Three Weddings and a Baby (14 page)

She kept walking until she saw the village church, a quaint little Norman building nestled beside the vast hedge of the neighbouring stately home. Her watch told her she was
too late to catch the service, but one of the doors was open and she suddenly craved the lonely, peaceful feeling always to be found in empty churches. Perhaps a sense of calm from the recent prayers would still be lingering. Perhaps she could borrow a bit of that peace for herself, so she could start to sort and label her jostling thoughts.

The lights were still on inside and a few candles were lit. Far from looking grey and gloomy, the interior of the little church was warm and welcoming. Jennie ducked inside and slid her bottom along one of the back pews until she was resting on the far side of a tall sculpted pillar.

Where did she start?

Her missing groom? His secret daughter? The off-the-rails ex-wife? It was all so confusing.

Start with how you feel.

The thought that interrupted her mental ramblings was calm and clear. Precise. She liked that. Needed that. She latched on to it.

I love Alex.

She didn’t say it out loud, but she felt as if she had. She did love Alex—despite the hastiness of their marriage, despite all the stupid things they’d both done since then. Her heart told her he was still the man she’d fallen in
love with, and she was inclined to believe it. It was just this version of Alex was more… three-dimensional. He was no longer the tall, dark stranger who had swept her off her feet and into his arms, who had surprised her with his intensity and passion. He was a father. And she’d glimpsed some of the hidden depths she’d always half-known were there inside him.

She loved Alex, and she wanted to stay with him.

There. She was getting somewhere now, building on that original thought. She decided to keep going.

She imagined him back at his house, frowning out of the study window, or bending over Mollie in the kitchen, carefully tasting her cakes before bestowing his economical, but nonetheless heartfelt, approval.

The picture in her head wasn’t the future she’d said yes to in that gaudy little chapel in Vegas. Her own ideas about what life with Alex would be like were slightly fuzzy, it had to be said, but they had been a comfortable fit. This new picture of how her life might unfold felt foreign—as if she were trying on someone else’s clothes.

Was it horrible of her to falter at the idea of
becoming an instant mother, of bringing up another woman’s child?

She decided it
was
horrible. Understandable, though. She leaned back and looked up at the vaulted ceiling of the church. The curves and arches seemed to go on for ever, each joining and merging with the next to form an elegant pattern. This place asked for honesty, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was better to admit to her less-than-glittering feelings than to whitewash them with the things she thought she
should
feel. This was the rest of her life she was making a decision about—and she’d played too many games, taken too many chances with it already.

Alex needs me.

Another thought. Fact. Whatever it was…

But that statement wasn’t as simple as it seemed. Why did he need her? What for? She’d assumed he’d needed
her
when he’d looked into her eyes and said his wedding vows, but was it her soul Alex craved or did he need her for the vacancy of ‘wife and mother’? Someone to fill the hole another woman had left behind.

Mother. That was not a label most people would attach to her easily, believing she was still clinging to the last vestiges of her own childhood. What if they were right? What if
she didn’t have it in her? She’d always liked to believe that she’d make a wonderful mother, but there was a half-grown specimen back in Alex’s house. Imagining a hazy future with a tiny pink newborn wrapped in a fleecy blanket wasn’t the same thing as being asked to step into the role of parent right this moment.

And what about Mollie? What if she made things worse for the child with her clumsy attempts at being a stepmother?

She grimaced at her own thoughts. Never in her life had she ever imagined herself as a
stepmother
. They were a different brand of woman. But then she thought of Marion, thought of how tough it must have been for her to take on a wilful girl still grieving for her lost mother. She thought of Marion’s patience and grace, and wished fervently that DNA could jump the gap left by the lack of their blood relationship.

The truth was she had no idea if she could be a good mother. But how did anyone know what the future held? If everyone cowered away from the unknown, what a miserable place the world would be. She would never have married Alex if she’d thought that way. But married him she had, because it had felt right at the time. It still felt right.

Alex needed her and she wasn’t going to let
him down, mainly because she suspected he needed her more even than he realised. And she needed him. The only way to make things work now was to jump in with both feet as she usually did and give it all she had.

This might not be the future she’d envisioned when she’d joined her life to Alex’s, but she was tired of running away, being the irresponsible, flighty party girl. She could change. She could. That was why she was going to ignore the whispers in her head that told her she wasn’t ready for this, that she should think of herself and leave while she had the chance.

She thought back to their wedding day, saw herself standing opposite him in her oyster satin vintage dress. Someone else’s dress, but it had been a perfect fit. Who was to say she couldn’t slide into the life that had originally been fashioned for someone else as easily? Let’s face it, she thought, I could hardly do a worse job than the first candidate, and I’m the girl who’s supposed to be up for anything.

She looked down at the charm bracelet on her right wrist. Slowly, she unhooked it and removed the gold band. It had always looked out of place there. She laid it on the pew while she did her bracelet up again, and then, with
a solemnity that matched her surroundings, she slid her wedding ring back onto her left hand.

Meet me in The White Hart? Half an hour, was all Jennie’s text message had said. Alex had almost texted back, saying he couldn’t leave Mollie—Jennie should have realised that—but then he’d reasoned that it might be better to meet on neutral territory. Mollie didn’t need to hear any more hushed conversations, thick with tension, so he’d rushed next door and persuaded the nice old lady to come in and babysit.

The local pub was fairly full when he got there, lots of people taking advantage of the lull after Christmas and New Year to grab a pub lunch or a few beers with friends. In a few days life would gear up again—the commuter trains would be standing-room only, the roads clogged in the mornings, offices full of unwilling workers—but for now a sense of calm had descended over the nation, and everyone seemed happy and relaxed.

Jennie was tucked away in a corner of the pub, as far from the jovial crowd as she could position herself, sipping a coffee and looking nervous. That shocked him. His Jennie never
shrank back from anything, never looked all meek and mouse-like.

Even though a bite of food hadn’t passed his lips that morning, he suddenly felt as if he’d had rocks for breakfast. He crossed the pub lounge, dodging through tightly arranged wooden chairs and tables, and his heart began to thud uncomfortably under his jumper.

She was sitting on an upholstered bench that curved round one of the corners of the room and he slid in beside her, startling her. She’d been talking on her mobile and he caught the end of the conversation—something about being back in London soon—and the rocks inside him grew in density.

Jennie slid her phone closed and set it on the table next to her coffee cup, then she gave him a weak smile.

‘So, you’ve made your choice,’ he said tonelessly.

‘Yes.’ She fiddled with her coffee cup, turning it this way, then that on its saucer.

‘Back to London,’ he said, all the time looking at her phone. ‘Back to your life.’

At that she started. ‘No! I mean…yes… back to my life, but not.’

And then he saw a flash of gold as she twirled her cup again. On her left hand.

‘…not like that. My life is with you, Alex.
I only need to go back up to town to get more clothes, my things.’

Just like that, the rocks crumbled into dust. No,
melted away
, leaving him feeling not just warm but so full of heat and fire inside he could barely contain it. He didn’t think about it, didn’t plan it; he just reached for Jennie and kissed her, forgetting completely where he was and who might be watching, just as he had on the night he’d first met her.

She was the first to pull away, blushing. ‘Alex…people can see us.’

‘Don’t care,’ he said, staring into her eyes and refusing to let her look away.

She’d given him something precious in her answer. Hope. For the first time in weeks—years, maybe—he started to truly believe life might start going right again, that the future might not be as desolate as he’d begun to think it would be.

Jennie smiled at him, and it had an added dimension from her usual cheeky, devil-may-care smirk. It was warm and wavering and vulnerable. He felt himself lean forward again, but she halted him with a raised palm on his chest.

‘We need to talk.’

He nodded. This was no way to behave. Trouble was, Jennie always made him feel
this way. It was why she was so intoxicating. He forgot everything else, existed only in the present, just as she did.

He caught the eye of one of the barmaids and ordered a couple more coffees.

‘I’ve been thinking while I’ve been sitting here,’ Jennie said. ‘I don’t know much about kids, and I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to do where Mollie is concerned, but I don’t want my arrival in your life to cause her even more upset.’

‘I know. But what’s the alternative? I can’t pretend you don’t exist, that we never married.’

She looked thoughtful. ‘Maybe it would be better if I wasn’t on the scene for a while—just until she’s more settled.’

Alex reached for Jennie’s left hand, took it in his and kissed the knuckle closest to the gold ring. His ring. He loved her for suggesting this, but it wouldn’t do.

‘No, I don’t want that. We’re a family now. We stick together.’

She clamped her hand over the top of his and squeezed. Ploughing through this nightmare with Jennie by his side made it seem doable.

‘I’d rather we faced this now, while everything’s new, rather than spring another
surprise on her later.’ If there was one thing he’d learned from his time with Jennie, it was that you couldn’t run from relationships. They were always there, in the background, changing and evolving, even if you thought nothing was going on.

‘I have an idea. A compromise,’ Jennie said slowly, and Alex realised he’d been lost in thought and that a steaming cup of black coffee now sat in front of him on the table and he had no idea where it had come from.

‘A compromise? ‘

She nodded, suddenly looking much more determined. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I went ho—’ She caught herself, substituted another word. ‘If I went back to my flat tonight. Maybe even for an extra day. It would give me a chance to pack properly…break the news to my family.’

She broke off and winced, rolled her eyes, and he brightened further. This was the game-for-anything Jennie he knew he could count on.

‘And it would give you an opportunity to prepare Mollie, tell her about me instead of me just invading her new life with her father without any warning.’

He drank some of his coffee and considered Jennie’s suggestion, turning it over in his
mind, looking at the shape of it from every angle. The last thing he wanted was to spend more time away from Jennie, for her to leave this evening. His bed felt empty enough as it was. Tonight it would feel like a football pitch if she wasn’t beside him in it. But he had to admit she was making sense.

‘Come back with me now,’ he countered. ‘Stay for lunch. Stay for the afternoon, and then I’ll drive you back to London myself. You can start to get to know Mollie.’

Armed with four suitcases, three garment bags and half a ton of advice from her stepmother buzzing around inside her head, Jennie left her flat two days later. She’d been desperate to see Alex again—counting the minutes—but now he was here, collecting the first of the cases and hauling them down to his car, and everything felt…rehearsed, as if she were practising for the real thing and this was only marking time. They were doing all the right things, saying all the right things, but it was as if, during the night, someone had reached inside her and switched her emotions off. But that didn’t stop the doubts pecking away at her consciousness.

Had he changed his mind? Was he having second thoughts? She wasn’t equipped to deal
with the role she was about to take on and she knew it. Perhaps Alex did, too.

Once inside Alex’s car, she settled into the seat and closed her eyes, letting him navigate the busy London streets without interruption or interference.

Where was all the heat and passion and momentum from the early days of their marriage? They stumbled upon it sometimes, knocking themselves flat with the force of it, but at other times, like today, it was as if they were mechanically going through the motions.

Was this what marriage was supposed to be like? She’d always thought it would be cosy and comfortable—dull, even. She hadn’t expected this confusing switching from hot to cold, and she had no control over when it happened.

It wasn’t until the traffic noise dulled and the roads became longer and straighter that Alex spoke. ‘I’m named as the father on Mollie’s birth certificate,’ he said without taking his eyes off the road.

She glanced at him. ‘That was quick!’

‘I got a phone call on the way up to you,’ he said, ‘but I’m not sure it’s changed anything.’

‘It has to be a relief, even just a little bit,’ she said.

He did a sideways nod that managed to contradict itself.

‘You think Becky might have lied?’

Another nod. ‘I’ve decided to have the DNA test done anyway. We’ll get the results in a couple of weeks, hopefully.’ He breathed out. ‘Neither of us needs to have a question mark hanging over our heads.’