The Family Trap (22 page)

‘So,’ Paul says, ‘this is the big secret, is it?’

He’s leaning against the high wooden back of the pew, feigning a relaxed posture the way men do when they are trying to intimidate. ‘This,’ he waves his hand at my bump, ‘is what it was all about, is it?’

No point denying it now.

‘Yes,’ I tell him, keeping my voice soft. ‘This is why I couldn’t marry you.’

He nods slowly. I can almost hear the cogs shifting, processing. Will it all fall into place for him now? Will he remember the conversations we had?

‘Paul?’ I say tentatively. I reach out for his hand but don’t touch him yet. I visualise the next few minutes, how it’s all going to come together. I’ll rest his hand on my stomach, and then he’ll look at me with tears in his eyes and say, ‘We’re having a baby?’ And then I’ll nod and kiss him and all will be well.

There’ll be a lot of crying. And a hell of a lot of explaining. But at the very least, Paul and I can get on with being parents-to-be. I know he’ll want to be involved. We can go back to being friends again. It will be better than nothing, better than not having him in my life at all. And I’ll do my best to make it up to him. No matter what he said, no matter how he wants to live his life, it was wrong of me to keep it from him for so long. Wrong to break up with him without telling him the real reason.

However confused I was, however hormonal, it was still wrong.

I reach out a little further and touch his fingers.

He snatches his hand away and takes a step back. ‘You’re pregnant,’ he says, spitting the words out like an accusation.

‘We’re pregnant,’ I correct him with a gentle smile. ‘I’m having our baby. I’ve been wanting to tell–’

‘And this is why you called off the wedding?’ he shouts, not listening. ‘You must have been pregnant already, then. And what, you were just going to keep it to yourself forever? Leave me always wondering why?’ His expression is starting to cause me pain: he looks stricken, desperate. This is not the reaction I was hoping for.

‘I was going to tell you, Paul,’ I say with a nervous laugh, suddenly aware of how lame it sounds. ‘The week before the wedding I tried and tried. Don’t you remember? When I asked you how you’d feel about starting a family? But it didn’t … I didn’t … I
was
going to tell you about the baby. Honestly. But–’

‘Honestly?’ Paul’s voice is hoarse with emotion. ‘Honestly? You wouldn’t know honest if it jumped up and smacked you in the face. You are a disgrace. I’m disgusted with you. And as for that,’ he points at my bump, ‘I feel sorry for it.’

My cheeks burn with shame. Paul’s words are like arrows in my heart, but worse is the look on his face. His expression is one I have never seen before, and hope I never see again. He is looking at me like I’m scum, shit on his shoe, like I’m the absolute worst person in the world.

‘Come on, now. There’s no need for that.’

We both whirl around. My dad is standing at the back of the church. The double doors are closed behind him, and in the gloom his face is unreadable. He starts to walk around the perimeter, not looking in our direction, a silent guardian. I want to run to him, but I’m rooted to the spot.

Paul turns back to me. He’s not finished with me yet. ‘So this is why you invited me here today.’ His voice is low, urgent. ‘So you could humiliate me again. Isn’t it enough that you broke my heart, destroyed my future, took away everything I believed in? What the hell did I do to deserve this, Stella? Just tell me that. Tell me what I did that was so terrible you had to let me find out like this?’

I can’t speak. He’s almost crying. There are no words to explain how painful it is to see my wonderful Paul reduced to tears. I want to hold him, to try and explain. It’s not all bad news, is it? Yes, we want different things out of life, and my falling pregnant meant that we couldn’t carry on with the future we’d planned. But he’s talking like I’ve done something terrible, like I’m a truly horrible person. All I did was fall pregnant by the man I love. The man I thought, wrongly, would be happy to start a family with me. And what does he mean, I invited him? He seems to be talking in riddles.

My dad is standing somewhere behind me now. I can sense him. Not too close, but close enough.

‘We’re having a baby,’ I whisper so only Paul can hear me.

‘And I’m very happy for you,’ he says through gritted teeth. ‘I hope you and the father, whoever he is, will be very happy together.’

Shock makes me slow. That and the sinking in my stomach as the full impact of his words hits me. I stumble forward, reaching out blindly for support. The polished wood of the pew is warm to my touch from where Paul was leaning against it only moments ago. But even as I grip it, it starts to cool. My hands are like ice. My teeth begin to chatter.

A pair of arms around me. Strong, capable, but not the arms I want. Dad presses me to his chest, and I rest my cheek against his white carnation and let the tears come.

‘Don’t worry, Stella,’ he says softly. ‘He’ll come round.’

But he doesn’t know Paul like I do. No one knows Paul like I do. He is stubborn, and once he gets an idea in his head it’s almost impossible to remove it. And right now, Paul Smart thinks I’m carrying another man’s child. Which is not very smart at all. In fact, it’s downright the most stupid thing I’ve ever heard.

*

Next time I look up they’re all here. My mum, Lipsy, Robert and Phoenix, all crowded round me in a great big extended hug. Lipsy looks terrified; Robert is gazing off to the side, embarrassed, with Phoenix asleep in his arms. My mother is the only one whose expression offers me any comfort. She’s smiling, a warm, forgiving smile, and when I meet her eyes she takes my face in her hands.

‘Come on,’ she says, ‘let’s go and eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.’

I could cry all over again, but I’ve cried all my tears. I’m desiccated from crying – there is not a single millilitre of moisture left in the whole of my body. Also, I’m so hungry I could faint. When you’re pregnant, your bodily functions don’t stop just because your heart is breaking. When you’re pregnant, you just have to carry on.

‘I know a hotel up the road where they’re having a wedding breakfast right now,’ I say with a sniff, wiping my eyes on my mum’s sleeve and then taking her hand firmly in mine, ‘and we’re all invited.’

And like that, we exit the church. Connected by a hand or an arm or at the very least the brush of a coat, we walk out into the sunshine. My family and me. Five adults and two babies, ready to face the world.

Chapter 23

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: 30 June 2012 15:31

Lipsy,

I cannot imagine what you think you’re playing at, but thanks to what I can only assume are your efforts, at least now I know the real reason your mum dumped me. All that “you should come see my mum, then you’ll get all the answers” stuff – well, at least now I know what it was all about.

I thought I deserved better, after being a friend to your mum and your family for all these years. Never mind what she’s done, I expected more of you. Someone should have told me. Well, I hope she’s happy with her new man and their baby. It all makes sense now. Tell your mum that even though I’m back in MK I’ll keep out of her way. I’d prefer it if you didn’t contact me again either.

Paul

*

Food. The great comforter. I’ve ingested an entire roast chicken, five potatoes and a pile of vegetables the size of my head before I start to feel even marginally calmer. The wedding breakfast – I keep calling it a wedding breakfast because every time I do my mum’s face breaks into a gigantic smile – is just for family and close friends, and the friends have been shoved to the other end of the table. We have a function room to ourselves, and the twee decor, with curtain swags and a fake candelabrum on each wall, is surprisingly soothing. I’m surrounded by the people who love me, and like this, I might just get through it.

Paul thinks I’m pregnant by someone else. That’s a truth I can’t shy away from. Of all the stupid, ridiculous … Well, what did I expect? Paul’s a gold medallist in jumping to the wrong conclusions. Look at what he was like about Joshua. And John Dean. But this? This takes the biscuit.

OK, I called off the wedding and never quite got around to telling him exactly why. But, hey – figure it out, genius. You don’t want to start a family, I’m in the family way. Recipe for a happy life? No, not really. I set him free. You’d think he’d be grateful, once the shock had worn off. But no, Paul has to go on a typical Paul Smart not-very-smart flight of fancy that has me running off and getting knocked up by another guy.

‘Are you OK, love?’ my mum asks, leaning over.

‘Was I muttering to myself again?’ I say, embarrassed. She nods. Ah, great. I smile and wave to my mum’s friend Anne and her daughter, then I turn my chair so their view of me is blocked.

‘What I don’t understand is, how on earth he thinks I had the opportunity to meet someone else. We spent every second together, apart from when we were working, for goodness sake. And, tell me this – shouldn’t someone who is so dead set against having a baby be a bit more concerned about contraception? Huh?’

My mum nods and pats my hand. She’s heard this twice already, but has the grace not to look bored. Dad leans in and goes to top up my glass, but I put my hand across it. I’m allowing myself a tipple today, but not more than one. The last thing I need is a hangover and another shedload of guilt to add to my already unmanageable load.

‘He’s an arse,’ my dad says definitively.

‘Yes,’ Mum agrees. ‘He is. An arse.’

The way she says ‘arse’ is so funny, I crease up laughing despite myself. Lipsy looks up.

‘What’s the joke?’ she says. Her face is a picture of anxiety. She knows she’s in for it later, but I’m not laying into her here. I’ve made enough of a spectacle of myself for one day.

I’m about to say something cutting, when her phone beeps and she fishes it from her bag. I glare at her: this is a family meal, not to mention a chance to comfort me, not an opportunity to check her messages. I try to catch her eye, forbidding stare at the ready, but as she reads her face grows even paler than usual and tears well up in her eyes. She slams the phone down violently and takes a deep, shuddering breath. Robert reaches for her hand.

‘What’s up?’ he says. He’s feeding Phoenix, holding him awkwardly with one arm while trying to balance the bottle with the same hand. Phoenix doesn’t seem to mind, though. At least there’s someone in our family who doesn’t have a care in the world.

‘Nothing.’ Lipsy shakes her head and shoots Robert a warning glance. My antennae are up and receiving immediately.

‘Who was the text from, Lipsy?’

‘No one,’ she says. ‘And it wasn’t a text. It was an email.’

I can see that she regrets this addition as soon as it’s out of her mouth.

‘Who emails you?’ I say with a laugh. ‘I thought you lot were all Facebook and Twitter now. Or texting. And no one spells properly anymore,’ I add, turning to my dad. ‘It’s all “great” spelt with a G and a number eight, and “R U OK”. No wonder the education system in this country is going down the pan.’

I think I might be a little bit drunk. I haven’t had alcohol for months, and this one glass of wine seems to have gone straight to my head. I hope Bump isn’t getting any. Must shovel in some more food to soak it up.

I might not have given the email another thought if not for what happens next. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lipsy slip her phone under the table to my mother. Then I watch, pretending to be absorbed in my chocolate cake and fresh whipped cream, while my mother reads something on the screen, steals a quick glance at me, then hands it back to Lipsy.

I throw down my spoon and shove my hand across the table, palm up.

‘Give me that phone right now.’

Lipsy jumps and nearly drops the phone into her pudding. ‘What?’ she says, clearly stalling for time. Trying to think of a reason to say no.

‘Don’t play the innocent with me,’ I tell her. ‘Today has been weird enough without you sharing secret messages with your grandma. Just hand over the phone, Lipsy. You’re in enough trouble as it is. Don’t make it any worse for yourself.’

Reluctantly, with a lot of grumbling and muttering, she hands me the phone. Then she lifts Phoenix from Robert’s arms and takes over feeding. Obviously assuming I won’t be too hard on her if she’s holding my grandson.

This must be bad.

I give everyone a warning glare, then drop my head to read the email showing on the screen.

Funny how it isn’t even a shock to see that the message is from Paul. I guess I must have figured out that they’d been in touch. The shock is the realisation that my mother was involved in all this somehow. And then, when I look up and see my dad’s guilty face, the shock multiplies.

‘You too?’ I say to him, astonished.

He nods and lowers his head in shame.

‘Oh. My. God. My whole family have been conspiring against me? It was you lot who invited Paul to the blessing?’

I’ll be damned if I’m going to call it a wedding breakfast now.

‘Well,’ I say, indignation making my voice a little pompous, ‘even though the man has just practically called me a whore and accused me of carrying another man’s child, I have to say I agree with him, Lipsy. He’s right to be angry with you, and you really shouldn’t contact him again. In fact, I absolutely forbid it.’

Chapter 24

‘Two sets of five, and everything to play for.’

I’m sitting in the residents’ lounge while Edie plays double rummy with Franklin, Violet and Rosa, and listens to my account of the weekend’s events. She’s good at multitasking. With her pedigree it’s not surprising.

Franklin shuffles the pack one more time then deals ten cards each, deftly turning over the last one and laying it down with a flourish. He loves cards. They all do. But double rummy is a complex affair involving two packs and six separate games. Rosa is supposed to be keeping score, a running total of the losing hands, but I don’t trust her one bit. I’ve a feeling Franklin is keeping an eye on her, but you’d never know it from his devil-may-care expression.