Cocktails for Three (16 page)

But as she looked into the sleeping face of Maggie's baby, Roxanne felt her defences begin to crumble; found herself thinking thoughts she had never let herself think before. She wanted one of these, she found herself thinking. Oh God. She actually wanted one. The thought frightened her; exhilarated her. She closed her eyes and, without meaning to, imagined herself holding her own baby. Ralph's baby. Ralph looking fondly over her shoulder. The picture made her almost sick with hope— and with fear. She was treading on forbidden ground, allowing her mind to
venture into dangerous places. And on what basis? On the basis of one conversation. It was ridiculous. It was foolhardy. But, having started, she couldn't seem to stop.

“So, what do you reckon, Roxanne?” said Maggie, looking at her amusedly. Roxanne stared at Lucia a few seconds longer, then forced herself to look up with a nonchalant expression.

“Very nice, as babies go. But I warn you, she'd better not pee on me.”

“I'll take her back,” said Maggie, smiling, and a ridiculous thud of disappointment went through Roxanne.

“Here you are then, Mummy,” she drawled, handing the bundle back.

“Oh, Maggie, I brought you these,” said Candice, rescuing the bouquet of flowers which she'd deposited on the floor. “I know you'll have heaps already . . .”

“I did have,” said Maggie. “But they're all dead. They don't last five minutes in here.”

“Oh good! I mean—”

“I know what you mean,” said Maggie, smiling. “And they're lovely. Thank you.”

Candice looked around the cubicle. “Have you got a vase?”

Maggie pulled a doubtful face.

“There might be one in the corridor. Or one of the other wards.”

“I'll find one.” Candice put the flowers down on the bed and headed out of the ward. When she'd gone, Maggie and Roxanne smiled at each other.

“So—how are you?” asked Maggie, stroking Lucia's cheek gently with the tip of her finger.

“Oh, fine,” said Roxanne. “You know, life goes on . . .”

“How's Mr. Married with Kids?” asked Maggie cautiously.

“Still got kids,” said Roxanne lightly. “Still married.” They both laughed, and Lucia stirred slightly in her sleep. “Although . . . you never know,” Roxanne couldn't resist adding. “Changes may be afoot.”

“Really?” said Maggie in astonishment. “You're not serious!”

“Who knows?” A smile spread over Roxanne's face. “Watch this space.”

“You mean we might actually get to meet him?”

“Oh, I don't know about that.” Roxanne's eyes flashed in amusement. “I've got used to him being my little secret.”

Maggie glanced at her, then looked around for her watch.

“What time is it? I should offer you a cup of tea. There's an urn in the day room . . .”

“Don't worry,” said Roxanne, suppressing a shudder at the idea. “I've brought a little liquid refreshment. We can have it when Candice gets back.” She looked around the maternity ward, trying to find something polite to say about it. But it seemed, to her, an overheated floral hell. And Maggie had been here for well over a week. How could she bear it? “How much longer are you in here for?” she asked.

“I go home tomorrow. The paediatrician has to check Lucia over— and then we're out of here.”

“I bet you're relieved.”

“Yes,” said Maggie, after a pause. “Yes, of course I am. But . . . but let's not talk about hospitals.” She
smiled at Roxanne. “Tell me about the outside world. What have I been missing?”

“Oh God, I don't know,” said Roxanne lazily. “I never know the gossip. I'm always away when things happen.”

“What about that girl of Candice's?” said Maggie, suddenly frowning. “Heather Whatsername. Have you met her again?”

“Yes, I saw her at the office. Didn't exactly warm to her.” Roxanne pulled a face. “Bit sickly sweet.”

“I don't know why I got so worked up about her,” said Maggie ruefully. “Pregnancy paranoia. She's probably a lovely girl.”

“Well, I wouldn't go that far. But I tell you what—” Roxanne sat up and reached for her bag. “She can certainly write.”

“Really?”

“Look at this.” Roxanne pulled a sheet of paper from her bag. “I got it from Janet. It's actually very funny.”

She watched as Maggie read the first two lines of the piece, frowned, then scanned further down to the end.

“I don't believe it!” she exclaimed as she looked up. “Did she really get a job at the
Londoner
on the strength of this piece?”

“I don't know,” said Roxanne. “But you've got to admit, it's on the nail.”

“Of course it is,” said Maggie drily. “Everything Candice writes is on the nail.”

“What?” Roxanne stared at her.

“Candice wrote this for the
Londoner
,” said Maggie, hitting the piece of paper with her hand. “I remember it. Word for word. It's her style and everything.”

“I don't believe it!”

“No wonder Ralph was impressed,” said Maggie, rolling her eyes. “God, Candice can be an idiot sometimes.”

Candice had taken longer than she had expected to find a vase, and had struck up a conversation with one of the midwives on another ward. As she finally made her way, humming, back into the ward, she saw Roxanne and Maggie staring at her, ominous expressions on their faces.

“So,” said Roxanne as she neared the bed. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“What?” said Candice.

“This,” said Maggie, producing the piece of paper with a flourish. Candice stared at it in bewilderment— then, as her gaze focused on the text, realized what it was. A flush spread over her cheeks and she looked away.

“Oh, that,” she said. “Well . . . Heather didn't have any examples of her writing. So I—” She broke off awkwardly.

“So you thought you'd supply her with an entire portfolio?”

“No!” said Candice. “Just one little piece. Just . . . you know.” She shrugged defensively. “Something to get her started. For God's sake, it's no big deal.”

Maggie shook her head.

“Candice, it's not fair. You
know
it's not fair. It's not fair on Ralph, it's not fair on all the other people who applied for the job . . .”

“It's not fair on Heather, come to that,” put in Roxanne.
“What happens when Justin asks her to write another piece just like that one?”

“He won't! And she's fine. You know, she has got talent. She can do the job. She just needed a chance.” Candice looked from Roxanne to Maggie, feeling a sudden impatience with them both. Why couldn't they see that in some cases the ends more than justified the means? “Come on, be honest,” she exclaimed. “How many jobs are got through nepotism? How many people drop names and use contacts and pretend they're better than they are? This is just the same.”

There was silence— then Maggie said, “And she's living with you.”

“Yes.” Candice looked from face to face, wondering if she'd missed something. “What's wrong with that?”

“Is she paying you rent?”

“I . . .” Candice swallowed. “That's our business, don't you think?”

She had not yet mentioned rent to Heather— nor had Heather ever brought the subject up. In her heart she had always assumed that Heather would offer to pay something, at least— but then even if she didn't, Candice thought with a sudden fierceness, what was the big deal? Some people paid rent to their friends, and some people didn't. And it wasn't as if she was desperate for the money.

“Of course it is,” said Roxanne mildly. “As long as she isn't using you.”

“
Using
me?” Candice shook her head disbelievingly. “After what my father did to her family?”

“Candice—”

“No, listen to me,” said Candice, her voice rising a
little. “I owe her one. OK? I owe her one. So maybe I got her this job under slightly false pretences, and maybe I'm being more generous to her than I normally would. But she deserves it. She deserves a break.” Candice felt her face growing hot. “And I know you don't like her, Roxanne, but—”

“What?” said Roxanne in outrage. “I've barely spoken to her!”

“Well, she has the impression you don't like her.”

“Maybe she doesn't like
me.
Had you thought of that?”

“Why wouldn't she like you?” retorted Candice indignantly.

“I don't know! Why wouldn't I like her, for that matter?”

“This is ridiculous!” cut in Maggie. “Stop it, both of you!”

At her raised voice, Lucia gave a sudden wriggle and began to wail, plaintively at first, then more lustily.

“Now look what you've done!” said Maggie.

“Oh,” said Candice, and bit her lip. “Sorry. I didn't mean to lose it like that.”

“No,” said Roxanne. “Neither did I.” She put a hand out and squeezed Candice's. “Don't get me wrong. I'm sure Heather's a great girl. We just . . . worry about you.”

“You're too blinking nice,” put in Maggie, then winced. The others turned and, in appalled fascination, watched her putting Lucia to her breast.

“Does it
hurt
?” said Candice, watching Maggie's face involuntarily screw up in pain.

“A bit,” said Maggie. “Just at first.” The baby began
to suck and gradually her face relaxed. “There. That's better.”

“Bloody hell,” said Roxanne, staring blatantly at Maggie's breast. “Rather you than me.” She pulled a face at Candice, who gave a sudden giggle.

“She likes a drink, anyway,” she said, watching Lucia greedily sucking.

“Like her mother,” said Roxanne. “Speaking of which . . .” She reached into her bag and, after some rummaging, produced a large silver cocktail shaker.

“No!” exclaimed Maggie in disbelief. “You haven't!”

“I told you we'd toast the baby with cocktails,” said Roxanne.

“But we can't!” said Maggie, giggling. “If somebody sees us, I'll get thrown out of the Good Mother club.”

“I thought of that, too,” said Roxanne. With a completely straight face, she reached into the bag again and produced three little baby bottles.

“What—”

“Wait.”

She unscrewed each of the bottles, placed them in a row on the bedside table, picked up the cocktail shaker and gave it a good shake as the other two watched in amazement. Then she removed the lid of the cocktail shaker and solemnly poured a thick white liquid into each of the bottles.

“What is it?” said Candice, staring at it.

“Not milk, surely?” said Maggie.

“Pina Colada,” said Roxanne airily.

At once, Candice and Maggie exploded into giggles. Pina Colada was a standing joke between them— ever
since that first uproarious night at the Manhattan Bar, when Roxanne had announced that if anyone ordered Pina Colada she was disowning them.

“I mustn't!” wailed Maggie, trying not to shake. “I mustn't laugh. Poor Lucia.”

“Cheers,” said Roxanne, handing her a baby bottle.

“To Lucia,” said Candice.

“Lucia,” echoed Roxanne, holding her bottle up.

“And to you two,” said Maggie, smiling at Roxanne and Candice. She took a gulp and closed her eyes in delight. “God, that's good. I haven't tasted proper alcohol for weeks.”

“The thing is,” said Candice, taking a slurp, “that actually, Pina Colada is bloody delicious.”

“It's not bad, is it?” said Roxanne, sipping thoughtfully. “If they could just call it something classier . . .”

“Talking of alcohol, Ralph Allsopp sent us a magnum of champagne,” said Maggie. “Wasn't that nice of him? But we haven't opened it yet.”

“Great minds think alike,” said Roxanne lightly.

“Mrs. Drakeford?” A man's voice came from outside the floral curtains and the three looked guiltily at each other. The next moment, a doctor's cheerful head popped round the side of the curtain and grinned at them all. “Mrs. Drakeford, I'm one of the paediatricians. Come to check up on little Lucia.”

“Oh,” said Maggie weakly. “Ahm . . . come in.”

“I'll take your . . . milk, shall I?” said Roxanne helpfully, and reached for Maggie's baby bottle. “Here. I'll leave it on your bedside table for later.”

“Thanks,” said Maggie. Her mouth was tight; she was obviously trying not to laugh.

“Maybe we'd better go,” said Candice.

“OK,” whispered Maggie.

“See you soon, babe,” said Roxanne. She downed her Pina Colada in one and thrust the empty bottle back into her bag. “Nothing like a nice healthy drink of milk,” she said to the paediatrician, who nodded in surprise.

“Lucia's gorgeous,” said Candice, and bent over the bed to kiss Maggie. “And we'll see you soon.”

“At the Manhattan Bar,” put in Roxanne. “First of the month. You think you'll be able to make it, Maggie?”

“Absolutely,” said Maggie, and grinned at her. “I'll be there.”

Chapter Ten

As Candice arrived home that evening her cheeks were flushed with happiness, and she still felt giggles rising whenever she thought of the baby bottles full of Pina Colada. She also felt more emotional than she had been expecting to. The sight of Maggie and her baby— a new little person in the world— had stirred her deep inside; more than she had been aware at the time. Now she felt overflowing with affection for both her friends.

The only awkward moment between the three of them had been over Heather— and that, thought Candice, was because they didn't understand. After all, how could they? Maggie and Roxanne had never felt her secret, constant guilt— so they couldn't know what it was like to feel that guilt alleviated. They couldn't understand the lightness she had felt inside over the past few weeks; the sheer pleasure it gave her to see Heather's life falling into place.