Beneath the Skin(87)
He stood at the bottom of the steps and looked down at his feet for a moment. Then he lifted his head to look up at her, a red stain of blush in his cheeks. ‘On Friday, on Friday night …’ He sighed, his eyes troubled. ‘I didn’t know about the baby.’
Antonia already knew. Rachel had told her the whole story with pride. That it was a surprise for them all, but she was the first one to notice. Yet Antonia was piqued. She didn’t know why. She didn’t want a baby, she never had.
She glanced over Mike’s shoulder. Rachel was in the front seat of the car, watching. ‘Thanks for everything, Mike,’ she said, turning towards the sheer drop of The Edge on the horizon. ‘You were there when I needed somebody and I’m very grateful for all that you’ve done for me.’ Like a formal thank you and goodbye, and from Mike’s face, wholly and heartbreakingly effective.
‘You OK, Antonia? You look sad.’
She comes back to Rachel through the mirror. She has a furrow of concern on her smooth forehead, just like her dad. Antonia nods, holding back the sudden urge to cry. She longs to see him and to talk. Most of all to feel his arms around her, tight, safe and solid. But she’s messed things up. Or perhaps, if she chooses to be honest, she’s put things right. Whichever it is, it hurts deeply.
‘Sami says hi,’ Mike calls from the hall as he takes off his jacket.
Olivia wonders if the goosebump feeling will be there forever when Sami’s name is mentioned, or whether it will fade with time. She doubts it, even if the baby isn’t his. She shoplifted once, she and her best friend, when they were still in primary school. She’d stolen a packet of Rolos, her favourite chocolate sweets her mother only allowed as a special treat at weekends. But she was caught red-handed by the shop keeper. ‘I know where you live, young lady,’ he had said, pointing his finger. ‘Now get off home. There won’t be a next time.’ She got off scot-free, but absolutely forbade her friend to speak of it. She never ate Rolos again and from time to time she caught her mum gazing at her, as if she knew.
‘That’s nice,’ she replies, her face hidden, busy at the oven door. The constant ‘if the baby is his, if the baby is his’ beating louder in her mind. ‘Is he OK?’
Mike sits down at the kitchen table and removes his tie. ‘Well, no, not really. Apparently Sophie still hasn’t come home.’
Olivia suddenly feels febrile. Sophie wasn’t at the funeral, but until that moment it hasn’t occurred to Olivia that Sophie might know about her and Sami.
‘Really?’ she says. Is that what the Olivia of old would say in reply? She doesn’t know any more.
Mike pours a glass of red wine and offers it to her. She shakes her head, aware of a cold bead of sweat on her spine.
‘To be honest,’ Mike says after a moment, ‘I feel a bit guilty.’
Olivia sits down and looks at him questioningly. The hairs on her arms are beginning to settle as reality kicks in. If Sophie knew, Olivia would be stabbed in the heart by now, surely?
‘Us on our third child and he hasn’t managed even one,’ Mike continues. ‘He didn’t say anything tonight and of course I didn’t raise it either. But I’m guessing that’s why Sophie has gone.’
‘What are you on about?’ Olivia asks, trying to smile. To sound normal and mildly interested.
‘Oh.’ Mike holds up his fork, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘Don’t say anything, obviously. I think he regretted ever mentioning it. They tried for a baby and when nothing happened they had tests. And as Sami put it, he’s a Jaffa, seedless.’
Her heart is thrashing. ‘You mean he can’t have …’ she knows she’s pressing the point, but she has to know.
‘Yeah. He’s infertile. Awful isn’t it? Of all the people we know, you’d expect Sami to have at least five kids. If I know Sami, not being able to be a dad will be doing his head in.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Sami’s lilac shirt clings to his chest. He can feel the drench of sweat down his back and under his arms as he strides over the puddles in the road towards his house.
The text he received half an hour ago is branded in his memory, he doesn’t need to read it twice.
Looked at your diary and saw you’re on a site visit. Just what we hoped for on a Friday. Sneak off ASAP. Meet you outside your place. PS I’m the one wearing stockings xxx
He takes a deep breath before lifting the latch of the door to the walled garden of his home. He wants to burst with irritation and anger, but he needs to stay calm, to handle this delicately.
Jemima is sitting on the wooden garden bench with her legs crossed, her suit skirt hitched high showing the stockings to good effect. A large bottle of champagne and a small bottle of water stand next to an overnight bag.
She follows his eyes and smiles. ‘Early start to a long weekend, I thought. You’re keen to get here so quickly,’ she trills, much like a bird. A vulture, Sami thinks.
He wants to tell her to fuck off right there and then. Invading his office is bad enough, but this is his home and he’s nearly broken his neck speeding the fifteen or so miles to get here. But townhouse gardens are not the place for any conversation, let alone a ‘Fuck off, you fucking bunny boiler’ type of altercation.
Be careful. Take it easy, he repeats inwardly as he tries to release the tension from his face. ‘Actually, I’m out tonight with some mates. But there’s time for a quick coffee, if you like.’