The Meating Room (38 page)

Even when the door closed and the engine fired up and the gearbox slotted into Drive with a hard metallic click and the Range Rover pulled away from the parking space, engine burbling, exhaust laying down a trail of white as if enticing him to follow, he found he could say nothing. Not until the sound of the Range Rover’s engine faded into the March chill did he realise that he was standing in the middle of the travel lane.

He shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets, and walked back to his car.

He thought by now that he should have become inured to the pain of jealousy. But it hurt, burrowing deep into his heart, twisting his gut, the pain sharp and blunt at the same time, as if his body could not work out how best to attack him.

He had told her he loved her. Well, he had, he did. He did love her.

Had he said that only two weeks ago? When had he last uttered these words to another woman? He could not remember. Not even when he had last told Gail he loved her. How many years ago had that been?

Ten? Twenty?

Surely no more.

And Cooper had reciprocated – ‘I love you, too, Andy.’

It seemed to seal their relationship.

Had none of it meant anything? Had she just said that to keep him contented?

He thought he had known Cooper, thought he had understood her, had known when to press, when to hold back, when to tease, and when not. He had known her better than anyone else with whom he had been intimate, known her better than he had known his own wife.

He had known Cooper better . . .

Better than anyone else . . .

Then he thought he understood.

He reached his car, turned his head to the end of the car park. Another cortège was entering the cemetery grounds, a hearse leading three sparkling black limousines, trailed by carloads of mourners.

He slipped out his new mobile, and dialled her number.

She picked up on the second ring, but said nothing.

He pressed the mobile to his ear, but could not hear any background noise.

‘You’ve parked,’ he said.

‘Talking on the phone while driving is against the law.’

She had been waiting for him to call, he thought he understood that much. Because he knew her better than he had known anyone else. And she knew him, too.

‘You’re going through with the termination.’

A pause of one beat, two beats, then a sad, ‘Yes. I am.’

He took a deep breath and stared at the grey-brown branches of the trees. Starlings flocked and fluttered in a flurry of wings, then swooped to the ground in feathered unison. In the far distance, a skein of geese pierced the sky in a perfect arrowhead. Life is all around, he thought. And life goes on. No matter what.

‘I’m the father,’ he said at length.

‘You are,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have lied to you.’

‘You didn’t want me to interfere in your decision,’ he said. ‘You thought I would walk away.’

‘Isn’t that what men are good at? Isn’t that what they always do?’

He had no answer to that. Was that not what he had been prepared to accept moments earlier? He had justifiable reasons for doing so, of course, but even so . . .

Neither spoke for what felt like thirty seconds, until Cooper said, ‘I have to make my own decision.’

He could tell she was crying. What mother-to-be would not in these circumstances? She had no children of her own through her marriage to Mr Cooper, and now she was pregnant by Gilchrist. No doubt she had lain awake at night torturing herself over the unfairness of life. If she’d had a child by her husband, would they have remained married? Well, if Mr Cooper had been allowed to continue to spread his seed to all and sundry then maybe he would have been happy to continue with the status quo. But Gilchrist knew that for Cooper it was not about just being married, but about commitment, trust and, above all else, love.

Which seemed to bring him full circle.

‘I’ll help in any way I can,’ he offered.

She sniffed, but said nothing.

‘You don’t have to do this, Becky. Go through with it, I mean. We can—’

‘There’s no
we
in this, Andy. I thought you understood that.’ She sniffed again, cleared her throat, as if regaining her strength. ‘I have to do this by myself.’

‘You don’t have to do anything by yourself any more. I’m here for you.’ He expected her to snap back at him, but her silence told him that she was not ruling it out. At least for the time being. ‘Where are you?’ he asked.

‘Not far.’

‘I’ll be with you in a few minutes,’ he said, and opened the Merc’s door.

The connection died.

He slid behind the steering wheel and fired the ignition.

Then drove off to meet her.