A Hopeless Romantic (9 page)

She sat back in her seat, shaking with adrenaline, and reached out to take his hand, but Dan put his head in his hands and was silent. Laura watched him, a growing sense of unease welling within her.

“Fuck…” Dan said eventually. “Oh, fuck.” He looked up again, and then, strangely, ran his eyes up and down her body. “Just tell me. Tell me the truth. You’re…fuck, you’re
pregnant
, aren’t you?”

A waitress had materialized beside them during this sentence. She let out an involuntary gasp. “Shall I come back?” she said, glancing from one to the other and looking ultracurious.

“No,” said Laura, slightly maliciously, though it was only afterward that she recognized the emotion for what it was.

Dan was sitting stock-still, staring into space. “Fuck,” he repeated.

“I think we’re ready to order here,” Laura said calmly. “Can I just have the Greek salad, please? And, Dan—you want the lamb and mint pie, don’t you?” No response was forthcoming, so she nodded to the waitress. “Yes, he’ll have that, and some broccoli, too, please.”

“Another beer?” said the waitress, gesturing to Dan’s pint.

“I think so,” said Laura briskly, “and can I have a bottle of house white, please?”

“One bottle?” said the waitress incredulously. “For you?”

“Yes, please,” said Laura airily. “I’ve got a bit of a wine head on, you see. When you need a drink, you just need a drink, don’t you!”

“Hm,” said the waitress, looking appalled, and she strode off toward the bar, beckoning the barman over to her and instantly engaging him in whispered conversation, which involved blatant staring at the happy couple and rolling of eyes.

Dan awoke from his reverie with a start. He stared at Laura and rubbed his chin. Laura stared back at him, and her heart melted again. He was so gorgeous, with the day or two’s growth of beard, the tanned, chiseled face. Their children would be beautiful, if they took after their father, there was no doubting that. However…

“How…when?” said Dan hoarsely. “Not you…fuck, this is…Laura, you swore you were on the pill. Have you told…why did you…”

Laura looked at his face again. The questions, the accusations, the problems ahead. And she was glad, glad it wasn’t true, glad she wasn’t giving Dan this news, if that was his reaction. She put her finger on his lips.

“Why the fuck would you think that?” she said, half laughing.

Dan didn’t smile. He looked even worse, if anything.

“You stupid man,” she said, laughing a little, as the waitress returned with the drinks. “I’m not pregnant, did I ever say I was?”

“She’s not…”
the waitress hissed over their heads to the barman, gesturing wildly at both of them and shaking her head.

“You’re not?” Dan said. “Really?”

“Really,” said Laura drily.

Dan licked his upper lip, which was dewy with sweat, and said hoarsely, “Thank God for that.” He slumped back into his seat and took his drink, almost sullenly. “Thank God. Sorry, Laura love, but you had me there for a moment. The timing…not good.”

“I didn’t say—” Laura began, then broke off. She patted his arm. “Calm down, Dan. I wouldn’t do that, I’m not stupid.”

Dan took a huge swig of his drink. “No, you’re not,” he said simply, and gazed around him. Laura breathed again, feeling almost light-headed. Dan said suddenly, “That’s one of the things I’ve always loved best about you, you know.”

“Me?” Laura said, taken aback. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Dan said, fiddling with a beer mat. “You know. You’re so…just smart. You know? You make things better. You’re organized. You do that job, you know. Help all these kids, give them a better start and shit. And the way you organize things, remember everyone’s birthdays, all that stuff. It’s…it’s…”

He put his pint down and turned to her, and Laura was astounded to see he had tears in his eyes.

“It’s…it’s just always better when you’re in the room.”

Laura had often wondered—ever since the fifth day of bumping into each other at the station and chatting away till they missed two trains, when Dan had said, “This is ridiculous. Let’s meet fifteen minutes earlier. We can have a coffee. Yes?” and she had trotted down onto the Tube platform the next day to find him waiting for her, a smile of welcome on his face, holding a coffee he’d bought from the stall for her—what exactly it was about her that he apparently liked so much that he was willing to risk so much for her, for himself. And now she knew. She was dependable, she was nice. She was organized. She got the job done. A more prosaic—no,
boring
—set of qualities would be difficult to find, she thought, and had she been displaying any of those qualities lately? No, absolutely not.

She swallowed, trying to look on the bright side, and immediately an image flashed into her head of Amy, stunning, slim Amy, reclining at home, flicking through a magazine, gingerly blowing nail varnish dry on one fingernail. Wearing some exquisite lace and silk nightgown, specifically for lounging around in, probably. Why? Why was Dan…why was he
here
, with her, then?

She looked at him, swallowed again, and gripped the side of the table. She knew the moment was coming; she could feel it creeping inexorably toward the conversation, like a marching beat. It couldn’t be avoided anymore.

“Thank you,” she said.

“I mean it,” Dan said. “When you’re around…I just feel better. You look after me. The way you make breakfast, for instance, and remember I like to put the Marmite on myself.” He ran his hands through his hair. “That sounds crap, but you know what I mean. You listen to me if I’ve had a bad day.”

And how many times have you ever asked me about my day? Laura suddenly thought. It was a straightforward question, but suddenly she couldn’t think why she hadn’t thought it before, six, seven months before, ever. How many times? She didn’t want to be a boring nice person! She wanted him to see her as the unattainable, the alluring woman of mystery who drove him to the edge of distraction, not…not this. Pleasant. Kind. Ugh.

“And you…I don’t know. You care about me, I can tell you stuff. And Amy, she never…Well, to be honest, I just think that’s why we don’t—” He stopped suddenly. “Oh, God.”

“You don’t what?” Laura said sharply. “She never what?”

“I shouldn’t complain about her to you,” Dan said. There was a pause, and then he said again, “It’s really good to see you.” He stared at her almost hungrily. “Oh, Laura. I know we need to talk, but…can’t we just leave? Go back to yours? You know—”

“No!” said Laura, much more loudly than she’d meant to. Dan jumped, as did the middle-aged American couple at the table next to them.

“Right, then,” Dan said, smiling at the couple, who obviously thought Dan and Laura were mad. He handed them a napkin to mop up the beer that the husband had spilt, and gave them a charming smile. Laura did, too, and found herself thinking, What a great couple we make.

“No!” she said again, more to herself, and the wife jumped again.

Dan stared at her and said, slightly impatiently, “Laura, what’s going on with you? I’m trying to…to talk to you, to tell you stuff, and—well, you’re behaving like a schoolgirl who’s afraid she’ll be caught for bunking off or something, darling. What’s up?”

Laura took a deep breath, and another draught of wine. “Right. We do need to talk, you’re right. What’s going on, Dan? What’s going on with us? I want…er…I want some answers,” Laura said, holding her nerve.

“Well,” Dan said. He ran his hands through his hair again. “Darling, I’ve told you. Well…God, you know how I feel about you—”

“It’s not enough,” Laura said gently. “It’s not enough anymore. Dan, we’re going on holiday in two weeks’ time, for God’s sake! And you’re supposed to be leaving Amy before that. You—you know how I feel about you. This has been going on for—how long is it now—seven months? And we’re nowhere nearer than we were at the beginning of it. It’s not enough. We have to sort it out. I’m—I’m in love with you. It’s killing me, this is. We have to sort it out. Otherwise…”

Laura trailed off. She didn’t know what the otherwise was—or, at least, it was too terrifying for her to come out with.

“Otherwise…” she repeated softly, and lowered her head.

Dan took her head in his hands, lifted her face up, and looked at her. He looked serious, more serious than she’d ever seen him.

“Laura…” he said. “There’s something I have to tell you. I didn’t want to, but you’re going to know sooner or later. God…I can’t believe I’m doing this to you.”

“Wait a minute,” Laura said.

“No, let me finish.” Dan’s hands were clammy against her cheeks. “I didn’t want to tell you tonight; I just wanted to see you, for us to have a nice evening, one last night.”

Laura’s stomach clenched and she felt sick again. “What?” she said quietly. “Dan, what is it?”

“Amy’s pregnant, Laura.”

Dan released her, and Laura could feel the dampness his hands left on the sides of her face. He was quite sweaty, she thought, as if watching this scene idly from another room, another life.

“Laura, are you listening?” Dan said sharply.

“Yes…” Laura cleared her throat. “You…”

Her eyes filled with tears, and one ran down her cheek. She gave a tiny cough, almost a gasp, and sat up straight. No, she wouldn’t cry. She would
not
cry.

“Laura…I wanted to tell you, I’ve been trying to—”

“How pregnant?” Laura said calmly. “When’s it due? It’s yours, I presume?”

“Yes, of course,” Dan said. “Of course it’s mine.” He wiped his hair off his forehead. “It’s…it’s due in January.”

“Three months,” Laura said, calmer still. “She’s three months pregnant. How long have you known?”

“About a month. Laura, I’ve been trying to find a way of telling you. I couldn’t…” Dan punched his fist into his thigh. “I—fuck. Look, she did it on purpose, I—I didn’t want her to get pregnant. I don’t know what to do, but I’ve got to—we’re going to make a go of it, I have to. Of course I have to.”

Amy. Of course it wasn’t a mistake, Laura thought. Amy was as likely to accidentally get pregnant as hippogriffs and unicorns were to be found wandering in Hyde Park. She had planned this down to the last letter, and Dan—oh, God, Dan was the sacrificial lamb, and she, Laura…she had to leave. She had to leave, or else break down completely.

Dan was wringing his hands, quite literally clutching them in an agony of inaction. He touched her arm. “Laura, I know you must hate me. But believe me, I hate myself more. I can’t—I’ve completely screwed this up, my whole life, and hers. And yours, and that’s—that’s worst of all, because—oh, God—” He broke off, and buried his head in his elbow.

“I’m going to go,” Laura said, and again she had the sensation of watching herself from another room, from afar, and that other person was cheering her on, saying,
Well done, girl, you’re doing well.

Dan grabbed her arm as she reached for her bag. “Listen, Laura. Listen to me, just one thing before you go. Please.”

Laura turned to face him, and looking at him nearly broke her composure, but she steeled herself.

“Look, Laura,” Dan said. “I realize…it’s over now, you and me.”

“Well, I kind of assume so now,” Laura said, repressing all emotion and taking refuge in heavy sarcasm. She removed his hand from her arm, shaking slightly. “It’s one of my rules. Practically the last one left I haven’t broken, actually.” She laughed bitterly, feeling the breath catch painfully in her throat. “Don’t carry on shagging someone who tells you he’s in love with you and that he’s going to leave his girlfriend, then gets his girlfriend whom he was supposed to be dumping six months ago pregnant, and makes you realize the whole fucking thing was a pack of fucking lies.”

She stood up and pulled her bag slowly up onto her shoulder. “Bye, Dan,” she said. “Bye.”

“It wasn’t a pack of lies,” Dan said as she turned to go. “If you want to punish me, you’ve got your punishment. I love you. I always will. I never lied to you, Laura.”

She tried to think of something to say back, something grand, something great, something worthy of Carrie Bradshaw in
Sex and the City
or Barbra Streisand in
The Way We Were.
But there was nothing to say, and the moment was nothing, it wasn’t about that anymore. There was nothing for her to do but leave. As she stood in the door frame, she half waved at him, then turned and quietly walked down the stairs.

chapter eight

A
s Laura marched briskly out of the pub, she paused for a split second at the door, clutching the old brass handle, her hand smearing the metal with perspiration. Her vision blurred as her eyes filled with heavy, painful tears. She knew Dan would be watching out the window as she left. She had to hold her head up high. She couldn’t let him see how hurt she was. This wasn’t Mary and Xan and their early-morning moment at the pyramids, this wasn’t it at all. It was all a lie.

Legs shaking, eyes still filled with tears, Laura walked into the street, up Conville Place, past the cafés where people were sitting and enjoying the evening’s warmth. A man at a table on the corner raised his espresso cup to her and nodded as she turned left down Mortimer Street. He raised his eyebrows as Laura stopped, put the ball of her hand against her lips and cheek, and breathed deeply, expecting the tears to flow.

But they didn’t. She couldn’t cry. It was as if she were in a shock so sudden she didn’t know how to react. The clarity of her mind startled her. It was over with Dan, there was no question that it wasn’t. There could be no reconciliation, no “I’ve changed my mind,” no “I’m leaving her.” Amy was
pregnant,
and whatever happened between them, Laura had to be out of it. She was surprised, she noted with detached interest, that she could see it with such clarity, that it wasn’t mired in a welter of excuses and what-might-have-beens. No. It was over.

Laura carried on walking down Mortimer Street, welcoming the cool breeze that played around her shoulders and the back of her neck, after the unbearable heat of the restaurant. Ahead of her stretched the city, unfurling into relaxation, gently welcoming, quiet and warm and beautiful. She passed the wide dark driveway of the ornate Royal Marsden Hospital and kept walking.