Breach of Faith (9 page)

Martha reached out and put gentle pressure on my cheek, forcing me to look at her. “Kate, you do trust me, don’t you?”

“You’re my best friend.”

“Then talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

My shoulders slumped. “All right,” I said in a low voice with another look at Tom. “I’m pregnant.”

Martha took a sharp breath in, a questioning smile spreading across her face. “Oh, Kate, that’s wonderful. Isn’t it?”

“Well, if you think that feeling sick, tired, bloated and emotionally unstable … not to mention irrational, is wonderful, then be my guest. Personally, I’d love a stiff drink but … oh damn … something else I can’t do right now.”

“Does Will know?”

I paused. Then paused again.

“Kate? Have you told Will?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Why?

“Oh, great,” I muttered, “you’re back.”

“What?” Martha’s eyes darted wildly around the room.

I grinned, “nothing. There’s more to the story … if you’d like to hear it …?”

I’d love to hear it.

1 November

I strolled down the street, clenched fists giving away my agitation. Forcing myself to relax, I stretched out my fingers and smoothed my already wrinkle free skirt over my thighs. Telling Martha the whole story had taken a great weight off my mind; hopefully this apology would finally put an end to all the stress.

Thinking back to our conversation I chuckled, remembering the stunned look on my friend’s face. The story was enough to shock anyone but, as the tale had progressed, the shock had been replaced by sympathy and, finally, dismay.

“You have to tell him,” she had said, squeezing my hand hard enough to rub the bones together.

I smoothed down my skirt for the umpteenth time, “but what the hell do I say?”

“Great arse, love!”

I looked around in surprise as a grinning young man strode past me, winking as he overtook.

In the end my stubbornness had prevailed regarding my clothes. Black lacy undies beneath my blue dress. The light cotton swished pleasantly around my thighs; and Martha was wrong, it wasn’t too short. Going by the recent comment I had attracted from that stranger, it obviously moulded itself nicely to my buttocks too. Resisting the urge to smooth the skirt down over my bum, I halted.

I was here.

Peering intently through the door, I could discern just two figures standing inside. Both were customers and as I watched, another figure appeared on the other side of the counter, paper bag clutched in his hand. It was Dreadlock Man. Frank was nowhere to be seen. Stepping back from the door, I surreptitiously adjusted my bra, smoothed my skirt, fluffed up my hair and ignored a couple of wolf whistles from a building site on the other side of the road. This skirt must be a better choice than I’d imagined. Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the bakery door.

Dreadlock Man was filling a box with doughnuts, “be with you in a moment,” he called, without looking up. After a cheery, “see ya later,” to doughnut woman, he finally turned to me.

“Ah …” he said knowingly, nodding thoughtfully, “it’s ‘Miz Chocolate Fudge’. Got a fresh one here with your name on it, love.” Despite myself, I couldn’t resist looking and peered curiously through the gleaming glass front of the cabinet.

“Looks wonderful,” I agreed, bending over slightly to get a better look. Hearing a sharp gasp from behind, I whirled around to find a teenager sitting at one of the tables, a milkshake in one hand, a blueberry muffin in the other and an expression of shocked embarrassment on his face.

I smiled, puzzled at his reaction to my words about the chocolate cake. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen, maybe he didn’t realise that people over thirty also enjoyed the decadence of chocolate fudge cake.

I turned back, Dreadlock Man was standing rigid behind the counter, looking like someone had replaced his head with a beetroot. As I watched, the mottled redness crept down the fair skin of his neck, disappearing inside the casually unbuttoned collar of his shirt. He was staring at something behind me and I swivelled around to face the youngster once more; maybe the poor lad had exploded or something.

With a scrape of chair legs on linoleum the boy lurched to his feet and with a wild glance at Dreadlock Man, turned and fled, the shop door clattering closed behind him.

“Oh,” wondering if my mind was playing tricks on me, I twisted back around to face Dreadlock Man, “do you think he’s okay? Maybe I should check on him.”

“No!” Dreadlock Man was starting to look distinctly green around the edges, a colour that was clashing horribly with the scarlet and ruby filling his cheeks. He rubbed his face hard with his hands and a sudden, unexpected giggle lit him up making his eyes twinkle and his scruffy beard crackle with released tension

I smoothed down the front of my skirt again, at a loss to find something more productive to do. I rubbed my face self-consciously, “is everything okay? Do I have a smudge on my cheek, or something?”

Dreadlock Man giggled again, the childish sound conflicting wildly with his unkempt, manly demeanour. “No, love, not a blemish in sight.” He cleared his throat, “look, love, I should … well, your skirt –”

“Jim! Could you put these cakes in the display? I’ll take over here.”

Dreadlock Man jumped and I took a step back at the sudden interruption. I could feel the skin on my face tighten; it’s now or never.

Knock yourself out
, whispered the ever present little voice, a smirk clearly audible in the quiet words,
here’s your big chance.

“I said I’ll deal with this customer,” Frank shoved a large tray of muffins into Dreadlock Man’s hands, “put these away, I won’t be long.”

Dreadlock Man’s eyes shifted their attention from Frank back to me. Frank was still to even glance in my direction. “But, Frank, she –”

“Now, please.”

Dreadlock Man shrugged, winked at me and wandered off with his tray. Fleetingly, I wondered what he was about to tell me before Frank had interrupted and surreptitiously looked down my body at the short blue skirt. All seemed fine so, taking a deep breath, I looked across the counter straight into Frank’s eyes.

“Hello Frank.” I bit my lip, this wasn’t feeling quite as … special as my most recent dream had implied. Rather than drowning in Frank’s eyes, I was more likely to bounce painfully off the glinting, cold ice that had replaced the welcoming lagoons. Shuffling on the spot like a child in desperate need of the toilet I began.

“Frank, I wanted to apologise –”

“Wait!” Frank strode to the end of the counter, opened the flap and stepped through. Without looking at me he opened another door wide. “In here.”

I squared my shoulders and marched resolutely past Frank, stopping in the middle of the room. Dreadlock Man gave a small snort as I walked away which I determined to ignore.

A choking noise forced me to turn. Frank was staring at me, amusement warring with embarrassed dismay on his face. He turned his back and slammed the door, pausing for a moment before swivelling to face me, his face pinched. “What do you want, Kate?”

“I owe you an apology,” I took a step towards him, “Frank, I’m so terribly sorry.”

“About what?”

“Huh?”

“What are you sorry about? Accusing me of being an alcoholic? Or maybe calling me a murdering bastard? Perhaps you’re sorry for me because I have cancer?” Frank’s face was stony, his eyes burning, his voice low and rasping with emotion. I flinched but to my surprise I was positive there was also a flash of desire in the blue depths; carefully concealed.

“All of it,” I whispered. “I … I was upset and guilty; I blamed you for what we did. Paula told me –”

“I know. She should have kept her mouth shut.”

“Frank, she knows I care about you. I am sorry about your leukaemia, I wish you’d told me.” I hesitatingly held out my hand in comfort.

“I tried to, Kate, you just didn’t give me the chance. You were too busy accusing.” Frank batted my hand away with his own, “what we did was a mistake, you know that.” He turned away but not before I saw the sorrow in his eyes, “I’m sorry too, Kate. I’m sorry I considered your friendship worthwhile, and I’m sorry I started to develop feelings for you beyond a simple friendship.” He turned back to face me, his hand rising, stopping just short of my cheek before falling limply to his side, “and I’m very, very sorry I made love to you, Kate.”

“Frank –”

“I think you’d better go, Kate.”

“But –”

“Please, Kate, just go. I accept your apology but there’s nothing more to say.”

“I have to tell you something –”

“You just have. Thankyou. Now, I’d like to be alone.”

I walked slowly to the door. “I’m not sorry we made love that night.” I grasped the handle but was halted by Frank’s voice. He was irritated but obviously amused too.

Keeping my back turned to him, my hand still clutching the door knob, I squared my shoulders. I was not going to let him see the tears welling in my eyes. He may have made me feel like a useless friend but he was not going to take away my dignity. Not even he could do that.

“Kate, there’s something I should tell you.”

1 November

“What happened then?” Martha was on the edge of her seat, agog with curiosity. “Did he declare undying love?”

I raised my eyebrows in exasperation and elbowed her in the ribs. “After telling me he’s sorry he’d ever met me?”

“He also told you that he had feelings for you,” Martha reminded.

“He was sorry about that too.”

“He liked you enough to take you to bed,” Martha replied softly with a glance at Tom. “And possibly get you pregnant.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“So? What did he tell you?”

I hesitated, flustered. “Doesn’t matter,” I mumbled.

“Kate?”

Face burning, I finally caught my friend’s eye. “He told me that I really should use a mirror when I get dressed.”

“What?” Martha scratched her head, “I never saw Frank as some kind of fashion guru.”

I crossed my arms across my chest and spoke through clenched teeth. “He’s not. He just needs to grow up.”

“Kate, you’re not making any sense. What –”

“He pointed out, between chuckles, that I’d tucked the back of my skirt into the waistband of my undies.”

Silence.

“Oh!”

“Is that all you’re going to say?”

“Which ones?” Funny, squeaky voice.

“Which ones?”

Martha was trying hard not to laugh, “which undies?”

“You know which ones.”

“Black, lacy, bare-bummers?”

Embarrassed silence.

Martha snorted, giving in to her mirth, “oh, Kate. How … um … how much did you show?”

“Enough,” I answered shortly.

Martha let out a hoot of laughter, “I’m sorry, Kate, I really am, but you have to see the funny side. Do you … um … do you have a respectable bum?”

Turning a withering stare onto Martha, I summoned every last speck of dignity I could muster. Back straight and shoulders squared I replied, “good enough to scare a teenager, my friend. Good enough to scare a teenager.”

*

I lay down on the sofa and closed my eyes. Tom would be waking soon and a wave of pregnancy exhaustion had overtaken me. Ten minutes, that’s all I needed, ten minutes rest.

A small smile turned up the corners of my mouth as I thought about the embarrassing incident with my skirt. It was either laugh or cry about that one and I really didn’t have the energy to cry right now. The smile soon disappeared though and I put my arm over my face, effectively blocking out all light, all reality.

“So what happened,” Martha had asked, “when you told Frank about the baby? When he realised that he could soon be a daddy?”

My silence had answered the question more succinctly, more plainly than any words ever could.

“Oh Kate. You have to tell him. He has a right to know.”

A right to know? Did he? Did he really? In my heart of hearts, I knew that Martha’s words were sound. Both Frank and Will had a right to know but how the hell was I going to tell them.

“I’m sure it’s not Frank’s,” I had lied. “Doesn’t cancer treatment make people infertile.”

“But how can you be so sure without talking to him?”

“Well, Will was there first. Twenty-four hours before I slept with Frank. It has to be Will’s.”

“First come, first served, you mean?” Martha sighed, “Kate, it doesn’t work like that as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“This time, it has to,” tears welled in my eyes, “I just can’t bear to think about the alternative. It was a mistake, Martha, a horrible mistake because I thought Will was sleeping around”

“So, pay-back, was it? Tit for tat? Grow up, Kate.”

“No!” I stared beseechingly at Martha’s disapproving face. “It wasn’t like that. Frank made me feel good.”