Authors: Julie Cohen
One Night Stand (36 page)
I couldn’t remember whether I had or not, but I did remember my state of mind that evening, and it seemed at least likely.
‘I got a lot more than I intended,’ I said, and then tightened my hands on my belly again. ‘Not that I’m sorry. I want this baby.’
‘Have you been planning to bring the baby up on your own?’
I thought about what I’d intended to ask Hugh tonight. Then I thought about him staring at his drink, avoiding my eyes. I bit my lip.
‘Yes,’ I said.
Reuben let out a long breath. For a while we sat and looked at each other. He had lines around his eyes I hadn’t noticed when we’d first met.
‘I really liked your book,’ he said at last.
‘Thank you.’
‘I felt that it had a lot of emotional truth in it. I was actually quite touched.’
I nodded. Of course he wasn’t to know where the emotional truth came from.
‘I wasn’t expecting this,’ he said. ‘I think we need to talk a lot more.’
‘I think you’re right.’
He frowned. I could see he was thinking hard. ‘We’ll work something out. I mean, I don’t really know you, but I do like you, Estelle.’
‘Eleanor. My agent calls me by my pen name.’
‘He is a bit like that, isn’t he?’
He smiled and I realised that I liked him, too. Mostly I liked how he wasn’t trying to squirm out of what we’d done, but also I saw humour and intelligence there. It was partly what had attracted me in the first place, I supposed.
‘You’ve got a party downstairs,’ he reminded me.
Not only a party. A roomful of people who’d just found out who the father of my child was, and who were probably discussing it thoroughly right now.
And Hugh.
I swallowed, but the lump in my throat didn’t go away.
I gazed wistfully at the vodka optic as I passed it on my way back into the pub. Booze would be a welcome escape. Then again, considering what I’d done the last time I’d got drunk, it was a good thing I wasn’t allowed any.
I’d expected silence when I came back downstairs, but I didn’t get it. It was as if everyone knew that what I wanted most was for the party to continue as it had done before, as if my life hadn’t turned itself totally upside down. People were talking and laughing, but not about me. I received a few glances but they were more of concern than of curiosity.
Sheila showed up at my side with Richard and another glass of sparkling juice. ‘You need a drink,’ she told me, and then she turned to Reuben, who was standing beside me. ‘I’m Eleanor’s mother,’ she said, ‘it’s nice to meet you.’
‘Reuben Rogers. Very nice to meet you, too.’
Well, if Reuben helps bring up our baby, at least it should have good manners,
I thought. He didn’t betray the slightest apprehension at being scrutinised by the mother of the woman he’d impregnated. And a vicar.
I thought. He didn’t betray the slightest apprehension at being scrutinised by the mother of the woman he’d impregnated. And a vicar.
I craned my neck, but Hugh was nowhere in sight. ‘Have you seen Hugh?’ I asked Sheila.
‘I think he had to nip out for a minute. So Reuben, what do you do?’
I excused myself from their conversation and threaded through the crowd. Not easy when you’re both considerably bigger than usual and also the object of everyone’s concealed interest. Martha looped her arm through mine and wanted to know about the film deal; Paul wanted to tell me that he’d read the first chapter of my book and he had never found politics so interesting; Phil wanted to apologise about shouting out about the twenty quid. I was stopped so many times that I began to suspect that the pub regulars were conspiring against me, trying to keep me from finding Hugh.
I was nearly at the door when Bryce pounced out of nowhere, quite a feat, considering his size. ‘You are joking, Estelle,’ he whispered, ‘do you mean to tell me that Rueben Rogers is the
father
?’
father
?’
I turned to him. ‘It’s Eleanor,’ I said. ‘My name is Eleanor.’
I was probably going to say something else, something sarcastic and unprofessional that could have cost me a very good agent, but before I could, long arms flung themselves around me from behind.
‘El!’ cried Hugh’s voice, and my heart leapt and then dipped.
He sounded happy.
He turned me around to face him. There was a bright Hugh-smile on his face. ‘You found George!’
‘Yes,’ I said, mystified. The last time I’d seen him he’d looked - well, I wasn’t sure what he’d looked like, but it hadn’t been happy. ‘His name is Reuben Rogers. He’s a film producer.’
He nodded. ‘Was this the surprise you had for me?’
I thought of the speech I’d rehearsed. All the emotions I’d planned on revealing.
‘Um,’ I said.
‘Let’s go outside for a minute, you’re looking a little pale.’ He took my elbow and guided me out the door.
The night was balmy, lit by the stars and the orange streetlights. This was where I’d hoped to tell him I loved him.
‘Hugh—’ I began.
‘What does he say?’ he interrupted me. ‘Does he want to know? If he doesn’t want to know, tell me, because I’m happy to hit him. Unless of course that would scupper your film deal. I wouldn’t want that to happen. Is he a nice guy?’
He was acting super-Hughlike, full of energy and words.
‘He seems to be a nice guy,’ I said.
‘He doesn’t look like how I expected him to. And he doesn’t look anything like George Michael, you know. No wonder nobody could remember him.’
How could he be all cheerful about this?
‘I think he looks like George Michael,’ I said.
‘Well, I’ve said it many times; you are a little bit mad. What does he say about the baby?’
‘He says we’ll work something out.’
He nodded rapidly. ‘That’s great. Excellent. That’s what you wanted.’
‘I’m not sure it is what I want.’
He took my hands in his. Just as he’d always done for as long as I could remember, whenever I needed a friend.
‘El, remember how you felt when you found out that you didn’t know who your father was. You’ve said it yourself, your baby deserves to know better.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And look at me, look at how I grew up. I had a father and a mother who couldn’t stand each other and who did their best to make sure I didn’t feel as if I belonged anywhere. Your baby deserves better than that, too. Your baby needs two parents who love him. Or her.’
I stared at Hugh’s expressive face and his dark bright eyes. I remembered every time he had put a protective hand over my belly.
‘But what about us?’ I asked.
For a moment I thought I saw something flicker in his eyes. Then he was all smiles again, all energy, all super-Hugh-like.
‘Us was great,’ he said. ‘In fact, us was bloody amazing. But we’ll always be friends, El. I’m not going to let anything in the world get in the way of that.’
He pulled me into his arms for a big hug.
I clung to him, my best friend who had broken my heart.
36
I stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the bustling excitement of Chelsea. The baby squirmed inside me and I patted my stomach.
‘We’re not in Reading any more, Toto,’ I said in a poor imitation of Judy Garland. I went back to my seat on Reuben’s long, low black leather-and-chrome sofa, next to his long, low glass-and-chrome coffee table. I had my brand new laptop on the table, next to a marked-up copy of
Throbbing Member
and a stack of notes.
Throbbing Member
and a stack of notes.
Reuben’s Chelsea flat was modern, spacious, and spotless. It was the kind of place they used for interior shots in television shows featuring young and trendy creative people. He had original abstract art on the walls, shining hardwood floors, and the cleanest windows I had ever seen. Every few days, someone (though I never saw who) refreshed the flower arrangement that sat on a marble side table near the door.
It was, in short, the perfect pristine writing space, absolutely ideal for what I was supposed to be doing, which was adapting
Throbbing Member
into a screenplay.
Throbbing Member
into a screenplay.
I couldn’t work at all.
At thirty-nine weeks pregnant, I could barely walk or type. My feet were swollen, my hands were swollen, and when I looked into the mirror I didn’t recognise the round, dough-like person who looked back at me. The only things my pregnant body wanted me to do were to eat and to lie down, and rest up to give birth to this baby.
Pity I hardly had any appetite, and that I couldn’t sleep.
With a grunt, I lifted my feet up on to the coffee table in an attempt to reduce the swelling. I knew I was kidding myself: being one week short of full term in my pregnancy was uncomfortable, but the real reason I couldn’t do anything was because of Hugh. Or, rather, lack of Hugh.
How was I supposed to sleep at night in the vast bed in Reuben’s spare bedroom? Hugh had made a lumpy pillow, he had angles and elbows and sometimes, deep in the night when he was really tired, he snored, but I had never slept so well as when I had been in his arms.
Reuben was nice about food. Reuben was nice about everything. He brought me elaborate sandwiches from the deli around the corner; he brought me delicate strawberry tarts from the patisserie down the street. He had even, with that wild look in his eye that men got when they were trying their best to deal patiently with hormonal women who looked as if they were about to explode, asked if maybe I fancied some pickles and ice cream.
I wanted the sloppy traces of cake batter from the bottom of Hugh’s mixing bowl.
The baby kicked again, and began to hiccup. I smiled and rubbed the place where the baby’s back pressed against my stomach. His or her hiccups were the strangest movement the baby made; they were, for me, the clearest evidence that though this baby was inside me, he or she was a separate being whom I was looking forward to meeting.
‘I wish you’d hurry up and be born and give me something else to think about,’ I said to my child.
Reuben came in from his study, clicking his mobile phone shut. ‘I’m popping out for a meeting,’ he said, ‘but you can ring me if anything happens, okay? I can be back here in fifteen minutes.’
I nodded. ‘I was telling this baby to get a move on.’
For a moment, the expression on Reuben’s face was pure terror, but then he swiftly covered it up with one of his half-sardonic smiles. ‘Don’t tell it to come too fast, I just had these floors washed,’ he said, and kissed me briefly on the cheek before he left.
Alone again, I let out another huge sigh. I couldn’t blame Reuben for being freaked out. Anyone would be scared if they suddenly found out they were going to be a parent. I’d certainly been scared. Reuben needed time to get used to the idea, and he’d come around. There was no reason he couldn’t be a perfectly good father.
If it was any indication, he was already doing his share financially. He’d put me on his private healthcare plan, found me an obstetrician and a paediatrician, and bought a sleek, minimalist cot and a trendy pram of the type you saw celebrities pushing. He’d suggested himself that I move in with him so that he could help take care of me in the last weeks of my pregnancy.
And since then we’d been dancing around each other. Polite, not too close. Doing our best to focus on today, rather than years down the line. There certainly hadn’t been any repeat of our sexual escapades of nine months before, but then again, I was not exactly looking like a sex symbol at the moment.
We were making the best of it. We were giving each other a chance.
I was so lonely I couldn’t stand it.
The doorbell rang. I heaved myself off the couch and waddled to the door. It was probably a delivery. In the first couple days I’d been in Chelsea, some of Reuben’s friends had come round to visit, but when they’d encountered me and my belly they hadn’t quite known what to say. These days, they rang Reuben first to make sure he was going to be home too, or they arranged to meet him elsewhere.
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