Babyville Page 0,65

hopeful, and I start to feel incredibly tearful. Christ. This isn't like me at all.

Oh Mum. She is so transparent. I can see that she's trying her best, but I know what she's thinking. She's praying and hoping that Mark and Julia will have split up, and that Mark will somehow persuade me to change my mind, and that the three of us, baby, Mark, and I, will live happily ever after.

I could give her false hope, because rumor has it that Julia has indeed flown the coop, as it were, and is currently having a high old time in New York, but who knows whether it's true. And until yesterday afternoon I will admit I had entertained the odd fantasy of getting it together again with Mark. After all, it was the most astonishingly sexy quickie I think I've ever had. But it's just a fantasy. A relationship is the last thing I need.

But I have seen Mark in the bar a few times. And the canteen. We've exchanged polite, curt nods, although a couple of times we've held one another's eyes for slightly longer than was altogether necessary, and I have to say I felt a small charge pass through me.

But Mark really isn't the type for a few quick fucks. I know, already, that Mark is a long-termer. He's husband material. A keeper. And that's not what I want. I've been involved with men like Mark before. You go in thinking you both want exactly the same thing. The sex is great, and it's great fun.

Then before you know it they're offering to cook you dinner, then they take it for granted that every time you see them you'll be staying the night, and act hurt and wounded as they sit in bed and watch you pull on your underwear at one o'clock in the morning. But you know it's really over when you find yourself pushing a trolley together in Sainsbury's on a Saturday morning. That's what men like Mark crave. That togetherness. That coziness. That coupledom that is pure anathema to me.

Yeuch.

I don't think so.

So I'd heard the rumors about Julia leaving, and I'd decided that it was none of my business and that I wouldn't pursue it anyway. Not my type. Nat, Niccy, and Stella are, of course, delighted. Many's the time I've walked in on a shared fantasy involving Mark Simpson.

I've got a feeling Stella knows something happened that night. She's my kind of woman, Stella. Cool and clever. If I wasn't so confident in my capabilities as a producer, Stella is exactly the sort of woman who would be a threat. And she's a woman. Nat and Niccy, though bright and determined, are still little girls. But Stella has been around the block a few times. You can tell.

Rather like myself.

Nat and Niccy teased me the week after the evening at Chuck's Great American Rib 'n' Beef Extravaganza, but I laughed it off and pulled it off.

Stella didn't say anything until one night in the bar. The night that Mark and I exchanged glances for rather more than a split second. I had been in the middle of talking to Johnny and Stella, and I had caught Mark's eye over Stella's shoulder, and had faltered in the middle of what I was saying. Had stopped still, unsure of where I was, who I was with, or what I was saying. I shook my head, said, “What was I saying?” and Johnny laughed and reminded me that I had been telling them about the latest ratings war. I caught myself and carried on talking, but Stella swiveled her head slowly to see what, or who, had caught me off guard, and when she turned back to me, I knew she knew.

She didn't say anything until later that evening. Quite a few drinks later. Although that's the thing with Stella. You think she's drinking, but at the end of the evening she always seems to be sober. She always seems to remember everything.

In other words she does exactly the same as me.

We were both leaning over the bar when she smiled at me. “So,” she drawled, eyebrow raised. “Mark Simpson, eh?”

“Mark Simpson what?” I was calm.

“Shag or Die? You never said.” She knows, I thought. Fuck. She knows, she knows, she knows.

“Hmm.” I pretended to think, before affecting what I hoped was a natural smile. “I think I'd have to say shag.”

“Funny. Now why does that not surprise me?” And instead of coming up