Players, Bumps and Cocktail Sausages (Silence #3)(71)
“Maud.”
Her face fell. And we’re back to Jasper’s a bastard.
“Boys now?” I asked, trying to go for that smile she’d called cute before I turned into public enemy number one.
“If it’s a boy I’d like to call him Oliver, after my grandad. Do you like that?”
“Yeah, I like it.” Not that I’d say right now if I didn’t!
Her face warmed, and she put her hand on my favoured pushchair.
“This one for little Oliver or either Alice, Daisy, Sophia, Ella, Annie or Jessa.”
I laughed. But I thought we’d crossed Annie off the list a while ago. I wasn’t going to question her.
“Lunch now? We’ve got an hour before you wanted to leave for uni.”
“Sounds good. Should we get this now?”
“Yeah, I’ll just go pay. Why don’t you take my keys and meet me in the car.”
She arched her eyebrow. “Why? Want to chat up the lady behind the till?”
“No, you said your feet hurt half an hour ago.”
She flushed and muttered, “Oh. Thank you.”
I handed her my keys, biting back a sarcastic comment because she was pretty damn scary of late. I’d learnt quickly when not to tease her.
Once I’d paid for the pushchair and arranged for it to be delivered to my place, I joined Holly in the car.
“I feel bad,” she said.
“Why? Do you have pains? Should I call the midwife?”
She laughed. “It’s not physical. You need to calm down, or you’re going to have a heart attack.”
My shoulders sagged, and I started the car.
“Why do you feel bad?”
“You’re buying all the big things. The pushchair, the cot, the car seat. All I’ve bought is clothes, nappies and toiletries.”
“Holly, it’s my child too.”
“I know, but we should share the expense.”
“We’ll you’re a poor student. I have plenty of money saved since the house sold.”
“That’s for a new house!”
“I’ll cope. Don’t feel bad. I want to buy all this stuff, and I work full-time. Now, what do you fancy to eat?” She gave me a guilty smile, and I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess, you want to go to a supermarket and get picnic type food to eat back at mine because you want cocktail sausages?”
Her smile stretched. “You’re the best.”
I stood between my soon-to-be ex-wife and the woman that was having my baby. Both faced each other, bumps almost touching. Abby’s was a lot bigger. She was only a few weeks ahead, but it looked like months. My little girl really was small.
“How’re you getting on?” Abby asked, giving me an accusing look that screamed see-I-knew-you-wanted-to-sleep-with-her. Back when I was with Abby, I genuinely hadn’t wanted anything from Holly. That wasn’t the type of guy I was.
“Good, thanks. You?” I replied.
“Fine. How’s your pregnancy going, Holly?”
Holly took a subtle step closer to me, and I hated that she felt uncomfortable or vulnerable. I wrapped my arm around her waist, not caring what Abby thought. Holly was the important one, and I didn’t want her to think I was going to run back to my ex and leave her to go through the pregnancy alone – or whatever she was thinking that made her so uncomfortable.
“It’s going well. Yours? You look really good.”
Abby smiled, but it was bitter.
“Thanks, mine’s going well too. I’ve not even been sick.”
“No, I’ve not had much sickness either.”
But she’s made up for that with hormones.
“How’s Brett?” I asked and felt Holly tense.
Abby’s eyebrows twitched and she suddenly stood taller.
“He’s fine too, excited for the baby’s arrival. We’re not together though.”
Same situation as us. I watched Abby smile up at me the way she used to, and I was relieved to notice I felt nothing for her anymore. She wasn’t the person I thought she was. It didn’t bother me whether she was with Brett or not.
“We’re excited too, aren’t we, Hol?”
“Can’t wait,” she replied, pressing her side against mine.
“I heard you were back at university, Holly. That must be stressful.”
“Not really. I love my course and my pregnancy is going just fine. I’m more focused because I have to get as much done before she comes.”
“She? You know what you’re having?”
“No, but we always say she,” Holly explained.
“Oh, well that’s cute,” Abby said in a tone I knew all too well. She’d used it when I told her I wanted to work at The Centre. Abby thought I could do more with my life but after watching my sister build it up and change peoples’ lives I realised there was nothing I’d rather do than be part of something that gave so much back. The day a four-year-old girl called Georgie came for her first ballet class was the day I was sure I’d done the right thing by working there. She’d had her legs amputated after contracting meningitis when she was just six months old, and The Centre raised money for her to have new prosthetic legs that allowed her to move around like any other child. Being part of that wasn’t a waste.