“I understand,” I whisper, cutting the call. My phone slips away from my ear into the center of my hand, my arm falling heavily to my side. The tears are falling steadily down my cheeks as I pick up my stride again, and I can sense a few people looking at me as I pass them by.
And I accept that my world with a piece of Jack needs to slowly fall apart in order for it to be rebuilt again. With him. All of him.
*
With a coffee in my grasp, I wander over to Hyde Park. I walk the entire circumference before breaking through an opening in a barrier on Park Lane and strolling down to the Serpentine. I see Micky in the distance, just on the crest of a hill, squatting while shouting encouragement to a guy doing press-ups with a rucksack on his back. I sit on a bench and watch their entire training session, then remain where I am for another hour and watch him putting another client through her paces—this one Charlie. When they’re done she gives him a hug, and he reciprocates. It seems so affectionate, something that doesn’t go hand in hand with Micky. Not with his conquests, anyway. He couldn’t have got her in the sack yet. He’s slacking; he’s been training her for months.
I had no intention of waving to attract his attention, but when he turns and starts toward me, I realize he’s probably known I was there the whole time. He’s all sweaty, the muscles of his arms glistening in the mid-morning sun as he approaches me. Offering a small smile, he sits next to me, but he doesn’t say a word. Neither do I. I’m scared to death of a repeat of Lizzy. Will I lose all of my friends in my mission to have all of Jack?
I feel his hand take mine and gently squeeze, and I glimpse to the side, finding him looking straight ahead. My eyes fall to our held hands resting in his lap. We don’t speak for an age, both of us staring out across the grassy planes of Hyde Park as the world goes by.
After a quiet eternity with unspoken words hanging between us, he pushes himself to his feet and bends to kiss my forehead. “I’m here,” he says, and I look up at him, unable to smile or say thank you, but I make sure he sees the gratitude in my eyes. They’re full of water again, and he sighs as he wipes away a stray tear. Then he strolls off, leaving me on the bench.
I count three people who take a seat next to me over the next hour. One old boy for a rest, another man to eat a sandwich, and finally a runner to stretch. They all come, and they all go to get on with their lives. Probably simple lives. Lives not tainted with deceit and hurt and guilt.
A lady on the opposite bench looks across to me when she’s settling her baby in its pram, smiling. I return her smile before getting to my feet and going on my way. I don’t know where I’m heading next, but my pace is steady. Then it slows, my mind slowing with it, until I come to a stop in the middle of the pathway. I slowly turn back, watching the woman pushing her baby toward me.
The possibility hits me like lightning, the bolts tearing through me and making my stomach churn in dread. I fumble for my bag, feeling around with shaky hands for my phone. When I finally find it, I press the wrong icons dozens of times in my panic, trying to load my calendar. It takes a few seconds to count back the weeks. Then only a few more for the sick feeling to come over me. I’m suddenly very hot and dizzy. I start to hyperventilate—my breathing diminishing to virtually nothing, sending my surroundings into a whirl of nothing.
“Are you okay?”
I look to the side blankly, finding the woman with the pram has stopped beside me. She looks genuinely concerned for me. My eyes fall to the baby, now sleeping peacefully. My stomach clenches and I double over, throwing up at my feet.
“Oh my goodness!” she cries, her hand rubbing my back.
I manage to hold my hand up while I wretch, the strain on my stomach bringing water to my eyes. Or are they more tears? “I’m fine,” I croak, accepting the baby wipe she is holding out to me and wiping my mouth. “Thank you.” I straighten and rush away, too worried to be mortified by my public spewing episode.
*
I eventually find myself in a public toilet. Not that I ever imagined I’d be in this situation, but if I had I would never have anticipated I would resort to the impersonal location of a lavatory that maybe a million people had used. Yet here I am, sitting on the seat of the loo, staring down at a pregnancy test.
Positive.
The two lines are glowing, taunting me, yelling in my face that I’m a careless, stupid bitch. Careless isn’t a word that will be used by many others. Deceitful will be one, as well as manipulative, scheming, and calculating. Nothing I can say or do will change that. It’s something I will have to live with, along with the judgments for stealing another woman’s husband.
The crushing pain is only amplified by the fact that the one person who will trust I didn’t do this on purpose isn’t available for me to call today. I can’t phone him and I can’t see him. I have no one to turn to, no one who I can be sure won’t annihilate me and will instead give me the cuddle that I need.
My world isn’t slowly falling apart. It’s crashing down around me, and I feel like it’s all out of my control. I feel no sense of achievement while I look down at the positive test. I don’t feel even a glimmer of excitement through the turmoil I’m in. This is without doubt the worst thing that could have happened. This changes everything.
I drop the test into my bag, exit the cubicle, wash my hands, and avoid the mirror as I walk out. I don’t need a reflection to tell me I look like a ghost. I’m cold, my blood feels like it has drained from my body, and my breathing is shallow. I feel like a shadow of a woman, and I know I must look like one, too.
*
I think I must have walked around every park in London by the time the sun starts to set. My feet ache, but nothing in comparison to my head, my stomach, and my heart. There’s been no word from Jack. I wonder if he’s had to take her to hospital because she’s done something reckless. I wonder if he’s even told her. I wonder if he’s covered in scratches. I can’t go home and sit there alone. I can’t face my parents or my friends. I have nowhere to go. I’ve never felt so lonely.
As I drag myself into a coffeehouse, my phone rings and my heart leaps. I retrieve my mobile from my bag quickly and glance down at the screen. I don’t even have the room to feel guilty when I sag with disappointment, seeing the caller’s not Jack. I contemplate ignoring Lizzy’s call for a few moments, worried that any more negativity might have me folding to the ground here and now, but a glimmer of hope shines through my fear, and I answer.
“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her voice trembling. “I’m just so worried about you, Annie. I’m trying so hard to hope for happiness for you, and it’s truly killing me that I can’t. You deserve so much more than this shit. You deserve the fairy tale. Why did you have to go and fall in love with a married man?”
“I didn’t plan it.” I drop to a chair at a nearby table. “I so didn’t want this to happen. I tried to walk away; you have to believe me.”