Babyville Page 0,70
of course there is the fact that I don't actually have a partner so it's not even as if I'd have any support, emotional, financial, or otherwise.”
“It's Mark Simpson's, isn't it?” Stella says simply, after I drift into silence, and I know I should be surprised, but I'm really not. I nod.
“Are you shocked?” I ask, because she certainly doesn't look it.
“No. I knew something had happened that night. The chemistry between the two of you was so strong I could almost touch it.”
“Oh shit. Do you think anyone else noticed?”
“No, I don't. I like watching people, but the others were too interested in chatting him up, or chatting to one another, to sense anything. And then one night in the bar I saw you look at him . . .”
“Shag or Die,” I say, smiling ruefully.
“Shag indeed.” She smiles back and leans forward confidentially. “I'm sorry but I have to ask. Was it—?”
“Fucking amazing.” I'm smiling, which is extraordinary really, given the circumstances, but it feels so good to be able to talk about it.
“Shit.” She stamps her foot petulantly, then rolls her eyes. “I knew it. So. Are you going to tell him?”
“I think so. Not because I want him to be involved, not at all, but, well. I heard the rumors—”
“That he was firing blanks?”
“Well, yeah. And clearly he's not.”
“You definitely need to tell him.”
“I know. But I haven't even spoken to him since that night. How would I say it? How do I tell him?”
“What about, ‘Babe, your boys can swim'?”
I start to laugh.
“Seriously,” Stella says, “why don't you arrange to meet him for lunch? Call him now.”
“Now? Christ. I don't want to actually talk to him.”
“That's the point. I just passed him in the lobby, leaving for lunch. Call and make an appointment with his secretary. She'll put a lunch in his diary.”
“Excellent idea.” I pick up the phone, and after a brief chat with Sheila in the Legal Department scribble in a Thursday lunch.
“God,” I laugh. “Can you imagine his face when he comes back this afternoon and sees he's having lunch with me on Thursday?”
“He'll probably think you need another shag.”
“Yup, because he'd really want to shag me looking like this.” I gesture to my jumper and tentlike trousers.
Stella's face suddenly becomes serious. “Maeve, you still look gorgeous. More voluptuous than usual, but that's no bad thing. And anyway, they always say that men prefer women with a bit of meat on them.”
“I have to say I do think my new boobs are fantastic.”
“There you are, then.” Stella gestures at her own flat chest. “There's a bonus if ever there was one.”
“Stella, thank you.” It's an effort not to throw my arms around her and hug her.
“What for?”
“For making me feel fantastic. I feel like a weight's been lifted off my shoulders.”
“Any time. And if you want me to come with you, that's fine too.”
“Thanks. My mum said she'd come, but if I need you I'll call you.”
“Come on.” Stella looks at her watch. “If we're quick we'll still get to the canteen in time for coffee.”
I'm nervous about lunch. I'm nervous about what to say, and even though Stella has coached me through the appropriate words, she can't coach me through Mark's reaction, and what to do if he doesn't see my point of view.
I get to the restaurant first. Ten minutes early so I can try to relax as much as possible before he arrives. Under normal circumstances I'd order a drink, but one of the side effects of my pregnancy appears to be a serious aversion to both alcohol and cigarette smoke, so I make do with a glass of sparkling mineral water.
It's not quite the same.
And then I see Mark walk through the door and seconds later he is at the table, confusion and wariness etched on his face.
“How are you?” he says, taking a seat, and of course it is awkward, for these are the first words we have spoken to one another since that night.
“Fine. You?”
“Fine.”
And we grind to a halt.
A waiter arrives with menus and we are both inordinately interested in the choices therein, neither of us looking up until the waiter finally leaves with our orders.
“So. How's life?”
“Fine. Yours?”
“It's okay.”
“I hear Julia's on holiday.”
“Yup. New York.”
“God, I love New York.” Jesus, I'm really struggling here.
“Yup. Me too.” And we both run dry. “Maeve?” I look up quickly. “Why are we having lunch together?”
I put down my glass of water, because this is ridiculous. Any thoughts