Wonder Women (62 page)

Simon actually snorted at that. Louise sipped her tea and nodded.

‘Anyway, a week later, the company won this big prize at an awards ceremony in Manchester. All the managers
went along, there was a lot of champagne, and flirting . . . and well, then there was falling into bed. As soon as I woke up the next morning, I knew it was a mistake. I mean, I might have had a moment of madness, but I'm not permanently dumb. I knew I'd been fed a line. He wasn't going to leave his wife, and I wasn't interested in being his bit on the side. So I said goodbye very politely and left.'

‘How did he take it?'

‘He didn't get the message at first. He kept ringing me up and texting me . . . he sent me a mobile number, different from his usual work number, and said he thought we had something special going. Then we had our usual fortnightly managers' meeting. I avoided him while we were all getting coffee outside, but he hung back so he could walk into the meeting room with me, and as we went through the doorway, he slid a finger up the sleeve of my jacket and stroked my wrist. It was sexy, but way too risky for me, so I sent him a text that afternoon and said I didn't want anything to do with him. He sent one back calling me some not very polite variations on the term “cock tease”, and we haven't spoken since.'

Louise took a big breath. ‘So here I am, Simon love. Thirty-eight, and pregnant by a married man.'

Simon shifted in his seat, then said quietly, ‘Sorry to ask this, but didn't you use anything?'

‘Of course! We used a condom, but . . .'

‘It broke?'

‘I know, I know, oldest cliché in the book. I didn't have
anything with me . . . I wasn't planning on sleeping with a co-worker, as you can imagine. And I suppose that one had probably been in Brian's wallet for some years. He told me he was sure it would be fine.'

‘But . . .'

‘Well, obviously not so fine now, is it?'

‘So, how far along are you?'

‘About eight weeks. I want to get it over and done with as soon as possible.'

‘Well, you've got a good few months to go yet, you know, I mean you're not even starting to show yet, and . . .' Simon stopped cold. ‘Oh my God. You mean . . .'

‘I've got to get rid of it, Si. You know I do. How can I go through with this and carry on with my life?'

‘Get rid of it?' He looked completely horrified, and as he repeated the words Louise heard how awful they sounded.

‘It's not an old car or something, Lou. It's a baby.'

‘Don't say that. Please don't say that. I have to think of it as an inconvenient clump of cells or I won't be able to do it.'

Simon opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, then nodded. There was a long silence. He smiled weakly at her.

‘Now you've thrown up, do you feel better? Shall I cook, or should we get a takeaway or go out?'

‘Out,' said Louise. ‘Out is good.'

They went to a busy pizza place in Canary Wharf, where the music, chatter and plate noise meant they didn't have
to talk much. By the time they got back to Simon's flat, Louise was dead on her feet. She kissed him goodnight, brushed her teeth and fell into a deep and dreamless sleep in Simon's cosy spare room.

In the quietest part of the night, she jerked awake suddenly. London's ever-present orange glow lit the room. She'd never got used to the way it didn't get properly dark there. She glanced at the bedside clock. It was 3 a.m. Then, with a shock, she realized Simon was sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her. She struggled to sit up. In the half light, she could only see the wet glow of his eyes. She waited for him to speak.

‘Don't do it, Lou. I beg you. I've been sitting up for hours, arguing with myself, saying that it's your decision, that you have to do what's best for you, that the circumstances are terrible.'

‘Simon, I . . .'

‘Please, let me say my bit. I've been practising in the sitting room for hours. Then you can shoot me down.'

She nodded.

‘The circumstances
are
awful, it's true. Your job, what people will say, what that wanker Brian will say . . . and yes, before you interrupt, he
is
a wanker . . .'

Louise had no choice but to smile and nod.

Simon continued. ‘But this is a baby, Lou. An actual, real human being. He or she exists. They didn't pick the circumstances, but it's happened, and right now, the inconvenient bundle of cells is growing. It's got a heart, did you know that? And legs and arms . . . it's got wrists!'

‘How do you know . . .?'

‘I looked on the internet. There are pictures. You should see them.'

‘I shouldn't. I really shouldn't.'

For the first time, Simon's voice became firm. Up until now, he'd been really gentle with her.

‘I think you should. Lou, I'm your brother. I know deep down you've always wanted a baby. And now you have one. It might not be fathered by the man you'd choose if you were in your right mind, it might mean some big life changes, but it's still a baby. Your baby. And you know what? If you came to live in London, it could be our baby. Little Sprog Holmes, raised by Mummy Lou and Uncle Simon.'

‘Simon . . .'

‘Just think about it, okay? I would never have forgiven myself if I hadn't said my piece. I'll love you and support you whatever you do, but just . . . think about it.'

And then he was gone.

When Louise woke up in the morning, Simon had already left for work. He'd printed pictures out from a baby website and left them on her bedside table. They showed a funny, curled-up little prawn with starfish hands. Under the picture, Louise read: ‘Congratulations – your embryo is now called a foetus, which means “offspring”.'

Louise lay back down and let the tears come. She wished she'd never told Simon. It just wasn't fair. He'd made this so much harder. It just wasn't possible. How would she support a baby? If she moved down to London, she'd have
to leave her job. She could hardly get a new job, several months pregnant, and even if someone would take her on, what would happen then? She didn't want to take three months' maternity leave and then go back to work, leaving a tiny baby in some overpriced crèche. She had savings, that was true. Quite a nice little nest egg, but if she spent that . . . well, what financial cushion would she and the baby have?

She got up slowly and went through to the kitchen. From experience she knew Simon would have left a pot of coffee warming, and she was starving. She seemed to have escaped morning sickness – her nausea came on in the late afternoon.

Simon had left her coffee, and a little platter with a fresh croissant, butter and a selection of jams. Louise thought, not for the first time, that if he weren't her brother, she would marry him. At the very least, he should run a hotel. He knew how to make guests feel totally pampered. She sat nibbling on the buttery pastry and wondering how to go about her day. She'd imagined that she would be off to the clinic first thing, but Simon had taken the wind out of her sails. She wasn't at all convinced by his argument, but she did feel she had to give the whole subject more thought. At that moment, her mobile bleeped. Simon had sent an email.

Hello, lovely.
Hope you slept okay. Please take today to think about what I said. I know money will be your first
concern. Please use my computer to do any sums you need to do and remember that my offer to be a part of this is serious. I will contribute financially and I will always be there.
Love you lots.
S.

It seemed like as good a thing to do as any, so Louise fired up Simon's MacBook and crunched some numbers. Her house in Yorkshire was mortgage-free: what would happen if she let it out? What could she reasonably expect to get? What if she sold it? She looked up a couple of estate agents in her area on the internet, then rang them. She told them where her house was and asked them to estimate both rental income and a possible sale price. They dithered and iffed and butted, but in the end she had the numbers she needed. Next, where would she live? She loved Simon and knew that his offer to help was genuine, but she didn't see a place for a baby in his spotless bachelor home. Even if he said it was okay, she wanted to believe that at some point he would meet someone and fall in love, and a resident sister and squawking infant would make that very difficult indeed. Also, they were in their late thirties, both set in their ways. Far too late to set up home together. She knew she wouldn't be able to live as centrally as he did, so she used a property website to look at the rental cost of two-bedroomed apartments in the outer suburbs of London. Coming from up north, she was horrified at the cost, but she entered the numbers
in her spreadsheet, and added costs for council tax, food and other regular expenses.

Once she had finished, she left the flat and took a long walk along the Thames. She stopped for coffee, then walked some more. She stopped somewhere else on the river for lunch. By then she was tired and her feet hurt. She found a nearby cinema and sat through an afternoon showing of a really soppy romantic comedy. She was one of three people in the cinema, and the only one under sixty. It was exactly the brain popcorn she needed, and she switched off totally for the two hours of the film. Leaving the cinema, she decided to pamper herself and hailed a black cab. The cost was eye-watering, but the trip back to Simon's flat was painless and speedy.

When she got upstairs, Simon was already there, stirring a pasta sauce that smelt of basil, tomato and luxury, and listening to classical music. He kissed her absentmindedly on the cheek and directed her to the fridge to get a drink.

She loved it that they didn't need to talk. She poured herself a fruit juice and sat on a stool at the kitchen counter, vaguely paging through the newspaper. Simon put a saucepan of water on to boil and took some beautifully yellow fresh pasta out of the fridge. Yes, it was excellent the way they could sit together in silence. Louise turned the page of the newspaper and stared unseeing at the words on the page. She sipped her fruit juice and sneaked a look to see if Simon was watching her. He wasn't. He was carefully slicing cucumber, humming softly along
with the music. Ah yes. Companionable silence. So soothing. So refreshingly unusual, so, so
annoying!

‘Oh Christ, just ask!' Louise burst out.

‘Ask what?' Simon asked, innocently.

‘If I'm keeping it.'

‘Keeping what?'

‘Keeping it. Keeping the . . . the baby. My baby.' As she said it, Louise felt something give gently in her heart, and the tears began to flow.

Simon stepped around the counter and wrapped his arms around her.

‘Well, old girl, there's my answer.'

‘What?' she hiccupped.

‘You called it “my baby”.'

‘I know. It's all your bloody fault. You made it real. I tried to turn it into an inconvenience . . . a problem I could manage, but you came along with your pictures and your plans. Then I started looking at numbers . . . and let me say right now I really, really can't afford to do this and your niece or nephew is going to grow up in rags and sleeping in a drawer . . .'

‘Not if I have anything to do with it. I'll buy it John Lewis' finest crib. Promise.'

Louise hugged him harder. The she spoke quietly. ‘When I started thinking about it as a possibility, I couldn't unthink it. He or she is real now. I'm going to do it, Si. I'm going to have this baby. I'm terrified, totally terrified, and I have a million problems and no solutions, but I'm going to be a mum.'

‘And what about . . . ?' Simon said carefully.

‘Brian? I don't know. I'll have to tell him. But I don't want him involved in any way. I know he won't want to be, but I want him to understand that I won't ask for anything from him.'

Simon nodded. Whether he agreed or not, he clearly wasn't going to say. ‘Well, first things first, you're going to eat your dinner. Get your strength up, as Mum used to say,' he said, giving her one last squeeze and taking the saucepan to the sink to drain the pasta. ‘Then we'll sit down and look at numbers together and see what I can do to help.'

A couple of hours later, they sat side by side, staring at the computer screen. They'd been over the possibilities time and time again. They'd made a few plans, but things still looked pretty bleak for Louise.

‘It's going to be tight and no mistake,' said Simon.

‘Really?' said Louise tensely. ‘Looking at this, it looks like my choice is rent or food.'

‘I keep telling you, I'll give you money . . .'

‘Si, I can't take your money. If, like you said, when I first move down here I can stay with you, that'll be a big help. But I can't be your charity case.'

‘You're not a charity case. You're my sister. And that's my niece- or nephew-to-be.'

‘I know, I know, but you have your own future to think about. You might want to travel. You might get a great new job offer. Who knows? Mr Right might be just around the corner.'

‘Rubbish.'

‘Not rubbish! And if he is, I don't want you to miss out on opportunities because you're financially and emotionally tied up with me and my problems!'

‘But . . .'

‘No buts. I'll stay with you for three months. Just long enough to get me on my feet one way or another. Then I want you to be the best uncle in the world. But that's it, okay?'

‘Can I still buy the crib?'

‘You can still buy the crib.'

‘And lots of cute outfits?'

‘Go crazy. The cutest you can find.'

‘And can I be at the birth?'

‘Are you mad?'

‘Not at the business end. Good Lord. I've made a lifestyle choice never to view women from that angle. I'm not about to start now. But I could stand at your head and say encouraging things and mop your brow.'

‘It's not a film, Si . . . it's messy. There'll be blood and screaming.'