The One That Got Away. Annabel Kantaria

      George shakes his head slowly. ‘Look. Whatever you’re implying, you’re wrong. Trust me.’

      We stare at each other and I realise there’s something he’s not telling me; that there’s more to this and that, in our little trio, I’m the only one who doesn’t know. I look away.

      ‘Look. I don’t know what’s going on with you and Ness, and I don’t care. It’s none of my business. But just know that she’s manipulating you. Don’t be gullible. That’s all I’m saying.’

      Saying the words out loud, I feel so mean; so petty. ‘Why am I even standing here on the pavement discussing with you whether or not your wife was sick? The point is you say I’m your “everything” but I’m not. Not at all. I’m only your “everything” when it suits you. As I said before, it’s not who I am. This is not my life and I will not continue like this!’ I’m embarrassed to realise I’m shouting.

      ‘Stell. I’m sorry. I stuffed up.’ He’s scuffing the pavement with his toe.

      ‘Let’s just say I’ve learned my lesson,’ I say. ‘That’s all. Now I have to get to work. Have a good day.’

      I give George a peck on his cold cheek, then I open the door and step inside the office reception. I try to shut the door behind me but he holds it.

      ‘Stell, please.’

      We tussle for a moment and, again, I’m struck with how undignified this is. Never in my life have I aspired to be a woman who tussles with her lover on the doorstep of her office. I peel George’s cold fingers off the door.

      ‘Let go, please, George. I need to get into work. Goodbye.’

      I shut the door in his face.

EIGHTEEN

       George

      Stell stops taking my calls and refuses to answer my messages. She doesn’t even check Facebook – all my messages sit there unread. It’s as if she’s blocked me from her life – and of course that makes me desperate. Like an addict, I check all my social media obsessively, monitoring whether or not she’s online. If she is, I never catch her.

      So I try to focus on Ness, but the initial excitement about the pregnancy starts to wear thin: she’s capricious, sick a lot, tired all the time, and lets me know in no uncertain terms that I can forget about sex until she starts to feel better. It’s too early for a scan so we don’t even have one of those grainy pictures to look at. Sometimes I wonder if I imagined the whole thing.

      Meantime, on the long evenings in front of the television when Ness is in bed, I can’t stop thinking about Stell. Do I love her? I want her. I want to possess her. I want to be the most important thing in her life. I need to be the most important thing in her life; I need her to look at me as if I’m her sun, her moon and her stars. I’m obsessed with her. Is that love? I think so.

      And then another thought: what if it was Stell, not Ness, having my baby? The thought makes me catch my breath. I close my eyes and imagine me and Stella in bed, my hands sliding over the tautness of her swollen belly, feeling the movements of my child under her skin. I imagine making love gently, gently to a pregnant Stella.

      I’m not religious, but I say a little prayer. Please, God. Somehow.

      And then reality slams me in the face. The love of my life is expecting me to leave my wife, but my wife is pregnant. I know I’ve sunk low sometimes, but leaving a pregnant woman? I can’t do it.

      So what can I do? How can I buy myself time?

      Could I tell Stell that Ness is sick? Something that means I have to stay with her for a few more months to ‘support’ her and ‘help’ her? I stare blankly into the middle distance, tapping my forehead as I work through my ideas. If Ness was allegedly going for regular treatments, I could even come to her antenatal appointments. I’d come out of it smelling like roses on both sides.

      And then the solution hits me: cancer.

      A curable one, of course: I wouldn’t want to give Stell the impression Ness is dying. I don’t want to tempt fate. But yes: cancer’s a good bet. A small one, caught early but requiring seven or eight months of treatment.

      Sad face: I’m so sorry, Stell, but I can’t leave her right now.

      Yes, it’s perfect. I give myself a silent high-five.

      And so, I wait outside Stell’s office again. All afternoon, I sit in the Greek-run sandwich shop across the road, one eye on my coffee, one on the office door. But, as afternoon turns to evening and darkness sets in, I start to wonder if she’s even there. Then, around eight, just as I’m about to give up, I see the door open and, finally, it’s her. I sprint across the street.

      ‘Stell!’

      ‘How long have you been waiting?’ Stell locks the office door as she speaks, her eyes not meeting mine.

      ‘Since half-four.’ I nod at the sandwich shop. ‘I was in there quite a bit. Great coffee. Kept me awake.’ Instinctively, I reach to touch her arm, but she jerks it away from me and starts to walk down the pavement towards the Tube station. I dash to catch up.

      ‘Stell. Wait!’

      ‘What? I told you how it’s going to be. I don’t do affairs.’

      ‘I know. Please come with me. Come for a quick drink. I need to talk to you.’

      ‘About what?’

      ‘About stuff.’

      ‘What sort of stuff?’

      ‘There’s something I need to tell you. About Ness.’

      She stops and turns, a flash of hope in her face. ‘What is it? Have you left her?’

      I swallow. ‘Not here. Come with me.’ I tug at her arm, and am surprised that she lets me guide her by the elbow to the nearest bar. We stand awkwardly as I order drinks. Below ground is a second bar that’s quieter. Like a couple on a first date, we each carry our own glass down the spiral staircase, and I lead Stell over to a table. We’re the only people there yet suddenly the room seems tiny – claustrophobic – and the walls close in on me, the paint a dark red that makes me think of torture, burning and hellfire.

      We settle, then I pick up my drink, well aware that, should she ever find out about Ness’s pregnancy or my lies, it could very well be the last time I ever have a drink with her. I look at her: at her glossy hair, her eyes, the cool paleness of her skin, the long legs slanted to cross under the table. I stare at her, taking it all in: I can’t lose her. I can’t.

      Neither can I tell her the truth.

      I lift my glass. ‘Cheers.’

      We clink glasses but Stell puts hers straight back down. She’s on the edge of her seat, her coat still on, a smile playing around those gorgeous lips.

      ‘So. Tell me,’ she says. ‘What about you and Ness?’ Her tone is playful and I know she’s waiting for me to say that I’ve left her; that I’ve moved out and started divorce proceedings.

      I rub the back of my neck. ‘Stell. This time without you has been hell. It’s made me realise that it’s you I love; it’s you I want to spend the rest of my life with.’

      She raises her eyebrows at me but doesn’t say anything. I have her attention. I drop my voice and reach for her hand. ‘I want everything with you: the wedding, the house, growing old together… you know it was always supposed to be…’

      ‘A baby?’ Her voice is a whisper. ‘Do you want a baby with me?’

      I close my eyes. ‘Yes. I want to have a baby with you.’

      Stell