The One That Got Away (22 page)

He takes in my flushed face, tied-back mad hair and saggy T-shirt over pants and ignores my question. ‘Why don’t you go up
and get dressed?’ he says calmly, removing the knife from my hand. ‘I’ll finish up in here. It’s only Mum and Dad … they’ve
come to see us, not the draining board. I wouldn’t have invited them if I’d have known it was going to stress you out this
much.’

I start to pull the rubber gloves off.

‘Oh, by the way, have I got any clean shirts for tomorrow?’

‘I don’t know, Dan!’ I explode.

‘Hey!’ he reaches out for me in surprise as I try and blast past him, catching my arm. ‘What are you flipping out for?’

I feel tears pricking at the back of my eyes. I try to look away, but I know he’s seen them. ‘Come here,’ he pulls me to him
and starts rocking me gently, but for once it doesn’t help. I don’t feel comforted, I actually want him to let go of me, but
saying that would be very unfair to him …

‘Tell me,’ he says quietly. ‘I can’t help unless I know.’

… given none of this is his fault, it’s mine.

‘Are you worried about work and the money situ -ation, like you said on Friday?’

And if I don’t get a grip – fast, I’m going to be in serious danger of messing this up completely. I’m already making it all
much worse than it is.

‘Yeah, pretty much,’ I say and pull away from him. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone off on one like that.’

‘You sure there’s nothing else?’

I shake my head.

‘I mean it Moll. Dad’ll be on his best behaviour. Go and have a shower,’ he says. ‘I’ll finish up down here. Go on.’

Standing under the hot water I let my head hang heavily.

This whole thing is nothing more than man seeks easy repeat of sex – hardly shocking. I’ve bumped into him in the street once
and had a few texts. End of. Get over it. There are other, far more important things I ought to be thinking about than him.

I climb out of the shower wearily and wrap myself tightly in a towel, shivering slightly on the bath mat before going through
to our bedroom. I’m about to get dressed when I hesitate and cross the room to make sure the curtains are still properly drawn,
only to see through the gap, my father-in-law’s very shiny car pulling up outside. SHIT! I glance wildly at my watch. They
are forty minutes early.

‘They’re here!’ I yell at the top of my voice, dashing to the top of the stairs, clutching my towel about me. Dan appears
at the bottom, holding the unread paper in one hand and a full mug of tea in the other. ‘I thought you said they’d be here
at eleven?’ I say accusingly.

‘Aren’t you going to put some clothes on?’

No, I’m going to have coffee with your parents wearing a towel. Of course I was going to get dressed, but they are
forty minutes early
.

‘You disappeared off up there ages ago. What have you been doing?’

The doorbell rings shrilly.

‘I’ll let them in,’ he says unnecessarily, ‘you just come down when you’re ready. Seriously Moll, calm down … what’s
wrong
with you today?’

Five minutes later, I appear in the sitting room ready to do the ‘Sorry about that, I was just coming down when the phone
rang’ fib, but the words die on my lips as I see Dan has plonked a box of Jaffa Cakes and Mr Kipling bakewell tarts in the
middle of the carpet, alongside a plastic milk carton and a couple of side plates.
He is happily munching a tart, and getting crumbs everywhere. Michael is busily attempting, unsuccessfully, to prize his from
the foil case and Susan is delicately sitting on the edge of the sofa balancing a chipped mug on her knife-creased trousers.

I look at Dan in despair. ‘What?’ Dan says through a mouthful. ‘They didn’t have any croissants.’

‘I’ll just nip and get the milk jug …’ I make a lastditch attempt at the pretence that I have everything under control. ‘Would
you rather have some toast with your tea?’ which is, let’s face it a more normal thing to eat at twenty past ten on a Sunday
morning.

‘No, no, this is lovely, Molly, thank you, don’t worry about the milk jug,’ Susan carefully puts her tea down and stands up,
giving me a very genuine smile. ‘How are you?’ Is it my imagination or does her warm hug last a little longer than normal?

Michael abandons his cake and gets to his feet as well. ‘Hello,’ he says gruffly, clearly extending an olive branch. He plants
the obligatory brief kiss somewhere in the region of my left ear. But then inexplicably he pats me on the head twice too,
as perhaps the Master of the hunt might do to his favourite hound. Astonished, I look at him as he sits back down, carefully
negotiating not stepping on any of the boxes or the milk. It’s as close to an apology as Michael will ever get, and it’s big
of him, especially given I was the one who was so rude.

‘It’s nice to see you again,’ I say sincerely.

‘It’s lovely to see you too,’ Susan says, moving things
on quickly as she picks up her mug again. ‘Had a busy week Molly?’

I’m trying to think of an appropriate answer to that question, when from next door, we all hear Mel shriek ‘No, Jack! Very
bad. Give it to me!’ followed by a thump – presumably her son flinging himself to the floor in protest – and an angry bellow
a baby buffalo would be proud of. Susan stoically pretends it hasn’t happened. ‘Dan was just saying it looks like there are
some troubled times ahead at work for you. I’m sorry to hear that.’

Michael, however, cuts across her. ‘What the bloody hell is wrong with that child?’

‘He must be ill,’ Dan says. ‘It’s never normally this bad.’

‘I should hope not! Good God!’

‘He’ll stop in a minute,’ Dan says. ‘Anyway, we might need them on side soon, when we have our baby.’

Susan gasps with delight, unsteadily puts her tea down and then covers her mouth with both hands. ‘You’re pregnant?’ she turns
to me, her eyes shining and dancing with excitement. She spins back to Dan. ‘But you said yesterday—’

Oh? What did he say yesterday?

Dan doesn’t quite meet my eye. ‘I said we’re trying Mum, she’s not actually pregnant, yet.’

‘Oh,’ Susan looks visibly disappointed, but almost immediately perks up again. ‘That’s still wonderful news though! We were
saying yesterday, Molly, my dad will be so excited about being a great-grandpa! There’s only one other at his home. And I’m
going to start knitting again!’ she
beams. ‘I’ve actually got a pattern I bought a while ago. It’s a cardigan – with such dear little socks and a hat that goes
with it.’

She looks at Dan and to my huge surprise I realise her eyes are bright with tears. ‘Oh, just look at me!’ she says, hurriedly
searching for a tissue in her sleeves but not finding one. Michael silently passes her a neatly pressed hanky from his pocket.
‘Silly old woman. Good grief, what will I be like when you actually
have
your baby!’ she does a high little laugh and blows her nose. ‘I’m just so excited!’

‘Mum was totally blown away, wasn’t she?’ Dan says to me later, as he flicks through the papers in bed. ‘Dad’s reaction I
could have predicted, Mr Practical with his “Is this sensible if Molly’s job is so uncertain?” You two have got more in common
than you realise, but Mum, wow,’ he shakes his head in disbelief then smiles at me. ‘It was amazing.’

I just lie there, staring up at the ceiling. ‘I didn’t realise that this would be so important to other people.’

‘Well, it’s only because Mum doesn’t have any other family bar us, Dad and Grandpa.’ Dan says reasonably. ‘It’s probably more
of a deal for her than it would be for say, your parents. I’m not saying it won’t be special for them too, but they’ve already
got your brothers’ kids, haven’t they? This is first time round for Mum. It’s huge.’

‘Was it really a good idea to tell them, do you think?’ I say slowly, also thinking back to my blurting it out to Abi and
wishing I hadn’t.

Dan looks at me in surprise. ‘Why wouldn’t we tell them something like that?’

‘Because it’s private,’ I say. ‘Between you and me.’

‘We told your mum and dad,’ he shrugs. ‘Why wouldn’t we tell mine?’

‘I get that you’re excited, but—’

He puts the paper down. ‘What’s wrong? Is there something you’re not telling me?’

‘No! I just mean suppose it doesn’t happen?’ I say quickly. ‘Everyone will ask questions and feel so let down and …’

His face relaxes. ‘Oh I see. Don’t worry about it Moll. It WILL happen, you’re not
that
old.’ He winks at me and picks up the paper again.

He sounds just like Abi.

‘It’ll all be fine.’

And Bec.

‘Mum’s just excited, that’s all. She’ll calm down. She would have liked a whole tribe of kids herself.’ Dan says conversationally
turning a page.

Yes, I got that impression.

‘But I’m not sure Dad even really wanted me, he only did it for her—’

I turn to him sharply but he stays behind the paper. ‘Your dad adores you.’

‘I know,’ he says lightly, putting the paper down, and says after a pause. ‘So it turned out all right for them in the end,
didn’t it?’

I look up at him. He smiles hopefully back at me, his
words just hanging there in the air with all of their unspoken meaning.

I nod and reassured he bends and kisses me; then kisses me a little more … and a little more still … and this time there is
no baby crying next door. It’s just the two of us.

‘Sorry, love,’ shrugs the builder, ‘I don’t know what to say. He told us it was all systems go. We’d never have just let ourselves
in like that if we’d have known you were in the dark about it.’

Yeah – well it’s early enough in the morning to still practically
be
sodding dark.

‘Can you just hang on a minute?’ I shiver by the back gate, mobile clamped to my ear. ‘I’m ringing the landlord now.’

The builder nods and shoots a look at his two mates, who sigh and rest down the scaffolding poles they have balanced on their
shoulders. We all wait silently in the freezing cold for my landlord to pick up – who says Mondays can’t be fun?

‘Mr Landsdowne? Hello. It’s Molly Greene … from
number 27 … Barcombe Road?’ How many houses does he own for God’s sake? ‘I’m ringing because I’m stood outside with three
builders who I’ve just found letting themselves into our back garden round through the side gate. Apparently they need access
to next door to put scaffolding up because there’s a problem with their roof? And you said that would be OK?’ I pause and
listen for a moment. ‘Well yes, except you didn’t tell us. I work from home and it was really frightening to find some strange
men’ – ‘Sorry’ I mouth to the builders, who shrug, unbothered – ‘letting themselves into … well yes, I appreciate that, I’m
just saying you’re meant to give us notice, that’s …’ I try to keep calm as he starts to blather on about how he must have
rung the wrong number by mistake – another tenant in another house. Yeah right, of course he did. ‘OK, fine,’ I say tiredly.
‘Well, they’re here now, but next time could you please let us know?’

The builders, happily sensing victory, hoist the poles back on to their shoulders and – cheeky gits – start entering the combination
on the padlock, which they’ve obviously been given as well, before I’ve even hung up.

‘We’ll try and keep it down while we’re “erecting”,’ says one of them, to the sniggers of the others. ‘What is it you do from
home then?’

‘I’m a medical rep.’

‘Oh right,’ he says disinterestedly.

I can’t say I blame him. ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ I reply, as if I’ve got any control over the situation at all, and head
back into the house.

I very quickly discover that working in my office, which faces out over the garden, is not going to be an option until they’ve
finished playing with their poles. We haven’t been able to shut the window flush since we moved in, the frame obviously expanded
with damp some time ago and we’ve not got round to sorting it out – admittedly our own fault – but it means I can hear all
of their banter, and
see
it once the scaffolding goes up, because helpfully there’s a platform right on eye level.

Sighing, I unplug the laptop and take it down to the sitting room with my mobile for a bit of privacy, which is much better
– not to say quieter – and after a while, I begin to forget they’re there. Well almost; they keep walking backwards and forwards
past the window, but things could be worse.

Things could be a lot worse. Since his drunken text on Saturday, I’ve heard nothing from Leo. I was expecting to get a message
when I switched on the phone this morning; but there wasn’t a thing, which was an unbelievable relief. I hadn’t realised
quite how stressed out by it I’d allowed myself to become.

Perhaps in the cold light of day – once he’d sobered up and re-read what he’d sent, realised how indulgent it looked – he’d
felt embarrassed and now just wants to sidle off quietly. Save his male pride, pretend it never happened: ‘Think I need help!
– Think I need you’ …

I snort, forgetting how scary it seemed on Saturday, when I was stood in our bedroom staring down into the dark street below.
Not exactly Shakespeare, was it Leo?

I actually manage to get a lot done before and after lunch, despite the clanking around outside. I’m concentrating on how
to word an email to a particularly tricky GP who likes to pick me up on every possible point he can, and have just reached
out absently to switch the light on because it’s getting dark outside, when the ceiling creaks above me. I’ve been staring
at the screen with such fierce concentration I haven’t noticed how quiet it’s become – the builders must have gone home. It
creaks again; just the usual noises a house makes from time to time – not something you’d normally notice – but on my own,
it sounds like someone moving around in one of the upstairs rooms. I glance up, pause and wait a moment … but there’s nothing,
just silence. I return to the laptop … and then leap out of my skin at the PING! of an email arriving.

It’s Pearce.

Guess what? Know it’s Christmas do in two weeks?

Oh God, I’d forgotten that.