Sam paused for a second and then smiled and said, ‘Yeah, great, why not. I’m working from home today and I awarded myself a lunch break, which I never normally get in the office. I can do coffee.’
‘Fab. I’ve got to be honest. My own grumpy-pregnant-woman company isn’t that enthralling. I’m starting ante-natal classes next week but until then pretty much every single person I know’s at work.’
‘Pleased to be of service.’
They’d arrived at the café. Izzy pushed the door open with her back and held it for Sam while he manoeuvred her four full bags-for-life inside. The café was on the ground floor of a Georgian townhouse and there was a log fire at one side of the room, which was always appealing. Today Izzy was desperate to sit in front of it, to start to defrost her feet. It was extremely physically unpleasant when your top three-quarters was boiling to the point of under-boob sweatage, while your bare lower legs and feet were freezing. She made straight for the sofa next to the fire, thank goodness it was free, lowered herself down onto it with difficulty, took her coat off and stuck her feet out. The warmth on them was good. Her nails looked atrocious, but whatever. It wasn’t like the rest of her looked great. And Sam probably wouldn’t notice. It probably wasn’t normal to study other people’s toenails.
Sam arranged her bags in the corner of the room, away from the fire. ‘What can I get you to drink?’ Bugger. Izzy was going to have to stand up again and go over to the counter so that she could pay.
‘I’m buying.’ She put her hand out to support herself and started the process of rolling herself off the sofa. It was far too squishy to get out of easily. Maybe she needed to roll left instead of right and use the sofa arm to hoist herself up. If she, specifically her backside and tummy, carried on increasing at the rate she had recently, she’d need a crane to get out of a comfortable seat by the time she actually gave birth.
‘I’m already on my feet. What do you want?’
‘Okay, thank you very much.’ Sometimes you had to admit defeat and let a nimbler person do the walking. ‘But you have to let me pay. And you have to let me buy you lunch. They do some great sandwiches.’
‘Deal.’
‘I’ll have a raspberry leaf tea, please.’ She took two twenties out of her purse and gave them to him. Their hands brushed as he took the notes, which felt a little stomach-droppingly weird. ‘A cheese and onion toastie. And a slice of lemon drizzle.’ She could get a brownie afterwards. Or maybe some carrot cake. Maybe both.
‘And if they don’t have raspberry leaf?’ Evidently he wasn’t finding it weird that they’d touched hands, because he obviously hadn’t thought about her like she’d thought about him.
‘They do. I’ve been here quite a few times.’ She’d been here a lot during her pregnancy. They did very good tea and even better cake. ‘It’s quite a fancy café.’
Izzy studied Sam’s back as he waited for their drinks at the counter, sharing a joke with Delia, the very lovely middle-aged owner. He had a very nice laugh. Rumbly. Was she in danger of finding him attractive again? She was, and she wasn’t. He was definitely now firmly in the past. A memory. The man she’d asked out on his wedding day and who had then featured heavily in her dreams for months. In a few decades’ time it might even be an anecdote that she could bear to tell someone other than Emma and Rohan.
Now, the present, in her actual real life, she had Dominic. She was very happy with him. They were friends. They had fun together. They had some shared interests. They had good sex. When she wasn’t massively pregnant. She’d fallen in love with him gradually, rather than on the spot, and it wasn’t always mega passion, but that was real life, wasn’t it? Real life was not seeing The One, getting together with them on the spot and living happily ever after. Real life was mundane.
‘They’ll bring it all over.’ Sam folded himself into the armchair opposite her. ‘So you’re on maternity leave. What do you do?’
‘I’m a speech therapist, specialising in stammers.’
‘Interesting job. And so worthwhile.’
‘Yes, it really is. I love it. As you say, both interesting and worthwhile, and there can’t be a lot of jobs like that. There’s a lot of variety in the people I see, and it’s so good when you can truly help someone, because a stammer can be so debilitating. And it shouldn’t be, of course. Society should accept people the way they are. Sorry, I’m sounding militant. But you see children being bullied for it, or people with so much to say losing the confidence to communicate effectively, and so on, and that’s so wrong. So, anyway, yes, I do love it but at the moment I’m struggling to imagine coping with both a baby and work, but I really don’t want to give up my career.’ Realistically, Dominic wasn’t that likely to be able to be a very hands-on dad, given that he was extremely work-addicted.
‘It can be done. If you can’t work part-time, you can still manage as long as you’re lucky enough to have family help or be able to afford childcare. You just have to forget about non-essential things like sleep, you know.’ He really did have a very nice smile. His upper front teeth were perfect, but the ones further back and his lower teeth were slightly uneven, the kind of imperfection that Americans didn’t usually put up with, unlike their crooked-toothed English counterparts. It was actually more attractive than fake-looking total perfection.
‘So does your wife work?’ Was it a bit weird to ask about her? Hopefully not. It was the obvious follow-on to what he’d been saying.
Sam’s smile dropped a little. ‘She. No. She didn’t.’ The hairs on the back of Izzy’s neck prickled. It was immediately obvious that this was not a good line of conversation to have brought up. Something very bad had happened. She could tell. Maybe they were divorced. Sam’s smile had vanished and he was looking down at the table instead of at Izzy. ‘We lost her nearly a year ago.’
‘Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry. That’s awful. What happened? If it’s okay for me to ask?’ She wished she knew him well enough to give him a huge hug to say how sorry she was. The laughter had gone from his eyes and he suddenly looked very tired.
‘Cancer. Breast. Metastasised.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Shit, Izzy felt really tearful, and it was so inappropriate to cry on behalf of someone who you barely knew and when they were being completely stoical.
‘Yeah. But you know. I’m lucky. I have the children. Liv and Barney.’ His smile was back, but not a real one that reached his eyes; it was like a mask. ‘And they have each other and me. So, you know. We’re good. Could be worse.’
‘But could be better,’ Izzy said.
‘Yeah. But we’re doing okay.’ Sam took a long sip of his coffee, like he didn’t want to make eye contact.
‘Here you go.’ Delia put a laden tray down on the table between them. Izzy gave her eyes a quick wipe while Delia was hiding her from Sam.
‘Thank you so much.’ She smiled at Delia.
‘So you like onions in your grilled cheese?’ Sam looked like a man who really wanted to move the conversation on. Understandably.
‘Yes, I do. It’s the only way. I love caramelised onions.’ Izzy picked her knife and fork up and then moved her knees apart so that the baby could squish down between her legs so that she could lean in. She had a serious point to make. ‘I do not, however, like cheese and onion crisps. I actually hate them.’