The Party Crasher(68)

  “Gus!” I say, aghast.

  “I’ve been such a fool.” He brings two fists to his face. “Such a bloody…I’ve been coasting along in a relationship I don’t really want, because of…I don’t know. Inertia. Procrastination. Denial.”

  “Well, then, this is good!” I say encouragingly. “Now you know how you feel! You can do something about it!”

  “Yes. Thank God. I still can’t believe it.” He seems in shock. “Effie, you don’t know the night I’ve had….”

  “I can imagine,” I say wryly.

  “Wait, though. Wait.” He seems barely able to get the words out. “Wait. What if that wasn’t Bean’s test? What if somehow Romilly is pregnant too? What if they both are?”

  I can feel his panic. He’s had a glimmer of freedom. A moment of self-realization. What if the iron gate clangs shut after all?

  “Find out?” I suggest. “Call her?”

  “OK.” Without hesitating, Gus speed-dials her. “Hi,” he says. “Yes, in the car. Listen, I was wondering something. Are you pregnant?”

      Beside him, I splutter incredulously. I thought he’d work up to it a tad more gradually. I can hear a stream of words on the other end, and then Gus’s face releases. He looks like a child let out to play.

  “Right!” he says, glancing at me. “So that’s definite. You’re not.”

  Beside him, I let out a silent whoop, punching the air. I high-five Gus, who clutches me in a hug, the phone still clamped to his ear.

  “Don’t know,” he says. “I just got a sudden strange idea about it….Anyway, good to know you’re so sure.”

  He breaks away from me, giving me the thumbs-up, then silently he does a little victory dance with his arms. I join in, mirroring his ecstatic movements, both of us beaming in our exhilarated relief. All this time, Romilly has been talking, and now Gus chimes back into the conversation.

  “I know we haven’t, but I’m talking about it now. No, this isn’t my weird way of proposing.” He makes an appalled face at me, and I make an equally horrified one back. “But yes…maybe we do need to talk. Yes, I did find the music cases,” he adds patiently. “And yes, I am on my way.”

  At last he puts the phone down and breathes out. He looks drained.

  “That was the closest shave of my life,” he says at last. “And I am a fucking…idiot.”

  “Let’s deliver the violins,” I say. “And you can end it. I’ll keep you company.”

  And make sure you don’t get talked round, I add silently.

  “Yes. I need to end it.” Gus starts the car. “I feel like I’ve woken up from a bad dream,” he adds, as we drive slowly over the grass. “I’m like one of those frogs in the pots of water. They don’t notice the temperature going up, because it’s so gradual.” He turns onto the main village road, his brow furrowed. “I couldn’t tell you when things started going wrong, exactly. You wake up and you realize you’ve tipped over from happy to unhappy. But you blame yourself. You rationalize. You bury yourself in work and think things must surely get better. It’s crazy.”

      “Was Romilly happy?” I say curiously. “Is she happy?”

  “I can’t ever tell,” says Gus honestly, and I can’t help laughing, half in despair.

  “Gus, don’t you think you should be able to tell?”

  “I guess.” He thinks for a moment. “I can tell when she’s pleased. But that’s different from happy. She has this amazing energy, Romilly, and for a while that carried us both along. It was like a white heat. It was dazzling. Invigorating. But then…” He shakes his head. “She’s pretty hard work.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “Love her?” Gus sounds flummoxed, which is all the answer I need. He signals and turns onto the A-road—then he frowns. “Hey, the guy behind is flashing me. Is one of our doors not shut properly?”

  “Don’t think so.” I swivel in my seat and look around the car. “Wouldn’t it show up on the dashboard, anyway?”

  “Weird.” Gus squints into his rearview mirror. “He’s still doing it. He’s trying to say something too.”

  “And those people are waving at us,” I say, as a car passes us. “What’s up? Are we leaking? Should we stop?”

      “We’ll be on the dual carriageway in a minute,” says Gus, sounding puzzled. “I’ll find a layby. This is all we need,” he adds with a sigh. “We’ll probably be shockingly late.”

  “Gus, you’re doing Romilly a massive favor,” I remind him. “If we’re a bit late, then too bad. Anyway, maybe it’s nothing.”

  But as we pull onto the dual carriageway, an entire carload of people in the next lane starts gesticulating violently. I undo my seatbelt, clamber into the backseat, and lean out of the window. The whole family seems to be watching us, agog, from their estate car.