Best of Friends (24 page)

“I’ve an idea about what we can do today,” said Greg, his back turned to her as he spooned freshly made scrambled eggs onto toasted bagels.

“Yeah?” Erin sat down at the table and pulled one of the papers towards her.

“Mother and baby supplement included today!” announced the strap-line on the top paper. Was this a conspiracy? Erin covered the offending paper with the sports section of another one.

“We could look for a house,” Greg suggested. “The company will pay for six months’ rental but then we’re on our own, and living in this house makes me realise just how much I hate rented houses, even if they do find us a nicer one.”

Erin agreed with him. A month of putting up with the cat pee (Erin had tried everything to get rid of the smell, to no avail) and décor from hell made her long for a clean, simple living space they could make their own.

“What do you think?”

He placed bagels and scrambled eggs in front of her, along with a mug of steaming black coffee. Erin never took sugar or cream. She tried a bite of her breakfast. “Delicious,” she said with her mouth full. She actually felt ill at the thought of eating but didn’t want to mention this to Greg. Morning sickness was another confirmation of what she now suspected.

“I meant, what do you think of the idea of buying a house here in Dunmore?”

“It would certainly be an investment,” she said thoughtfully, “as everyone says house prices are going up round here. It’s a desirable area and we’d get our money back if we sold …”

“That wasn’t really the point,” Greg said gently. “We don’t want to buy a house just to sell it in a few years. I’m talking about putting down roots, settling here for good. I really like Dunmore and Cork, what do you feel about it?”

“I’m not good on roots,” Erin remarked.

“Yes you are, you’re just as rooted as the next person,” Greg pointed out. “OK, so you haven’t seen your family for more than nine years but that’s easily remedied.”

“Not so easily,” protested Erin, then stopped. Telling the story to Lizzie the night before had clarified it in some strange way. It was no longer a tale with a hopeless ending but a story of a family where simple misunderstanding had done its mischief. It wasn’t tragic at all, but stupid. Yes, her grandparents should have told her who her real mother was earlier, but Erin understood how a simple secret could turn into a millstone when you’d kept it so long. They might have been trying to tell her for years but could never find the right time. And they’d always loved her—adored her, to be honest—and looked after her. Being upset was understandable, but in storming out and not coming back Erin had been silly, thoughtless and reckless. Kerry had been her usual argumentative self, and poor Mum had been stuck in the middle, too upset to do what she’d traditionally done and stop the fighting. Only Erin’s real mother, Shannon, had got away scot-free, with no blame attached.

“You do like it here, don’t you?” said Greg, moving swiftly on.

Erin grinned through a mouthful of bagel. He was so gentle with her, never pushing her about her family, even though she was sure it must seem so strange to him. “I do like it here. And I don’t deserve you, Greg. You’re so good to me.”

“I’m not making scrambled eggs every Sunday,” he said, eyes smiling at her. “This is a special treat. Next week it’s your turn.”

“Next week we’re going to your parents,” she reminded him. Greg’s mother had recovered from her bad bout of flu, so the grand Kennedy family reunion was finally taking place. “Your mum can coddle you with a full Irish breakfast next Sunday.”

Greg’s eyes lit up. “Rashers, eggs, spiced butcher’s sausages, pudding and fried bread. Yes!”

“Would that be cholesterol-free fried bread?” laughed Erin.

“Oh sure, what else?”

They were not the first to arrive at the modern housing development four miles outside Dunmore. According to the paper, it had been launched the previous weekend and, already, thirty percent of the houses were sold. A winding line of cars was parked along the muddy building site, with people trailing along to the showhouse. Erin and Greg took one look at the hordes of people queuing to get in and turned back to their car.

“They can’t all be buying a house,” Greg said, astonished by the sheer volume of prospective purchasers.

“Sunday drivers amusing themselves, seeing what ideas they can pick up for decorating their own houses,” Erin informed him. “Showhouse interior design is the hottest home study course there is.”

“Clever girl, you know everything,” Greg said, reversing out of the parking spot.

Not everything, Erin thought. Not that having a stomach bug could render the contraceptive pill useless.

The second development they stopped at was a small apartment block, the second block to be sold in a series of three. Settled in a natural hollow with trees all around and a bird sanctuary across the road, the complex was well designed, with lots of shrubbery, a tiny lake and plenty of discreet parking. The third block was already under construction but the builder’s diggers and other machines were neatly lined up to the right of the construction site.

There weren’t many cars outside the block where the new show apartment was situated.

“Does that mean everybody has seen this place already and it doesn’t measure up?” Erin asked.

“Houses, not apartments, are the big sellers round Dunmore,” Greg said. “There isn’t as much call for apartments. The realtor told me that people like having their own patch of garden.”

“You
have
been doing research,” Erin teased.

“Well,” said Greg sheepishly, “it’s an idea I’ve been toying with. I did talk to a realtor but you know I’d never do anything until I knew how you felt about the idea of buying a place.”

Erin got out of the car and inhaled the fresh breeze. They were further away from the sea here, but the tang of salt water was still in the air, mingled with a woody scent from the trees around the complex. She liked Dunmore; she liked the people, the quaint town itself, the relaxed atmosphere. Nobody was too inquisitive—not like where she’d grown up—and there was a sense that you could find your own pace in Dunmore and live your life to that rhythm. Greg clearly adored it; he was happy in his job and happy with the fifteen-minute commute every morning. If Erin could sort herself out with a job, then it would be ideal. And at least she now had some idea of why she’d felt so lethargic about getting work, she realised ruefully.

“I do like Dunmore,” she said, as Greg wrapped an arm round her shoulders on the walk up to the apartment block. “I like it a lot.”

She’d loved the anonymity of their life in Chicago and the way they were a tight little unit there with nobody else to consult about their lives. But she’d always known in her heart that Greg wanted to come home. And maybe, just maybe, so had she.

Until she walked into the show apartment, Erin had agreed with Greg’s realtor that, if they were buying in Dunmore, a house would be the nicer option. She’d only lived in apartments in the U.S., and the idea of a bit of garden (as long as someone else got to do the actual gardening bit) sounded good.

But one step into the bright airy apartment and she changed her mind. It was as if an architect had consulted her personally on all the things she’d hated in every other apartment she’d ever lived in and had carefully fixed all the flaws. The hall (often a big waste of space in Erin’s opinion) was compact but well designed, with a huge built-in closet perfect for coats, the vacuum, and even things like skis or bikes. The living-room÷dining-room area was lit by a huge picture window and the south-facing balcony was like a mini garden, with potted plants and room for a tiny wooden table and chairs. A modern fireplace was set into one wall and Erin could instantly imagine herself and Greg curled up in front of it. The kitchen was bigger than the one in their Chicago apartment, although that wasn’t saying much. There was a small bathroom with a corner tub, and the two bedrooms were good sized, with a decent master bedroom complete with a walk-in closet and a cosy en suite. The baby’s room was big enough for a cot, a changing unit and a rocking chair.

Erin had to sit down on the bed in the second bedroom when she realised what conclusion her mind had come to. The bedroom wasn’t decorated as a nursery but that’s what she’d instantly thought of. A home for her baby—their baby.

She inhaled deeply to calm herself. She could give birth to this baby because what was there to stop her? Nothing, except her belief that she couldn’t possibly be a good mother after her own mother had abandoned her. Self-fulfilling prophecies were for medieval peasants who knew no better. Erin didn’t know why her real mother had run off but just because she
had,
didn’t mean Erin had to follow suit. Excitement flooded through her.

Greg sat down on the bed with her. “Nice, huh?” he said, scrutinising the built-in closets. “A second bedroom is handy for guests, or we could turn it into a guest room-cum-home office.”

“Or a nursery.”

“If we got one of those sofa beds, it could be a pretty decent of fice and a guest room,” Greg went on, not taking in what she’d said. “They’ve really designed it well. Even the hall is good, and I know how mad it makes you when half the apartment space is wasted in a big hall.”

Another couple wandered into the second bedroom, with a flurry of “excuse mes” as they stepped past Erin and Greg.

“Did you hear me?” she asked, unable to keep the smile from her face. A baby, their baby.

“Sorry, I’m thinking about this bedroom … what did you say?”

“I said we could turn this room into a nursery,” Erin repeated, “and if you want kids, you’re going to have to get over this genetic inability to do or think of more than one thing at one time.”

The female half of the apartment-hunting couple sniggered.

“What?” Greg’s face was a picture of astonishment.

The woman dragged her partner out of the bedroom and Erin could hear her stage whisper to him, “She’s telling him she’s going to have a baby!”

“You’re going to have a baby?” The way Greg said it, it was a question not a statement.

Erin nodded. “I think so. I haven’t done a test or anything.”

“Where can we get one?” Greg was off the bed in a flash.

“Would you be happy if I was?” asked Erin tentatively. This jumping into action wasn’t what she’d envisaged.

“Hell, yes.” Greg sank back onto the bed beside her and pulled her roughly into his arms, kissing her passionately. “Happy doesn’t come close. I can’t tell you how good I feel. But,” he pulled away and took her face in his hands, “how do you feel?”

Erin considered this. “Until five minutes ago, I didn’t know, Greg. I felt confused by the whole thing and then I saw this room and thought it was made to be a nursery and …” The feeling of astonishment overwhelmed her again and she couldn’t speak. She’d thought she didn’t want a child and now she wanted nothing more in the whole world. She couldn’t wait to have a belly that everyone would notice and she couldn’t wait to feel baby kicks inside her.

“I’d love it to be a nursery,” Greg said. “I couldn’t think of anything I’d like more in the whole world. We could turn the spare bedroom in Cat Pee Towers into a nursery and I’d still be over the moon. You were always so anti-children.”

“Because of my real mum,” Erin reminded him. “It wasn’t that I hated kids or anything, but I believed I’d be the wrong sort of person to be a mother.”

“You’ll be an incredible mother.” Greg’s hand went to caress her still-flat belly. “Have you got a bump, do you think?”

“If I have, it’s not going to the gym and eating too much,” Erin pointed out.

“Well, come on.” Greg got to his feet and gently helped Erin to hers as if she was a fragile flower. “Let’s get to the drug store right now. We need a pregnancy test.”

“We?” she asked, unable to stop grinning at how delirious he appeared to be at the news.

“Yeah, we. If I’m going to be a dad, nobody’s going to accuse me of not being there all the way. A father.” He looked so proud at the idea. “Me, a father. I can’t wait.”

The realtor peeped his head round the bedroom door. “So? What do you think?”

“We like it,” beamed Greg. “How soon could ours be ready?”

thirteen

I
n the couple of days following the party, Abby and Tom made a huge effort to get on with each other in front of Jess. In private, they didn’t discuss what had happened that night, but guilt over having upset their daughter made them at least outwardly polite to each other.

However, a smile delivered with “Pass the broccoli, please, Abby” did not a reconciliation make.

In her heart, Abby was still furious with Tom for all the hurtful things he’d said to her. She knew that if she made the first move, the frostiness would be over. But this time she wouldn’t apologise—
she
wasn’t in the wrong. Tom was the one who’d insulted her and accused her of putting her family after her career. She worked so hard for this family, both in the home and outside it, that the notion of her putting them last enraged her.

In the face of this relationship breakdown, tricky questions kept slipping unbidden into Abby’s mind. Were affairs always bad for marriage? Or, more accurately, would an affair hurt
her
marriage and was she mad to see Jay again before she could work out the answer, because seeing him was temptation?

These unanswerable questions went round and round in her head at times when she was least able to think straight. Like on Sunday night when Tom was slumped asleep in the den, piles of papers on his lap, his head lolling back open-mouthed. Or when she went into the bathroom on Monday morning and found the toothpaste left uncapped, his shower towel half in and half out of the laundry basket, and an empty loo roll hanging forlornly on the holder. If they’d been getting on, she’d have dealt with her doubts and reminded herself that marriage was the original rollercoaster ride with ups and downs.

But with marital war raging, it was as if she was being urged to have an affair. “
This
is your life and your marriage,” the whispery little voice in her head said. “This is it, a man who treats you like Mrs. Mop and who won’t say sorry for the hurtful things he’s said.”