Hens Reunited (38 page)

She couldn’t believe it. She was like a robot with the contraceptive pill every morning, never missed one, having always been so terrified of the consequences. But in the excitement and drama of the Birmingham jaunt, in the happiness of her reunion with Steve, the sureness that yes, she wanted to be with him for the rest of her life . . . somehow the clockwork had clicked to a stop.

There was no mistaking the hope that flared in Steve’s face at this news. He stared at her, opening his mouth to say something, then closing it again. ‘What does that mean?’ he asked carefully after a moment.

Katie tried to make the calculation, but her brain seemed to be on a slowdown. To her surprise, she wasn’t gripped by the sick panic she thought she might have been overwhelmed by. She actually felt quite . . . excited. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied, looking into his eyes. ‘I guess it might mean I’m pregnant.’

Everything seemed to go into slow motion as she said the word. Their eyes were locked on one another, food forgotten, each weighing up the possibility.

‘And . . . would it be such a bad thing?’ Steve was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Katie thought about it. Really thought. For so long – for ever – an automatic ‘no’ had come up in her mind, like a number popping up on an old-fashioned cash till, whenever she’d thought about babies. Ching-ching! Babies and motherhood had always been tied up with her feelings about her
own
mother. But it didn’t have to be like that, did it?

‘If we had a baby . . .’ she began slowly, then blinked at what she’d just said. The words were half shocking, half thrilling to hear from her own lips. ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,’ she said faintly, more to herself than Steve.

He reached over the table and took her hand. ‘If we had a baby,’ he repeated, ‘we would do things our way. We wouldn’t be like our parents.’

She nodded. ‘And . . . and we wouldn’t change, would we?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘We’d still be us.’

She squeezed his hand. Statistics were returning to her. The average couple took at least six months to conceive. And Katie was thirty-four now – didn’t a woman’s fertility plummet once she was thirty-five? Chances were, she wasn’t pregnant and life would go on as before. But if she was . . .

She smiled at Steve. ‘Let’s wait and see, then.’

She hadn’t expected to be pregnant, deep down. She’d never been pregnant before – didn’t even know if she could physically conceive in the first place. Maybe she was infertile. Maybe he was. But, as it had turned out, neither of them was.

Now she was four and half months’ pregnant, and her belly was showing. Just yesterday, she thought she’d felt the baby move inside her for the first time. She was so, so happy that this was happening, that she and Steve were going to be parents together. It felt such a big adventure.

Mind you, there was the wedding to get through first. They were having a small do: no penguin suits, no meringue dresses, no feeding of the five thousand relatives. Just close family and friends, a small registry-office affair and then food and dancing at a pub in Clifton. The only thing that was troubling Katie was wondering how Georgia and Alice would get along tonight. She hoped they could let bygones be bygones now and edge back towards friendship again. She’d been counting on Laura being there as a buffer zone, neutralizing any bad feelings, but Laura had phoned to say she was running late and wouldn’t be there for a while. So it would be the three of them all together at first – well, if the other two showed, of course . . .

Meanwhile, half a mile away, Georgia was walking into a different pub and trying to remember when she’d last felt quite so apprehensive. Maybe when she was bracing herself to tell Harry she was leaving him and the marriage was over? No. The words had burst out in a tirade of hatred with barely a tremor of fear. Maybe when she’d been trying to blag her way into the MTV Millennium Eve party? Nah. She’d had enough Dutch courage to quench any nerves. Or possibly when she’d been about to break the news to Isabella that she was quitting her job? Well, that had been daunting, but she’d been so excited at the prospect, she’d managed eye contact and everything.
Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today . . .
Polly had all but jumped up and down with glee.

But this . . . this was proper nerves. Meeting up with Alice, burying the hatchet after all these months. Georgia hoped the hatchet wouldn’t end up buried in her head. The fact that Alice had agreed to meet her at all gave Georgia slight hope, but things changed, didn’t they? People bottled it, or decided that actually, they didn’t feel quite so conciliatory after all.

Still. Here she was, right time, right address. ‘You’ll feel so much better once you’ve seen her and had a chat,’ Owen had said as she’d kissed him goodbye that morning. ‘You’re doing the right thing.’

She’d put her arms around him, not wanting to go any more. She’d only been living with him for three weeks, and had never felt happier. She felt . . . complete. Was that too corny? She didn’t care. It was true. Leaving London, her home for the last sixteen years, had been terrifying, but exhilarating too. She was letting her flat now with a view to selling it at some point in the future, and she and Owen had found a place to rent together in Manchester’s trendy Northern Quarter. Everyone was so friendly there, she couldn’t believe it! And the bars and shops were fab, too – she’d almost forgotten there were any other cool places outside London.

Since making the move, she had thrown herself into freelance opportunities, pitching an idea for a column to the
Evening News
and feature ideas to various magazines, plus she’d written some blog posts for one of the big Manchester websites. She’d also set up her PC on a desk and typed CHAPTER ONE in a new Word document.

‘I’m going to miss you,’ she told him that morning, kissing his neck. He smelled so nice it made her insides flip and she slid a hand under his T-shirt.

‘Georgia Knight, you dirty cow,’ he said thickly as she unbuttoned his jeans.

‘You love it,’ she replied, groaning with pleasure as he pulled up her skirt and pressed her against the radiator. ‘Ohhh . . .’

She’d had to peg it for her train, but God it had been worth it. Her love life had been parched and pathetic for the last few years, but now it felt like monsoon season and she couldn’t get enough of him. The thought was enough to put a smile on her face as she cast an eye around the pub – no sign of Alice – and went up to the bar. ‘Vodka tonic, please. Actually, make it a double.’

Alice was running late, having missed her bus after a last-minute wobble about leaving Iris overnight for the first time ever. She knew very well that her parents would lavish her with love and care and that her little girl would be absolutely fine but it still felt awful, the thought of not being able to kiss her goodnight at seven o’clock. And how would Iris react the next morning when Alice wasn’t there? She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to think about it, as she hurried up the road, limping slightly in her high heels. She was out of practice with such shoes – hell, she was out of practice when it came to nights out full stop. But still, Katie’s hen do, eh? She wasn’t going to miss that one for anything.

Her phone bleeped and she fumbled to get it out of her handbag, heart skipping a beat at the dread of a call from her mum:
Iris has had a fall. Iris has stopped breathing. Iris has got a very high temperature . . .

No. Stop it. The caller display read
Dom
and she pressed ‘Accept’. ‘Hiya, are you okay?’

‘Hi, yeah, fine, just wanted to say, I hope it goes well tonight. Have you met The Bitch yet?’

‘No, not yet, on my way now. I think she’ll be all right. She was incredibly contrite on the phone.’ Almost embarrassingly so, actually. Laying on the apologies and we-are-not-worthy stuff so thick, Alice had half wondered if Georgia had suffered some kind of head injury. Or was this an impostor she was speaking to? Georgia had never been one for ‘sorry’ unless it was dragged out of her.

‘Yeah, well, quite right too,’ Dom said. ‘Anyway, don’t let her give you any grief, will you? No being sweet-talked into an interview about Jake or anything.’

Alice gave a little shudder. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going there. I’ve already said he’s off-limits. This is for Katie’s sake. Georgia and I are just going to clear the air, then we can join Katie and . . .’ She pulled a face. ‘Oh God. I’m nervous now.’

‘Don’t be.’ He was as calm as ever. He should have been in the emergency services, Dom, he was always so steady. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Let her apologize and move on. I bet you’ll have a good laugh once you’re all together.’

‘Yeah. Hope so. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for ringing. Bye.’

‘Bye, sweetheart. Love you.’

She pressed the phone against her cheek as the call ended, wishing he could be there with her. She spent so much time with him now, it was strange to be someplace he wasn’t.

Ahh. Here was the pub. She gave a deep breath and pulled back her shoulders. She could do this. She could definitely do this.

The thing about Georgia, thought Alice as she pushed open the door, was that she’d always been so dazzling, so full of life, energy and attitude, that she made you feel a little brighter, just being near to her. She had this presence, always had done, even when they were first years at uni together. Alice had been gawky and square, had never had sex, never tried any drugs, only ever been mildly squiffy on cider a few times before. But as luck would have it, her room in the hall of residence was right next to Georgia’s – this loud, glamorous creature who seemed hard as nails, fearless. And amazingly, Georgia had been really nice to Alice, had looked after her a bit, always asked her along to pub nights or whatever. Then, a few months in, when Georgia had revealed herself to be so bruised, so fragile about the baby, and the attack . . . it had broken Alice’s heart.

After that, there had always been a closeness, despite the differences in their personalities. She’d trusted Georgia – as she’d felt Georgia trusted her. Which was why it had all been so shocking, the betrayal. Almost worse than Jake’s cheating.

Tears pricked her eyes suddenly.
No. Don’t start getting emotional.
She needed to stay in control for the next few hours.

She stood in the doorway, her hand still on the handle. The thing was, Alice thought to herself, what she’d come to realize in the last few months was that she actually missed Georgia. Despite everything that had happened in the past, she missed all the vibrancy and sparkle that came with having Georgia in your life. And so if Georgia was ready to say sorry, then she, Alice, was ready to listen.

She scanned the room – it was trendy-scruffy, with mismatched chairs and tables, old leather sofas, lamps shining soft circles of light. And there, sitting in a pink brocade armchair, legs crossed, reading a magazine, was Georgia.

God. Just the sight of her made Alice feel twisted up inside. Georgia had had her hair cut shorter, in a choppy, shoulder-length bob, and had a fringe – very Cleopatra – and was wearing dark jeans and a low-cut red top. Cool as a cucumber, as ever. Alice suddenly felt overdressed in her black trousers and spangly top.

Still. She was here now. She crossed the room and stood next to her old friend. ‘Hi,’ she said.

Katie shifted on her bar stool, feeling uncomfortable. Where were they? Had they blown her out? It was nearly half eight now, and she’d said eight to them both. Bloody hell. And Laura wasn’t due until nine . . . could she really sit here another half an hour on her own? She was starting to feel self-conscious all by herself.
It’s my hen night as well
, she thought miserably. Didn’t her friends care about her?

The music in this place was starting to get on her nerves now. It was tinkly piano music, but the melody didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, as if it were on a loop. The lights were too bright and starting to give her a headache. She was beginning to wish she was at home, with her feet up, and some comfort food to tuck into. Maybe it had been a bit ambitious, this whole hen-night thing.

But then – at last. In came Georgia . . . closely followed by Alice. Oh my God. They were together! They were speaking! She held her breath as they made their way over. They weren’t scratching each other’s eyes out – wahey! Had peace finally broken out?

She clambered inelegantly from her stool and stood there, a hopeful smile on her face. ‘Hi! Have you two just bumped into each other, or . . . ?’

Georgia grinned and hugged her. ‘Hiya,’ she said. ‘My God, the belly on you. Phwwwoooar, let’s have a stroke of it!’

Alice kissed her and managed a sideways hug while Georgia was oohing and ahhing over Katie’s bump. ‘We thought we’d meet up first,’ she said. ‘We’ve been in a pub down the road, talking things through.’

‘And . . . ?’ Katie hardly dared ask. ‘Is everything all right?’

Georgia and Alice exchanged a glance. ‘Yes,’ they said in the same breath. ‘Water under the bridge,’ Alice added.

‘I’ve been hearing all about the lovely Dom,’ Georgia teased, raising an eyebrow meaningfully. ‘Sounds like he’s a bit of a catch and a half.’

‘And she’s been boring me to death swooning over this Owen bloke,’ Alice put in. ‘Joke,’ she said quickly, but Georgia was smiling.

‘And here’s you, our Katie, up the duff and looking amazing,’ Georgia said fondly. ‘We’ve done all right, us three, haven’t we? Another hen night, and we’re all grown up and happy.’

‘Grown up?’ Katie snorted. ‘Speak for yourself, love. I was hoping for a bit of silly dancing to Take That tonight.’

‘God yeah,’ Alice agreed. ‘And cocktails. And I really hope you’ve got
Pretty Woman
on video back at your place . . .’

‘Too right,’ Georgia said. ‘Girls, I think we need a toast. Can we get some service around here?’ she asked the barman. ‘Bottle of bubbly, please.’ She turned back to Katie. ‘What are you drinking?’

‘Lemonade,’ Katie said. ‘But I reckon I might manage a sip of bubbly. Just to be polite.’

The barman uncorked the bottle with a pop and poured them each a glass of the fizz.