The No-Kids Club (9 page)

‘Your mum wasn’t sure how to reach you now,’ Tam continued, ‘so she contacted us here. She’s accepted a job in London, at King’s College working in the fundraising office. She still wants to see you . . . or at least get in touch.’ Tam’s voice was soft and gentle, as if she knew how each word was twisting Clare’s insides.

‘I’d rather not,’ Clare said firmly. ‘My mother’s involvement in my life is behind me. She wanted out, and I want to keep it that way.’ London or not, proximity didn’t mean they were any closer to reconnecting.

Tam reached across the table and took Clare’s hand. ‘It’s not always that easy to separate the past from the present,’ she said. ‘And sometimes it’s better not to. You and your mum could still have a relationship if you gave her a chance.’

Clare raised her eyebrows at Tam’s words. A relationship? As if! People didn’t change that easily, and if Mum had been able to choose a new life over her daughter once, she’d ditch her again, if need be. And what was Tam on about, claiming it was better not to separate the past from the present? When the past included a mother who abandoned you, Clare didn’t doubt for a second she was better off keeping those memories high up on a shelf, gathering as much dust as they possibly could. The only way to look was forward—in life and relationships.

A dart of sadness hit as she pictured Edward’s dark eyes, an expression of tenderness on his face as he typed this morning’s message. Was he best left behind, too? Clare sighed as she realised the answer was probably yes. The issue of children was insurmountable, and opening that door again would only lead to more hurt and pain. They’d done the hard bit and broken up once. Clare wasn’t keen to prolong the torture.

Anyway, she wasn’t looking for a serious, committed relationship now. Nicholas, with his easy humour and hard-to-tie-down lifestyle, was the ideal fit for her. In fact, when she got home, she’d ring him up and ask him out to dinner. There was no reason she had to wait around for him to get in touch.

‘Have a think about it.’ Tam stood, fluffing up the pillow she’d been sitting on. ‘I’ll forward her number to you in case you change your mind.’

Clare nodded and smiled, although she knew the chances of her reaching out to Mum were about as likely as the Queen
sporting a
mullet.

‘Hey, any chance of some cake?’ Clare’s dad stuck his head around the kitchen door, eyebrows raised hopefully.

‘Sure.’ Tam bustled over to the counter where the chocolate cake was standing in all its glory, and Clare breathed a sigh of relief the subject of her mother was closed.

Clare watched her father smile over at Tam as she placed a piece of cake before him. She’d never have thought it at the time, but Mum leaving was a good thing in the long run. She’d got her
freedom
, and Clare and Dad had got a woman for whom being a mum was a ready-made role.

Everything had turned out for the best.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A
nna hurried home from Books on the Hill, hoping Michael wasn’t back from work already. It was almost five on Friday, and she wanted to pack his case in readiness for the surprise getaway. As soon as he came in the door—and before he’d even a chance to think about booting up games—she’d hand him his bag, bundle him into the car to Heathrow, and they’d be in Venice by midnight.

Excitement coursed through her as she pictured the swank hotel she’d got a great deal on. It was minutes from Piazza San Marco, and the description had said when you opened your window, you could hear canal water lapping the building’s facade. The hefty deposit was non-refundable, and with the cost of the flights the trip had pretty much wiped out the small savings she’d set aside from her job. But it was more than worth it. She couldn’t believe after all this time she was finally going to her dream location.

Anna smiled at the clichéd vision that drifted into her head: the two of them, locked in a passionate embrace while floating down the canal in a gondola as accordion music echoed off buildings around them. She’d even bought some new lingerie, in racy red lace that Michael loved. If ever there was a weekend to christen it, this was it. In such a romantic venue and away from the usual daily grind, her husband was certain to regain his missing libido.

She unlocked the front door and scurried inside, heart dropping when she heard the telltale sound of explosions and gunshots. Oh, bollocks, Michael had made it home before her for once.
But tha
t was all right, she told herself. They wouldn’t have to rush as much and he could pack whatever he liked.

Her heart thumped and her grin grew bigger. She couldn’t wait to tell him they were off and see his reaction! She stuck her head around the corner of the lounge.

‘Guess what? We’re . . . ’ Her voice trailed away as she spotted not just Michael but two other men all crowded around the television, each holding a console in one hand and a beer in the other.

‘Oh, hi, honey.’ Michael glanced over and smiled before turning his attention back to the game. ‘You know Grant and Mo, right?’ The men threw her a quick hello.

Anna nodded. ‘Yes, I think we’ve met.’ Shit, she thought, her mind frantically turning over. What was she going to do now? If she and Michael didn’t leave by seven, they’d miss their flight. His friends couldn’t be staying too long, could they? They must have better things to do on a Friday evening than play on the Xbox. God, tonight of all nights, Michael had to be pally-pally with his workmates. He used to say he reserved Fridays for her. When had that stopped?

‘Sweetie, can you grab me another beer?’ Michael asked, not even averting his eyes from the screen. ‘Guys, you want one, too?’ The other men nodded, and Anna turned on her heel and made her way to the kitchen. For goodness’ sake, she hadn’t even taken off her coat yet! An unfamiliar flicker of anger rose within her, and she switched on the light, blinking as the gleaming steel appliances came into focus.

It’s not Michael’s fault, she told herself as she grabbed three cans from the fridge. He had no idea what she’d planned. She drew in a deep breath as she walked back to the lounge. It was only five, and if the guys left in the next hour, there’d be plenty of time to catch the plane. Maybe she’d pack Michael’s case now to save a few minutes. Anna handed over the drinks to the monosyllabic men, then
padded
up the stairs, listening closely for the sound of the door opening and closing as she kept one eye on the clock.

Fifteen minutes passed, then half an hour, then forty-five
minutes
. . . Finally, when she’d folded Michael’s underwear more times than necessary and she couldn’t prolong the packing any longer, she perched on the side of the bed. She hated to barge in on the fun downstairs, but they couldn’t afford to wait much more.
Rushing
turned Michael into a ball of stress, and she wanted to start their weekend on a good note.

She was about to stand when Michael appeared at the bedroom door. A whoosh of relief went through her. Oh phew, they must have finished. Now she didn’t need to interrupt their fun.

Michael’s gaze fell on the open case beside her on the bed. ‘Aw, thanks, honey. I could have done that myself, though.’

Anna’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t said anything about going away. So why was he thanking her?

‘Did you put in my green jumper? It’s the warmest I have,
I thi
nk—it gets quite cold, even at this time of year.’

Had he somehow discovered their destination, Anna wondered, confusion sweeping over her? But how? Spring nights in Venice
could
get chilly, but she was certain she’d left no trace of the getaway anywhere.

‘Ah, there it is.’ Michael looked up from rifling through the case. ‘Thanks so much. You’re a star!’ He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I reckon we’re almost ready to set off, then.’

Anna’s mouth fell open and she snapped it closed, trying to cover her surprise. He’d obviously found out . . . God knows how. But however he’d uncovered her plan, at least he seemed happy and excited. Part of her had worried he’d balk at going away. ‘I guess so!’ She reached up and touched his cheek, smiling at the thought of the weekend ahead. ‘Just let me print off the hotel details and directions.’

‘Oh, no need.’ Michael waved a hand in the air. ‘Mo’s got everything sorted. He’s a little obsessive that way.’

Anna drew back.
Mo?
What on earth was Michael talking about?

‘Anyway,’ Michael continued, ‘Mo’s been there a there a few times before, so he knows the route. Best place to golf in Scotland, he says!’

Anna’s heart dropped so fast she could swear it crashed through the floor into the room below.
Best place to golf in Scotland?
The shouts and laughter of the men drifted from downstairs as she frantically tried to assimilate her husband’s words.

‘I didn’t know you were going away this weekend,’ she finally managed to croak.

Michael didn’t seem to notice the choked way the words left her mouth. ‘What? Really?’ Now it was his turn to look puzzled. ‘I’m sure I told you when we booked it a couple months ago.’

Anna shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Michael leaving his video games for a whole weekend was an event she’d definitely have remembered.

Michael put an arm around her, drawing her close. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, hon. I was sure I’d told you. We’ve been talking about it at work for ages. This place is supposed to be spectacular! And we’re going to visit a whisky distillery, too.’ The words tumbled out of him. It was the first time she’d heard her husband so excited in ages—at least since the latest Xbox release.

Anna leaned her forehead on his shoulder so he couldn’t see the tears filling her eyes. The idyllic weekend was slowly fading away, a bitter disappointment seeping in to take its place.

‘We’ll be back Sunday afternoon,’ he said. ‘So what do you have planned for the next few days? Are you working? Big night out with the girls?’

Anna swallowed hard to keep down her emotions. A big night out with the girls? As if. And she’d traded her shifts at work, thinking she’d be away all weekend. Empty space stretched before her like a desert.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she responded, forcing her voice to sound bright. ‘I’ll find something. Have fun.’

‘I will.’ Michael’s lips met hers, then he pulled her in for a hug. She felt numb in his arms, her head still trying to understand that she wasn’t going anywhere. ‘I’ll give you a call tomorrow—it’ll be too late by the time we arrive tonight.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Guess we’d better set off. I’ll see you Sunday.’ And with that, he zipped closed the suitcase, dropped a kiss on her cheek, and lifted a hand as he walked through the door.

Anna stayed frozen in place as she listened to his feet thumping down the stairs, the bustle and excited voices of the men as they gathered their things, then the bang of the door as it closed behind them. Silence filtered through the house, cloaking it with loneliness.

She sank onto the downy pillows of the bed. There was so much she should be doing—cancelling their flight, letting the hotel know they wouldn’t be checking in—but that all made the ruin of the weekend seem real. Not only that, but the one occasion her
husband
did drag himself from his lair, it hadn’t been to spend time with her. It’d been to pal around with his workmates, who he saw every day.

It wasn’t Michael’s fault, she told herself again, staring up at the ceiling. Besides, she could always rebook—if she could get the cash back. But despite her attempts to rationalise his leaving, she couldn’t push aside the feeling that no matter what she did, nothing was revitalising their relationship. And on top of everything, she seemed to be the only one who noticed—or cared.

If Michael was happy, perhaps she should just leave it. He
certainly
didn’t appear bothered by how things were going. Maybe she shouldn’t be, either.

But even as she closed her eyes, Anna knew that wasn’t the answer. The only problem was, she didn’t know what was.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

C
lare pivoted in front of the mirror on Saturday night, raising an eyebrow at her reflection. Were the black jeans and jade-green blazer too formal or just right? Did these high heels make her look like she was trying too hard? And did she really need to be wearing the lacy lingerie? Better safe than sorry, she thought, grimacing as she pictured her usual greying cotton underwear.
Nicholas
would run away screaming if she sported those undergarments.

Truthfully, sex was the last thing she fancied. With all her night shifts, she was used to being exhausted, but this queasiness . . . She took a swig of Gaviscon, hoping this would do the trick, because she was really looking forward to tonight.

She’d rung Nicholas after returning from her parents’ house, keen to banish the past—and Edward—from her mind, and ready to embrace the life she wanted. Nicholas had been full of enthusiasm, saying he knew just the place for dinner. He’d made no explanation for the silence since they’d last met, but Clare wasn’t
bothered
. They were their own people; they didn’t need to account for what they got up to when they weren’t together. Who wanted to hear all those boring details, anyway?

Tam’s words about separating different parts of her life came to mind, and Clare shook her head. She might have meant just the present and the past, but Clare saw nothing wrong with keeping other bits of your life separate, too—it certainly made things easier to deal with.

Okay, so she still hadn’t succeeded in packaging up Edward’s memories. She’d deleted his message, but just last night Clare had dreamed they were together again, up on his tiny rooftop. He’d been sipping the port he loved and reading one of those thick novels Clare never wanted to invest so much time in. She lay next to him, wrapped up in blankets as the lights of London glowed in the sky. When her eyes had snapped open this morning and she realised she’d never see him again, her insides squeezed painfully. She’d thrown off the covers, forcing herself to think about tonight . . . and Nicholas.

The flat buzzer sounded, and Clare glanced at her watch.
Seven p.m.
—right on time. She sprayed on some perfume, then hurried to the entrance.

‘Hello.’ Swinging open the door, she smiled at Nicholas. Clad in a slim-fitting cream jumper and a tailored pair of jeans, he was even more handsome than she remembered.

‘Hello, yourself.’ He grinned and leaned down to kiss her cheek. ‘Ready? I’ve booked a fantastic place.’

Clare nodded. ‘More than ready. So where are we going?’ she asked as they went out into the chilly night. Drizzle hung in the air, making Clare’s face feel cold and clammy.

‘It’s a new spot that just launched over in Camden. Top-class DJ and fantastic sushi.’

‘Fabulous,’ Clare managed to say, despite her stomach turning at the thought of sushi. Given her tricky tummy, raw fish was the second last thing she wanted—right after sex. And a DJ? Hopefully the music wouldn’t be too loud. She’d kind of been hoping to learn a bit more about Nicholas. For God’s sake, she thought, rolling her eyes at herself. When had she become so old?

Nicholas opened the door to his sleek BMW and ushered her in. The man had manners! On previous dates she’d been whipped in the face with the door when the bloke pushed through before her, failing to hold it open.

‘You’re going to love this place,’ Nicholas said as they crossed the city. ‘The food and service are fabulous, and only over-eighteens are allowed in. It’s nice to enjoy eating out without sitting next to a screaming baby or watching a toddler mash a meal all over his face.’

Clare laughed, recalling the time she’d gone to Pizza Express one night with Ellie and the child at the table next to them had thrown the pepperoni like a discus. ‘Very true.’

Nicholas manoeuvred the car into a vacant space on the street outside Camden Market. He cut the engine and turned to face her, eyes gleaming in the dark. ‘You know, I’m so pleased I found someone who isn’t in a rush to settle down.’ He put a hand on her arm, and Clare glanced down at it, noting the slender fingers. An image of Edward’s solid hands—and how they practically engulfed hers—swam into her head. She shoved it away. ‘I’m really looking forward to tonight.’ His words were weighted, leaving no doubt what
he mean
t.

‘Me, too,’ Clare said, trying to mentally replace the thought of Edward’s hands on her body with Nicholas’s. It was time to move on, she told herself; she hadn’t worn her sexy lingerie just for kicks. Given the way the bra was cutting into her, it felt more like torture.

Nicholas led her across the canal lock then up a flight of stone stairs to the restaurant. Music drifted from various pubs lining the street, and the whoop of partygoers echoed up and down the canal. It was Saturday night in Camden, and she was going to have a good time if it killed her. Her stomach flipped again and she stifled a groan. At this rate, it just might.

And when Nicholas led her inside the restaurant, it became even clearer having fun might take more effort than she could expend. House music boomed from a turnstile in the corner of the room, and purple spotlights illuminated each table as if they were on a stage. Waiters and waitresses—clad in black clothing with neon patches—looked like luminous aliens floating around the space. The whole thing was uber-cool, stylised to within an inch of itself . . . and exactly what Clare didn’t want.

‘Isn’t this fantastic?’ Nicholas yelled over the music, his face lit up with enthusiasm.

Clare forced a grin and nodded. ‘Amazing.’ It was amazing—just so not her thing. She gave it ten minutes before her throat was sore from shouting.

Nicholas rested his hand on the small of her back as the
maître d
’ showed them to a table, the warmth of his palm seeping through her blazer. She slid onto the metallic banquette, squinting from the purple lights reflecting in the shiny surface.

‘I’ll join you here so we don’t have to yell.’ Nicholas scooted beside her, angling his body in her direction. ‘Right,’ he said after handing her the cocktail menu. ‘Good news! I finally ran your pitch about the club past my boss.’

‘And?’ Clare raised her eyebrows.

Nicholas’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘And they think it’s a great idea. Child-free living is always a hot topic; people love to debate it, as I’m sure you know. You’d be up for an interview to explain why you set up the club, right?’

Clare nodded. ‘I guess. I mean, I don’t have much experience with television, but I could give it a try.’

‘Don’t worry, it won’t be live. If you lose your train of thought, we can always start over. And I’ll take it easy on you.’ He grinned suggestively, and Clare returned his smile, waiting to feel a rush of attraction, of anticipation, of
something
. Right now, the two of them in bed seemed more theoretical than real.

‘Sounds good. I’d love to find some new members,’ she responded. ‘And speaking of members, do you think you can make it out to the club one night, maybe this week? It’d be great to have you along.’

‘Oh yeah, possibly. Let me check and make sure I don’t have anything else on this Wednesday.’ He grabbed his iPhone and punched at the screen, then tossed it on the table. ‘Silly thing, I can never figure it out. I’ll have a look and let you know. Ready to order some drinks?’

‘Oh, I haven’t even read the menu yet.’ Clare scanned the long list of cocktails, wondering at his lack of response. Hadn’t he got in touch because he wanted to join the club? So why wasn’t he keen to come? Perhaps he was busy, but if that was the case, why didn’t he just tell her? She’d have to run it by Ellie when she had a chance. God, she hadn’t seen her friend in ages. The closer her due date, the harder Ellie seemed to be working.

After a very strong vodka martini, the purple lights took on a softer glow, darkness wrapping the table in a cocoon-like atmosphere. Even the music didn’t seem as loud or irritating, fading into the background like a pleasant hum. Combined with a bottle of warm sake, Clare managed to stomach some blackened tuna and rice. Dinner passed in a blur and she’d no idea what they talked about, but Nicholas was as effusive and charming as ever. The tip of her nose was numb from too much drink, but at least the alcohol had taken the edge off her fatigue.

‘This has been great, Clare.’ Nicholas met her eyes and leaned in until his face was inches from hers. She couldn’t help focusing on his lips and the little cleft in his chin.

She moved closer, too. ‘I’ve had a really good time. Thank you.’ Although this place wasn’t her speed and she wouldn’t be keen to do it again, she
had
enjoyed Nicholas’s company.

‘So . . . ’ He paused, then gave her a smile. ‘I’d love to invite you back to my place for a nightcap, but I’m having some renovations done and it’s a disaster. Maybe we can head to yours?’

Clare held his gaze, the wheels in her foggy mind turning. The night had been leading up to this, she knew, and she
did
want it—at least her brain did. She’d feel more in the mood once they were away from this place and settled back at home. She was just about to open her mouth to say that’d be wonderful when a fresh wave of nausea crashed over her and she gulped in air.

‘Are you okay?’ Nicholas eyed her with concern. ‘You’ve gone a little pale.’

Clare nodded, trying to fight the sensation. ‘I just—’ Her stomach clenched, and she shot to her feet and stumbled down a corridor towards what she hoped was the loo. Leaning against a cubicle door, she bent over and gulped in air until her tummy righted itself. She should have known not to drink alcohol so quickly.

A knock sounded on the door. ‘Clare? You all right in there?’

She gingerly lifted her head, waiting to see if she actually was okay. When her stomach stayed settled, she splashed some water on her flushed cheeks, grimacing at her dishevelled reflection in the mirror. ‘I’ll be fine, thanks.’ She swung open the door and met
Nicholas’s
eyes, trying not to notice how he subtly backed away as if she was about to upend the sake on his shoes—not that she blamed him.

‘I should head home,’ she said. ‘But I definitely want to take a rain check on that nightcap.’

‘I understand, and yes, for sure, when you’re feeling better.’ Nicholas touched her lightly on the back. ‘Are you all right to get in the car now, or do you want to wait a bit?’

‘I’m fine,’ Clare said, wiping sweat from her brow. She still felt woozy, but she couldn’t take another second of this music and the now-pulsating lights. Before Nicholas could respond, she was out the door, breathing in the fresh night air. Shouts and music reminded her the night was still young, and she turned to face her date. ‘Sorry to make you head home so soon.’

Nicholas shrugged, taking her arm as he led her back down the stairs. ‘That’s okay. I don’t usually stay up late anyway.’

‘Because of your job.’ Clare nodded as she climbed into the car. ‘I’m the same.’ Despite the differing tastes in restaurants, it was nice to find someone similar in so many ways.

Thirty minutes later, Nicholas pulled up in front of her flat. Clare turned to face him, relieved her stomach contents had stayed put. ‘Thanks again. And I’m sorry.’

Nicholas waved a hand in the air. ‘Please don’t worry. I just hope you feel better soon.’ He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll be in touch. I’m already looking forward to the next time.’

‘Night.’ Clare wiggled her fingers as she climbed from the car.

As she stood on the pavement and watched him pull away, she realised that despite the few dates they’d been on now, she still didn’t know much about him. The car vanished around the corner, and she dismissed the thought. She knew the important things, and hadn’t she just been thinking how similar they were?

The rest of the blanks could be filled in over time.

Poppy watched as Alistair cheerily dried the last plate after the Sunday night roast. It was a tradition in their house that every Sunday, Alistair cooked and washed-up after the meal, leaving Poppy free to finish her last-minute planning. People often thought being a primary-school teacher was all fun and games, but there was a hell of a lot of preparation involved to get thirty little ones working in tandem. Still, she’d definitely miss it when she took a year off for maternity leave.

This round of IVF
would
work—if they ever got started. Poppy sighed, thinking of the mess of the past week. She had returned home from the clinic, eager to tell Alistair she was ready to begin again. But as soon as she’d swung open the door, mayhem had met her eyes. The upstairs neighbours’ bath had overflowed, and the flood of water had weighed down their plaster ceiling so much it had caved right onto the kitchen table.

The days that followed had been a nightmare of calls to the insurance company, workmen traipsing in and out, and fumes that made her dizzy. The experience had left both her and Alistair with frazzled nerves—hardly the ideal time for a serious discussion, even if it was for something as wonderful as IVF.