It was such a shock to discover it wasn’t. After a couple of years we had fertility tests—those were a joy, I can tell you—and we were both found to be fertile. The doctors called it unexplained infertility; everything was in working order but I just wasn’t getting pregnant. We had three attempts at IVF, but nothing happened except bitter disappointment. I think it affected Harry more than me, really. In the early days, whenever those feelings of utter, utter broodiness hit him, he’d get up and do something. He’d run miles in the middle of the night and work fourteen-hour days so that he wouldn’t have time to think about it. That’s when his business really took off. All of his efforts went into it.
I was working hard, too. I’d trained in web design and after a few years of working in larger companies, my university friend Annie and I decided to go it alone and we formed a small business together. We hired an office in a Victorian school that was converted into small offices and studios. We could have worked from home, but neither of us was good at solitude and having somewhere to go each day helped keep us motivated.
When I was absorbed in my work, I didn’t think about getting pregnant. I just took the view that if it happened, it would, but then it didn’t and after a while, I forgot all about it. For the last few years I hadn’t thought about contraception. It had been well over ten years since we’d decided to try for a baby and by now I hadn’t thought there was a chance of pregnancy.
So when I slept with Tom, it really hadn’t occurred to me there might be consequences. Not of that kind, anyway. It had literally never crossed my mind, not beforehand or during or afterward. Not one thought.
I don’t know whether it was subliminal or what. Had I had that fling with him knowing I might get pregnant? I was thirty-eight: Was my body thinking I had one last chance? I hated to think I’d do that to any man, to use them to have a baby. I was ashamed I’d done it to another woman. Bad enough to sleep with her husband, but to not protect her—her above everyone—against my getting pregnant? I had never imagined that my overwhelming feeling at finding out I was expecting a baby would be shame.
* * *
• • •
I found out on a Friday, a month after I’d been to Tom’s house. Those weeks had been strange at home. It was as though the temperature had changed between Harry and me. I couldn’t relax. I kept myself busy at work, arriving early and coming home late. Annie would leave work first and I’d tell her I’d leave soon, but then I’d go to the kitchen and make coffee and hang out there to see who would join me. A lot of the people who worked in our building were young and single; they’d often go out for a drink after working until eight or nine o’clock. I joined a gym, too, and told Harry I wanted to get fit. Like Ruby, I wanted to yell.
I didn’t confront him about Ruby. I knew I would have to, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I felt embarrassed. Humiliated. And I couldn’t work out how I could tell him I knew without him finding out I’d slept with Tom. I was on tenterhooks all that time. I didn’t know whether Tom would confront Ruby. If he did, he’d have to tell her how he knew. And she would tell Harry and it would all come out. I wanted to keep the moral high ground as far as fidelity was concerned. Though my nerves were on edge I tried to act the same as usual, but Harry seemed preoccupied with work and I didn’t think he’d even noticed the difference in me.
The odd thing was that almost every night since I’d seen him with Ruby, we’d find ourselves in each other’s arms, making love as we did in the early days, passionate and uninhibited. It wasn’t as though we intended that to happen. It was only when we were in the dark that we’d turn to each other. We didn’t say a word, either at the time or later. There was no eye contact, no whispers or shared laughter. I didn’t know whether we were trying to make up to each other for what we’d done or whether we were seeking comfort and reassurance. In the mornings, though, I’d feel confused and hurt. I couldn’t meet his eyes, not even to see whether he could meet mine.
* * *
• • •
That morning I woke later than usual and felt as though I hadn’t slept a wink, though I had no memory of being awake in the night. I sat up and rubbed my eyes, then turned to see Harry was still in bed. He was always the one who woke first, the one who was up as soon as the alarm sounded. Usually he’d fix coffee before my eyes were even open. He’d put a mug on my bedside table and waken me with a quick kiss before jumping into the shower. Mornings were his best time and I’d seen it as a great quality, but now I wondered whether he was just eager to go in to work to see Ruby. He was lying on his side, staring at the beam of sunlight that was reflected on the wooden floor. He looked absolutely lost. My stomach tightened. I couldn’t live like this.
“You’re running late,” I said. “I’ll make coffee while you have a shower.”
“That’s okay.” He jumped out of bed. “I’ll get some at the office.”
When I heard the shower stop, I went down to the kitchen and poured a couple of glasses of orange juice and put bread into the toaster.
Harry came down and drank the juice quickly. “I’d better go. Lots on today.”
There was no mention of the passion we’d shared the night before. No shared secret smiles or tender touches. As he raced around finding his briefcase and keys, avoiding my eyes, I knew I would have to do something. Annie and I had a solicitor we used when we set up our business. I thought I’d phone her this morning and see if she could recommend someone who could advise me if I decided to leave him.
I’d made toast and though I no longer wanted it now, I took a bite. As soon as the warm, buttered toast was in my mouth, I gagged.
I only just reached the bathroom in time and spat it out. Ugh, it had tasted so weird. Disgusting. I checked the bread and the butter. Both were fine. I drank a glass of water, but could still taste it. It tasted like iron filings. How did I even know what that would taste like?
And then it dawned on me.
Oh no.
I looked at the calendar on the fridge. I knew I’d had my period fairly recently; I’d been to my mum’s house, I remembered, and given her a piece of my mind when she gave the last slice of lemon cake to Harry. I’d had to call her the next day to apologize, blaming my hormones. I checked the dates and groaned.
I couldn’t be. I couldn’t be.
Within half an hour I was at the local supermarket, looking at pregnancy tests. I was so familiar with these tests; I’d used them all over the years but for the last few years I hadn’t bothered. I’d never got up my hopes, never bought one on the off-chance it would spark a positive result. I’d learned the hard way not to let myself do that.
That day I bought four different tests, then went back for a fifth. I wasn’t leaving anything to chance. I went through the self-service checkout and flashed them through, holding them carefully, as though they were unexploded bombs.