Bella Summer Takes a Chance Page 11

  A logistical question naturally presented itself. Who had sex first with The Musician? Lola, as his girlfriend, was the obvious choice. What was I supposed to do, then? I dreaded the idea of kissing her again. Maybe I was supposed to get us some drinks. On the other hand, as the guest, surely I should be served first. It was only common courtesy. But that would leave Lola with nothing to do. So either way I feared I was in for some more face flannelling.

  God bless the English! Courtesy won out. I should have known. The Musician continued narrating, but at least he didn’t ask for requests like he had the other night. And Lola wasn’t giving me a spit bath. I could see her there, behind him. What was she doing? Whatever it was it threw him off his rhythm. Oh she wasn’t. Was she? There was no way I was going to kiss her after that. Talk about going above and beyond the call of duty. Surely she’d be recommended for a promotion.

  True to form, The Musician came in about a minute and a half. Sure, it was all right for him. Was there a second act?

  Apparently not. Lola got the short end of that stick, but she didn’t seem to mind. ‘I loved that,’ she said. ‘B.? What did you think? Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘Yesss.’

  ‘You don’t sound too sure.’

  ‘Well, I think I’m more of a one-on-one kind of girl.’

  ‘One-on-one, with girls?’ She sounded hopeful.

  ‘No, with boys. But thank you!’ My mother would have been so proud to hear me remembering my manners.

  ‘Thank you,’ said The Musician. ‘I guess we’ll stick to just us two then, eh?’

  Lola was stroking my stomach. Her fingers didn’t stop, but there was a slight change in pattern at her boyfriend’s comment.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think so. Thanks, and I like you, but you two are good together. I think you should keep it that way.’

  Lola sat up, smiled and said quietly, ‘Thank you.’

  Chapter 10

  A threesome was not what I’d wished for when I blew out the candles on my last birthday cake. I think I was after a new pair of shoes. Faith was right, though, I was glad I did it. I knew The Musician wasn’t someone I’d want to have a relationship with (too many applicants for the position), but I was completely chuffed to have spent the night with him and Lola. It was a momentous event, and a mental turning point, because I realised that the only constraints I had were those that I put on myself. I could do whatever I wanted. I could eat chocolate-chip cookies for breakfast. I could spend the day in my pyjamas, or paint my bedroom purple or fritter away the weekend watching every episode of Sex and the City even though I’d seen them all and should have been cleaning the flat. I could do these things because, at that moment, I had only myself to consider. I lived in a world of ‘cans’ instead of ‘shoulds’. It was immensely liberating.

  Though I didn’t envision any more threesomes in my future, I couldn’t wait to shock Clare with the escapade at lunch. Keeping the secret all week was killing me, but the idea of telling her on April Fool’s Day, and then admitting that it was no joke, was too good to pass up. We were getting our kicks where we could by then, since there was very little joy left at work. Everyone was ticking down the days until the project finished and even Fiona wasn’t getting her usual pleasure at our abuse.

  I was just about to settle into the titillating tale when someone across the restaurant caught my eye. I squinted at him, not believing what I was seeing. The confession would have to wait. ‘Will you excuse me just a minute?’ I asked Clare. ‘While I’m gone, please see if you can get the waiter to give us some menus.’

  I had to be mistaken. It wasn’t him. Or it was him, but there was a perfectly reasonable explanation that didn’t involve him cheating on Kat.

  The woman looked about twenty-five. She looked like a secretary from Croydon. Maybe it was Secretary’s Day. ‘Hello, James.’

  He couldn’t have looked guiltier if I’d caught him with Hustler in one hand and his trousers in the other. ‘B., hi! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m having lunch with Clare. You?’ I looked pointedly at Miss Lap Dance. She had bad skin and bad roots.

  ‘Having lunch,’ he murmured.

  I waited. He waited. He had no intention of introducing me. Jury, have you reached a verdict? We have, your Honour. ‘Well, enjoy your lunch,’ I said. ‘I guess I’ll see you around.’

  ‘Okay, you too.’

  If he wasn’t having an affair, why didn’t he introduce me to Pockface? She looked like she was expecting an introduction. Which meant she didn’t realise she was the other woman. How embarrassing for her. The two-timing bastard. Poor Kat. I didn’t want to think about the consequences of that discovery.

  ‘Is everything okay, petal?’ Clare asked when I reeled back to the table. ‘Menus are on the way. Seriously, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  ‘Thanks. No, I’m not okay. Worse than a ghost. You’ll never guess who I’ve just seen– No, don’t turn around. It’s James.’

  ‘Kat’s James? Why are we whispering?’

  ‘Because he may not be only Kat’s James. He’s with another woman. Something is definitely going on.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  I recounted our sparse conversation.

  ‘I can’t believe that. Not James. Are you going to tell Kat?’

  Good question. Would it be selfish to even think about not doing so? Yes, of course it would. We were friends. I had to tell her, even though she might shoot the messenger. Kat definitely viewed infidelity as a felony punishable by the kind of torture prohibited by the Geneva Convention. Which was why she was going to kill him. She might actually puncture an organ.

  ‘I’ll have to tell her, if there’s something going on. Ugh, this is a nightmare. Did you order wine?’ She shook her head. ‘Why not? You’re not detoxing are you? Because you remember how awful I was when I tried it, right? Don’t do it to yourself. Or us.’ Life was too short to eat like a panda.

  ‘It’s just for a little while,’ she said, twirling her hair.

  ‘Clare. Are you ill? Is it your stomach? Did the doctor find something?’ I didn’t like the look on her face. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m not sure you can handle two shocks in one day. I planned to tell you today but now, well. All right, yes. I’m just on the wagon for a few months. Nine, to be precise. Well, six and a bit to go.’

  ‘You’re pregnant?’ I whispered. ‘That’s why you’ve been sick these last few months? We thought it was a parasite. How long have you known?’

  ‘I took the test last week.’ She sighed. ‘You know my periods aren’t regular. I didn’t think anything of it at first. Then, well, it started to be obvious that something was up. I went to the doctor on Monday to confirm it. It’s definitely not a false positive.’

  ‘Wait a minute! April Fool’s, right?’

  ‘Huh, I wish.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m preggers. With child.’

  ‘Wow. Knocked up.’ What a bombshell.

  ‘Up the duff.’

  ‘In a family way,’ I said.

  ‘Speaking of family…’

  ‘Have you told them?’

  ‘No, not till I decide what to do.’

  ‘Of course. Otherwise they’ll just worry.’

  ‘I don’t mean what to do about the pregnancy. I know what I’m going to do about that.’

  ‘Oh, right, sure. I– I understand. I’ll go with you. We’ll go together, with Faith. I guess your GP will know where to send you. I wonder if you need a referr–’

  ‘I’m not having an abortion. I want to have the baby. I just need to decide what to do afterwards.’

  It wasn’t just a bombshell. It was carpet bombing. ‘You mean like finding childcare?’ I said, trying hard to find the right responses in the mercurial circumstances. ‘Well, I guess you could get a nanny, or try one of those crèches.’

  ‘I’m not talking about childcare!’ The waiter backed away at her outburst. So much for our lunch orders.

&n
bsp; ‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘But you’re speaking in tongues. You say you know what you’re going to do but I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re keeping the baby but don’t want to talk about who’s going to look after it while you work. Frankly, this is very confusing. Not to mention a bit of a shock.’

  She sighed. ‘Tell me about it. I’m sorry. I’ll back up. My first thought when I found out was, well, blind panic, obviously. I can’t have a baby. I’m only twenty-six, I’m single, I work stupid hours, sometimes in other countries. How would I do it? I don’t mean financially. I mean logistically. And even if I could do it, would I want to at this point in my life? That’s always been something for later.’

  ‘Clare, I wish you’d told me when you first suspected. You shouldn’t have had to go through all this by yourself.’

  ‘Thanks, but I needed the time to think without other people’s opinions. This isn’t a decision to make by committee.’

  ‘No, that’s true. So…’

  ‘So, I thought about having an abortion, but it just doesn’t feel right. Personally, I mean, not as a political ideology. Well, you know it’s not a moral question for me, from when Kat…’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Kat thought she was pregnant just when Jonathan’s illness was at its worst. She panicked at the thought of trying to look after him and a new baby as well. It was a false alarm – the stress of his illness threw her cycle off – but it made us all think about what we’d do in the circumstances, which choice we’d make. We agreed that it was an option we’d consider if, for whatever reason, the situation wasn’t right.

  ‘It just doesn’t seem like a good idea to have a baby on my own. I don’t know how single mothers cope without anyone to help. Tsch, I sound like this is just a practical decision, but it’s not. It’s also about what’s best for the child. I could hire someone, like you said. But how would the child feel when I’m working twelve-hour days, or away in Zurich, or Prague, or Paris all week long? I’d be its only parent, and it’d hardly see me. It’s not like I can cut my hours. Not if I want to keep earning enough to support us. And I wouldn’t want to. I love working the way we do. So yes, there’s been a lot to think about.’

  While I’d spent most of my twenties trying to get out of working too hard, Clare revelled in challenging clients and new assignments. She was one of those women who always knew exactly what she wanted, and what she wanted was to be at the top of her profession. Having a baby wasn’t going to boost her up that career ladder.

  ‘That’s why I’m thinking about adoption,’ she said.

  ‘Wow. That’s a big step. It’s wonderful, if it’s what you want to do. It’ll be a dream come true for some couple. Well, you know. Just look at your parents. They got you.’

  She smiled briefly. ‘But it’s not that simple. I see my parents’ point of view, but then I also know how it feels to find out your birth mother gave you away. Her circumstances didn’t make any difference to me. Being given away hurts. I’m not sure I want to do that to a child.’

  ‘But you’ve also got to think about that child’s life, as you said, and what’s best in terms of an upbringing. Maybe two parents are better than one. God, that sounds righteous, doesn’t it? I’m sorry. I don’t mean to come over all Archbishop of Canterbury.’

  ‘It’s okay. That’s exactly the question I’m weighing up. I don’t know the answer. And I’ve got The Shag calling every day to ask what I’ve decided.’

  ‘You’ve told him, then?’

  ‘Yeah, I called him after I did the first test. It’s the oddest thing, B. He’s now decided that I’m the one for him. He wants us to be a family unit.’ She laughed, without much mirth. ‘How many years did I hope he’d commit, and now, when I don’t want him, he does? Life is ridiculous sometimes.’

  ‘But are you sure you don’t want him? I mean, you were in love with him once upon a time.’

  ‘You sound just like him. He keeps saying we’re good together. Good at what? Shagging? Granted. Late-night phone calls? We don’t even go out in public.’

  ‘That’s your choice, though, not his. He’s asked you out and you’ve always said no.’

  ‘We’re shag pals, B., that’s all. The time for romantic happily-ever-afters is over for us. He had his chance.’

  ‘You’re right. Getting together for the sake of the children isn’t what you want. It’d be different if you loved him.’ When I searched her face for signs of the aforementioned emotion she raised her eyebrows. Guess not. ‘Well, if you really don’t want to be together with him, then you shouldn’t be together. Just don’t dismiss the idea till you’ve thought it all the way through, okay?’

  ‘B., I’m doing nothing but thinking it through. It’s rather at the front of my mind right now. This is hard enough as it is. I don’t need him complicating things with empty promises.’

  ‘But what if they’re not empty promises? I’m just playing devil’s advocate, but what if he really does love you? Would that make a difference?’

  ‘He doesn’t love me.’

  ‘You say so. But what if he does?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. This is The Shag we’re talking about. He’s not equipped to be a boyfriend, let alone a father. Can you imagine what that would be like? He’d warm the baby in the microwave and read bedtime stories to the takeaway. He’s not in this equation. It doesn’t do any good to wonder what it’d be like. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I guess I’ve got six months to decide.’

  We called the waiter over to order lunch. Neither of us ate very much.

  Jesus, pregnant. By a man she didn’t want to share a cup of tea with in public, let alone her life. I felt terrible for Clare. None of her options would be easy ones. I couldn’t even imagine how I’d cope in the same situation. Luckily, I’d never had to think about it. I had virtually no urge for children, despite being of the age at which my ticking biological clock should have deafened me. On babies, Mattias and I had always stood resolutely united, and were absolutely paranoid about precautions. If I had found myself in the family way, I’d be as freaked out as Clare. Just thinking about it certainly put my music setback into perspective. At least I had the option to follow my dreams, unencumbered by morning sickness, fat ankles, or offspring. I dug Sunglasses’ card out of my wallet, from behind the credit card that I should have cut up before I maxed it out. My heart raced as I dialled.

  ‘Right, hi, B.,’ said Sunglasses, after what seemed like the millionth ring. ‘What can I do for you?’

  Clearly he didn’t remember me. ‘You mentioned that I should give you a call if…’ If what? If I wanted him to launch my music career? That seemed a little presumptuous. ‘… if I wanted.’

  ‘Yes, yes, sure. We met at the, em, club.’

  ‘Right, right. It was pretty late.’

  ‘It usually is.’ He chuckled. ‘It’s a late-night job. That’s what I mean. So, at the club. You were singing?’

  ‘Right, with the quartet.’

  ‘Jog my memory.’

  He wanted me to sing down the phone? Did I need to warm up first? God, no, he’d think I was neutering a cat without anaesthetic. ‘Ehem.’ I began crooning Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.

  ‘Thanks. I meant who did we meet through? But now I remember you.’

  I couldn’t believe I’d just serenaded the man. And with Ella. What was I thinking? ‘That was embarrassing. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Not at all. You’ve got a good voice. And well done for launching in there. Wallflowers don’t make it in this business. When are you singing next?’

  I had precisely, let’s see, no gigs lined up. That made me the worst kind of amateur. ‘Er, I’ll have to let you know. Nothing is firmed up yet.’

  ‘Sure. Do you have a demo you can send me? Great, send it over. And why don’t you get in touch when you’ve got some dates in the diary and I’ll see if I can line up a couple of people to stop by.’

  ‘Sure, that sounds good. Thanks so much. I really appre
ciate it!’

  ‘Sure, we’ll talk soon.’ He hung up.

  Well, that achieved precisely nothing. I was just going to have to sing to him again when I called back. In the meantime, I had to find some gigs.

  Chapter 11

  I didn’t hit the ground running so much as walking with a large coffee in my hand, a bag full of demos on my shoulder, and a nervous flutter in my tummy. I had the same feeling I’d had when I left Mattias, of balancing on the cusp of a mighty change, one completely of my making. On the one hand it was certainly empowering. On the other, my efforts would succeed or fail because of me. The other hand made me a bit queasy.

  I hadn’t finished writing the little notes to include with the demos until nearly 3 a.m. I planned to hand-deliver one to each club, charming the pants off the booker in the process.

  I could have let Royal Mail do the legwork, but with about a million musicians pestering each booking manager, I had as much chance as the other million of being chosen for work. I only just stopped myself before breaking out the flour and eggs to bake cupcakes. There was every chance that domestic goddess bribery might backfire.

  The first nondescript entrance, which smelled a bit of wee, masked one of the most venerable live music clubs in London. My aspirations knew no bounds. ‘Hello?’ I called into the murky depths of the bar area.

  ‘Yes?’ Said the young woman unloading the dishwasher behind the bar.

  ‘Hi! Is your booker in?’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, okay. Well, I just wanted to stop in and drop off my demo, for any jazz nights you may have coming up.’

  ‘Give it to me. I’ll give it to him when he’s in.’

  ‘Is there somewhere I can leave it for him?’

  ‘Suit yourself. Through there.’ She gestured to the office door. ‘Leave it on the desk.’

  I thanked her, hurrying to the office. My heart lurched into my oesophagus when I saw the desk. Dozens of CDs were piled there. Dozens. All the hopefuls who’d come before me. I balanced my demo on top, sure it would be covered within the hour by the next musician with a plan. I thanked the barmaid and trudged to the next venue with a heavy bag and a heavy heart, hoping both would lighten as the day wore on.