The One That Got Away (16 page)

It’s actually easy to sort, even for someone like me who may spend a lot of their time on computers, but is not exactly technologically
gifted. Thank God Dan told me not to put my email address on my profile and made me protect it from the outset. After a moment
or two of tinkering, all that shows on my settings is that I’ve blocked Leo Williams, and if Dan were to see that – which
he wouldn’t anyway; he’s never even shown so much as an interest in what Leo looks like – what problem would he have with
me blocking an ex? None.

Anyway, Leo now won’t be able to email me. Good. I’m surprised by quite how relieved that makes me feel. Next, I go through
my phone and delete all of my call lists and texts, just to be on the safe side, although Dan would never dream of looking
through my phone, because he trusts me implicitly.

The stab of realising how horribly I’ve abused that trust makes me feel so bitterly sad, I need something else to concentrate
on quickly. Remembering Bec’s website address in my pocket, I fumble for the piece of paper with trembling hands; trying to
pretend I don’t have Leo’s fingerprints all over me and that I still have a right to Dan’s trust – that I haven’t somehow
stolen from the person I love most in the world.

The dating website does actually seem fine, with some pictures of normal-looking men and women scrolling along
the bottom of it. I click on a couple of blokes I could see Bec with and from reading their summary information, and what
their friends have said about them, I can understand why Bec thinks she’d like to sign up. So … I click ‘add a single friend’
and start to fill in the details.

Bec is … thirty-three, straight, no kids, but yes definitely wants them, she’s a midwife, lives in Brighton, Christian, not
practising. Height … hmmm. Average I guess. Build? Better put slender.

Right, ‘choose the attributes that best describe your friend’ … Enthusiastic about life, a hopeless romantic and … pretty
sexy. Perfect.

Oh – I have to add a picture of her. She didn’t tell me that.

It takes a little while, but I get there eventually and move on to the limited number of characters I have to describe her.

It turns out to be the hardest bit. What I want to say is:

Imagine you’re with someone for seven years who finally decides although you’re his ‘best friend’ he doesn’t, after all, want
to marry you. He then gets engaged to some random girl six months later – who your best friends assured you was just the rebound
fling – and moves to Canada. He then also has a baby (which is what you want more than anything), rather than the decency
to get eaten by a bear. The very least he could have done is fall off a mountain bike and break both his legs
.

Because you’re a midwife, you don’t get to meet many blokes through work, except the odd random doctor; one of whom you risked
dating only to discover he sucked his thumb at
night. That was enough to almost tip you over the edge completely
.

Well, this is one of my best friends, Bec; she’s the loveliest, kindest, most open-hearted person you will ever meet, and
the person she falls in love with is going to be the luckiest man in the world. I have to warn you though, if you’re stupid
enough to ever hurt her, I will hunt you down and kill you. Or worse still, I’ll send Joss round
.

Hmm. Perhaps not. Threats are probably not the way forward. I sweat over it for the next forty-odd minutes, because I really
want to get it right for her, and when I’m finally satisfied, I upload it, just as I hear the front door go downstairs.

‘Moll?’ Dan shouts.

‘I’m up here!’ I call and moments later he appears in the doorway, which is when I remember Bec asked me not to tell anyone
about the dating site. Hastily, I pull down the screen of my laptop.

‘Hello,’ he says and crosses over to the desk to give me a kiss.

‘Did you have a good time?’ I tilt my face up to him.

‘Not bad,’ he kisses me. ‘What are you doing? Working?’

‘Yup – just finished,’ I say quickly and shut the lid completely. ‘Want a cup of tea?’

‘Yes please.’ He follows me back downstairs. ‘How about you? Did you have a nice coffee with the girls?’

‘Yeah, I bought you something back actually,’ I say and hand over the small paper bag containing the gingerbread man.

‘Thanks,’ he says, pleased. ‘Oh, what happened to his legs?’ he peers into the bag.

‘They fell off.’

‘In your mouth?’ he smiles at me. ‘Never mind.’ He takes a bite. ‘So, what was up with Joss then?’ he asks through a mouthful.
‘What was the crisis?’

‘Um, a work thing,’ I mumble vaguely.

‘What sort of work thing? Is she OK?’

‘Yeah, fine.’

My phone starts to ring upstairs. Damn, I forgot to switch it off; what if it’s Leo? I make to hurry upstairs but Dan catches
my arm.

‘Just leave it,’ he says, not unreasonably. ‘I want to spend some time with you now. They’ll leave a message if it’s important.’

That’s what I’m afraid of.

It’s usually one of my favourite things in the world, cosily snuggling up on the sofa with Dan having a cup of tea and a hug,
but I can’t relax for being terrified about who that might have been calling me.

‘How many times?
Stop chewing your nails
,’ Dan says, stroking my shoulder.

I pull my finger from my mouth instantly, I wasn’t aware I had been.

‘You’ll have nothing but stumpy nubbins left. Did you not have lunch?’

‘I’ve snagged one of them on my jumper,’ I fib. ‘I’ll just nip upstairs and get a file.’

But when I
do
sneak into my office and check my
phone, it’s actually only a rather cross message from Mum asking me please to ring and let them know I am OK. Oh, and am I
still coming to Sunday lunch?

I told her on Thursday, didn’t I? I text back a yes. On the upside, I have no other texts at all and no missed calls, which
is a relief. As is discovering in the loo moments later that I’ve come on.
Thank God
. Not only do I have a bona fide excuse not to have sex until after my tests, FAR more importantly, the morning-after pill
has worked.

Things are looking up … assuming I don’t have herpes of course.

But as I pass the study on my way back downstairs, I notice my BlackBerry is flashing with a new message. Mum has obviously
remembered something else.

But it’s not her.

What we felt when we saw each other again was REAL. I know I didn’t imagine it. I’m not giving up on you. Just so you know
x

‘You not bringing your phone?’ Dan nods at it on the side, as we’re about to leave the house.

I glance over – I’ve kept it switched off since last night – and shake my head.

He looks slightly surprised, as well he might given that I’m usually surgically attached to it. ‘I just want a day off,’ I
explain and he nods understandingly.

‘Fair enough.’ He holds out a hand. ‘Come on then.’

In the car on the way over to my parents’ we listen to music in comfortable silence. Well, Dan does. I’m trying not to think
about Leo. The only thing I felt when I saw him again at the hotel was surprised confusion. OK, I admit we had a very slightly
– on my part alcohol-charged – flirty conversation. I can’t deny I always used to enjoy talking to Leo, I did, it was one
of the things I
found most attractive about him. But our conversation certainly didn’t carry the emotional weight he’s given it, it was just
one of those flirts you have safe in the know -ledge you are in a relationship with someone else. Maybe that’s the point though,
maybe you can
never
flirt like that with an ex, because it’s just all too loaded. I don’t feel anything for Leo now, except a very real and very
strong desire for him to
go away
. I cannot believe what we did. How easily it happened. It’s terrifying.

‘Here we are!’ Dan says as we tuck on to my parents’ drive behind both of my brothers’ cars.

‘You managed to find some room then? Hello, love,’ Dad kisses me when he opens the front door. ‘Why have you got a hire car?’

‘I had a slight mishap,’ I say as I walk past him.

‘Oh dear,’ he pulls a face. ‘I shan’t ask any more. Dan, get yourself inside, it’s arctic out here.’ He reaches out and puts
a kind hand on Dan’s shoulder, guiding him in as he simultaneously hoofs the overexcited dogs out of the way with his foot.
‘We just tried to call you actually, Molly – bread sauce emergency – but your phone was off.’

‘I’ve left it at home.’ I unbutton my coat. ‘I’m having the day off.’

‘Very sensible. If you make yourself permanently available people will only ask you to do things. Now, what would you both
like to drink?’ He starts to walk up the hall to the kitchen, the dogs trotting happily after him.

As we approach the kitchen a general ruckus grows
louder – a crashing of saucepans, Karen asking ‘Meg – shall I do all of this broccoli?’ my brothers laughing and a small voice
eagerly saying ‘Daddy, look what I’ve made! Daddy, look!’

‘Hi!’ I give everyone a wave as I walk in to a chorus of hellos, stepping over my youngest nephew Harry so I can give Mum
a kiss.

‘Hello you bad girl,’ she kisses me back, wipes her hands on her apron and moves over to the vegetable rack. ‘Not picking
up your phone on purpose. Hello, Dan! How are you?’

‘Very well thanks, Meg. You?’

‘Lovely, thanks,’ she says cheerfully. ‘Had a good week?’

‘Not bad, not bad.’

‘Good,’ she bends down and begins to rummage around amongst some potatoes and onions.

‘So what’s new with you then, little sis?’ my oldest brother Chris says, from his usual position on the sofa absently reading
the paper.

‘Absolutely nothing at all,’ I say carefully, spying Lily’s hair-tie on the floor and picking it up before it gets lost.

‘Except we’re officially trying for a baby!’ Dan says eagerly.

I spring up like some reverse jack trying to climb back
into
the box, and spin to face him, aghast. Everyone shuts up completely, even the kids. I can practically hear a drop of condensation
run down the steamy kitchen window over the sink.

‘Well, not quite yet we haven’t,’ Dan corrects himself
and I close my eyes. ‘But we will be. Which is – very exciting.’ He trails off.

Mum, usually adept at dealing with awkward situations, has frozen in the middle of the room, holding a large cabbage in one
hand and a bag of carrots in the other. Stuart stares fiercely at Dan, a little like I imagine a middle-aged male gorilla
would do if a younger upstart burst into the enclosure poised to crazily start chucking bananas around everywhere, while Maria
focuses carefully on a spot on the floor. Chris lowers his paper slowly, wary of moving too fast in case he triggers an accidental
stampede. He gives Karen an incredulous look of ‘Did he actually just say that?’

Only Dad continues like nothing has happened. ‘Well that’s great news, Dan,’ he says kindly. ‘So who’s driving?’ he sticks
his head back round the fridge. ‘You then I’m guessing, Molly?’

I nod as Dan clears his throat awkwardly, having realised he’s shared a little too much.

‘Okey-dokey, Diet Coke then?’ Dad offers. ‘Dan, red or white? We’ve got both on the go. Meg,’ he nods at Mum, ‘you’ve got
a hole in the bottom of that carrot bag.’

Mum manages to somehow drag herself back on track. ‘What? Oh well done, so I have. Karen, could I pass these to you? Will
you? Thanks. The peeler’s in the drawer, or the dishwasher – or somewhere,’ she flusters. Only Lily is quietly minding her
own business, taking advantage of the situation to scoop water from the dogs’ bowls and surreptitiously force-feed one of
them from the spout of a tiny plastic teapot.

‘What time’s lunch?’ Dad continues calmly. ‘Would it be acceptable to watch the kick-off before laying the table?’ He doesn’t
wait for the answer. ‘Anyone else want to join me?’

‘I will Dad,’ Stuart stands up quickly, tucking Harry under his gym-honed arm like a rugby ball. He doesn’t look at Dan, just
stomps past him, glaring at me en route to the living room instead, like it’s somehow all my fault that he’s been forced to
acknowledge his little sister having sex.

‘Me too,’ says Chris – daddy-long-legs sensing an open window. ‘Come on kids, let’s get out of everyone’s hair for a bit.’

Helpfully, the dogs – relieved to have a reason to escape Lily’s impish hands – scramble up to follow suit and so the kids
happily go trotting after them in turn. That just leaves the rest of us peeling the veg and pointlessly opening cupboards
and the oven, while wracking our brains for something more socially appropriate to say.

‘I might go and watch the rugby too,’ Dan motions to the door, sensibly avoiding meeting my eye.

‘I would,’ Mum says quickly and he legs it.

Once they’ve all gone, Mum, Karen and Maria stop what they’re doing and wait for me to say something.

‘You know,’ I try lightly, ‘I think maybe I will have that glass of wine, after all.’

Over lunch things lighten up a little. During pudding, Oscar, who is sitting under the table happily playing
with a car from the toy box, starts to sing something to himself.

‘That’s a nice song Os,’ Chris remarks. ‘What’s it called?’

‘It’s for Christmas. I made it up. It’s called “The Rat …’” Os pauses thoughtfully, and for dramatic effect, ‘“… Is Dead.”’

We all giggle and Karen shrugs, clueless, in a ‘Don’t ask me,’ sort of way.

‘Last week,’ Chris confides, ‘when I had to go to Paris overnight, I was on the Eurostar and these two blokes across the way
were talking about how much they hated leaving for work in the morning, because their kids were all small tearful faces and
‘Don’t go Daddy, stay and play with me!’ clinging on to their trouser legs as they were trying to get out of the door, that
sort of thing. One of them was almost choking up. I was sitting there thinking ‘Ahh, bless’ – a bit patronising; smug older
dad. Then when I got to the hotel I opened my case and someone,’ he does an exaggerated motion in the direction of under the
table, ‘had done me a drawing. Of a daddy, a little boy with a sad face, and a big heart with a zig zag down the middle.’