The One That Got Away. Annabel Kantaria

please? I need you.’ Her voice was hoarse from vomiting.

      ‘Is there no one else you can call? Just till I get home?’

      She’d gone quiet then, and I’d caught myself: am I such a monster that I won’t go to my sick wife when she needs me? Because I’m out with my lover? I’d paced the office, torn between burning desire to see Stell and the duty I felt to go home to Ness.

      ‘I’m sorry. Of course I’ll come. You’re right. I’ll get Adam to go to the dinner. I’m sure the client won’t mind and – well, if they do…’

      ‘. . . if they do, perhaps they’re not the sort of client you want.’

      ‘Exactly.’

      And so I stop at Waitrose on the way home and pick up a bunch of guilt flowers for Ness.

      ‘Honey!’ I call as I push open the door but there’s no reply. The light’s on in the living room so I look there first and, bingo, there she is, sprawled, fast asleep on the sofa, her hair spread all over the cushions. I stand over her for a minute, wondering whether to wake her up or just make her more comfortable there on the sofa, when I notice something in her hand and my whole body stiffens. A pregnancy test.

      ‘Oh my God! Ness! Is it? What is it? Are we… ?’ I squeeze my hands into fists, not sure whether to take the test from her hands or wait for her to tell me. Ness’s eyes snap open and she pushes her hair out of her eyes as she struggles to sit up, her hand clamping back around the test. Slowly, she registers me standing there and her face breaks into a huge smile. She holds the test out to me.

      ‘Here, look.’

      ‘What is it? What does it mean?’

      ‘Read it!’

      So I look at the test, and I see that it says one word and one word only: ‘Pregnant’.

      ‘Oh my God! Ness! Does this mean… ?’

      She nods.

      ‘Oh my God! There’s no doubt?’

      ‘Well. You can get false negatives, but I don’t think you get false positives, so…’

      ‘I’m going to be a dad?’

      ‘Yes.’

      I fling myself down on the sofa next to her and scoop her into my arms, hugging her to me and kissing her face and her hair. She clings on to me.

      ‘You’re happy about this?’ she asks.

      ‘Of course I’m happy! Why wouldn’t I be happy?’ I swear I want a baby more than she does; I long to see that little crumpled face that looks like a brand-new, old-age version of me. ‘Oh my God, oh my God. I can’t believe it! You clever thing! How?’

      ‘George! You know exactly how!’

      ‘But – when?’

      ‘You remember that night your client cancelled? I reckon it was then.’

      ‘But why now?’

      ‘Oh I don’t know, George! Stop analysing it! Maybe the time’s right. Maybe the stars aligned and a pink unicorn sprinkled some fairy dust over our house. I don’t know.’

      I look at her and maybe I’m imagining it but already there seems to be a radiance about her. Suddenly I feel very protective of her. She’s carrying the most precious cargo in the world: my child.

      ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Let’s get you to bed. You need your sleep now, more than ever. You both do.’ I take her hand and lead her up to the bedroom where we fall asleep in each other’s arms.

      At the very back of my mind, behind everything else, just one dark cloud: Stell.

SEVENTEEN

       Stella

      I don’t contact George again after my birthday. He texts a little – though not as much as I’d have imagined, to be honest – but I delete his messages as soon as they come in, without even reading them. Was he the one let down on his birthday? Humiliated in front of strangers?

      Instead, I spend all weekend alone. When the chips are down, you can rely only on yourself in this life. Remember that! I tell myself. Walking on the heath and passing time in coffee shops, I take the full blame for the debacle of my birthday night and berate myself with every step. George was played by Ness. This I see, and he’s an idiot not to see. But there’s a reason why I never get involved with married men and it’s just as valid with George as it is with anyone else. Yes, he was my George and yes, he should be my George, but he’s married. End of.

      ‘It’s sleazy, Stella, it’s seedy and it’s not you!’ I say out loud lying on my sofa on Sunday afternoon. ‘I don’t care who he is, it stops now.’ I get out my old notebook with the wedding dresses and the signatures and throw it in the bin without looking at it, then I toast my decision with a glass of good wine and some olives and start to feel a little better.

      By the time I return to work early on Monday morning, I’m almost myself again, excited about what the coming working week will bring as I head towards the office, and then I see him – George – standing outside the office door looking absolutely freezing despite his winter coat. My first instinct is to run into his arms, then I remember what he did and I want to dodge him and walk the other way but he’s looking out for me and already he’s seen me. I stop and look at him.

      ‘What brings you here?’

      He takes a step towards me, his hands held out. ‘Stella. Stell. Please.’ I notice that his knuckles are rudely red next to the white of his fingers. His nose, too, is red, and his face is pinched with cold. He stamps his feet on the pavement, his breath coming out in clouds.

      ‘Please what?’ I say.

      ‘Please don’t be like this.’

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘Like this!’

      ‘I’m not being like anything. I’m just trying to unlock the office. It’s eight o’clock on Monday morning, and I have a company to run – as do you.’ While I fumble for the keys in my bag, George tries to pull me round and hug me but I stand stiffly, my face averted. He lets his arms drop.

      ‘I’m sorry about your birthday,’ he says. ‘You’ve no idea how sorry I am, but I couldn’t help it.’

      ‘OK,’ I say, unlocking the door. ‘Have a good day.’

      ‘Is this it?’ he asks. ‘Is this how it’s going to be?’ His voice is sodden with sadness and something catches in my chest.

      I turn to face him. ‘How’s Ness?’

      A micro-pause. ‘She’s much better, thanks.’

      ‘What was wrong?’

      ‘She was sick. Vomiting. A bug, I guess.’

      ‘Did you see her throw up?’

      George flinches. ‘What?’

      ‘She wished me a happy birthday on Facebook that morning. She said, “hope you’re having a lovely evening – kiss, kiss”.’

      ‘You can’t read anything into that!’

      I shrug. ‘Whatever.’

      ‘She was sick, Stell. Don’t be like this.’

      ‘Like what?’ I know it sounds arrogant to assume that Ness feigned sickness to stop him seeing me on my birthday – especially when she doesn’t know about our affair – but I know I’m right.

      ‘You know she’s already warned me off you?’