The Passionate Mistake (21 page)

Chapter
Twenty-One

On
Monday she woke up to her alarm clock summoning her to her walk. But when she sat up briskly and swung her feet the floor, the room whirled around her and her stomach kept on whirling with it. She scrambled for the bathroom and made it just in time to throw up into the toilet.

“Ugh. Foul!” Mentally she reviewed her meals of the day before.
Food poisoning? It could possibly be, as they had been cooking with chicken last night. Sure she had been careful, but maybe something hadn’t cooked right through.

Was she well enough to work? She still felt nauseous, but it probably wasn’t too bad. She didn’t have diarrhea so work was a definite possibility.

She skipped the walk and dressed, monitoring her insides cautiously. There was no further rebellion so she left for the office in good time and was even a little early. The first hours of work passed in swift contentment, interspersed with the excitement of her brief glimpses of Mike.

At morning teatime she
stretched and ran through the quick collection of exercises recommended by the ergonomics specialist to prevent occupational overuse syndrome. Then she decided to go fix herself a big mug of green tea in the kitchen downstairs. As she used the swipe card and exited the Platform Division’s offices she glanced over the span of the atrium to see if Mike was in his office. He was, eyes, trained on his screen. She couldn’t see the expression on his face but it still made her smile to know he was so close.

Her smile faded as she walked to the lifts.
When she wasn’t preoccupied by coding it was easy to start thinking about Dad and Damian again. She didn’t like to leave things hanging but on the other hand they definitely needed a few days to cool down, and she needed some time to let the specifics of what they had said fade a little in her memory. Then she’d try calling and extend the olive branch.

It was going to be different from here on in. She would make sure not to get caught up in all their angst. And a more distant relationship would also suit her desire to keep her secrets from
Mike. She wouldn’t put it past Dad or perhaps even Damian to tell him everything just to destroy the relationship they would no doubt blame for her change of heart.

It wasn’t pleasant to think they would put a desire for revenge above her happiness, but they could be destructive when they were angry. Yes, arm
’s length would be best for now but she wasn’t comfortable with freezing them out completely. That sort of thing could go on for years once it got started and it didn’t sit right with her.

As she walked into the lunch room t
he smell hit her like a wall. Someone’s sandwich heated in the microwave. Fried onions, pickles, egg. She gagged, choked and fled for the nearby toilets, making it just in time to heave up the remains of her tiny breakfast.

Okay, so maybe work hadn’t been such a great idea after all. She sighed, leaning on one wall of the small cubicle. The nausea
had ebbed again. After a couple of minutes she felt capable of making it back out to the corridor. She held her breath as she walked past the lunchroom door. Sarah came out at that moment, saw her and fell in beside her, saying: “Are you feeling okay, Cath? You went a bit green back there. Before you ran away.”

“Yeah, it was really weird. The smell in there just set me off. I’ve been feeling a bit off
color all morning.”

“You poor thing.
You should go home. Not pregnant, are you?” The last was said in a teasing tone, and she responded more sharply than she intended.

“No. No I’m not!”

“Alright then,” laughed Sarah, lifting her hands in front of her as if to ward something off. “I didn’t mean anything by it. But if you’re going to make a habit of throwing up around the place someone will start a rumor. You’d better go home, for sure.”

So she went, silent and preoccupied,
excused herself to Hamish then got into her car and drove home. She dropped her keys twice, trying to open her apartment door, and she went straight to the shelf where she kept her contraceptive pills. There were the rows of tiny tears in the foil, only one pill missed almost three weeks ago – she had forgotten to take that one – but one skipped pill wasn’t enough to be a problem. At least she was pretty sure it wasn’t. Maybe she should read the literature.

She hunted out the unopened box for her next three months of pills, pulled out the paper that was included with it and squinted to read the tiny print, then removed her fake eyeglasses to see better.

Skipping a pill, skipping a pill. There it was. No, skipping a pill was not likely to make her fertile. But it should have started her period, and it hadn’t. She hadn’t bothered to have a period in several months now, missing out that inconvenient row of pills and starting straight on those for the next month.

She
googled ‘Pregnancy symptoms’ and came up with a list of the top ten. Missed period, check. Nausea, check. Mood swings? Well of course she’d been moody. Look at her crazy life situation. Anyone would be moody under those conditions. Bloating? Not that she’d noticed.  Sore breasts? Her nipples were tender, but then they’d had so much attention lavished on them lately that it was natural they’d be a bit chafed and sore. That wasn’t the only part of her that was tender, some days!

Tiredness?
Well, yeah, but then she’d been getting up earlier in the mornings for those walks, and barely sleeping on her nights with Mike each weekend, between talking and having sex. Tiredness was only natural. She had fallen asleep on the couch straight after dinner the last three nights in a row, regardless of her determination to get a little programming done for one of her websites. And not just a catnap, either. She’d woken long enough to stagger to bed, strip off her clothes and crawl under the sheet before nodding straight off again; and slept the night through.

Oh God.

Kate didn’t bother to read the rest of the list of symptoms. She looked up the phone numbers of local doctors and chose one at random. When they didn’t have a space available in the next hour she tried another, then a third, where she made a booking.

Sitting in the waiting room
half an hour later she didn’t pick up a magazine. There was no way she could read. A pregnancy? A baby? She wasn’t ready for this. It was crazy. There was no way.

When her name was called she sprang from her seat and strode into the office of the doctor – a woman in her forties with freckles, masses of dark blond curls and tired eyes.

“How can I help?” the doctor asked.

“I’m wondering if I might be pregnant,” she said
starkly. The doctor’s eyebrows went up slightly at her tone, tense and a little desperate.

“You can just take a test. They’re available at any pharmacy. You don’t need to make an appointment. Unless
you’re wanting to discuss your options . . .” she finished delicately.

“Oh, no.
I . . . uh, didn’t know I could just test myself.” It had never been an issue before.

“Sure,” said the doctor, reaching for a drawer and pulling out a small plastic package, which she handed to Kate. Kate took it and held it limply. “Home tests are almost completely accurate these days.
But here. If you want to visit the bathroom down the hall you can do the test now. I’ll wait.” She gave instructions and pointed Kate in the right direction for the bathroom.

Numbly Kate did as she had been told, and waited for long, tense minutes as first one pink bar appeared and then a second, slightly fainter. Two bars means positive, the doctor had said.
Positive.

Positive.

She
was
pregnant.

“How could this have happened?” she asked the doctor, back in the
cozy room with its soft blue carpet and green curtains. She clutched at the edge of her chair with a white-knuckled grip. “I take my pill every day. I thought the pill was supposed to be very reliable.”

“Nothing’s one hundred percent, though you’re right, that pill is usually very reliable. Still, something may have interfered with its function. Some antibiotics can
counteract absorption of the pill, some other drugs have been known to be a problem, and then there are natural substances like Saint John’s Wort and grapefruit that should be avoided.”

Grapefruit.

“Grapefruit?”
she asked, her voice shaking.

“Hmm, yes,” said the doctor, turning to her computer and typing in several entries, then pausing to read the text that had come up on her screen. “This type of pill has been known to fail when users eat grapefruit. It’s recommended you avoid it. You should have been told that when it was first prescribed, or at least told to read the literature carefully. It will have been in there.”

She had been using the same pill for years now. She had no recollection of anything involving grapefruit, but then she’d never eaten it before. She might have dismissed or forgotten the warning, if it had ever been given.

Oh God,
oh
God
, what was she going to do now?

“There are a range of options,” the doctor said softly, obviously reading her distress. “You have some decisions to make. We can talk it over together, or I can give you some reading material to go through and then you can come back when you’ve thought things over. This is totally your decision,
and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. But you do need to think it over very carefully.”

She couldn’t bear to talk it over with anyone, just yet. What she needed was solitude. She excused herself, gathered up pamphlets and the handwritten notes the doctor made, and thanked her. The woman patted her on the shoulder, gave her a little squeeze and a look of sympathy, and sent her on her way.

Chapter Twenty-Two

She should never have gone into work the next day. It was pure, plain, unmitigated idiocy. She knew that. She knew it.

But she could not bear to hold this news and sit quietly at home.

God only knew what she thought she could do better at the office. Beam the information magically into Mike’s brain? Experience some sort of mystic solidarity with him? Feel less alone when they were separated only by a wall, she and the father of this . . . baby.

This baby.

She went
to the office.

That was the first mistake.
The first and biggest. If she could only have undone that one error, nothing else would have gone wrong. If she had stayed safely at home, hidden under the covers, walked the streets of the city, whatever. All she had to do was make the decision to steer clear of the office altogether.

She went in to the office. And sat in her chair, still, silent, oozing with misery, trying to imagine how she’d tell him. What she’d say. As close as he was, he felt a million miles away, separated from her by the huge gulf of knowledge between them. All the things she knew that he didn’t.
A million miles.

The loneliness, the feeling of a huge, momentous solitude overwhelmed her. She had absolutely no idea of how to raise a baby. She had never even he
ld one, since Luke. She couldn’t picture it; simply could not imagine herself into that role: a mother; responsible for a life other than her own. She was terrified. She could not do this. Could not condemn a child to be raised by her, pitifully ignorant and inadequate her. It was impossible.

The terror and the loneliness grew too much to bear. Then she made the second mistake. She called her sister.

Which in itself wasn’t too bad. Understandable that she should reach out to the one other person who – like her – would one day be a mother using the emotional resources she had learnt from their family. Not that she had any plans to tell her what the call was really about. She just wanted to make contact; to feel less alone.

Perhaps the call itself
wasn’t the second mistake. If she had used the office phone to call, there would have been no harm done. But she didn’t have a phone on her desk – she never used one. She had no need to connect with the outside world. So there was no phone sitting on her desk.

If she had thought it over at all, she wouldn’t have made the next mistake. She would have
gone downstairs, found a workstation with a phone, and sat there for ten minutes to ring Janet.

But she didn’t think it through.

She just pulled her own phone from her bag, and dialed.

She didn’t realize the mistake right away.

“Hi Kate. What’s up?”

“Nothing.
Nothing in particular. I was just calling to see how things are.”

“You mean at home? There’s been a bit of a stink. Dad’s really pissed off at you. What did you say to him?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. The same stuff I was talking about with Damian, more or less. He wanted me to do something for the family business and I wouldn’t. Don’t worry. He’ll get over it.”

“Oh, I’m not worried. I mean, he’s being a drag but I just steer clear. I haven’t been home much anyway.”

“Out partying?”

“Nah, nah you know me.
At the library. I’ve picked out my uni papers and I’m getting a head start on the readings. I’m so going to ace this year.”

“Wow.
Impressive.”

“You know it. So what’s up with you? You sound a bit off.”

“Oh, nothing. But it’s good to hear your voice. And about uni and all. I . . .” and that’s when she realized the mistake. Because while she was turned away from the door Mike had swiped himself through the locked entryway into the office and while walking past her on his way to Hamish, glanced at her to give her a friendly nod, and froze. Straightened. Turned his whole body towards her, the color draining from his face. And his eyes were on her phone.

Her
sparkling, bedazzled phone.

Realization
was like a white hot arrow through her brain. In a single motion she took the phone from her ear and flung it into the gaping mouth of her open satchel.

But now he was looking at her face, his gaze sweeping over it. Over the glasses, the flat brown hair in childish pigtails, the bare skin. His eyes were wide in dawning outrage.

He stalked to her desk, put his hands on it and leaned in close, snarling: “Kate? What the hell
is
this?
What
is going on?”

She stared back at him, a deer in headlights, stunned and wordless.

“Answer me,
Kate
.” His tone dripped with rage, and when she still said nothing, he shouted, “Answer me!” and slammed his hand down on the desk as punctuation.

She flinched, and his lip
curled. Heads were turning in their direction. People stopped in the corridor to stare through the glass windows.

He rocked back on his heels, and pointed: “Get into my office.
Now!”

She
got to her feet and walked, stiff, mechanical, her back ramrod straight, feeling like she was going to her execution. She let them both out of the Platform Division’s offices, along the walkway overlooking the atrium and into his office.

He closed the door behind him with a slam, and again she flinched, her hand flying protectively to her abdomen.

He didn’t see the gesture. His head was up, nostrils flared, as he operated the blinds with a swift viciousness, shutting them off from curious eyes.

“
Tell me why you’re hiding out in my company. Is this some sort of sick game? Are you stalking me?”

“No! No, this is nothing personal. Or at least, it didn’t start that way.” She couldn’t think straight. Her gut was churning with nausea. She had no idea what to say to explain this. “It was all business to start with.”

“All business? Taking on a disguise and coming to work for me was all business? What business, exactly? What reason could a woman who works in a software company possibly have for hiring on in another software company
in disguise
?” His tone rose until he shouted the last two words.

He was so clever. Of course he knew right away. What explanation was there except for the right one?
None she could think of.

“That’s how it started. Yes.
But Mike-”

And she saw it. Actually saw the moment when incredulity was replaced with certainty. It was like a curtain closing. His face closed. Closed to her, all feeling washed away. His eyes went dead.

“But Mike,” she pleaded, “it
changed
. Almost immediately it changed for me. I mean, I never stole anything from you. Not one thing.” She was begging him to understand. He just looked at her with that blank stare, as if he didn’t even see her.

“I liked it here. I liked you. I . . . I wanted you-”

“So you told me your lies to get me.” His voice was detached, distant.

“No, no. Not as Kate! Everything I told you as Kate was true.
Or . . . well . . . almost everything. Most things. I was myself when I was with you like . . . like that.” It was an almost physical pain, to speak of the intimacies they had shared – even obliquely – to this hard-faced stranger. She saw his lip curl again in contempt, almost a reflex action as if he smelt something foul.

“Please, Mike . . .” she whispered brokenly, and tears streaked down her face, two hot trails over her cheeks.

“If one line of code from DigiCom’s programs is reproduced by your or by your family’s company in a single product, I will have you prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law,” he said in a monotone, his eyes narrowed.

“I would never . . . I
couldn’t
. . . I wouldn’t think of it. I
swear
!”

“You
did
think of it. You just said so.”

She was silent. Looked into his dead eyes and saw nothing left for her there.

She sobbed, just once before she caught herself, her hands flying to her mouth.

“Get out,” h
e said with infinite weariness.

“Mike? Please, I-”

“Get out.” He didn’t even bother to raise his voice. But even said softly, the towering contempt was obvious.

She had lost him. As she had always known she would. Here it was. The moment she had dreaded.

It was here. It was over. They were done.

She was in the corridor. No, stop.
Her satchel.

She went back
to the Platform Division, picked it up, put it back down on the desk so she could slide her laptop and tablet into it. Checked the drawers. Cleared all trace of herself away. She moved slowly, as if underwater. Everything felt muffled and distant.

She walked out. People stared. But they were so far away, they didn’t matter.

On the pavement she stood at the curb. Next to a rubbish bin. Stared at the traffic. Stared at the rubbish bin. Took a step and was violently sick into the rubbish bin. Braced herself on it until the trembling stopped and she could stand again. Then she walked away.

Walked and walked, on streets she knew but didn’t see, then streets she neither
knew nor saw. Walked and walked, for hours; until her feet hurt, even in her sensible flat shoes. It was a distant pain, though.

There was a bench here, on
the street. She sat for a while; Maybe another hour. Or more. Or less. Did it matter? It didn’t matter.

What did matter was she hadn’t finished it. He still didn’t know about the baby.

She didn’t want to tell him.

Oh
God
, she did not want to tell him.

But she
had
to do it. It was the right thing to do. A truth that she owed him.

She had to do it right now.
Right now when she was numb. Mostly numb. Cauterize the wound right now.

There was a taxi rank two blocks away. Where was she?
Onehunga. The Mall, in Onehunga.

She caught a taxi to her car
, back in the centre of the city. Then she drove her car to his house, sitting in rush hour traffic most of the way. For once she didn’t tap her fingers on the steering wheel and curse the wasted time. She was in no hurry. She didn’t want to arrive.

As she pulled up outside, it occurred to her he might not be home. Probably wouldn’t be home. He never left the office this early.

She might have to wait until he got home.

She opened the gate onto his prop
erty and walked to the big door.

It was ajar.

She should knock anyway; shouldn’t invade without his permission. But he might make her stand on the doorstep to deliver her news. That was very likely. Or simply slam the door and refuse to listen. She could imagine herself trying to bellow through the double-glazed panels on either side of the door: “I’m pregnant,” at the top of her lungs.

She walked in without knocking. The house was still and silent.

She took her shoes off and left them by the door so she could go silently. Though sneaking up on him wouldn’t improve anything. Maybe she should go back for the shoes . . .

There he was. His hands were thrust deep in his pants pockets as he gazed out of the window onto the harbor view. She didn’t approach him,
staying just at the entryway to the room, feeling like enough of invader.

For long minutes she stood there, summoning the courage to speak.

Finally she said, “Mike,” in a voice that cracked in the middle.

He whirled with a snarl
. “What the hell? How dare you? Get out of my house!”

“Stop.
Wait. Yes, I’ll go. I’m sorry.” She held her hands out in front of her, palms towards him. “But there’s just one other thing. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m pregnant.”

 
“You . . . What?!” His eyes went impossibly wide. “So you lied about contraception too? My
God
, is
anything
sacred to you?” He drove his hands into his hair and clenched them there, looking like he would tear it out by the roots. His eyes were black as night with rage. “So what’s this baby to you? A hostage against me? Blackmail? What the hell were you thinking?” He took a single step towards her, every line of his body a threat. Instinctively she backed away, her hands at her throat. “I tell you, whatever it was, you’ve made a mistake. The biggest mistake of your life.” His tone was loaded with menace. Yet even under his towering fury, anger was not all he was feeling.

He stared at her with such a look . . . It shriveled her soul. She couldn’t bear it. Everything she had learnt in a lifetime of angry confrontations was as dust. She couldn’t face him down.
Couldn’t bear to stand there as he looked at her like that. Like she’d betrayed him. Like she was a stranger to him. A vile stranger.