Sara Foster: Come Back to Me

‘Oh,’ she said softly, her voice so bereft that it made him look up at her. God, she really was beautiful. He had an urge to wrap his arms around her protectively, which surprised him – it wasn’t the first urge he usually had in the company of attractive females.

‘Sit down,’ he commanded, and pointed to the chair opposite him.

She looked worried, but reluctantly perched on the edge of the chair he had motioned to. ‘May I?’ She gestured at the papers still sitting in front of him. ‘How… how much do I owe you?’

Mark studied her as she watched him. His signature was worth an insane amount of money really. What had it taken him – a few seconds?

‘Nothing,’ he said, watching her face relax a moment before it instantly switched to high alert as he said impulsively, ‘Just come on a date with me.’

He had shocked her. She paused for a moment. ‘I don’t date,’ she replied flatly. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Not that kind of date,’ he said quickly, not sure himself where he was heading but mortified at being rejected so out of hand. ‘I just need a companion for a dinner – there’ll be others there. It’s just making up the numbers.’ He smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring to her. ‘You’d be doing me a real favour… in just the same way as this…’ He gestured at the papers between them.

She still looked guarded. ‘When?’

Mark’s mind was racing as to how he could organise this quickly. ‘Hang on.’ He got up and hurried through the door of his office into Chloe’s adjacent room, almost running, worried that she’d make a dash for it while he was gone. He grabbed Chloe’s diary and brought it back with him.

‘Next Thursday,’ he said, watching her.

‘I’ll try,’ she replied noncommittally, staring at him as though trying to determine something.

‘What’s your mobile number?’ He moved to his desk and picked up a pen.

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Really?’ He was intrigued. ‘Wow, I thought everyone had a mobile. How do you cope?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s not that hard.’ She made to get up. ‘I should go.’

‘What about a home phone?’ he asked, watching her lithe movements as she turned away from him.

‘The rental’s not connected.’ She was nearly at the door now.

‘Meet me at Covent Garden Station – the Long Acre entrance – at six thirty on Thursday,’ he said desperately, aware she hadn’t given him any commitment, and wanting to prolong her stay. He picked up the papers in front of him as she held out her hand. ‘Flat 2, Delaware Court,’ he announced, then scribbled it down on his legal pad. ‘At least I know where to find you.’

In response she looked so frightened that Mark laughed. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I just meant in case I need to change the arrangements.’

She nodded mutely. For a moment Mark thought she was on the verge of tears.

Alarmed, he added, ‘I’ll let my friends know, they’ll be pleased you’re coming.’ He began to regret the offer, and nearly took it back, on the verge of saying, ‘Never mind, forget it,’ but some obscure notion of courtesy meant he felt that was simply too rude.

She grabbed the papers, and said ‘Thanks’ as their hands briefly touched. Then she turned and almost bolted for the door.

‘Hang on,’ he said, half-laughing at the absurdity of it all.

She turned around.

‘I’m Mark,’ he told her, lifting his hand in a mock-wave and smiling in what he hoped was a placating and friendly manner. He was intrigued, he realised. Intensely so.

‘Julia,’ she replied, not meeting his eyes, but replicating his smile with a smaller, pinched version of her own. Then she turned on her heel, and was gone.

The reverberations from the previous evening almost made Chloe forget the tremendously important task she had planned for that day. However, at lunchtime she went and bought another test.

Might as well be absolutely sure, she thought, returning from the pharmacy with her small paper bag. Yesterday she’d leaned against the wall of the toilet cubicle, stick in hand, hardly able to contain her delight as the blue plus symbol appeared. The instructions told her she’d know after a minute. She’d waited ten, checking her watch, just in case it disappeared again.

She tried to shake the excess water off her umbrella as she took it down, and then walked quickly through the communal corridors of the offices – wondering why she felt so shifty when no one had ever stopped her before and asked to see the contents of the brown paper bag she grasped. She went straight into the toilets, relieved to see the grey cubicles empty, and took out the test.

Today the blue symbol appeared again, and remained resolutely present.

Yesterday she had felt ready. It was perfect. The perfect time in her career, now she felt well-established in the practice. The perfect time in her marriage, with everything happy and settled, but probably not averse to an exciting shake-up.

However, today the thought of being pregnant scared the hell out of her.

It would be a shake-up all right. Chloe had never had any illusions about the challenges of motherhood, and that was before she had found out that her husband was keeping secrets from her.

Thinking of this while still sitting on the toilet, holding the white stick in her unsteady hand, Chloe wondered if there were other things she should have paid attention to of the tidbits she’d been fed from Alex’s mother. Catherine Markham was a thoughtful and reserved lady with solemn, soulful eyes, who didn’t automatically volunteer advice and information – which had been a blessed relief for Chloe, given her own mother’s habit of dropping wildly indiscreet or inappropriate remarks into general conversation. When Chloe visited Alex’s family home she loved spending time with his mother as she cooked a big meal in the kitchen. As they peeled sprouts and grated carrots they would sometimes chat, and at other times remained silent. Although sometimes she thought the peace was hemmed with sadness, still, Chloe had had an insight into a different kind of upbringing – one without the manic edge that her mother seemed to bring to any situation along with her inability to shut up, even for a few seconds.

Now, as she stared at the thin white plastic stick that foretold the biggest life-change she could imagine, she realised that she’d never thought that Catherine Markham might be privy to secrets about Alex that she, his own wife, didn’t know. She wondered if she should ring Catherine up and ask her directly what she knew about Julia, but then, if Alex were in the middle of a steamy affair he would hardly confide in his mother.

Chloe had always thought of affairs as the worst kind of betrayal, but now she felt that if she discovered Alex and Julia were just having a fling, she might almost be relieved – at least for a few moments before the anger arrived. Whatever that look had been between them, it had seemed much more potent than acknowledgement of an affair, and that frightened her.

She didn’t know what to think about last night. The whole scenario had been so unreal, and so unlike anything she’d ever encountered with Alex, that now she could hardly believe it had occurred. And Julia was Mark’s girlfriend. How awkward would that make things in the future, if secrets weren’t laid out in the open. She imagined them all at the dinners and law balls and charity events and Christmas parties that would have to be faced together, and once again she saw Alex and Julia’s faces freezing as they looked at one another, and her stomach twisted.

She stayed seated on the toilet, staring at the stick. Five minutes passed, then ten, and that positive blue symbol wouldn’t go away.