. Molly was doing a few shifts in a pub he used to visit two villages away, having blossomed from shy schoolgirl with a ponytail and knee-length socks to the quiet understated beauty she is today. He couldn’t fail to notice her, be drawn to her.
They have been together as a couple for eight years now, and married for five, only ever apart for those few months he worked in London, but even then they were always in touch, phoning, texting, him nipping between home and here whenever he could. But this time feels different. He hasn’t spoken to her in days, has ignored her texts and voicemails, and the missed call from his mum which would inevitably have led to all the obvious questions. Why was Molly still there in the village, she’d want to know? So, she’d hurt her hand, but surely that didn’t have to mean she couldn’t have gone back to London with him? Or followed him the next day? He’s pretty sure Molly won’t have said anything about the pregnancy, won’t have told his parents, or even her own, until they are ready to do it together, but in his parents’ world, couples stick together, travel together, look after each other. Without the facts, his mum is going to be drawing all sorts of conclusions about this sudden and unexpected separation, anything from some minor domestic tiff to full-on divorce, either of which she is bound to blame on Molly, and sooner or later he is going to have to put the record straight.
He is being a coward, he knows that. Avoiding Molly, ignoring his mum, even making some sort of ill-advised pass at another woman, brushing it all under an imaginary carpet as if it might just go away. But he knows it won’t. Molly is having a baby, no matter how much he wishes she wasn’t. Ready or not, it’s happening.
He makes himself a strong coffee to try to counteract the alcohol and drinks it too quickly, burning the top of his mouth, so he has to follow it with a huge glass of cold water. Then he lies down, fully clothed, on top of the covers on his half of the bed. He should ring Molly, try to talk about it at least. Not that he knows what to say. He’s not sure he will be able to pretend he’s happy about any of it, but there will be practical things to work out. He doesn’t even know when this baby is due, when she will be having midwife appointments or scans, what it will all mean when it comes to money and the need for an extra bedroom and whether this will put an end to Molly’s plans to start a business or find a job. In the end, he decides there’s too much to think about all at once, and that, with a brain befuddled by booze, this may not be the best time to do it.
It’s getting late anyway. She’s probably asleep. He remembers how tired she has been lately, nodding off in the evenings and on the train. Does being pregnant do that to a woman? He is only too aware just how little he knows about the whole process. The whole being a prospective parent thing.
He turns out the light and, one arm draped loosely around Molly’s pillow, he wriggles under the duvet and lets himself drift into sleep. The last question to flutter randomly through his mixed-up thoughts is whether this baby will be a boy or a girl, and which he might prefer. His sober self would already know the answer to that. Neither. He doesn’t want to be a father at all. Not yet. Not now.
Maybe things will feel different in the morning.
They don’t.
Jack wakes up as confused as ever. He has an important meeting this morning. They are working on a whole new software package that is costing thousands to develop, and the last thing he wants is to mess it up. He can’t let what’s happening at home distract him.
At least while Molly is away, he doesn’t have to deal with things. Pretending nothing is happening is not the finest of strategies but, for now, it’s the only one he has.
He stands under the shower for a long time with his eyes closed, letting the soothing water wash over him, then puts on his best suit and gives his shoes a quick polish. He doesn’t leave himself enough time to eat breakfast, but it will be easy enough to grab a cereal bar or a banana or something on the way and eat it on the train. Being good at his job, making a success of it, matters. And, if there is going to be another mouth to feed, an added responsibility he hadn’t seen coming but was going to have to accept sooner or later, then hanging on to this job suddenly matters even more.
Chapter 16
Carly
I’m sitting in the pub garden again with Suze and Fran, after work. We’re into September now and it’s not so warm these days, but I’m not prepared to let summer go just yet. A woolly cardigan over my fancy top, and a pair of thick jeans, are enough to stave off the effects of the cool breeze that’s rustling the serviette tucked under our almost empty plate of chips and blowing a wisp of Fran’s curly hair straight into her mouth and dousing it in ketchup.
‘You did what?’ Suze has got it out of me about my visit to the Clarion with Jack and my near-miss kiss, and she’s going for the jugular. ‘Carly Young, I despair of you. What did we say about married men?’ If she wasn’t sitting down, she’d have her elbows stuck out and her hands on her hips by now, her face is looking so stern.
‘Not to go anywhere near them?’
‘Exactly. So, what did you do the minute my back was turned? You not only went out drinking with the man, you damn near sucked his face off!’
‘But I didn’t actually go through with it. I might have wanted to. Well, yes, I admit I definitely did want to, but I didn’t, okay?’
‘No, it’s not okay. He’s got a wife, for God’s sake.’
An image of her pops into my head. Faceless, naturally, as I still have no idea what she looks like. She hovers in my peripheral vision, like a wishy-washy painting, all pale and mysterious, and much as I try to brush her away, I just can’t do it.
‘I know he has a wife. I know it only too well, but she’s away at the moment.’ As soon as I say it, I know I’ve only gone and dug myself into a deeper hole.
‘And that makes it all right, does it? Look, I know he’s gorgeous and you fancy him rotten, and I can’t blame you for that. He is a very good-looking bloke, but he’s off-limits. Carly, watch my lips. Do… not… go… there.’
‘I won’t. Not again. I promise.’
‘Good. Now, let’s change the subject, shall we? Romance, sex, men… I’m sick of all of it. Let’s have a man-free evening, okay?’
‘Things not going well with what’s-his-name then?’ Fran says. That’s the thing about sisters. Brothers too, come to think of it. They know how to push each other’s buttons.
‘I said let’s change the subject. And his name’s Sean, as you very well know.’ Suze does that face of hers, the one that says enough is enough. She rolls her eyes and lifts her chin so her nose is stuck up in the air. ‘Is it just me or is it getting a bit cold? Shall we go inside?’
I’m actually quite enjoying the breeze, but I know Suze well enough to realise there’s something gone wrong in her already rather rocky fledgling relationship with Sean that she doesn’t want to talk about, and not to argue when she’s got a strop on, so we all pick up what’s left of our drinks and walk through into the pub.
Somehow, shifting position has given us the chance to start again when it comes to conversation and both Jack and Sean have been instantly wiped out of our invisible list of topics.
‘I like that top,’ Fran says, leaning forward to have a feel of my hem, rubbing the fabric between her fingers and thumb. ‘Is it silk?’
‘Only the cheap fake kind. I got it in the market, would you believe?’