‘Tampons,’ Holly said flatly as an elderly man in a flat cap went to pass by them, a roll of Sunday papers fastened under his arm. Holly gave him a blank nod in greeting but he seemed flustered, whether by her comment or her clothes. ‘And chocolate Hobnobs.’
‘Oh yes.’
They looked around the store. It was tiny, no bigger than the sitting room in the Airbnb cottage. A woman in her mid-fifties was standing behind the counter labelling tins with a hand-held sticker device. She glanced over at them as they got their bearings.
‘Mornin’.’
‘Morning,’ Tara smiled more cheerily than she felt as she picked up a wire basket and turned down the aisle. Holly did the same.
‘So, they’re bonding, huh?’ Holly scanned the shelf of breads.
Tara took a moment to process her meaning and pick up the threads of the conversation again. ‘Oh, yes. Ritual humiliation for Alex, to get into my father’s good books.’
‘Funny. He doesn’t strike me as the sort to care about what parents think.’
Tara glanced at her as she reached for the Best of Both loaf. ‘Why’d you think that?’
‘Well, he told me one time – I think you were in the shower – he grew up smoking joints with his folks and calling them by their first names. Seems weird that he’s suddenly prepared to play golf, of all things, just so your dad’ll like him.’
Did it? ‘Well, I guess when you’re getting married and joining a new family, these things matter more. He wants to start out on a strong footing; he’s paranoid about not wanting my parents to think he’s with me for the money. It’s important to him to do this properly.’
‘Do what properly?’
‘Ask my dad for my hand.’
Holly looked surprised. ‘You mean your parents still don’t know? But I thought you were telling them at dinner the other night?’
She winced. So had she. ‘That’s the purpose of this weekend – bonding with Dad, before he asks him.’
Holly’s eyes narrowed. ‘While you’re here?’
‘Well, this was in the diary for ages. I couldn’t exactly duck out on Sophie, could I? And besides, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he’d ask with me right there in the room anyway.’
Holly looked shocked. ‘Why not? Because your future has to be decided between men in your absence? What are you – chattel?’
‘I decide my future, thanks very much. This is just . . . etiquette.’
Holly gave a snort of derision as they stopped in front of the biscuits. ‘It’s just bullshit, is what it is.’
Tara gave a small smile at her friend’s feminist indignation. ‘I don’t disagree. Still, my father will like being asked. I just want Alex to get a damned move on with it.’
‘And there I was thinking you’d be onto the bridesmaid flowers by now,’ Holly sighed with trace sarcasm, reaching for a packet of Hobnobs. ‘And how did he take the news he’s gonna be a dad himself?’
Tara hesitated. ‘He still doesn’t know.’ She saw Holly’s eyes widen further. ‘But before you freak out, there’s no great conspiracy, it’s just a timing thing. Once he gets asking my father for my hand out of the way, then I’ll tell him, them and fricking everyone.’ She rolled her eyes, not wanting to meet Holly’s gaze. She knew the look she’d find there.
‘So I’m the only person who knows?’
‘Yes.’
‘The only one in the world?’
‘Yes.’
Holly was quiet for a moment. ‘God, the power I wield.’
Tara laughed. ‘Huh?’
‘I could totally blackmail you right now. One million pounds to keep your secret.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’d probably pay it too.’
Tara just shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t do much for our friendship. And you’d definitely be off the godmothers list.’
Holly’s mouth opened in surprise and then closed again. She looked quickly away. ‘. . . Are you frightened?’ Her tone had changed.
Tara frowned. ‘About the birth?’
‘Giving up your entire life?’
There was a pause. ‘I told you. I don’t see it that way.’
‘No.’ Holly was quiet for a moment. ‘Well, I guess that’s what they mean about the rich being different from the rest of us.’
Tara frowned, not sure what to say to that. She didn’t want to get into another argument about it, not when they’d just thawed the ice. ‘Hols—’
But Holly was already moving off, her back turned. ‘You do you. I’ll get the tampons. See you out at the car.’
They drove back towards the cottage at twice the speed of the journey out, the shopping in a brown paper bag on Holly’s lap. But Tara’s gaze kept falling to the other bag between her friend’s ankles – it contained a box of tampons and, beside it, a pregnancy test. At the mere sight of it, Tara felt her hackles rise. Was that what this journey had been about? Holly was going to bully her into providing proof that this was actually happening? Tara’s anger was immediate. She didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, not even her best friend.
She had switched the radio on with the ignition and turned up the volume, determinedly drowning out the possibility of further conversation – but the words hovered unsaid regardless, creating a tension they could both feel. The cottage was in sight when Holly angled towards her. ‘. . . Twig, I need to ask you something.’ Her voice was uncharacteristically stiff. Nervous, even. She knew what she was about to ask was outrageous, unacceptable . . .
Tara straightened up, glancing at her with a hard look and feeling her indignation swell. ‘Oh yeah?’ she said, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel to the song playing on the radio. She was not taking that pregnancy test, and she couldn’t believe Holly would even ask her.
‘. . . Do you trust him?’
Tara frowned. It wasn’t the question she’d been expecting. ‘What?’
‘Is that why you still haven’t told him about the baby? You don’t trust him?’
‘Hols, we’ve talked about this before. I’ve told you I do. Why would you even ask me that?’
There was a hesitation. ‘Because of something Annie said.’
‘Annie?’ Tara spluttered, as the memories of yesterday’s
