As we pulled up outside the Thai restaurant, Frances stormed straight in to request a table ‘near a window and away from the clatter of the kitchen’, while James came and opened the door for me.
‘I’m surprised you needed your headlights what with all that sunshine beaming from your arse,’ I snapped.
‘Charlotte, now come on,’ he said. ‘She’s just proud of her only son, as are all mothers.’
‘Will you be filling her in with regards to your pro-boner work?’ I smirked at my own pun.
‘What the hell has got into you?’ he hissed. ‘This language is not you, Charlotte.’
‘Answer the question, James. Will you be telling her about Samantha?’
He sighed heavily. ‘I wasn’t going to.’ I knew it. ‘She’s alone, Charlotte, and I’m all she’s got. She doesn’t need a worry like that.’
I didn’t argue about it. If he couldn’t see she wasn’t just a fragile old widow, there was simply no point.
Resigned to the fact we’d at least get a squeeze of positive zest from Frances, I sloped inside towards the glow of the restaurant.
She was already sitting at a table – by the window and away from the kitchen – perusing the menu. I sat down silently and James sat too, instinctively picking up the wine menu. ‘What do you fancy, Mother? Fizz? A nice Malbec? Chablis?’ His eyes flicked from top to bottom of the list.
‘I don’t mind, dear. What would you like, Charlotte?’ She smiled without displacing so much as a talon on her crow’s feet.
‘Actually, Mother,’ James said, ‘Charlotte isn’t drinking tonight.’ He took my hand in his, and once again, I failed to register any kind of penetrating warmth in his touch. ‘We’re pregnant.’
We’re? I suppose he did put in more practise than I had into the making part, I thought bitterly.
‘Oh, James, that’s wonderful!’ She stood up to lean over him and cupped his face in her hands before planting a kiss on his cheek. She then turned to me and nodded. ‘Congratulations to you too, Charlotte. This is wonderful news. I suppose this requires something bubbly.’ She sat back down and placed her napkin back on her lap.
‘Thank you, Frances,’ I replied politely, and James proceeded to order a bottle of champagne.
‘Well, we have a long history of powerful names on both mine and your late father’s side, James,’ she said. ‘Great Grandpa Milford, Uncle Aldwyn.’ I let out a sigh of boredom, which she caught but misinterpreted. ‘Of course, there were plenty of strong women in the family too, Aunt Athelia, Dahlia, my great grandmother and . . .’
‘It’s perhaps too soon,’ I said politely. ‘I’d like to at least have my twelve-week scan before allowing myself to think about names.’
Her face softened. ‘Of course. I’m just excited about my first grandchild. We can talk about this at a later date.’
The rest of the evening followed a similar pattern: James and his mother sipped champagne; James’s mother swaddled him in praise; James’s mother addressed me politely when necessary to do so and James failed to mention his affair. It irritated me because James knew his mother was cold towards me and even though he relished in her praise he must have known that telling her might have at least pushed her to warm to me. Coward.
‘I’ll have a small glass of that,’ I said as James topped up the flutes. He looked at me with an eyebrow raised. ‘It’s fine to have a little sip. Just half a flute won’t do the baby any harm – he or she is a tough Emsworth, after all.’ I smiled sweetly at Frances.
***
The following morning, I had my pregnancy confirmed by the doctor who booked me a dating scan since I had no idea of when my last period was. James had taken the morning off work to come with me despite me telling him it wasn’t necessary. The moment the doctor actually confirmed my pregnancy was bitter-sweet. It was what I’d wanted for so long, and I was excited about it, of course I was, but my dream of a picture-perfect family life would be forever tainted by what James had done. If I’d have found out a few months ago, he would’ve picked me up and swung me around in joy. The feeling of love would’ve bonded us. The three of us, but whilst my baby was attached to me via umbilical cord, James’s connection had been severed.
The doctor bombarded me with leaflets and information about pregnancy before a midwife appointment was made. It was all very straightforward, which was good, as the next job on the list that day was to tell Kate.
We’d arranged to meet in a tearoom near a local country park. I arrived first and picked a table in sight of the door, and Kate spotted me easily when she arrived five minutes late.
‘You’re looking well,’ she said, kissing my cheek and wafting Baccarat Rouge 540 my way. ‘Are you hungry? I fancy a salad.’ She shoved her sunglasses up onto her head and peered at the healthy offerings in the salad bar.
‘I might have a piece of that cake,’ I said, pointing at a homemade carrot cake that looked at least seven inches tall.
Kate frowned. ‘Since when do you dare eat cake?’
‘Since getting fat became inevitable. I’m pregnant.’
Kate’s eyes bulged. ‘Pregnant? To who? James?’
‘Well of course to James,’ I snapped. ‘Who else?’
‘I don’t know. Relationships are breaking down left, right, and centre. I can’t keep track. But congratulations,’ she added finally, before picking up a menu and glancing at it. ‘I’m going to order. Are you sure you want the cake?’
I nodded. ‘And a decaf Americano, please. I’ll grab a table.’
She joined me a short while later and sat back down. ‘So, pregnant? That’s great news.’ She forced cheer into her voice but I knew what was coming. ‘How are things with
