Confessions Read online

  ‘Not at all. It was fun.’ Wes had cocked a wry eyebrow. ‘No problem with you frittering my hard-earned cash.’ Then after a minute: ‘Actually, I want to spend some on you; I’d like to buy you a ring, a diamond to show everyone you’re mine.’

  ‘You can’t, you’re married,’ she’d said, trying to hide the flash of delight.

  ‘I won’t be for much longer,’ he’d replied.

  The moment had felt special, significant. Like an engagement of sorts. Holding on to it tightly, deep pleasure ran through her now. How life could turn on a sixpence. Of course Wes was still a married man and diamonds were expensive, so she’d put a rain check on the ring, but his offer was the thing, and especially the reasons behind it.

  She stretched and sighed. There were problems, insurmountable problems with Andrea, that was true, but this moment was good, it was pretty damned ‘Gucci’, as the boys had put it yesterday.

  ‘Oh shit,’ she said, suddenly sitting up.

  It was Sunday; Jack had invited her to brunch. She hadn’t even phoned him back, let alone thought of a decent excuse. Slipping on Wes’s T-shirt, she crept downstairs, her ears tuned for the sound of people, but when she peeped into the lounge, it was chilly, tidy and empty. She thumped down on the sofa, pulled the soft throw around her shoulders and extracted her mobile from her handbag. She smiled as she turned it on. So much for the unhealthy relationship with her phone. It had been switched off since Thursday night and she hadn’t missed it a jot.

  A series of beeps alerted her to several texts. The first was from Jack: Did no one teach you that it’s rude not to return calls, let alone accept or decline an invitation? Catherine doesn’t know how many to cater for. Call me back.

  Then another. Not impressed, Natalie.

  Then the final one. No word from you. Are you all right?

  That provoked a whole swathe of emotions as she stared at the decorative hearth. She hated to let Jack down but the last message showed he knew it too. Then there was Catherine; she would be unimpressed as well. Nat shook that particular worry away: Cool Catherine was at the root of Wes’s current difficulties with Andrea, and though it wasn’t her fault as such, that mix of anxiety, annoyance and, yes, jealousy was buzzing.

  Blowing away the bout of dizziness, she lowered her head. In truth, she didn’t want to face Catherine right now, let alone the rest of the Goldman clan. How to respond? She didn’t know. She’d look at the other messages, then summon the energy to create a viable evasion and apology.

  She peered at the screen. Several missed calls, but none from her mum to her surprise. She’d been remiss in not telling Anna where she was on Friday evening. Halfway through the grilling by Sidney, she had suddenly realised, and she’d asked if she could make a call from his landline. Feeling like a guilty schoolkid who’d skipped teatime, she’d apologised to her mum and confessed where she was; Sidney had made no secret of listening, the smiling sod. Good job she liked him.

  The two notifications from Jack were expected, but the three from Issa Harrow were not. Oh hell, what had happened now? Could Nat cope with not knowing until tomorrow? Nope. Pulling the throw over her legs, she phoned her back.

  ‘Hey, Issa, I missed your calls. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Nat, hi. Thanks for calling back…’

  Issa was almost whispering. Was JP there, or perhaps her mum and dad? Nat still didn’t have a handle on the unusual three-way connection. Issa and the baby seemed to be based at her parent’s house, but she was still romantically, or at least emotionally, involved with JP. The whole situation seemed pretty odd, even without the astonishing allegations against Harrow.

  During her short-lived matrimonial career, Nat had attended a ‘family conflict’ course and had been taught about triangular relationships; she’d been intrigued to discover that a conflict between A and B was often worsened by the involvement of ‘innocent’ C. But of course there wasn’t yet a triangle in this case; A didn’t know about the discord, so all the angst was falling on C, poor Issa, who was still speaking quietly.

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you. Everything is on hold for now, but I really needed to talk and you said to call–’

  ‘Absolutely. Can you speak now? What’s happened?’

  ‘Give me a minute.’ The line went silent for a time, then Issa returned. Her deep sigh was audible. ‘Yesterday I had a big fall out with JP. I thought he was in a better place after he’d spoken about… things… at our meeting, and to be honest, I’m sure he was. I had listened and that’s what he said he needed. Anyway, everything was fine until he went to his group. Of course he didn’t say so, but it’s Chen, not him–’

  ‘Hold on, rewind a bit. So the journalist guy was at the meeting? The one threatening an exposé?’

  ‘Yeah. He doesn’t always go, but when he does he seems to wind JP up. So, just when I thought everything was settled, JP said that being heard wasn’t enough, that he needed to be believed.’

  Issa’s speech became strangled then. ‘Since we saw you, I’ve tried not to think about it. I’ve just buried it, I suppose, hoping that somehow it would go away. You know, listening but forgetting, moving on. But actually being asked to believe it? How can I even pretend? I know my parents; I knew it was a fantasy, even before I heard the when and the where. But the facts make it irrefutable; whatever JP has imagined simply couldn’t have happened, Nat.’

  ‘I know. It sounds a nightmare.’

  ‘So we had a big fall out, going round and round. His feelings, my feelings, hurt, anger, the lot. I cried, he cried, he apologised. He said he understood why I couldn’t believe it, that he was hurting me, that he should never have asked me to try.’ Her voice cracked again. ‘I thought I’d finally got through to him, but he said the answer was for me not to be involved any more. It would be between him and Harrow from now on.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Nat replied.

  Yup, the triangle theory. It was hard for poor Issa, but JP was right. The way forward was for him to challenge Harrow and get it out there; Issa’s involvement had probably clouded everything and made the situation worse. But it wasn’t Nat’s place to say that. She was just listening as a friend, and she understood Issa’s desire to protect her parents from the grim allegations.

  Issa spoke again. ‘But for now it’s fine. Mum and Dad are off on holiday today. It’s their belated ruby wedding anniversary cruise. I begged JP to wait until they come back in three weeks and he’s agreed. So there it is; stalemate for a little while longer.’ She was now clearly crying. ‘This isn’t the way I expected to spend my maternity leave. It’s meant to be a happy time, isn’t it? My breast milk has completely dried up and I can’t tell anyone why. I feel so isolated and–’

  ‘Oh, Issa, at least you have me. Listen, I’ll drive over to you one day or evening; let’s have a few drinks, or a meal out. Text me some dates, and in the meantime, call me any time…’

  Relieved she’d managed to hold back her own tears, Nat ended the call, then searched in her handbag. No damned tissues, but at least she found Gavin’s hanky. When she looked up, Wes was at the lounge door, holding a brown paper bag and watching her silently. He sat down and pulled her close. ‘You’re a good person, you know that, don’t you? Trying to fix everyone.’

  ‘You’ve put that very nicely,’ she replied, sniffing. ‘Some things can’t be fixed though, can they.’

  She stared at Gavin’s handkerchief. The last two days had been so perfect, she’d forgotten about the confrontation by Jed and her fear. It felt too self-indulgent to mention it now.

  They sat silently for a few moments before Wes roused himself. He kissed her hair. ‘At least I can fix breakfast. Full English or continental? I’ve bought croissants, but there’s bacon in the fridge.’ He gazed, then grinned. ‘In the kitchen or would m’lady like hers on a silver platter upstairs?’

  ‘If you don’t mind crumbs, continental in bed please.’

  ‘Happens I love crumbs. A quick shower and I’ll be wi
th you.’

  Propped up against the pillows, Nat waited. It was lovely to be spoilt with delicious food, and whatever was coming with it, but she was distracted by a dull tummy ache. It felt as though her anxiety and tension about all the things she couldn’t ‘fix’ were appearing as cramp.

  Like Jack and his heart attack. Although he described it as a ‘dodgy artery’, she was sure the stress and anxiety about his son had brought it on. Oh hell, she hadn’t called or texted him yet. What should she say? Hoping for inspiration, she fingered her mobile. A bad stomach? Food poisoning? It wouldn’t be far off. She sniffed the air. She could think about it later; her breakfast was on its way.

  The acrid smell of bacon appeared before Wes. ‘Best of both worlds. Continental with a twist,’ he announced, presenting her with a tray.

  ‘That looks delicious,’ she said. He’d wrapped the meat around the croissant. It was very pretty, but how would she manage to eat it? The cramps were getting worse; she didn’t feel hungry at all.

  The sudden peal of her phone made her jump. She peered at it, still in her hand. Oh shit; the caller was Max. Not wanting to cause ‘beef’ when things with Wes were so perfect, she turned it to show him.

  ‘It’s fine; take it,’ he said, putting the food on the chest of drawers.

  ‘Max, hi, I’m just busy right now, so–’ she began.

  His voice clipped, Max interrupted. ‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ He mimicked Nat’s voice. ‘“Just leave her, Max.” Oh, and then threaten her with legal action for revenge porn. Fucking great idea, Natalie! Thanks a million.’

  The ache was getting worse. ‘Hold on. Why? What’s happened?’

  ‘I did what you told me to do. I threatened to report her to the police if she did anything with the… private stuff. Then I packed my suitcase and I left.’ He was shouting now. ‘And guess what? I get a knock at the door. Only the fucking cops at my parent’s house. She got in there first, didn’t she, accusing me of some made up crap. Why the fuck didn’t you keep your nose out?’

  Nat’s heart raced. ‘God, I’m so sorry, Max. It was only a thought. You seemed so unhappy; I was trying to help–’

  ‘Call this fucking help? What if they charge me with some trumped-up offence? I have the partnership coming up. My parents have completely freaked out.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  The line fell silent, only the sound of his breathing still there. ‘Right,’ he said eventually, his tone a little calmer. ‘I have an appointment at the police station to give a statement next week. You’re coming with me. You need to tell them what happened. That it was me who should’ve been reporting her to them. That she’s just fucking lying.’

  ‘Yes, of course I will. I’m sorry, really sorry.’

  The call finally ending, she glanced towards Wes. His face stony, he turned from the window and folded his arms.

  ‘Max,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘What was that all about?’

  She inhaled deeply. Oh God, what to say? She had meddled again; Max was her friend; he was up for promotion; Wes was a partner; she could damage Max’s prospects if she said anything. The stitch was bloody hurting; she wanted to puke.

  Stepping to the bed, Wes gently lifted her chin. His expression had softened.

  ‘He’s upset you, Nat. If you’re upset, I’m upset.’ He rubbed his head and sighed. ‘I was stupid when I thought those things about you and him. You were completely right; what I said was insulting. But do you see how important it is for us to talk? To be open and honest? I don’t find it easy with the whole Andrea shit, but I’m trying.’ He reached for her hand. ‘We’re a proper couple now. What hurts you hurts me.’

  Nat took a breath to explain, but the mix of stomach pain and nausea had become intolerable. Darting to the bathroom, she reached the toilet just in time to feel yesterday’s dinner slide from her body. As the spasm slowly eased, she staggered to the sink, battling the urgent need to vomit.

  Wes was behind her. ‘Are you okay? What can I do?’

  Breathing deeply, she lifted her head. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s under control. I just need some tissue.’ Shuffling back to the holder, she unravelled the last sheets of toilet roll. ‘If you could just find me a new one, please?’

  When he’d gone, she automatically wiped. Something felt wrong. The tissue was red, her fingers bloody. What the hell? Freaked out by the severity of the tummy pain, her mind madly jumped. Rectal bleeding; what did it mean? Bowel cancer? Colitis? Crohn’s disease? Then she laughed at her ridiculousness. Bloody bad timing, but it was just a heavy period.

  She flushed the loo and looked at the shower. Was she strong enough to stand for several minutes? Not really; both her and her legs were feeble, insubstantial. She’d have a thorough wash, and maybe a bath later.

  Feeling foolish and embarrassed, she perched on the wicker chair and waited for Wes. Only she could turn a romantic morning upside down within minutes. And the T-shirt she was wearing – his T-shirt – was soiled with blood. ‘Sorry,’ she said, when he appeared with a packet. ‘I’m not a pretty picture.’

  He was gazing, his eyes glassy. ‘I think we should go to A&E,’ he said.

  ‘No, I’m fine. I had bad stomach ache, but it’s gone. I just feel a bit weak and stupid…’

  He took a deep breath, like a shudder. ‘When did you last have a period?’

  She thought back. Why was he asking? Nope; life had been so intense and busy since Ruthie’s shooting, she couldn’t pinpoint a date. Perhaps that was his point; miss the curse and get two for the price of one at an inconvenient time.

  He was still looking at her steadily. ‘Come on, let’s get you dressed. Better safe than sorry. It won’t take long to drive to Macc.’

  ‘Macclesfield hospital? That’s silly. It’s just a heavy period–’

  He glanced at the toilet, then he put his hands either side of her shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry, Nat, I think it was more than just that.’

  27

  Forgiveness

  Her eyes sore and swollen, Nat ignored the alarm on Monday morning. It was the shock, that was all. She hadn’t known she was pregnant, but looking back, things added up: she and Wes had often met at the cottage last minute, or had been longer there than they’d anticipated, so she might have taken the pill late or not at all. And when she gave it some thought, she hadn’t had the curse for at least two months; her breasts had been fuller and tender; she’d felt nauseous from time to time; she’d been overly sensitive to certain smells. All a natural consequence of working at Savage Solicitors, she’d thought.

  It shouldn’t matter, she’d said to herself repeatedly through the tortuous night hours. She hadn’t actually lost anything; you couldn’t miss something you didn’t know you had. And yet she’d cried and cried and couldn’t stop.

  She pictured Wes’s anguished face yet again. So worried for her, he’d begged her to go to A&E, but she’d just wanted to come home for a long bath and, though she couldn’t say why at the time, a good old sob. In the end they had compromised; she’d call 111 to find out what one did in the circumstances, then have her soak at the cottage.

  The conversation with the NHS adviser had been surreal, as though she was talking about a friend or a client. But she’d been fine, remarkably so, as she listened to the bloke hurriedly read from his miscarriage script. Perhaps he had a Sunday lunch date, she’d randomly thought. Like the one she’d missed at Jack’s. She’d had to make herself tune into the man’s speech.

  ‘You’re right, Accident and Emergency isn’t appropriate,’ he’d said, ‘especially for pregnancies in the early stages. It sounds like a complete miscarriage, but if not, in the majority of cases, the remaining tissue passes out naturally in a week or two. It’s probably best to consult with your GP next week.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Your doctor might recommend medication to assist the passage of the tissue, or you could choose to have minor surgery to remove it if you don’t want to wait.’

>   The idea of ‘surgery’ had felt alarming and Nat particularly didn’t like the sound of the word ‘tissue’. Until then it’d had a nice floaty feel, something that was helpful in times of crisis, not the cause of it. She hadn’t liked to ask Wes what the ‘tissue’ looked like, and he wasn’t happy about the adviser’s dismissive advice.

  ‘Let’s call your GP now. There must be an out-of-hours number,’ he’d said, pacing.

  Of course, she didn’t have a flaming GP. She had ‘lucky good health’. But she’d promised she’d re-register at her old surgery today. That had appeared to appease Wes who’d been far more agitated than her. ‘For you,’ he kept saying as he held her tightly; ‘I’m so sorry for you.’

  They had taken the bath together. Just like when they were law students, they had ended up not having sex, but something more intimate. Feeling his erection against her back, she’d leaned on his chest as he tenderly soaped her body. She hadn’t understood his sadness then, she hadn’t felt the loss or the grief, but Wes had anticipated it for her. He’d known what was coming and it was here now.

  She had lost her baby.

  She wiped her face yet again. She had forgotten the discomfort, the embarrassment and the blood. All she could think of was what could have been; those most tragic of words ‘if only’. Wishing Wes was there to hold her, she pressed her face in the pillow. He’d understood completely; he had seen her intense desire to be a mum, the one she’d almost hidden from herself.

  Perhaps knowing the end of the call was nigh, the 111 adviser had eventually been kind. ‘Try not to worry, miscarriage is very common. It happens far more than people imagine. You and your partner can try again soon.’

  ‘Partner.’ The word brought on a fresh rush of tears. She’d lost her baby but gained a boyfriend over a single weekend. The overwhelming wish was for both. It was greedy, she knew, but she couldn’t help it.