Conditional Love (17 page)

Babies? I pressed a hand to my forehead. I needed to get out of this heat.

I picked up my pencil again and quickly drew out a second bedroom. I had nearly completed the whole brief. All I had to do was stick in a few pictures from magazines to give an idea of colours and I was done.

Finished! I focussed on the design of the spare bedroom. Oh my godfathers, I couldn’t give that to Nick Cromwell. He would think I’d gone barmy. I ripped the page out of my pad and consigned the room I’d entitled ‘nursery’ to the bin.

twenty

Was green eyeliner too much with green eyes? I stood back from the mirror and blinked. No, I decided, brushing on some mascara. My eyes looked massive. And shining with happiness.

Today was going to go down in the History of Me as a particularly good day for three stonking reasons.

Number one: an email from the Managing Director this morning informed me that I was doing a marvellous job with
The Herald
’s social media. Feedback from our advertisers was very encouraging, reader engagement was positive and so far I had far exceeded my targets for Facebook likes and Twitter followers.

This had made me smile. But nowhere near as much as my second reason. My architect also emailed me today. I had read it so often that I knew it off by heart:

Received your brief today. I am very impressed! This is by far the best brief I have ever had for a project. Are you sure you haven’t done this before?! I know exactly the sort of style you are looking for and I am very much looking forward to working on your project with you.

Nick

Mr Serious-Face-Dog-Whisperer approved of my efforts! He had even used exclamation marks! My face had glowed with pride for the rest of the afternoon.

I was still basking in his glorious words when number three occurred; Marc called, asking me out on a date.

Me. Marc. A date.

So I had been right. All I had needed to do was spice up my life a bit, dazzle him with my executive prowess, wow him with my future plans and leave him to stew for a while and as if by magic – ta-da! – he had come back.

This time around I was determined to get it right.

A final check in the mirror. In my summer dress and sandals with my dark hair loose around my shoulders, I felt very feminine. Marc would approve. I picked up a cardigan, called my goodbyes to the girls and ran downstairs.

‘Get in then!’ Marc beckoned to me impatiently as a car tooted at him for double parking.

‘Sorry, I was just giving you a twirl,’ I grinned at him. ‘Do you like my dress?’

‘Very nice,’ he said, glancing into his rear view mirror and revving away. ‘Let’s go for a drive into the countryside and stop at a pub for a drink.’

‘Great!’ I pressed a hand against my grumbling tummy. Silly me for assuming ‘date’ meant ‘dinner’. It would do me good to go without a meal; Marc didn’t like it when I got too cuddly.

Marc’s car was very noisy, making conversation difficult. I contented myself with sneaking a peak at his handsome profile. In his Ray Bans, Lacoste polo shirt and Diesel jeans, he certainly looked the part, although knowing Marc and his connections at the market, the brands were likely to be fakes. But who needed designers when you could look that good for less?

I sniggered to myself; I sounded like an advert for TK Maxx.

We were soon on the ring road and then the dual carriageway and finally we left the suburbs behind.

‘Hey, we’re not far from Woodby,’ I shouted above the throb of the engine, as we sped along winding country lanes.

‘Yeah?’ Marc flashed me one of his knee-trembling smiles and a minute later we pulled up outside a quaint little pub.

As we walked up to the bar, Marc took hold of my hand. I saw our reflection in the mirrored panel behind the optics. We looked like a couple. Perhaps we were a couple? My heart began to pummel my chest at the speed of the William Tell overture and my cheeks flushed, I’d like to think in a pretty way rather than in a rashy-down-to-the-neck way.

Now what? Do I play hard to get and shrug him off, let him know we’re playing by my rules? Oh, stuff that!

I squeezed his hand and gave him my best twinkly smile.

‘What can I get you?’

A lie down in a darkened room, preferably with you?

‘White wine, please.’

A barmaid, almost wearing a black vest top, pouted her shiny pink lips at him as she took his order. Her blatant appreciation of Marc’s physique was, quite frankly, nauseating. If she batted those false lashes any harder, she would take off.

Marc dropped my hand to get his wallet out. I ran my fingers up his arm, feeling bold and naughty. The barmaid flicked her hair over her shoulder and managed to look down her nose at me at the same time. Marc hitched his shoulder up as if I was tickling him and I saw her smirk.

‘And one for yourself.’ He winked at her.

‘Shall we go outside?’ I said brightly as Marc handed me my wine. It wasn’t chilled and I was sure bat face had given me warm wine on purpose.

The pub had a large patio festooned with hanging baskets and planters stuffed with brash summery flowers. It was really pretty but packed! Marc steered us over to the only free picnic bench. It was a bit rickety. We both sat down on the same side and I yelped as it threatened to tip over. A bloke at the next table with a wet patch down his shirt, possibly the previous occupant of our table, caught my eye and chuckled.

Marc took a long drink from his pint and gave an appreciative sigh.

‘This is nice, isn’t it?’

I clutched the edge of the table and tried to relax. ‘Yes, lovely.’

It was nice: summer’s evening, country pub, handsome, attentive man at my side. Perhaps I was just out of practice with the whole romantic date thing, but my insides were churning with nerves.

Were we back together? I needed to know where I stood, but was too scared to ask. Hardly a good advertisement for women’s lib, was I? If a relationship takes two, surely I had some say in the matter?

Go on then, say something!

I will. When I’ve finished this drink.

I cast my eye around the patio in search of something to talk about. In front of us was couple with a sleeping toddler in a pushchair. The woman, roughly my age, had her blonde hair swept up into a perfect bun. Lucky cow, I couldn’t even manage a pony tail without it going all lumpy. She was wearing white linen trousers, a black strappy top and flip-flops. On me that sort of outfit would look scruffy, but she looked elegant and sexy.

Her man obviously thought so too; he pulled her towards him and gave her a long and sexy kiss. Wow! I averted my eyes. I was a bit prudish about snogging in public. This couple certainly weren’t though. Their little boy woke up and started to cry. They both smiled and rolled their eyes at the interruption.

‘So what’s new then?’ asked Marc, dragging his eyes away from a table of raucous women in the corner.

I turned towards him with a proud smile. ‘Well, I got an email from the MD today–’

‘Jesus wept, Sophie!’ cried Marc.

I followed the direction of his pointing finger and horrified stare towards my lap. The full skirt of my dress had ridden up over my waist and was ballooning up and out over my belly. I looked about eight months pregnant. With twins.

I leapt up, yanked my dress down by the hem and sucked my stomach in.

‘It’s all fabric,’ I laughed gaily. He didn’t look convinced. ‘And I had a big dinner.’ My empty stomach growled long and low like an approaching freight train.

‘You’ve got to get that under control.’ He shook his head and I quivered at the sight of his curled lip. ‘Cut down on the carbs. You’re no spring chicken. It’s harder to lose weight when you get older.’

Oh bless him! He was thinking of my health. That was so considerate of him. I’d missed this; having someone to care about me, keep me on the straight and narrow.

‘I’ll start tomorrow, I promise.’ I leant forward and gave him a swift kiss on his nose.

He scratched his nose and his cheek and then his chin. I was just about to make a joke and ask him if he’d got fleas, when he stopped and laid an arm across my shoulders.

That was better. I shifted towards him so that I was leaning against his chest. This time he didn’t brush me away or scratch at his skin.

I sighed. This was heaven. I was in his arms, where I’d wanted to be for the last five months. I wondered briefly who else had been here since February. I tossed the thoughts aside. No point looking back, I had to look forward. To the future, scary though that was.

Don’t forget to dazzle him! Show off a bit!

What could I say to show him how busy I’d been since we’d split up? I couldn’t very well mention the email from my MD again.

‘Oh! Did I tell you I’ve employed an architect to design me a house?’

Marc’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

I nodded.

‘I’m impressed.’ He squeezed my shoulder and I tried not to wince. He didn’t know his own strength sometimes. ‘My little mouse! Property developing, eh?’

He gave me a noisy kiss on the cheek.

OK, so
mouse
wasn’t the most promising of endearments. But
my
mouse – I could live with that.

‘Well, it’s hardly that, only –’

His eyes were totally locked on mine. I hadn’t seen him this focussed since we’d had to find his lost season ticket an hour before a big football match.

‘Big place is it? Plenty of potential?’ He scanned my face. I revelled in being the object of his attention.

His arm was getting really heavy on my neck and I could feel my spine curving under the pressure. I felt like a milk maid with a yoke across her shoulders. All I needed was two swinging buckets.

‘We could go and look at it if you like?’ I took a sip of wine. I’d hardly touched it and it tasted sour and too warm.

‘Great idea.’ He drained his pint and pulled me up from the bench.

‘Now? Oh. OK.’

I filled my cheeks with wine as Marc grabbed my hand and pulled me across the patio. Help! I couldn’t swallow and trot at the same time in these shoes. I had a face like a pufferfish as I passed the elegant mother. She smiled. I smiled back and squirted a jet of warm wine at her child’s pushchair. I shot her a look of panicky apology but she was too busy mopping up to notice, a look of disgust on her face.

I was right; we were only ten minutes from Woodby. But it was half an hour before we pulled into Lilac Lane.

Marc hadn’t spoken to me for the last twenty minutes. When I tried to hold the hand that was on the gear stick, he had moved it to tweak the volume on the stereo. I was sensing an atmosphere. In my defence, I hadn’t been planning on coming to Woodby, or else I’d have brought a map with me. And the keys.

‘This is it,’ I said brightly, pointing to the driveway of number eight.

I realised with a pang of guilt that I hadn’t been here since showing the architect round back in March. But strictly speaking, it wasn’t my property yet and I shouldn’t even be here.

The little bungalow looked a lot more inviting now it was summer, more cheerful somehow. The bay windows seemed less prison-like, the grass was neat and the side border was brimming with purple and white flowers. Even the thorny branches looked friendlier now that they were green and leafy. Mr Whelan must have employed a gardener.

This would be my garden next summer. I couldn’t tell a dandelion from a dahlia. How much would a gardener cost, I wondered.

Marc looked a lot more cheerful too now we were finally here. He stood in the front garden, hands on hips, shaking his head. He turned in a slow circle until he was facing me.

‘Wow. Princess! I like it.’

A chorus of angels gathered round my head singing ‘Hallelujah’. I was his princess again!

I took his hand and pulled him towards the side gate. ‘Come on, I’ll show you the back.’

We sat on the mossy bench in the back garden, arms wrapped round each other, and chatted. He shook his head and tutted when I told him that my father had delayed everything by not arriving until next month.

‘He sounds like a right character.’

‘I’m dreading it, to be honest,’ I admitted. I hardly dared think about it. August was only a couple of weeks away and I felt sick with fear.

‘Would you like me to be there?’ asked Marc. ‘If he gives you a hard time or anything, I’ll give him a pasting!’

Out of all comments from my friends and mother, that was the nicest, most supportive thing I had heard in months. I felt tears prick at my eyes. It was a comforting thought. On the other hand, turning up with a boyfriend with fists like breeze blocks might not be the wisest move.

‘Thanks,’ I said, diplomatically, ‘but this is something I need to do alone.’

Marc nodded solemnly and sighed. ‘You are lucky, you know. What I wouldn’t give for a leg up like this. You’re sitting on a gold mine here!’

‘Oh no, I don’t think so.’ I laughed, amused by the look of disbelief on his face. ‘All I want is a little house, nothing fancy.’

A shadow passed across his face.

I bit my lip. That had come out all wrong. It sounded really selfish. Like the house was just for me, when really I’d be delighted to share it with someone. Poor baby, still living at home with his mum, still trying to scrape enough money together to start a business. My heart went out to him. It didn’t seem fair that he couldn’t chase his dream like I was chasing mine.

I thought of the meeting I’d had with Maxine, the financial superwoman. What would she do in my situation? I was sure she wouldn’t sit back and allow her boyfriend to suffer when she had money in the bank. She would offer to help, wouldn’t she, perhaps for a stake in the business?

The combined voices of Jess and Emma warned me to stop and think, but I batted them away and took a deep breath.

‘I could loan you the money to start your car business.’

His eyes lit up and he beamed. He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me with such force that I felt like I was going to lose my tonsils.

‘Lovely offer,’ he said a few minutes later when we both came up for air. ‘But I was wrong to have asked for your help before. I want to do this by myself. It’s a matter of honour, you know?’