Babyville (29 page)

“Two spoonfuls? Are you sure?”

“Yup. Catching up on the last months when I wasn't allowed to drink any. So . . .” Maeve looks around the kitchen. “This is just as gorgeous as I suspected, but far more to the point, I thought you said you didn't have any help.”

“I don't.”

“You have to be joking. I feel slightly ill. How in the hell do you manage to keep this place looking so perfect by yourself? Nobody does that.” She peers at Sam closely. “Are you some kind of Stepford Wife or something?”

“Trust me,” Sam laughs. “The furthest thing. I was having this meeting . . .” She realizes she can withhold the truth but can't lie completely, not to a new friend. “This friend of ours has secretly asked me to draw a picture of his house for his wife's birthday, and I was so ashamed of this house looking like a bomb's hit it that I had a massive blitz this afternoon. If it makes you feel any better, I swear this house never ever looks like this.”

“Okay. That makes me feel a bit better. So you draw, then?”

“I was a graphic designer.”

“And now?”

“Now I'm a mother who was supposed to have gone back to her job after three months but I'd been unhappy with the company for years, and I just couldn't face it. So now I'm a full-time mother who isn't earning anything, who needs to find some kind of work to keep her sane, but who in the meantime resents her husband for not being able to provide for her in the way she'd like. I'm a mother who will probably have to think of something pretty damn sharpish.”

“No beating around the bush with you, then,” Maeve laughs. “If it's any consolation, I understand.”

“Are you going back to work?”

“I'm supposed to. And before Poppy I thought I would definitely go back, I thought I'd stagnate if I wasn't in the work environment, but I don't know whether I can leave her now. That bloody three-month deadline's looming, and I can't believe I'm going to say this, but the truth is I find being a mother strangely fulfilling.” She sighs. “I spent years building up my career, and just as I was getting somewhere I got pregnant. I thought Poppy would be a temporary blip, but I simply don't miss the adrenaline of work, and I really think I'm happy at home, with Poppy.

“I worked in television,” Maeve adds, as an afterthought.

“I know.” Their eyes meet, and Sam realizes she must now confess. “Oh God. Please swear to me you won't run away if I tell you how I know.”

“I swear to God I'll take at least ten minutes to run away, given that I have to get Poppy's snowsuit back on and get her strapped into the buggy again.” She's joking, but curious. How could Sam possibly know she worked in television?

Sam groans. She likes Maeve so much. Feels so comfortable with her. Knows that they have the potential to be such good friends. She also knows Maeve may very well cut her off before they've even started.

“You know your boyfriend?”

“Mark. Yes. Extremely well.”

“You know his ex-girlfriend?”

“Julia. Yes. Not so well.” Her voice is slowing down with recognition.

“Julia's my, um. How shall I say this . . .” Sam is pained. “. . . She's my best friend.”

“Ah.” Maeve sits back in her chair. “Does that mean that you have a huge problem with me and you hate me madly and in fact the only reason you invited me over is so you can pinch a hair out of my head while I'm not looking and make a voodoo doll once I've gone?”

Sam laughs, despite herself. “I thought maybe you'd have a huge problem with me,” she says. “Because I do still talk to Julia. A lot. And I just don't want things to be awkward.”

Maeve thinks for a while before speaking. “As I understand it, Julia and Mark were incredibly unhappy for many years, and both of them mistakenly thought a baby would heal their relationship?”

Sam nods.

“And now that Julia is living in New York she is in fact having a high old time, out with different men every night, hitting the hot spots and making
Sex and the City
look like
The Waltons.
”

Sam nods.

“And while I know it must have been difficult for her when she first heard about Mark and me, and Poppy”—Sam is about to nod but she quickly restrains herself, not wanting to be disloyal to Julia—“I would imagine that she probably doesn't feel very much about it now. Unless of course I'm barking up the wrong tree entirely.”

“No. I'd say you'd just about summed it up.”

“So are you planning on phoning Julia and telling her everything about me?”

“Well, no. I wasn't actually. I don't know what I'm going to tell Julia about you.”

Maeve reaches forward and places a hand on Sam's, her voice suddenly filled with rich, deep sincerity. “So why don't we just see each other for a while and see how it goes?”

Sam smiles, relief flooding through her. “But this isn't a relationship?” she says warningly.

“Definitely not.” Maeve smiles. “We're just seeing each other. No one has to know. Oh, and one other thing. No PDAs.”

“PDAs?”

“Public Displays of Affection.”

“That, my friend,” Sam says, extending a hand and shaking Maeve's firmly through their shared smiles, “is a deal.”

An
hour later they're still at the kitchen table when the doorbell rings. Sam jumps up and goes to the door, to find Dan standing on the doorstep.

As her heart jumps into her mouth, Dan grins his sexy grin, apologizes, and explains he went on a job to interview an American rock star who's in town performing, but the rock star had an unfortunate experience with one of the tabloid journalists scheduled just before him, and subsequently put a stop to all other interviews.

“Who were you doing it for?” Sam is so impressed she can hardly breathe.

“
Telegraph.
I just spoke to the editor. I'm going to do a piece on celebrity tantrums instead. Ironic, naturally.”

“Naturally.''

“When the stories fall through, the freelance hack gets to play. So here I am.”

“To play?” She can't help herself, and even as she stands in the front door, one hand on her hip in a suggestive pose, one eyebrow raised, she remembers that Maeve is in the kitchen, and instantly wishes she'd go, wishes Maeve were anywhere else but here.

“What's that delicious smell?” Dan doesn't rise to the bait, and Sam is surprised, disappointed, but then she remembers how she hadn't risen to the bait in their phone conversation earlier, and she knows he is just getting back at her.

She forgives him.

“Homemade banana bread.” She smiles as she steps back to let him in. “I've got a friend here. Come in and meet her.”

Maeve eyes Dan up and down with caution. She knows men like this. Has slept with men like this many, many times. He is flirtatious and dangerous, and she is (much to Sam's relief) cool as she says hello, and quiet as she sits at the table and watches how Sam changes when this man's around.

He is, she reflects, as he stretches long legs out in front of him and leans back in his chair while Sam fusses around him, a man who is comfortable in his skin. Too comfortable, perhaps. He expects everyone to love him, and Maeve has never been good at loving men like that. Sleeping with them, yes. Loving them, no.

But he is, without question, dangerously attractive.

And Sam has, without question, fallen hook, line, and sinker.

No wonder she had made such an effort with the house, had baked banana bread.

It was all for Dan.

Dan finishes his banana bread, lavishes praise on Sam, who almost melts into his arms, and turns on Maeve, firing charming, disarming questions at her. Asking her who she is, where she lives, what she does, how old is Poppy, what kind of birth.

At this point Maeve, who is uncomfortable enough in this situation anyway, notices that Sam too is dismayed by Dan's attention to her. I will not get involved in this game, she thinks, standing up to leave.

She shakes Dan's hand with a forced smile, and gives Sam a hug. She knows Sam is in dangerous territory with this one. She knows Sam is blinded by his attractiveness, cannot see how harmful he could be, how she could be risking everything for a fling with this man.

But, more than that, she can see he doesn't feel the same way about Sam. Sam is in love, and he is not. He is loving the attention, loving encouraging Sam, but for him it's all a game, and the most he'll commit to is a sordid little affair.

Does Maeve know Sam well enough to tell her? And if she does, what on earth is she going to say?

29

“You know what this sounds like?”
Julia has heard Sam's voice like this before. Not for many years, but she knows Sam better than anyone, remembers how Sam always fell for the unobtainable. Julia was there when the latest love of her life turned out to be the greatest shit of her life. “This sounds like Paolo all over again.”

Paolo had been Sam's gym instructor. Everyone in the class had drooled over the six-foot Italian, who had loved every second of it, but none had fallen quite so heavily or seriously as Sam.

Sam turned up at every class, made sure she was in the front, had soon progressed to clear favorite. Paolo would tell the others to watch Sam, would nod his approval at her, wink and smile, and have whispered conversations after the class.

Sam was a woman obsessed. A woman possessed.

The only benefit, she had later joked, was that she'd never been so thin in her life.

All her time was spent at the gym. Soon she was suggesting coffees, then drinks after the class. Sam was astonished Paolo said yes, but Julia kept warning her to be careful, that he was a man who needed women to fancy him, who would encourage Sam to feed his own ego, but who wasn't really interested.

One night she ended up seducing him. The sex was terrible. Neither particularly interested. Paolo dressed and left immediately afterward, and she lay in bed relieved he was no longer there, and wondering where it had all gone so horribly wrong.

She couldn't see it immediately, but in time she realized Julia was right. He was a natural flirt, a man addicted to women's attention, who would take it as far as he could to ensure those women still fancied him, disregarding any emotions that might arise along the way.

It didn't surprise her when she later discovered he had a long-term girlfriend and two children.

It does surprise her, however, to hear his name right now, on the phone with Julia, when she has finally cracked and told Julia everything. She knew Julia would disapprove, knew she wouldn't fully understand, but she wasn't expecting this.

“Paolo? He's nothing like Paolo! How can you say that when you haven't even met him?”

“You've just told me that Dan is, to all intents and purposes, happily married—”

“I didn't say happily,” Sam interrupts fiercely.

“No, but he's still with his wife and he seems to get on with her—he is, after all, commissioning you to do a picture for her birthday so it's unlikely they're heading for the divorce courts next week.”

“So? It doesn't mean they're happy.”

“No, but they're together. Anyway, he's married, happily or unhappily, and yet he's sending you clear signals that he wants to get involved with you. He's flirting with you in front of his wife and your husband. I'm really sorry to say this, Sam, but I just don't believe decent people do that sort of thing.”

Sam snorts in disbelief. “Decent people? You're being ridiculous. What if I'm right? What if he knows he married the wrong person, just like me, and he can't help it when I'm around?”

“Sam,” Julia says gently, “if that were the case, if he really did think he'd married the wrong person and was trapped by a child, he still wouldn't make those leading comments to you, encourage you the way he's doing. The whole thing smacks of Paolo. It smacks of a deeply insecure man who's married and reasonably happy, but is either constantly having affairs because he's addicted to sex and tries to justify it by saying he loves his wife and child and the affairs are just satisfying a physical urge, or a deeply insecure man who's never going to cheat on his wife but likes to know that he still could if he chose, and encourages any woman who shows him the slightest bit of attention.

“Either way I can't see how this is going to result in a happy outcome. If you really want to know what I think, it's that you've got another Paolo-league crush, and he has no intention of doing anything about it other than bask in your adoration.”

“I knew I shouldn't have told you,” Sam says belligerently. “I knew you wouldn't understand.”

“I'll tell you what I don't understand, Sam. I don't understand how you can even think that Chris is the wrong man for you when you've been together six years and he's wonderful to you, and you love him, despite what you're saying now. The only reason you're feeling so unfulfilled is because, I think, you've been suffering from some kind of postpartum depression, and you're miserable and looking for something, or someone, to blame, and Chris is closest to you so Chris gets the blame.”

Sam considers putting the phone down, slamming it in anger, but then decides she has a few choice words of her own for Julia, and tries to interrupt instead.

“I haven't finished,” Julia says. “If you walk out on Chris now, you're going to regret it for the rest of your life. I thought you were getting better. I thought these last few weeks you'd sounded more like the old Sam, had got some of your energy back, and I thought you were pulling yourself out of it, and now I realize it's just because of some dodgy bloke. Sam, you're married now. You have a child.

“When are you going to take responsibility for your life?”

Sam doesn't even wait for the dramatic pause. She slams down the phone and bursts into tears.

Chris phones five minutes later.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” she sniffs, unable to tell him the truth. “I'm just feeling a bit hormonal.”

Chris doesn't need to ask anything further, well versed in sudden outbreaks of tears due to hormones. “Poor love. Can I bring you home anything?”

“No. I'll be fine.”

“Listen, Jill just phoned saying we should all get together, and I thought maybe, given the baby-sitter situation, we should have them over for dinner. Say thank you for them having us for tea. What do you think?”

“Yes,” Sam says immediately. “Great idea. It's her birthday next Friday, so what about next Sunday? Nothing fancy,” she says, already planning a gourmet feast with which to impress Dan still further. “Just a casual supper.”

“Great! I'll ring her back and suggest it. You know, it's so nice to hear the old Sam again. I'm so happy that you want to go out again, that we're starting to see people.”

“Only Jill and Dan.”

“But it's a start. And I really think this Maeve is good for you. I'm only beginning to realize how hard it must have been for you with Julia going away. You've been a different person since you met her.”

“Have I?” She laughs inwardly at the irony, for of course it is Dan that is making the difference, but how convenient that Maeve has entered her life at roughly the same time.

“Yes. Actually, that's an idea. What about inviting Maeve and Mark too? I know Mark would get on with Jill and Dan, but obviously I don't know Maeve. Do you think it would work? Or,” he hesitates, “would it be too weird for you, seeing Maeve and Mark together as a couple?”

“I think that's a brilliant idea! Maeve was here the other day when Dan popped in and they seemed to get on.” She knows that's not exactly the truth, and that Maeve didn't seem to take to Dan all that well, but surely that will be diffused when all six of them are together.

Maybe before her phone call with Julia today she would have felt awkward about seeing Maeve and Mark together, would have felt it was something of a betrayal to Julia, but not now.

Now she's covering up the hurt with bravado, and deciding that Maeve is going to replace Julia in every possible way.

Thank
God it's Sunday.

Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday morning she finished the painting of Dan and Jill's house. Wednesday afternoon she joined Maeve at the One O'Clock Club on the Heath, then spent the rest of the day sitting on the floor of Maeve's living room while Poppy and George respectively lay and crawled about.

Sam thought she was going to feel strange, walking into Julia's house, knowing that Julia no longer lived there, but, after the initial shock, she could see that Maeve was far more comfortable in the house than Julia had ever been. Maeve had filled each room with books, and paintings, and flowers, had turned the bare bones of a house into a proper home.

The house had come alive since Maeve had moved in, and for the first time Sam understood what Julia had meant when she said she had never felt comfortable there, had always felt overwhelmed by the size. The house was imposing, but Maeve had made it feel cozy, had made it hers.

The strangeness that Sam had expected to feel lasted about five minutes. Five minutes of walking through the rooms, silently reminiscing about the good old days, wondering why it felt so very long ago.

She had invited them for Sunday evening, had said that she knew Maeve hadn't taken to Dan but that Jill was lovely and anyway, she'd like Maeve to meet them both properly, she was sure she'd change her mind about Dan.

Plus she wanted Maeve to meet Chris. Then surely Maeve would see why Sam was so sure their marriage wasn't working. And if Maeve is to be her new best friend, she needs to support Sam unequivocally when the shit hits the fan.

Maeve had been delighted and had phoned Mark at work on the spot. He insisted on talking to Sam, who had almost cried at the familiarity and warmth in his voice, had put the receiver down softly feeling safe and loved.

Jill had phoned to ask if she needed anything, if Sam wanted her to make pudding, or a starter, and had then offered bread-and-butter pudding, laughing as she confirmed what Dan had said: It was the only pudding she could make but she did it fantastically.

Sam felt momentarily saddened after Jill phoned. Were she not planning on stealing her husband, she would almost certainly have been Jill's friend. Sam is warm toward Jill, but not too warm. Responsive without being gushing. Sam has to keep her distance or she knows she'll never be able to run off with her husband.

Now,
tonight, there are fifteen minutes to go before everyone starts to arrive. The salmon is marinating on the worktop, the vegetables are sliced and diced in preparation, the olive ciabatta sits waiting to be warmed up in the oven.

Chris carefully stacks the bottles of wine in the fridge, and checks his stock of mixers. Tonic? Check. Soda? Check. Orange juice? Check. Lemonade? Check. He's looking forward to this, had forgotten how much he enjoyed socializing, how often Sam and he had done this BG.

He smiles in appreciation as Sam walks into the kitchen. Ghost has done her proud tonight, a dark green beaded top hiding her rapidly shrinking hips, a floor-length bias-cut skirt swishing sexily as she moves.

“You look lovely.” He kisses her on the cheek, turns to embrace her, and she smiles as she moves away, out of his reach, pretending to check the salmon marinade. She has not bought the outfit for Chris's benefit, naturally, but it's nevertheless important that he approves; makes her feel even sexier than when she had first checked herself in the mirror this evening.

The doorbell rings and Chris walks out to answer it, followed by Sam, her heart already pounding in anticipation, her breathing already shallow with nerves.

Jill makes a face, starts apologizing as soon as the door opens.

“We didn't know what to do,” she says, bread-and-butter pudding in hand as she gestures to a sleepy pajama-clad Lily, arms wrapped around her daddy's neck as she struggles to stay awake. “The bloody baby-sitter phoned just as she was supposed to turn up, saying she had a headache and couldn't make it. We didn't know what to do, so we brought the travel cot. We'll have to put her down here. I'm so, so sorry.”

“Don't worry about that.” Sam gestures them in. “But will she be okay to go home again?”

“Unlikely.” Jill makes a face. “But what can we do? It's always a bit of a nightmare when her routine's broken, but hopefully she'll sleep in the car on the way home and we'll be able to lift her straight out and into bed. I'm so sorry about this. Where can we put her?”

Jill, Dan, and Sam tiptoe quietly upstairs, and unfold the travel cot outside George's room.

“I won't put her in George's room,” Jill whispers. “I don't want to wake him, but it's nice and dark out here.”

“What about the monitor?”

“Don't worry. We don't use one anymore. We'll hear her.”

“Okay, but let me open George's door a fraction, just in case.”

“Really, you don't have to.”

“I'd feel better about it.” Sam quietly pushes George's door ajar.

Jill
stays to put Lily down. Dan follows Sam down the darkened stairway, putting his hand on her shoulder halfway down. They both stop, a wave of nausea washing over her as she knows this is it. The moment she's been waiting for. The answer to her dreams.

She turns as if in a dream, everything happening in slow motion. Dan's head moves slowly to hers, and she stays still, eyes closing, head tilting slightly to one side. A soft kiss lands just at the side of her mouth. Her head still tilted, she waits for more, only opening her eyes when she feels the shadow of his head move away.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” he whispers. “For the picture. It's beautiful.”

“Oh. Thank you.” Her voice is a whisper, and she waits for more, for a continuation of the kiss.

“No, really. I mean it. You're incredibly talented.”

“Flattery,” she says, a smile playing on her lips, “will get you everywhere.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” he teases softly.

And here it is. The invitation. The one she can't resist. Not anymore.

“No,” she whispers, looking deeply into his eyes. “Only you.”

“Is everything okay?” Jill whispers behind them, coming down the stairs, even her whisper managing to be cheerful. Sam is furious and embarrassed in equal measure. What if she heard? What if she saw? No. Impossible. She would not be so cheerful in the face of an adulterous husband.

“Fine, darling,” Dan says. “I was just telling Sam how incredibly talented she is.”

Jill's hand flies to her mouth. “I can't believe I didn't say anything. Sam! I love it, I love it, I love it! You're amazing! It's the best birthday present I've ever had and I can't believe you painted it! Thank you!” She flings her arms around Sam, who reluctantly pats her back lightly, waiting for her to disengage.