Thinking of You (33 page)

It had been an eventful morning so far, what with saying good-bye to Laurel and now this. Ginny drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and inhaled the smell of fresh-cut grass while the drivers of the two cars yelled at each other and pointed increasingly dramatically at their dented fenders. Nobody had been hurt; it was only a minor accident, but they were blocking the road, and now she was going to be late for work.

Who'd have thought it? Laurel had actually gone, moved in with Dan the… no, not Dan the Van; she had to get used to calling him Hamish now. It just went to show, though, didn't it? As Gavin's granny had always said, there was a lid for every pot. And Hamish was Laurel's lid. They were perfect together, besotted with each other and so well suited that it didn't even seem strange that after so short a time they were going to be living together in Dan the—
Hamish's
tiny farm cottage. With Stiller, for crying out loud, to whose smelliness Laurel remained magically impervious.

Hamish had rattled up in his van this morning and lovingly loaded Laurel's possessions into it. Ginny, half guilty and half relieved, had hugged Laurel good-bye and waved them off, delighted that Laurel was happy once more and envying them for having found each other. She might not particularly miss Laurel, but she'd definitely miss her cakes.

A car horn hooted behind Ginny as another driver grew impatient. A door slammed and a woman shouted, “Oi! Shift those cars out of the way!”

The two men ignored her and carried on arguing. Ginny heard the tap-tap of irritated high heels. Next moment a woman peered into her car and said, “I'm not waiting here for the next hour, watching these two slug it out. If you give me a hand, we can bounce that Renault out of the way.”

Ginny had seen cars being bounced before; it was a strenuous business. For a split second it crossed her mind that such energetic activity could precipitate a miscarriage, and that maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if it did. This could be her chance to make all the complications go away.

Except it wasn't an option. She looked at the woman and said, “Sorry, I can't. I'm pregnant.”

Gosh, it felt funny saying the words aloud to a stranger. Almost as if it was really happening.

Bloody hell, I'm having a
baby
.

“Oh.” The woman looked disappointed.

“Hang on.” Ginny opened her door, clambered out, and approached the arguing men. “Hi, we need to get past. If you won't move your cars, we'll have to shift them ourselves. But I'm a little bit pregnant so I'd rather you did it.”

The younger of the two men, with a shaved head and a body awash with tattoos, turned and looked her up and down. Finally, he heaved a sigh of resignation. “You sound just like my missus when she's trying to get out of the washing up.”

***

Ginny was just pulling into Penhaligon's courtyard when her phone rang. Having squeezed between a Datsun and a Range Rover, she parked and flipped open her mobile. Carla.

“Hi there, I've only got time for a quickie.”

“That's what got you into trouble in the first place.”

“I'm late for work!”

“Never mind that.” Carla sounded gleeful. “I've just found out a couple of things you might like to hear.”

“What kind of things?” Hurriedly Ginny leaped out of the car; the restaurant was fully booked this lunchtime.

“OK, number one. I think I know how you got pregnant.”

“Carla, I did biology at school. I
know
how it happened.”

“Will you listen to me? Tamsin was desperate for another kid straight after she'd had Mae. I'm guessing it was because she wasn't sure Mae was Finn's and wanted one that definitely was.”

“What?
What?
” Flummoxed, Ginny stopped racing across the gravel.

“But Finn
didn't
want another one, which was a bit of a pain,” Carla machine-gunned on. “So Tamsin sabotaged his condom supply, punctured every last one of them. Except then the whole Italian-billionaire thing started up again and she left for London. But she forgot to tell Finn what she'd done.”

Ginny frowned as the door of the restaurant opened. “Carla, is this what happened
in
a
dream
?”

“No! It's real! And she's gone shopping this afternoon so the coast's clear if you want to check it out. She has an IUD now so any condoms should still be wherever he keeps them.”

Finn was standing in the doorway with Mae in one arm and a handful of folders in the other. “Ginny, you're late.”

I
know
where
he
keeps
them.

“Sorry, sorry, two cars crashed in front of me and the road was blocked.”

“But, Gin, that's not all; you'll never guess what else I—”

“Come on, there are customers waiting in the shop,
and
I'm supposed to be phone-bidding at Sotheby's.”

“Brrraaa brrraaaaa!” Mae waved her hands in the air like a demented bidder.

“I have to go,” Ginny muttered into the phone.

“No! You can't! Wait until you—”

“Get the sack?” Aware of Finn's pointed gaze, Ginny said hastily, “I'll call you later,” and cut Carla off in midsquawk.

“Are you OK?” Finn touched her arm as she rushed past him.

Oh God, why did he have to touch her? “Of course! Why wouldn't I be?”

“You look a bit pale.”

“I'm fine.” At least it made a change from being traffic-light red.

Bloody hell, was that how it had happened? Really?

Mae kicked her bare feet against Finn's jeans-clad hip and babbled triumphantly, “Brrraawaaabrrra.”

***

It was no good; she knew where he kept them and she had to find out if Carla was right. Lunch in the restaurant had gone on for what felt like weeks. At three thirty, Ginny lurked outside the entrance to the antiques center peering—without appearing to peer—through the crack in the door until she saw that Finn was occupied with a couple of potential customers.

He paused and looked up when she rushed in.

“Sorry, I brought something over for Myrtle and the kittens. I didn't realize you were busy… doesn't matter…”

“You could just leave it by the front door,” said Finn. “I'll take it up later.”

Nooooooo.
Ginny clutched the foil-wrapped parcel of smoked salmon trimmings she had cadged from the kitchen. On the jukebox the Eurythmics were belting out “Would I Lie to You?”

“Or,” Finn added as an afterthought, “you can take it up yourself if you wanted to see them.”

Yesssssss.
Beaming with relief, Ginny said, “Thanks, I'll do that. Just for five minutes.”

But first things first. Once up the stairs she turned left along the landing and made directly for the master bedroom.

Oh God, this was mad. The outcome was the same, whether or not Tamsin had sabotaged the condoms. But the compulsion to know the truth had her in its grip. Panting, Ginny headed for the chest of drawers on Finn's side of the bed and slid open the uppermost drawer. There was the box, right at the back, lying on its side with some of the packets spilling out amid a jumble of old belts, books of matches, pens, penknives, swimming goggles, and sunglasses. Scooping up a handful of packets, she realized it was too dark here in the bedroom to examine them properly and too risky to turn on the light. Closing the drawer she hurried through to the living room, ignoring the excited squeaks of the kittens. OK, over by the big window would be best. Ginny held the first one up to the light, her hands trembling as she ran the tips of her fingers over the plastic-coated foil. God, her heart was racing so hard it was impossible to—

“OW!” She let out a shriek as without warning something heavy landed on her shoulder. The condom packet flew out of her grasp and Ginny spun round in alarm. Bloody Myrtle, what a fright. Disentangling Myrtle's claws from her white Lycra top, she plonked the cat down and bent to retrieve the dropped condom.

Bugger, what were the odds? Ginny gazed in dismay at the packet, clearly visible but unreachable, in a deep gap between polished oak floorboards. You could fling five hundred condoms up in the air and not one of them would fall into one of the gaps between floorboards. And she couldn't leave it there; that would be just too bizarre.

OK, think, think. Stuffing the rest of the condoms into her bra, Ginny raced into the kitchen and yanked open the cutlery drawer. A knife? A fork? Grabbing one of each, she returned to the living room and fell to her knees in front of the window. The floorboards smelled gorgeous, of honey and beeswax, but that wasn't what she was here for now. The knife was useless, the fork no better. Damn, why did these packets have to be so slippy? It was like trying to hook out a strand of overcooked spaghetti, and the more often it slid back down into the gap, the more her hands shook and the sweatier her palms became. OK, deep calming breaths and try again, and this time—

“Ginny, what are you
doing
?”

 

Ginny froze, knife and fork in hand. Slowly, very slowly, she looked over her shoulder. Finn had a point; what
was
she doing?

“Eating woodlice for lunch?” Finn suggested.

“Um… um…” It was no good; he was crossing the room now.

Finn paused with his hands on his hips, gazing down. Reaching out and taking the fork from Ginny's grasp, he bent and deftly hooked out the condom packet in one go.

Typical.

“Right. Thanks.” Ginny snatched it up and said, “Sorry about that! It just… well, Myrtle ambushed me and I jumped a mile… it just flew out of my pocket, and of course I couldn't
leave
it there…”

Finn frowned. “It flew out of your pocket?”

“Yes!”

“Your jeans pocket?”

Bugger, nothing else she was wearing
had
pockets. As she cast about in desperation, Finn raised a hand signaling that he'd be back in a moment. Returning from the master bedroom an uncomfortable thirty seconds later, he said, “How strange, I could have sworn I had a box of condoms in my bedside drawer. But the box is empty. They've all gone.”

Ginny's mouth was as dry as sand. OK, here was her chance to come clean, to explain everything, to tell Finn that she was pregnant…

“What's that noise?” Finn was listening intently.

Superaware of the rapid rise and fall of her rib cage, Ginny said, “My breathing.”

“That crackly sound.”

“I can't hear it.” She tried to stop breathing completely.

“Kind of plasticky and crackly.” Finn's gaze was now fixed on her chest. “One side of you has gone a funny shape.”

Ginny looked down. Her right breast was smooth and normal. The left one resembled a Christmas stocking. It looked as if… well, almost as if she'd stuffed a handful of wrapped condoms into her bra. Slowly she reached into the V-neck of the thin Lycra top, scooped out the offending packets, and handed them over. “I'm sorry.”

Finn gave her an odd look; frankly she couldn't blame him. “I don't get it. Can't you just go to a shop and buy your own? Or ask Gavin to do it?”

Definitely, definitely time to tell him now. Flustered and searching for a way to begin, Ginny said, “Look, I can explain, there's a reason for… for…”

“Carry on,” Finn prompted when her voice trailed away.

But it was no good; from where she was standing by the window, Ginny had seen the car pull into the courtyard. She shook her head. “Tamsin's back.”

He heaved a sigh, glanced down at the condoms in his hand.

“I'd better put these back in the drawer.”

Ginny braced herself; she'd endured this much humiliation, what harm could a bit more do? Clearing her throat as Finn turned away, she said, “Could I have one?”

He stopped. “Excuse me?”

You
heard.
“Could you just… lend me a condom? OK, not
lend
,” Ginny hurriedly amended as his eyebrows shot up. “But I'll pay you back.”

“Sure one's enough?” There was a definite sarcastic edge to his voice.

What the hell. “Better make it two.” Oh God, what kind of a conversation was this to be having with the father of your unborn child?

Without another word Finn dropped two condoms into her outstretched hand before heading through to the bedroom. He reemerged as Tamsin ran up the stairs. Having jammed the two condoms into her jeans pocket—so snug that nothing short of a nuclear explosion would dislodge them—Ginny said hastily, “Hi, you've had your hair done! It looks great!”

“I know.” Tamsin smugly shook back her glossy-as-a-mirror, chestnut-brown locks. “What are you doing here?”

Well, I
was
about to tell Finn that I'm having his baby.

Which would probably have captured Tamsin's attention, but Ginny couldn't quite bring herself to say it. “I brought some salmon trimmings up for Myrtle.”

Not that grumpy, lethal-clawed Myrtle deserved them.

“What,
those
?” Tamsin eyed the still unopened, foil-wrapped parcel on the window ledge.

“And I needed to discuss next week's shifts with Finn.”

“Thrilling.” Losing interest, Tamsin waved her armful of glossy shopping bags at Finn. “Darling, wait until you see what I've bought. I've had such a lovely time! Where's Mae?”

“Martha's taken her out in the stroller for a couple of hours. We've been pretty busy today.”

If Finn meant to make Tamsin feel guilty, it whizzed over her head.

“Great, maybe she'd like to babysit this weekend. My friend Zoe's invited me up to stay for a couple of days.” Her hair swinging some more, Tamsin dumped the bags on the floor and began rummaging through them. “And I got you a fab shirt… hang on, it's in here somewhere.”

Ginny made her excuses and left before Tamsin could find the fab shirt and make Finn try it on.

***

“About bloody time too.” Carla was out of her house a nanosecond after Ginny arrived home.

In the sunny kitchen each of them held a wrapped condom up to the window.

“Three holes,” Carla pronounced.

“Four in this one.” The needle marks were practically invisible to the naked eye, but you could just feel them if you ran your fingertips over the plasticized foil. And concentrated hard. No wonder Finn hadn't noticed.

“So that's it. Now you know.”

“Tamsin got me pregnant.” Ginny pulled a face. “Sounds like the kind of headline you'd read in the
News
of
the
World
, all about turkey basters and lesbians.”

“
Anyway
,” said Carla, like a saleswoman going in for the kill, “you haven't heard the other thing yet. She's going up to London this weekend.”

“I know. To see her friend Zoe. I was there when she told Finn.”

“Hmm. I was there when she arranged it.” A knowing smile played around Carla's perfectly lipsticked mouth. “And I'm telling you now. If that was a girl she was speaking to on the phone, I'm a banana.”

***

It was another hectic night in the restaurant. Ginny hadn't meant to say it this evening, but she was being sorely provoked. Finn had spent the last two hours being decidedly offhand and shooting her filthy looks from a distance. It was both disconcerting and hurtful. When her pen ran out and she went through to the office to pick up another, he stopped her in the corridor on her way back.

“Sorry, we don't keep extra supplies of condoms in this office.” If his mood had been better, it could have sounded lighthearted, even playful. But it wasn't, so it didn't.

“My pen ran out.” Ginny held up the new one. “The old one's in the bin if you want to check. And I've already said sorry about earlier.” Deep breath. “Look, I still need to talk to you about the… um, condoms.”

Finn's jaw was set. “No need. But as far as I'm concerned, you're making a massive mistake.”

“Am I?” Whatever he meant, it was clearly unflattering. Fury bubbled up and Ginny blurted out, “Well, maybe I'm not the only one. Because I'd double-check who Tamsin's seeing this weekend if I were you.”

Yeek, she'd said it. Well, Finn
should
know.

He stood there, motionless. “What?”

“You heard.” Ginny instantly wished she'd kept her mouth shut. What was that expression, shoot the messenger? Finn was certainly looking as if he'd like to shoot her.

“What makes you say that?”

“Don't ask me. Ask Tamsin.”

Without another word Finn turned and left. God, what a mess; what an absolute balls-up. Shaking, Ginny realized that now he would accuse Tamsin of seeing someone else. Tamsin, in turn, would deny it and heatedly demand to know who was spreading these lies. And then what? Without any concrete evidence, it was Tamsin's word against hers…

It was too horrible a prospect to even contemplate. There was only one thing to do. Ginny braced herself, clutched her new pen, and went back to work.

Waitressing was showbiz; you had to smile smile smile.