The Patterson Girls (44 page)

‘I was tired of playing the third wheel to Mitch-and-Lara.'

‘We've been broken up a long time. I think it was when I was with her that I realised no one would ever measure up to you.'

She shook her head in disbelief. ‘What about all the women you dated between Lara and now? According to local gossip, you've been quite the playboy. Were you just wanting to be sure?'

He laughed at her outrage.

‘You've been giving me mixed signals for months,' she continued. ‘Hanging around constantly, yet when I joked about kissing you, you reacted like I'd given you herpes or something.'

‘Now, now, Charles,' he said, sounding like his old cocky and loveable self again. ‘Let's not argue about this. I think it's fair to say we were both stupid and slow, so how about we start making up for that right now.'

He reached out and stole the glass from her fingers, placing both their glasses on top of the esky.

‘What exactly did you have in mind?' she asked, feeling more wanton than she ever had in her life.

‘This,' he said, gently pushing her backwards until she lay flat on the rug. And then he covered her mouth and kissed her.

Chapter Thirty-seven

Madeleine was late. Since she'd started having periods at age twelve, her menstrual cycles had been like clockwork. She remembered joking with her schoolfriends in her teens that if she ever got pregnant, she'd know about it because of her never-deviating twenty-eight day cycles. Well, yesterday had been day twenty-seven and this morning … nothing.

She'd leapt out of bed and rushed to the bathroom to make sure and then squealed in a manner most unlike her. The people in the surrounding apartments would be wondering what was going on. She didn't care. The last week had felt like a decade. Despite knowing that physical pregnancy symptoms were rarely reliable before the first missed period, she'd been second-guessing every little twinge or flutter in her body. The smells in the hospital cafeteria, which usually made her hungry, had made her nauseous instead. And she was tired, so damn tired. Hugo had been her rock, checking in with her every day. She even found herself sharing intimate things with him—like how her breasts were a little more tender than usual—things she'd have discussed if he was her husband and they were trying for a baby in the usual way.

It would be a relief that she hadn't been imagining all these symptoms.

If she were at the hospital, she'd get Hugo to take her blood or she'd pinch one of the pregnancy tests there, but as she wasn't at work today, she did what any normal wannabe mum would do. She showered and dressed quickly, scoffed a cold bagel and a cup of foul decaf coffee and then trekked the few blocks to the nearest Walgreens. A couple of teenagers were perusing the condoms and she glanced approvingly at them—adolescent pregnancies were a nightmare—before continuing on to the section that held pregnancy tests. Not one to be fooled by fancy packaging, she grabbed two boxes of the brand she recommended to patients and took them straight to the counter.

There was a spring in her step as she walked home, breathing in the fresh morning air, smiling at the vibrant colours of the maple trees that lined the streets and listening to the tweet of the birds above. May in America seemed the perfect time to be pregnant—new life abounded everywhere. And the baby would be born in February, in late winter, also a lovely time of year in Baltimore.

But would she still be in America then? The thought briefly crossed her mind that it might be nice to be back in Australia, nearer her family when she had the baby. She wanted her child to know its aunties and grandfather and crazy great-aunt, but then … she thought of Hugo. He'd helped her through so much in the last few years and she couldn't imagine entering motherhood without him beside her. And Celia of course—they'd
both
been there for her since she moved to Baltimore. She pushed this last thought aside as she approached her apartment building and felt anticipation once again pulsing through her veins.

Fumbling to get her key out of her pocket, she couldn't get inside fast enough. She headed straight for the bathroom, tearing the plastic wrapper off the pregnancy testing kit as she went, not caring where she dropped the rubbish. Although there were two pages of instructions, Madeleine didn't read any of them. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know how to work a pregnancy test and she had a degree in obstetrics. Lightheaded with excitement, she sat down on the toilet and peed on the stick.

As she waited for the result, she pondered how she'd changed in the last few months since deciding to have a baby. She certainly felt like a different person. Had she softened? In a few minutes the test would be finished. Everything would be confirmed. Once upon a time she'd thought the idea of people saving their positive pregnancy test disgusting—and unnecessarily sentimental—but now she harboured insane ideas about doing exactly that. Maybe she'd even take a photo and post it on Facebook.

Wouldn't so many of her friends, family and acquaintances be shocked by that announcement.

Still smiling, she reached over, plucked the test off the vanity and glanced down at the result.

‘No!' Her heart felt as if it had been jolted with defibrillator paddles.

Only one line.

Negative.

She shook the stick as if that might alter the result. She'd been so certain.

‘It has to be faulty.'

Hurling the defective test into the trash, she grabbed the second kit and ripped it open even more fervently than she had the first. This time she read the damn instructions, but as suspected she'd done everything right the first time. Madeleine closed her eyes and peed again, then put the stick down on the vanity and left the room. She paced her apartment for the specified wait time and then trekked back into her bathroom, her heart already heavy with suspicion.

Negative.

She may have been hopeful of pregnancy symptoms but she wasn't a fool. Two negative results meant her period was on its way, cruelly late for the first time in her life. Shoving the second test in the bin alongside the first, she marched into the kitchen, yanked open the freezer and glared at the lack of ice-cream. There was no chocolate in the cupboards either. This was the problem when you tried to live a reasonably healthy existence.

Wine, she needed wine. Who cared that it was barely noon, how else was she supposed to drown her sorrows? Thankfully, she had plenty of expensive vino languishing in her wine rack and wasn't on call this weekend. Something else to be grateful for. She was halfway through pouring herself a glass when her phone beeped.

Are we going to be parents?

A massive sob escaped her at Hugo's message. She'd wanted to be able to give him good news. Deep down she felt he wanted children, despite saying he didn't mind that Celia didn't, and the thought that she might give him something Celia wouldn't had made her feel special somehow.

No
, she sent back, unable to bring herself to say anything else. She waited for his phone call—or at least a reply—but nothing came. And then it hit her. He was on his way over. This made her smile. Hugo's company would be a far better tonic than wine.

Then again, there was the very real possibility he'd also bring Celia.

Not wanting to be off her face when her friends came around, she poured her wine down the sink and put the bottle into the fridge. She plonked herself on the couch and waited. And waited and waited.

Hours passed and still the intercom didn't buzz. No phone call, no more messages. What was going on? Was he as gutted as she was? Maybe she should call or go round and check he was okay? This damn situation was so bloody complicated.

Confused and disenchanted, she decided to make herself some toast and was in the middle of spreading pâté over the thick slices when the intercom finally buzzed. She rushed over to answer it. ‘Hello?'

‘It's Hugo.'

‘I'll buzz you up.'

Madeleine abandoned her snack and waited at her door. Her heart gave a little leap when he appeared alone. ‘Hey there.'

‘I'm sorry, Madeleine,' he said as he approached her. He didn't look too good.

‘It's okay.' She grabbed his hand and yanked him into her apartment. ‘It's not your fault. Maybe it'll be third time lucky.'

Closing the door behind them, she finally looked into Hugo's eyes and something she saw told her he wasn't apologising for the negative result. Had something else terrible happened between now and when she'd sent that text?

Her stomach twisting, she frowned. ‘What's wrong?'

‘Can we sit?'

‘Sure,' she said, leading him through to the living room and gesturing to the couch. ‘Do you want a drink? I have wine.'

He shook his head and gestured to the space on the couch beside him.

Her heart beating nervously, she sat.

‘I can't be your donor anymore.'

He may as well have punched her in the head, such was the shock and pain and recoil at this words. ‘What?
Why
?' Her voice cracked a little, which annoyed the hell out of her because although she didn't know what was happening, she knew she didn't want to cry.

‘Fuck.' Hugo ran a hand through his hair. ‘This is so difficult.'

No kidding, Sherlock
. Someone nicer than her might have offered some soothing words of encouragement, but she just sat there silently waiting for an explanation.

‘You know how Celia said she doesn't want babies?' It was a rhetorical question. ‘It's not true. She broke down today after we got your text and told me the truth. She can't have children.'

‘What? And she never told you this before?'

He shook his head. ‘She was scared she'd lose me or that I'd see her as a lesser woman or something, so she came up with the story that she didn't want kids instead.'

Madeleine couldn't believe what she was hearing.

‘When you decided to have a baby on your own,' Hugo continued, ‘Celia got this nutty idea that this way I could still father a child. She confessed she thought maybe you'd struggle on your own with a child and get sick of it, and that maybe we could step in and help.'

‘What?' Madeleine didn't care if she sounded outraged. ‘She hoped I'd fail at motherhood and then she'd swoop in and take my baby?'

‘
Our
baby,' Hugo reminded her, as if Celia's plan wasn't evil and insane.

‘So what happened?' she asked through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to pick something—anything—up and throw it at him. ‘Why has she suddenly changed her mind?'

‘She's scared you and I are getting closer because of all of this. She's afraid something will happen between us and she'll lose me anyway, so she begged me to stop.'

Madeleine's breath halted as she waited for Hugo to confess that this was indeed the case, that he
did
feel closer to her and that this whole process had made him realise he loved her, not Celia. But of course he said nothing of the sort.

Somehow she managed to speak past the lump in her throat. ‘So, you and Celia? You're staying together after all this?'

‘Of course,' came his instant reply, as if he couldn't see why she'd imagine otherwise.

So many times she'd chatted with Hugo at work or on nights when Celia was working and they'd indulged their action movie habit. They'd talked about fun stuff and deeper things too; she thought she knew him better than she knew almost anyone. But now she felt like the man sitting next to her was a stranger.

Suddenly she didn't feel like she knew Hugo or Celia at all.

How could he not be angry at Celia? She'd lied to him for years and made him a pawn in her sick game without his knowledge.

But the answer was obvious. He loved her. And, like the age-old saying, he was blind to her faults.

The truth was that love had blinded Madeleine as well. She'd spent the last few months imagining that Hugo's bond with Celia wasn't actually all that strong. She'd conveniently forgotten that he was only her donor and had fantasised about him being a major player in her baby's life. She'd thought of him being there at the birth and then all the significant events that would follow.

Maybe in her own way she was as guilty as Celia.

But no, she'd never have asked Hugo to do this if Celia hadn't suggested it. A terrible cocktail of anger and sadness swept through her.

‘I'm sorry,' Hugo said again, reaching out to squeeze her hand. ‘We can still be friends, yeah?'

She flinched at his touch—the hand she'd imagined delving into intimate parts of her body so many times over the last few months now only made her feel cold, empty and alone. ‘Please, just go,' she whispered, slipping her hand out of his, wanting him out of her apartment before she succumbed to any kind of emotion.

‘Okay. I understand.'

I don't think you do.

Madeleine waited until she heard the click of her door shutting behind him. Then she stood and headed back into the kitchen.

Now she needed that wine.

Chapter Thirty-eight

Abigail had just finished microwaving a bag of popcorn, planning a night in her room with one of her favourite movies—possibly
Dirty Dancing
—when the doorbell rang.

‘I'll get it,' she said to Sam and Pamela, who were making themselves something nutritious for dinner. Popcorn would do Abigail, and maybe a packet of chocolate biscuits for dessert. Neither of them replied so she flounced to the door, expecting it to be someone selling religion or wanting money for charity, but she was pleasantly surprised.

‘Nigel,' she exclaimed. ‘What are you doing here?'

Not that she wasn't over the moon to see him. He'd been working late on an energy drink campaign every night this week and had predicted the office would be his home all weekend as well, and she missed everything about him. In the course of a few weeks, she'd gone from not thinking herself in the market for a relationship to being head-over-heels in love. From being quite content in her own company to craving his whenever they were apart.