Happy Ever After Page 13

  ‘You know, you shouldn’t be recharging that phone in your room at night. I read somewhere it’s not good for you. All those electromagnetic rays and things, they fry your brain,’ he said mildly, sitting at the side of her bed and ruffling her hair.

  ‘Oh, Dad.’ She threw her eyes up to heaven.

  ‘I mean it. It’s really not good for you. I hope you don’t sleep with it under your pillow like Madonna does.’

  ‘She’s like sooo your generation, Dad. Trying to be cool,’ his daughter scoffed.

  ‘So who’s cool?’ he teased, a tad miffed at her superior dismissal of his Madonna fandom. ‘Amy Winehouse with a bird’s nest on her head? Now her brains are fried.’

  ‘Yeah, but she’s legend. She can really sing. No, no, no.’ Melissa hummed ‘Rehab’, the song so familiar that even he knew it.

  ‘Are you coming for our Saturday cup of coffee with your old, uncool dad?’ he asked lightly, hoping she’d say yes. Lately, she hadn’t been so eager to accompany him on his Saturday-morning jaunt to get the paper and coffee and doughnuts.

  ‘You’re not old,’ she said stoutly, and that made him feel even worse, that she felt she had to reassure him about his age. Barry sighed. Middle age was the pits. Fifty plus. Invisible to women. As high as he was going to go on the career ladder. A Madonna fan. That about summed him up right now.

  ‘Well, come on. It’s a lovely day, let’s have our coffee al fresco opposite the yacht club.’

  ‘OK.’ She grinned at him, the sprinkling of freckles across her nose so similar to Debbie’s, and so endearing.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ he said heartily, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. How much he feared losing her, as she grew older, when coffee with her dad would be a chore and not a pleasure. He wanted to tell her how lonely he would be when she flew the nest. Hell, he was lonely already, he thought with dismay, wondering would relations with Aimee ever thaw, or would she keep up the brittle façade a lot longer.

  Aimee never told him she loved him these days. She never showed much interest either in what went on in his business, when once she’d been full of enthusiasm and suggestions. She was so completely consumed with her own career now; she might as well be on another planet. Even their sex life, which had always been pretty satisfying, had dwindled over the past few months.

  Was this how Connie had felt all those years ago when he’d withdrawn from her and their marriage? He’d treated her pretty shabbily, when he looked back on it. She was a very forgiving woman and one he’d taken for granted. She was going out of her way for him this morning so that he could bring Melissa to ‘bump into’ Debbie. He was glad he’d bought the little painting of Greystones Harbour for her. It was a pity he couldn’t give it to her today but they were supposed to be meeting by chance and, besides, he could hardly present Connie with a gift in front of Melissa, just in case it got back to Aimee, who would be less than pleased to hear that he was giving his ex-wife presents, particularly with the frostiness between them since the wedding. It would take a miracle to dissolve that. He’d give it to her when she came back from her holidays, and he’d tell her how very grateful he was to her.

  ‘Right, Muffin, I’m just going to have a quick shower. Be ready in ten.’

  ‘OK, Dad,’ Melissa agreed distractedly, head bent to read a reply to the text she’d just sent. At that age, friends were far, far more important than parents, he acknowledged, leaving her to her phone and heading for the shower.

  Aimee was still fast asleep, her face, flushed pink, half hidden by her hair. Even in sleep she looked worried and stressed, as if her dreams were fraught. She was going to have to step back and chill a bit, or she’d burn out, but how did you tell a driven, ambitious, successful woman that? She’d only accuse him of sour grapes or of being sexist, or something in that vein.

  How the world had changed, and how the roles had been reversed, he reflected, stepping under the powerful jets of water. Or was this what came of marrying a woman a good deal younger than himself? Was this second-marriage syndrome just about him, or did other men in similar circumstances feel the same way? He should set up a club, the Second Husbands’ Club. Now, wouldn’t that be interesting, he grinned, as he soaped himself and let the steaming water sluice over him and wished that he had a hot, horny woman to share the shower with.

  Meet u in the People’s Park l8r just have 2 go 4 coffee with Dad, Melissa texted Sarah.

  Can’t meet u until afternoon, have 2 clean bedroom, have visitors coming. Mam on rampage like a volcano. All hell going 2 break loose if my sis doesn’t get out of bed soon. U’ll probably hear her yelling in yrs, came the dejected response.

  Ok. Stay calm. c u when I c u, Melissa texted back and put away her phone and hurried into the shower. She stank, she thought, sniffing under her arms. She needed to shave. She ran the razor over her skin and winced when she cut too close. Her mom got her underarms waxed, but Melissa had tried it once and howled with pain and never went back to have it done again.

  She wasn’t really in the humour to go and have coffee with her dad. She was beginning to find their Saturday morning ritual a little boring, especially now that she wasn’t eating junk food as much, but she knew her father looked forward to this time with her, and he was a very kind father, she had to admit. Much kinder than her mother. She scowled, remembering her Rock & Republic jeans. Her mother was far stricter than her father and always had been.

  Melissa showered quickly and dressed in a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. The jeans were pleasingly loose around her waist, and the T-shirt didn’t make her arms look chubby any more. She slipped into a pair of new, red, chunky wedges which she’d bought a few days ago but hadn’t worn yet, and stood in front of the mirror twirling around as best she could on them, admiring her new, improved shape. She’d lost nine pounds since the wedding, and it was deeply, deeply satisfying. Her stomach was rumbling, and she was starving, but she’d only have a regular coffee with no sugar or milk and definitely no doughnut. The coffee would keep her going until she met Sarah later, and she could have a smoothie and coffee for lunch. A thought struck her. She’d need her purse out of her bumbag. She’d given the bag to her mother to mind at her gran’s art exhibition the previous night after the strap had broken.

  Melissa clumped down the hall, not yet used to her new footwear, and slipped into her parents’ bedroom. Her dad was still in the ensuite, and she stared around, looking for Aimee’s handbag. She was just edging past the end of the big bed when she tripped over one of her father’s shoes and staggered, jolting the bed.

  ‘For God’s sake, Melissa, would you watch where you’re going? I’m trying to have a lie-in,’ her mother snapped irritably, gazing at Melissa through heavy-lidded eyes. ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘Sorry, Mom,’ apologized Melissa hastily. ‘I just wanted to get my purse out of my bumbag.’ She grabbed Aimee’s handbag, opened it and looked puzzled, as she saw no sign of her little red bag.

  ‘It’s in the Prada, not the Louis Vuitton,’ Aimee said blearily.

  ‘Oh, right, thanks,’ Melissa murmured. She turned to see where the other bag was and caught her heel in the valance, tottering like a marionette as she fought to regain her balance.

  ‘Will you take those shoes off? You can’t walk in them!’ Aimee exclaimed, exasperated, as Melissa landed in a heap on the floor and the contents of the bag went flying.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Barry emerged from the ensuite, rubbing aftershave into his jaw.

  ‘I tripped,’ Melissa said plaintively.

  ‘She can’t walk in those ridiculous shoes,’ Aimee retorted, yawning as she brushed her hair away from her face. ‘It’s the first Saturday I’ve had a chance for a lie-in for ages, but it’s impossible to have one in this madhouse.’ She couldn’t hide her irritability. ‘Pick that stuff up, and go away and leave me in peace, the pair of you.’

  ‘Go back asleep,’ Barry said calmly, hauling his d
aughter up off the floor and bending back down to pick up the scattered contents of his wife’s bag.

  He did a double take when he saw the long, narrow, rectangular box. ‘What’s this?’ He looked at his wife in astonishment, holding it up.

  ‘Pregnancy test kit,’ Melissa read out helpfully. And her jaw dropped. ‘Oh my God, Mom! Are you pregnant?’ she exclaimed, in absolute horror.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph, this can’t be happening. Aimee gazed at her husband aghast as her heart began to hammer against her ribcage. She knew by the heat that suffused her cheeks that she was puce with guilt.

  ‘Are you pregnant? Well, that explains a lot,’ Barry said slowly, staring intently at her. ‘Is that why you’ve been in such bad . . . er . . . ?’ He’d been going to say, ‘in such bad form,’ but he stopped himself. ‘Um . . . Looking peaky before you put your make-up on? I heard you being sick one morning, but you said it was a bug. Why didn’t you tell me, or when were you going to mention it?’

  ‘I . . . I . . .’ she stuttered uncharacteristically, completely thrown.

  ‘Oh, Mom, you and Dad . . . uugg! How majorly uncool.’ Melissa wrinkled her nose at the thought of her parents having sex.

  ‘Look, I thought I was, but I don’t think I am. OK?’ Aimee struggled to regain control of the situation.

  ‘Well, do the test then . . . duh!’ her daughter said with exaggerated condescension. Aimee felt like slapping her.

  ‘There’s no need. Just go away and leave me alone. I’m tired,’ she ordered.

  Barry shot her a look, and his eyes narrowed as comprehension began to dawn. She could see it in his eyes, the realization that she hadn’t been going to tell him, the realization that perhaps she’d been going to do something untoward.

  ‘Yeah, why not do it now? Either you are or you’re not,’ he said, quietly challenging, and eye-balled her.

  ‘Come on, Mom. I want to see how it works,’ Melissa urged, whipping the packet from her father and giving it to Aimee, who nearly had a heart attack. She was really trapped now, she thought in panic. How could she refuse to do the test? Barry would cop what she was planning, if he hadn’t copped already.

  ‘Come on, share the news with us, seeing as we’re all here,’ Barry persisted.

  ‘Are you going to watch me pee?’ she snapped, unable to bite back the sharp retort.

  ‘Do I need to?’

  There it was: the unspoken accusation. He knew what she’d been planning. They stared at each other. Stop bullying me, she wanted to shout. I will do this when I want to. When I choose to.

  ‘Aw, come on, Mom,’ Melissa begged, oblivious to the tension between her parents. ‘Can I watch the lines turning blue? If it’s a boy, I’ll go mental. ’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what our child is, as long as it’s healthy.’ Barry stared at her. ‘Isn’t that right, Aimee?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, defeated. She got out of bed and went into the bathroom with the package, closing the door firmly behind her. If Melissa hadn’t been there, Barry would probably have insisted on going in. Aimee sank on to the toilet seat and put her head in her hands. Would ordinary water work on it, she wondered in panic. But wasn’t it the hormone in the urine that caused the line to go blue? Could she let it fall down the loo? She was desperate for options. She knew she was grasping at straws. Knowing her husband, he’d probably go out and buy half a dozen kits until she did it properly. Barry would know if she fudged it. He was clearly suspicious already. He knew her so well, she thought in despair.

  She could argue with him about her right to go for a termination. And she would. She could tell Melissa that she’d miscarried. Her daughter’s reaction to her mother’s possible pregnancy had been far from encouraging. Maybe it was better this way, she reflected, staring at the kit in her hand. At least she wouldn’t have to carry the burden of her decision alone. Barry could stand by her or not. That would be his decision to make.

  Resigned, she tore the wrapping off the wand, lifted up the toilet seat and sat down ready to pee. Her stomach was churning and her throat was dry. Seeing her pregnancy confirmed would be a jolt. Even though in her heart and soul she knew she was pregnant, without the test to confirm it she’d had some small comfort that maybe she wasn’t, that perhaps it was only her imagination.

  Melissa was knocking on the door. ‘Bring it out. Can I see the line changing colour?’

  ‘Hold on,’ exclaimed Aimee tetchily as she positioned the scarifying instrument which brought untold joy to hundreds of thousands and untold misery to just as many more.

  It seemed as though time slowed and all she could hear was the steady flow of her urine, as loud in her ears as Niagara Falls. Tears smarted her eyes. She was a grown adult. What right had her husband and daughter to be standing outside, like the police waiting on a criminal? She should have refused point blank to take the test and told them she’d do it in her own time. How dare Barry treat her in such an authoritative manner? He was as bad as her father, she thought in fury, and she knew she’d never forgive him for making her feel like an impotent little girl again. She laid the damp wand on the sink and wiped her eyes with some loo roll. She wouldn’t let them see her crying.

  She flushed the loo, washed her hands and wiped the wand dry and, head up, shoulders back, she walked back into the bedroom. Barry was staring out the window, and Melissa was sitting on the end of the bed. She handed her daughter the wand. ‘Look for two blue lines if it’s positive. One if it’s negative,’ she instructed flatly, and got into bed again. She was staying there for the day, she decided.

  ‘Oooohhh!’ squealed Melissa. ‘It’s starting to turn. Ohmigod, ohmigod, Mom, this is nerve-wracking.’

  Aimee almost puked she was so tense. What if, by some miracle, it was negative, she thought wildly. Would the gods be that kind to her? Barry would be going for the snip whatever happened, she decided viciously. That was, if he wanted a sex life. Right now, the way she felt, if she never saw a dick again it wouldn’t bother her in the slightest. And that was saying something for a woman who, until the last year or so, had always thoroughly enjoyed sex.

  ‘Oh yikes! It’s very faint, but it’s getting stronger.’ Melissa gave a running commentary, completely engrossed in the process, eyes glued to the slender white rod.

  Stop. Please, please stop, Aimee pleaded silently. This was torture. She slanted a glance at Barry. He was granite-faced. He knew she was pregnant. He didn’t need to wait for the results.

  ‘Mom, there’s two – look, look.’ Melissa thrust the tester under Aimee’s nose. The two blue lines were unmistakable.

  ‘I can see it,’ she murmured.

  ‘Look, Dad, look.’ Melissa got off the bed and teetered over to him, waving the stick triumphantly.

  Barry studied it in silence. ‘When do you think you’re due?’ he said finally.

  ‘Mid-January.’ She shrugged.

  ‘Oh, Mom, does this mean we can’t go skiing? Bad buzz, Mom. Everyone in the class is going skiing. God, it’s going to be so weird having a brother or sister fourteen years younger than me. Don’t forget – I’m fourteen next month.’

  ‘How could I forget that?’ Aimee arched an eyebrow at her.

  ‘You’re not that far gone yet, then?’ Barry said.

  ‘No, only a few weeks.’ She lay back against her pillows, white-faced with stress. ‘I think I’ll try and go back asleep. Are you going for coffee?’

  ‘Yes. Can we bring you back anything?’ he asked politely, as if he were talking to a stranger.

  She shook her head, turned over and pulled up the sheet around her shoulders.

  ‘Are you feeling sick, Mom? Have you got morning sickness?’ Melissa asked kindly, tucking her in.

  A lump the size of a golfball lodged in Aimee’s throat at her daughter’s unexpected sympathy. ‘Yes, I feel very sick,’ she said forlornly, and then she was crying, great big, heaving sobs that shook her slender body.

  Barry stopped in h
is tracks and turned back as Melissa put her arms around her mother. ‘Don’t cry, Mom,’ she said helplessly. ‘Please don’t cry. I’ll help you. I didn’t mean to moan about skiing, honest.’ It was so rare for Aimee to cry. Unheard of almost. She didn’t like to see her mother showing any sign of fragility.

  ‘Go back asleep, Aimee. We’ll talk about everything later.’ Barry’s tone was softer, and he patted her shoulder awkwardly. ‘Stop crying. Everything will be fine.’

  No, it won’t be. It’s a disaster for me and nobody cares, she wanted to yell, but she was very conscious of her daughter staring anxiously down at her.

  ‘It’s just hormones.’ Aimee managed to compose herself. ‘Go and have your coffee, and enjoy it, darling.’ She squeezed Melissa’s hand but couldn’t bring herself to look at her husband. He had laid claim to the child within her, and Aimee knew her needs were of secondary importance to him now. She was back to being a second-class citizen, just as she had been all the years under her father’s roof. Even Barry, the man she had trusted most in her life to be her champion, had let her down.

  ‘See you later, Mom. Don’t worry about anything.’ Melissa leaned down and kissed Aimee’s cheek, her blue eyes dark and round with anxiety.

  ‘Thanks, darling. Don’t forget your purse,’ she reminded.

  ‘Oh yeah, thanks, Mom.’ Melissa picked up her purse, the cause of the whole episode in the first place. Aimee sighed with relief when they left the room and she was blessedly alone. She heard Melissa clop-clop down the wooden-floored hall, and then sweet silence descended on the penthouse when she heard the front door close behind them.

  She and Barry would have to talk big time. Maybe if she told him about her job offer, he might be more understanding of how much an unwanted pregnancy and an unwanted child would be a calamity for her. It might help him understand why she wanted a termination. If he didn’t, and he insisted on her going through with the pregnancy, their marriage was over, she vowed.