Shopaholic & Baby
Page 97
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“Go. I’ll be fine.”
“Becky…”
“Go to Geneva.” I turn away and stare at the green hospital wall.
“We have to talk about this,” he perseveres. “I have to explain.”
No. No no no. I’m not listening to him tell me all about how he fell for Venetia, and he never meant to hurt me but he just couldn’t help himself, and he still sees me as a good friend.
I’d rather not know anything about it, ever.
“Luke, just leave me alone!” I spit it out without turning my head. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. And anyway, I’m supposed to stay calm for the baby. You’re not supposed to upset me.”
“Right. Fine. Well, I’ll go then.”
Luke sounds pretty upset himself now. Well, tough luck.
I’m aware of him walking across the room, his tread slow and reluctant.
“My mother’s in town,” he says. “But don’t worry, I’ve told her to leave you alone.”
“Fine,” I mumble into the pillow.
“I’ll see you when I get back. Should be around Friday lunchtime. OK?”
I don’t respond. What does he mean, he’ll see me? When he comes round to move all his stuff into Venetia’s flat? When he summons a meeting with his divorce lawyers?
There’s a long silence and I know Luke’s still there, waiting. But then, at last, I hear the door open and close, and the faint sound of his footsteps disappearing down the corridor.
I wait ten minutes before I lift my head. I feel surreal and kind of blurry, as though I’m in the middle of a dream. I can’t quite believe this is all really happening. I’m eight months pregnant and Luke’s having an affair with our obstetrician and our marriage is over.
Our marriage is over. I repeat the words to myself, but they don’t ring true. I can’t make them register. It seems only five minutes ago that we were on honeymoon, blissfully lazing on the beach. That we were dancing at our wedding in Mum’s back garden, me in Mum’s old frilly wedding dress and a lopsided flower garland. That a whole press conference was stopping still for him to pass me a twenty-quid note so I could buy a Denny and George scarf. Back in the days when I barely knew him, when he was the sexy mysterious Luke Brandon and I wasn’t even sure he knew my name.
I feel a wrenching pain deep inside, and all of a sudden tears are spilling onto my cheeks, and I’m burying my sobbing head in the sheets. How can he leave me? Hasn’t he enjoyed being married to me? Haven’t we had fun together?
Before I can stop it, Venetia’s voice slides into my head. You were a refreshing change, Becky. You make him laugh. But you’re hardly on the same level.
Stupid…stupid…cow. Bitch. Skinny…horrible…pretentious…
I wipe my eyes and sit up and take three long breaths. I’m not going to think about her. Or any of it.
There’s a knocking at the door. “Mrs. Brandon?” It sounds like one of the nurses.
“Er…hang on….” I hastily splash some water onto my face from my drinking jug, and wipe it with the sheet. “Yes?”
The door opens and the pretty nurse who brought me my breakfast smiles at me. “You have a visitor.”
My mind leaps in one joyous bound to Luke. He’s come back, he’s sorry, it was all a mistake….
“Who is it?” I grab my compact from the cabinet, grimace at my reflection, and tug at my frizzy hair.
“A Mrs. Sherman?”
I nearly drop the compact in dismay. Elinor? Elinor’s here? I thought Luke told her to leave me alone.
I haven’t seen Elinor since our wedding in New York. Or at least…our “wedding” in New York.(It was all a bit complicated in the end.) We’ve never really got on, mainly on account of her being a snobby, ice-cold bitch, who abandoned Luke when he was tiny and totally screwed him up. And the way she was rude to Mum. And the way she didn’t let me into my own bloody engagement party! And—
“Are you OK, Rebecca?” The nurse looks at me in slight alarm, and I realize I’m breathing harder and harder. “I can tell her you’re asleep if you like.”
“Yes, please. Tell her to go away.”
I’m in no state to see anyone right now. Not with my face all pink and my eyes still teary. And why should I make any effort to see Elinor? Surely the only advantage of splitting up with your husband is that you don’t need to see your mother-in-law anymore. I won’t miss her, and she won’t miss me.
“Fine.” The nurse comes over and squints at my drip. “A doctor will be along soon to check you over, then I should think you’ll be going home. Should I tell Mrs. Sherman that you’ll be leaving?”
“Becky…”
“Go to Geneva.” I turn away and stare at the green hospital wall.
“We have to talk about this,” he perseveres. “I have to explain.”
No. No no no. I’m not listening to him tell me all about how he fell for Venetia, and he never meant to hurt me but he just couldn’t help himself, and he still sees me as a good friend.
I’d rather not know anything about it, ever.
“Luke, just leave me alone!” I spit it out without turning my head. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. And anyway, I’m supposed to stay calm for the baby. You’re not supposed to upset me.”
“Right. Fine. Well, I’ll go then.”
Luke sounds pretty upset himself now. Well, tough luck.
I’m aware of him walking across the room, his tread slow and reluctant.
“My mother’s in town,” he says. “But don’t worry, I’ve told her to leave you alone.”
“Fine,” I mumble into the pillow.
“I’ll see you when I get back. Should be around Friday lunchtime. OK?”
I don’t respond. What does he mean, he’ll see me? When he comes round to move all his stuff into Venetia’s flat? When he summons a meeting with his divorce lawyers?
There’s a long silence and I know Luke’s still there, waiting. But then, at last, I hear the door open and close, and the faint sound of his footsteps disappearing down the corridor.
I wait ten minutes before I lift my head. I feel surreal and kind of blurry, as though I’m in the middle of a dream. I can’t quite believe this is all really happening. I’m eight months pregnant and Luke’s having an affair with our obstetrician and our marriage is over.
Our marriage is over. I repeat the words to myself, but they don’t ring true. I can’t make them register. It seems only five minutes ago that we were on honeymoon, blissfully lazing on the beach. That we were dancing at our wedding in Mum’s back garden, me in Mum’s old frilly wedding dress and a lopsided flower garland. That a whole press conference was stopping still for him to pass me a twenty-quid note so I could buy a Denny and George scarf. Back in the days when I barely knew him, when he was the sexy mysterious Luke Brandon and I wasn’t even sure he knew my name.
I feel a wrenching pain deep inside, and all of a sudden tears are spilling onto my cheeks, and I’m burying my sobbing head in the sheets. How can he leave me? Hasn’t he enjoyed being married to me? Haven’t we had fun together?
Before I can stop it, Venetia’s voice slides into my head. You were a refreshing change, Becky. You make him laugh. But you’re hardly on the same level.
Stupid…stupid…cow. Bitch. Skinny…horrible…pretentious…
I wipe my eyes and sit up and take three long breaths. I’m not going to think about her. Or any of it.
There’s a knocking at the door. “Mrs. Brandon?” It sounds like one of the nurses.
“Er…hang on….” I hastily splash some water onto my face from my drinking jug, and wipe it with the sheet. “Yes?”
The door opens and the pretty nurse who brought me my breakfast smiles at me. “You have a visitor.”
My mind leaps in one joyous bound to Luke. He’s come back, he’s sorry, it was all a mistake….
“Who is it?” I grab my compact from the cabinet, grimace at my reflection, and tug at my frizzy hair.
“A Mrs. Sherman?”
I nearly drop the compact in dismay. Elinor? Elinor’s here? I thought Luke told her to leave me alone.
I haven’t seen Elinor since our wedding in New York. Or at least…our “wedding” in New York.(It was all a bit complicated in the end.) We’ve never really got on, mainly on account of her being a snobby, ice-cold bitch, who abandoned Luke when he was tiny and totally screwed him up. And the way she was rude to Mum. And the way she didn’t let me into my own bloody engagement party! And—
“Are you OK, Rebecca?” The nurse looks at me in slight alarm, and I realize I’m breathing harder and harder. “I can tell her you’re asleep if you like.”
“Yes, please. Tell her to go away.”
I’m in no state to see anyone right now. Not with my face all pink and my eyes still teary. And why should I make any effort to see Elinor? Surely the only advantage of splitting up with your husband is that you don’t need to see your mother-in-law anymore. I won’t miss her, and she won’t miss me.
“Fine.” The nurse comes over and squints at my drip. “A doctor will be along soon to check you over, then I should think you’ll be going home. Should I tell Mrs. Sherman that you’ll be leaving?”
