Page 48 of The Three of Us
‘I thought so. Life was comfortable, easy, ticking along… until I met you.’
‘I’m sorry, Jack, but you need to grow up. Grow a pair. Being a couple and making a baby together isn’t meant to make you feel scared or trapped. Take responsibility, like you said you wanted to. Make a proper choice and stick to it. Not just what’s right for you, but for her, and the baby.’
‘But it’s not just them, is it? It’s you too.’
‘Oh, come on, Jack. I didn’t get you into this mess. You did that all by yourself. You have to decide what you really want.’
‘I’m trying. I really am.’
‘Well, try harder. Because I’m not going to be messed about. Do you really want to own up? Just walk away from a perfectly good marriage? Start some new life with me? Because, let’s just say, in this ridiculous fantasy of yours, that you confess all, tell your wife about me, leave her and your unborn, unplanned child, and come to me. What happens if I want a baby? When I want a baby? Have you thought about that? You’ll be on the same old treadmill all over again, won’t you? Another do-you-don’t-you-want-this situation. It seems to me like you’re running away from something with no idea what you’re running into. You haven’t thought about it properly. Any of it.’
‘Then talk to me. Help me to think about it properly, because what I do know is that I can’t stop thinking about you, and that’s no way for me to live, and it’s not fair on Molly. Better she knows.’
‘Is it? Really? I’m not sure I’d want to, if I was her.’
‘But I have to do something, Carly. I feel I’m in limbo here, stuck in the middle, and I don’t know what to do. Tell me, what did this Willy bloke do? In the book?’
‘Willoughby! He put his philandering behind him, fell in love with a girl called Marianne, but went off and married someone else. For money. Broke poor Marianne’s heart, and quite possibly his own as well. But she survived, and she married someone else after a while. Someone safe and steady, who really loved her.’
‘Right. Not sure what lesson I’m meant to learn here.’
‘Well, let’s just say I’m keeping my options open. Holding out for a hero! But there’s really only one way to learn, Jack, and that’s from your own mistakes, although it would be much better if you stopped making them. But, okay, I agree we can’t leave things between us like this. We’ll talk later. After my driving lesson, although God knows how I’m going to concentrate on bloody three-point turns with all this going on in my head.’
‘Where?’
‘Not in some pub, with people listening. God, what if I cry? Or you do?’ She laughs then, but he can see she’s not finding it funny. She’s scared, just as he is. ‘I may live to regret this, but come to my place. We can be sure of some privacy there. Fran will probably be home. My flatmate. My chaperone! But we can go into my room if she is. And I can make us something to eat, if you like. Just stay away until after Syd drops me back. I wouldn’t want him to see you coming in and get the wrong idea. He’s another one who’s been trying to warn me off, although a lot more subtly than Suze wading in with her size nines.’
‘Deal. I’ll tell Molly I’m working late. She won’t mind. Saves her having to cook, and she’ll probably have nodded off before I get back anyway. Or I’ll say that I’m meeting up with Syd. It’ll kind of be true if I come out and say hello to him before your lesson.’
‘Are you a natural liar or have you had lessons?’
‘It’s just easier to tell a half-truth sometimes, and why rock the boat before we know if we want to get off?’
She looks at him strangely, but picks up her notebook and pen again, tearing out a page, scribbling her address down and passing it across to him.
‘Quarter to seven, okay? Now, let’s do what we came here for, shall we?’ She lifts her wrist and looks at her watch. ‘Keep it professional, at least while we’re here. I’ve got a list of things I need to ask you, and we don’t have long left before I have to go.’
He has been so determined not to be late that he’s totally misjudged the journey and turned up twenty minutes early. The car will be back at any minute with Carly and Syd in it, and he’s promised to stay out of sight. He’s pretty sure he knows which direction they are going to be coming from, so he strides off the other way, hits the nearest corner, and turns down the street to his left. There are a few small shops up ahead and he goes into one that looks like a cross between a grocer, a newsagent and an off-licence. Should he buy her something? Chocolates? A bottle of wine? A lottery ticket, in the hope they’ll win a fortune and he can walk away into a new life without leaving his pregnant wife without a roof over her head?
He spends ten minutes browsing the overstuffed shelves, aware of the man behind the counter watching him suspiciously as if he’s some kind of robber about to demand he open the cash register and hand over the takings. Not wanting to hang about any longer, he selects a bottle of white wine from the fridge and the best of a selection of semi-wilted flowers from a plastic vase near the door, and pays the extra ten pence for a carrier bag he only really needs because the flower stems are dripping water down his trousers. And then he’s back out on the street and cautiously approaching Carly’s flat, ready to backtrack round the same corner at the slightest sighting of a learner car. There isn’t one, so he assumes she’s back now and that Syd has already gone.
He examines the plaque on the door and rings the bell for Flat 3. There is no fancy electronic entry system, just the faint sound of the bell ringing somewhere inside and feet pounding down the stairs, before the door opens and Carly ushers him in. She is still wearing the clothes she had on at work, as is he, of course, and that all just makes the whole meeting feel a bit too formal.
‘I brought wine,’ he says, holding the bag out in front of him. ‘Just corner-shop stuff, I’m afraid, but you did say you might cook…’
‘Oh, okay, thanks. These for me too?’ She has taken the bag from his hands and is admiring the flowers, lifting their petals to her nose. ‘They never seem to have any scent these days, do they? Pretty though.’
She closes the front door and he notices the scuffed skirting boards, dodgy lighting and threadbare carpet in the hall and on the stairs behind her. There’s a vaguely musty smell too, from a lack of windows and fresh air. It reminds him of the entrance to his own block. Standard stuff, presumably. Functional, just about clean, shared by several people, none of whom are keen to do anything about it.
‘Come up then. Fran’s here, but she’s busy ironing, so she won’t bother us.’
They stop in Carly’s small kitchen and pop the wine into the fridge.
‘Talk first, or eat?’ she says, turning her back towards him and reaching for plates from a cupboard above her head. ‘It’ll only be something simple. Pasta okay?’
‘Fine. Not that I’m all that hungry, but it will be nice to sit down together. Will Fran be joining us?’ He nods vaguely in the direction of the rest of the flat and the woman he has yet to set eyes on.
‘Do you want her to?’