“I made a friend today,” I say.
Jack is sitting on the bed, lacing up his tennis shoes. He and Simon have booked a court at the Roehampton Club.
“Someone in my yoga class.”
“So she’s pregnant.”
“Obviously.”
“You’re like the mummy whisperer.” Jack chuckles. “You attract them with that blog of yours.”
“They’re not friends—they’re followers.”
“Disciples, you mean.”
Jack has no idea about social media and the difference between friends, followers, “likes,” and subscribers. He checks the grip of his tennis racket and practices his forehand.
“So who is she?”
“She works at the supermarket.”
He looks surprised.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Your usual friends don’t work in supermarkets.”
“Agatha is refreshingly down-to-earth and she makes me laugh. I thought I might introduce her to my mothers’ group.”
“The coven?”
“Very funny. This is her first baby and her fiancé is away at sea.”
“Is he a fisherman?”
“In the Royal Navy.”
“Ah, a sailor.”
“Why do you say it like that?”
“You know what they say about sailors?”
“What?”
“There was this one sailor who was away six months at sea. When he finally reached port he visited a brothel, put down two hundred quid, and said, ‘Give me your ugliest woman and a grilled cheese sandwich.’ The brothel madam replied, ‘Sir, for that sort of money you could have our prettiest girl and a three-course meal.’ The sailor said, ‘Listen, lady, I’m not horny—I’m homesick.”’
Jack snorts with laughter.
“That’s terrible,” I say.
“The best ones are.” He pecks me on the lips. “I thought I might invite Simon back for dinner. Gina’s away so he’s looking after himself.”
I feel something shift inside me as though a tremor has set off an alarm that jangles in my ears.
“Did he invite himself?” I ask, struggling to hear my words above the internal noise.
“No, but he’s always asking about you.”
“Me?”
“About your pregnancy—maybe he’s angling to be godfather again. Can he do that?”
I don’t answer. Jack is almost at the front door.
“We’re only having leftovers. You should eat at the club,” I say.
“Nonsense. Simon wants to see you. We’ll order takeaway. Whatever happened between you two has to be sorted out.”
I say nothing. The front door closes. My heart beats like a blown tire. I told Simon he wasn’t welcome. Why is he doing this? Opening the fridge, I spy a half-drunk bottle of white wine. I contemplate pouring myself a glass—a huge one. I want to get drunk. I want to leave home. Mostly I want to avoid Simon.
For the next two hours I am on edge. I snap at Lachlan for spilling a drink and make Lucy cry when I’m brushing knots out of her hair. It’s not fair to them. It’s not fair to me.
I hear Jack and Simon arriving home. They talk more loudly when they’re with each other, like people who shout into mobile phones. They’re not drunk, but they’re each carrying an open beer and a six-pack.
I don’t look at Simon. He tries to hug me, but I turn my face away and arch my back.
“What’s the matter?” he asks. “I had a shower.”
“Dinner won’t be long,” I say, changing the subject.
Jack begins telling me about their game, talking about his great comeback from five games down to win the deciding set. I glance at Simon and realize that he let Jack win. Others wouldn’t be able to tell, but I know him too well.
It’s put Jack in a good mood because he doesn’t win often enough—not since “I married and got fat,” he says, patting his stomach—a remark aimed more at me, because Jack is the same weight as when I met him.
Simon finishes his beer and Jack gets him another. They sit on stools at the kitchen counter, watching me dress a salad and set the table.
“You look great,” Simon says.
“Radiant,” I reply, not hiding my sarcasm.
“When are you due?”
“December the seventh,” says Jack.
Maybe I’m paranoid, but I sense Simon doing the calculations in his head, counting backwards, plotting the date of conception.
Jack is still talking. “Simon has been telling me that he wants to be a father. I told him he should get Gina pregnant, but he might want to put a ring on her finger first.”
I don’t reply. Both of them sense the tension, but Jack doesn’t understand why.
“So when did you decide you wanted a third?” asks Simon, directing the question at me.
“It wasn’t exactly planned,” says Jack.
“Weren’t you taking precautions?”
“Do you remember Heston’s fortieth?”
“In Hampshire.”
“We had a bit of morning delight and played Russian roulette.”
Again I sense Simon doing the mental arithmetic. The silence stretches out.
“So how are the kids?” he asks. “I thought I might see them.”
“Lachlan is in bed. Lucy is watching TV in our room,” I reply. I touch Jack’s shoulder. “She wants you to say good night to her.”
“I’ll do it now.”
Jack swallows the last of his beer, putting his tongue inside the bottle as though searching for the last drop.
Alone with Simon, I begin wiping worktops that are already clean. Simon picks at the label of his beer with a thumbnail.
“You can’t keep freezing me out, Megs. I’m Jack’s best friend. I’m your friend.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“We played tennis. I’m having a few beers. I’ve always been welcome in this house. You’re like my second family.”
“We’re not.”
He stands and moves towards me. I step away, keeping the island worktop between us.
“Why are you asking questions about my due date?”
“It’s what people do—they ask about each other. Imagine if I stayed away. Jack would want to know why. What do I tell him?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re punishing me for your mistake.”
“It was our mistake.”
“Sure, I cheated on Gina, but we’re not married. So if we’re going to start assigning blame, I think I know where most of it lies.”
He’s right, of course, which is all the more infuriating.
“So for your sake—and Jack’s—I suggest you calm down and begin treating me nicely.”
I start clearing away the empty bottles. Simon moves closer. “You should worry about staying healthy and looking after that baby.”
“Why do you care?”
He smiles. “You know the answer.”
“This is not your baby.”
“Prove it.”
AGATHA
* * *
My mother has written another letter. This one has a red wine stain where she rested her glass.
Dear Agatha,
Have you been thinking about coming to Spain for Christmas? We could get a car and drive along the coast, and I could introduce you to all my new friends. They’re not all old like me—and the Spanish men are very handsome. The yacht club has a lifeguard who you’ll be “drowning” to meet.