The Other Woman(84)

Two weeks later, she and Seb turned up at the flat with a tower of pink cupcakes and a six-foot-long ‘Mum to be’ banner. The ‘hen party’ posse followed, with the exception of Pammie, who hadn’t been invited.

‘Don’t you think it’s mad that the grandmother of your baby isn’t coming, yet the woman who slept with your boyfriend is?’ Pippa had observed a few days earlier. ‘You couldn’t make it up.’

I’d had to agree with her; I could never have imagined Charlotte being in my life again, but things are different now. I’m having a baby, and a part of me wants to share it with her.

‘Hey, how are you feeling?’ she asked as she came through the door, laden down with pink goodies. She pulled me towards her and held me for a long time, as if she never wanted to let me go.

‘Fat!’ I laughed.

‘Fat and gorgeous,’ joined in Seb, as he squeezed past us on the landing.

They drank the fizz, whilst Mum and I dunked custard creams into our cups of tea. ‘I’ll never be drinking again,’ she’d said, when Pippa offered her a prosecco. ‘Not after the hen weekend.’ We’d all laughed at the memory of Mum emerging from the bedroom at 11 a.m. the morning after BJ’s, bemoaning why we’d all let her sleep for so long, before asking if we had the provisions to make a bacon butty. ‘Oh, what will Gerald make of this?’ she’d mumbled, as she’d taken herself off in search of comfort food in an unfamiliar kitchen.

‘So, I assume you’ve not heard anything from Pammie since you told her you were pregnant?’ she asked quietly now, whilst the others were playing ‘Guess the baby’s weight’.

I shook my head. ‘She’s called a few times and left voicemails asking for me to call her back, but apart from that . . .’

‘And you haven’t?’ she said. ‘Called her back, I mean.’

‘No. I’ve got nothing to say to her,’ I said.

Mum nodded in agreement. I’d told her everything about the altercation in the coffee shop, bar the part about James. I didn’t want her to think badly of me, and I couldn’t explain it without running that risk. Seb and Pippa knew though, yet as much as they tried to convince me I’d done nothing wrong, I still felt a real sense of shame.

We were watching What to Expect When You’re Expecting, huddled under duvets, when I heard the front door slam, and my heart sank a little as I heard the heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. I could hazard a guess as to how drunk Adam was from those initial steps, and I was rarely wrong.

‘Hey, hey, hey! It’s the AGM of the WI,’ he stated loudly. I caught a glint in his eyes as he surveyed the living room and settled on Seb. I was sure I saw his lips curl in distaste.

‘Are you ladies having fun?’ he went on, accentuating the word ladies.

Everyone murmured their hellos, quickly followed by musings of, ‘Is that the time?’ and ‘I ought to go.’

I could see Seb bristling, and I shot him a warning look and gave a shake of my head.

‘Adam, could I have a word, please?’ I said, pulling myself up off the sofa and getting an extra push up from Pippa.

‘You okay?’ she asked quietly.

I nodded. I walked into our bedroom without saying a word, and Adam duly followed.

‘What is wrong with you?’ I asked, evenly and calmly.

‘What is wrong with me?’ he said, chortling to himself. ‘You’re the one who’s got The Golden Girls taking up space in our living room. And I see he’s here again.’

‘Keep your voice down.’

‘This is my house, and I’ll talk as loudly as I want to.’

‘Oh, grow up.’

‘And since when did we agree to announce the sex of our baby?’ he asked. He obviously wasn’t too drunk to have noticed the pink regalia adorning the front room. ‘I haven’t even told my mother yet, but here you are, shouting it from the rooftops. Though if my mother had been invited to your silly little tea party, I suppose she would have found out along with the rest of them, I guess.’ He looked at me with real disdain, and I turned to go.

‘I’m not going to play silly games with you, Adam,’ I said wearily. ‘Your mother’s not here because I don’t want her here, and the sex of our baby has never been a secret. I suppose if we were having a boy, you’d be happier to share the news.’

I remembered back to our twenty-week scan a couple of months before, and the look of disappointment on Adam’s face when the sonographer said she’d put money on it being a girl.

‘How often do you get it wrong?’ he’d asked, with a little laugh.

‘I try very hard not to,’ she said.

‘But what are the stats?’ Adam had pushed.

‘If I had to put a figure on it, I’d say about one in every twenty. Something like that.’

He’d looked at me smugly, before she added, ‘But in your case, I’m pretty sure you can start knitting those pink bootees.’ I’d watched as his shoulders dropped again.

‘I just think you should consider me and my feelings a bit in . . . all this,’ he said now, gesticulating wildly around the bedroom.

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Adam, you sound like a baby yourself,’ I said, before walking out.