“I’m fine,” I’d reply. Physically I was, after that early bout of morning sickness, but mentally I was a wreck.
“And how’s my little one?” He’d stroke my stomach gently. “Is he being good for you?”
“She’s been great,” I’d say automatically.
He’d grin every time. “Do you think it’s a girl, then? I’d love that. She’ll be just like you. Perfect.”
Usually I’d started cooking dinner by the time Harry came home, but he’d always make me sit down and put my feet up while he carried on with it. He’d put the radio on and I’d hear him singing away, as though he hadn’t a care in the world. Well, he hadn’t, I suppose. He thought he’d gotten away with an affair. He also thought he was the father of my baby. He may well be, who knew?
For a few days, I heard nothing from Tom. Gradually I started to calm down. I’d told him that he wasn’t the father. I’d told him I was happily married. Even if he did think he was the father, what did he think was going to happen?
I soon found out.
* * *
• • •
The phone call came just before I was going to bed, a few days after I saw Tom in the café.
Harry and I had had a lovely evening. He’d come home with flowers, and though I knew they were borne out of guilt, they were still nice to have. He was just so happy now; I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him like that. Whereas before he’d been weary and tired and would be quick to squabble about something or nothing, now he just couldn’t do enough for me.
“You look like you could do with an early night.” He winked at me. “What about a massage?”
“What do you want in return?” I asked suspiciously.
He laughed. “Nothing, sweetheart. This is just for you.”
“Wonderful. Let me have a quick shower first.” I poured him another glass of wine and jumped up to go upstairs. Then my mobile rang in my handbag in the hallway. I frowned. “Who on earth’s that? It’s nearly ten o’clock.”
“Just ignore it,” he said. “It’s too late to take a call.”
I scrabbled in my bag for my phone. I didn’t recognize the number, but answered the call.
“Hello?”
A man spoke. “I’ll say this just once.”
Every nerve in my body jumped to attention. I knew that voice. Slowly I moved nearer to the front door, so that Harry couldn’t hear me. “What?” I whispered.
“Either you tell him or I will.”
CHAPTER 47
Emma
By the time Harry came up to bed, I was too agitated for a massage. While the shower was running I’d saved Tom’s number to my mobile, using the name Anna. I was so glad I’d canceled the landline; I couldn’t cope if he called on that when I was out.
“Who was on the phone?” asked Harry when he came into the bedroom minutes later.
“Oh, no one.” I smoothed moisturizer over my face, closing my eyes so that I didn’t have to look at him. “Just a call center.”
“I didn’t think they were allowed to call at this time of night.”
I went into the bathroom. “Yeah, well, it might have been one from another country. I didn’t stay on long enough to find out.” I started to brush my teeth, knowing that conversation would be impossible now, and by the time I went back into the bedroom he seemed to have forgotten all about it.
I turned down the massage in the end, saying I was feeling a bit sick, but Harry then held me for an hour, talking about the baby, what we’d call it, the holidays we’d have, how we’d decorate their bedroom, when I thought she would stop calling him Daddy and call him Dad instead.
I felt like my heart was breaking.
While he slept quietly by my side, one hand still lightly protecting my stomach, I gently turned away and took out my phone, angling it so that even if he woke, Harry wouldn’t see the screen. I went onto private browsing and filled in a form so that I could find out who on earth was my baby’s father.
Once my payment was accepted, I was able to access their instructions. I read them religiously. I had to provide a blood sample myself. That was easy enough to arrange through the site. Then I had to collect Harry’s DNA and since I couldn’t ask him for a swab, the only way I could do that was to collect some of his nail clippings. I guessed that Tom would have happily provided swabs for me, but I didn’t want to involve him. And then he’d want the results: What if they weren’t what I wanted?
* * *
• • •
So the next day I replaced the bin liner in the bathroom bin and scrubbed the nail clippers. When he had a shower before bedtime, I called through to him, “Harry, you scratched me in bed last night. Cut your nails!”
He came out of the bathroom looking all apologetic and I felt like such a bitch. When he was asleep I crept back into the bathroom and replaced the bag with a new one and hid the evidence in my study. The next morning, after he’d left for work, I put the nails into the bag provided.
The online clinic I’d chosen offered a blood sample collection service, thankfully, given that I hadn’t a clue how to find a phlebotomist. I arranged for someone to come to my workplace; it wasn’t something I could risk Harry discovering. I arranged an appointment early in the morning, before Annie arrived, and pulled the blinds down in our office so that nobody passing would see what was going on. When the nurse arrived, she was able to take a blood sample without anyone knowing about it.
I felt like a criminal, having it taken so secretly. She was very discreet, though, and was clearly used to this sort of thing. I’d arranged for a courier to pick up the tests immediately afterward and to take them to the clinic and the whole thing took only an hour or so, but the way I felt now, I knew it would be a long time before I could look at myself without shame.
Later that morning, when I was trying hard to focus on work, a message appeared from Tom:
Do you want me to be with you when you tell Harry? Happy to do it myself if that makes it easier.
I’d had enough. Before I could consider whether I should, I called him.
“Tom? Will you stop sending me messages? You’re driving me mad.”
“Hello, Emma,” he said, as calm as you like.
“I’m not going to tell Harry anything!”
“Then I will,” he said. “If you think I’m going to let that man sleep with my wife and bring up my child, then you need to think again.”