something I have to ask you, okay?’
‘Uh-huh,’ she says, pursing her lips.
‘It’s, um … definitely mine, isn’t it?’
‘Jesus, Rob,’ she hisses. ‘Yes. Whose d’you think it is?’ Her eyes flash angrily, and a blotchy rash appears instantly on her slender neck.
‘I don’t – well, I just …’
‘There hasn’t been anyone else. It’s yours, whether you believe that or not—’
‘Okay, okay,’ he says quickly. ‘I just wanted to be sure …’
‘Well, now you can be.’
Rob nods and they fall into a tense silence. ‘Look,’ she murmurs finally, her voice softening, ‘I know this is a horrible mess for you …’
She looks so small and vulnerable, he reaches for her hand instinctively. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he murmurs.
‘No, what I mean is …’ She musters a smile then – her first genuine smile since that night at her flat. ‘I’m single, Rob. Okay, I’d never imagined having a baby at my age, but I started to think … why not? How hard can it be?’ Rob wants to cut in and say It’s bloody hard, Nadine. If you think it’s all reading picture books and making coochy-coo noises you’re in for a shock … but manages to stop himself. It’s not the time for a lecture from a been-there, done-that dad.
‘I’ll help you. I’ll do anything I can.’ As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Rob knows he means it. Despite Kerry, the children and the whole mess he’s made – or perhaps because of it – he has to prove to himself that he’s capable of being a decent human being. A baby. Bloody hell. It’ll be the size of a tangerine pip or something, but it’s still his flesh and blood. ‘Nadine, listen,’ he continues, ‘I know none of this is ideal, and God knows what’s ahead of us, but I want you to know I’m here for you, whatever happens.’
Her eyes widen. ‘That’s a nice thing to say, Rob.’
‘Well, I didn’t say it to be nice, so you’d think I’m some kind of decent guy. I said it because it’s true.’
She nods, carefully placing her cutlery on her plate. Her lunch, and his, remain untouched.
‘Did you think I’d leave you in the lurch?’ he asks.
‘I didn’t know what to think. I’ve been terrified actually.’ She lets out a small, mirthless laugh.
‘Well, of course I won’t.’
‘Um … thanks,’ she says as he squeezes her hand. ‘But what about your kids, your wife …’
‘We’ll have to see. I don’t know what Kerry’s told them, and I can only hope they won’t hate my guts, that they’ll still want to see me …’
‘Oh, Rob,’ Nadine exclaims, ‘I feel so bad. That’s what I meant, you see – I’m young, I can have a baby and carry on with my life. It’s more complicated for you.’
‘I guess I’ll have to figure out some way to deal with it all,’ he mutters. He doesn’t mention the fact that, until today, he has plagued Kerry with texts and calls to the point at which she made it clear that his begging and pleading was pointless.
As they stroll back to the office, Rob notices that Nadine’s demeanour has changed. She seems brighter and happier, heightening the fact that she must have spent the days since the pregnancy test in a state of terror. She is also strikingly beautiful, he notices, perhaps for the first time. Sure, he’d always thought she was cute, but now he sees men giving her the odd quick, appreciative glance, checking her out, hoping for a glimmer of eye contact. One passerby – young and handsome in an expensive-looking suit – gives him a quizzical look, or perhaps one of envy? Rob swallows hard, feeling himself blush. A homeless man with a filthy blanket over his knees is sitting in a disused doorway and, when he extends his hand for money, Rob pulls out his wallet and presses a tenner into his palm, as if that might somehow undo some of the damage he’s done.
You’re forty years old, he reminds himself as he and Nadine turn into Shaftesbury Avenue and their faceless office block comes into view. You had everything going for you – a beautiful wife and children who loved you, a new house by the sea, and you’ve gone and got a girl pregnant who’s precisely half your age, you stupid bloody fool …
As they approach the main entrance, he is aware of being spotted by Frank, who’s striding towards them while forking noodles into his mouth from a carton. If ever there was the time to start behaving like a proper adult, Rob decides, greeting him with a nod and a stoical smile, it’s right now.
Chapter Eighteen
Kerry can hardly believe she’s about to call a man about a dog. It feels like one of those rash things people do post-break-up, like sleeping with a platonic male friend or having an extravagant tattoo. Of course, her dog-owning credentials are impeccable: Not averse to walking/being outdoors. Not especially house-proud so won’t freak out at sight of odd dog hair/muddy paw print. Works from home so dog won’t be left alone for long periods. Has two dog-loving children so lashings of affection and fuss guaranteed …
Yet what if Buddy doesn’t like fuss, or children for that matter? He sounds perfect – ‘Adorable, loving and well-behaved dog seeks happy family home’, the ad read – but say they don’t click? Over a week has passed since Kerry scribbled down the owner’s number. In the aftermath of Rob’s announcement, and being unable to face him last weekend – even though he wanted to come down to Shorling for ‘a proper chat’ with the children – her energies have been consumed by trying to maintain a sense of normality, while dealing with Freddie and Mia’s persistent questions about when they’ll next see their dad.
‘Soon,’ she keeps saying. ‘Daddy and I just need to talk, then we’ll figure out the regular days you’ll be with him. You’ll still see him lots, I promise. It won’t be that different from before.’ Yeah, right.
In fact, Kerry had forgotten about the dog until she’d discovered the scrap of paper bearing the phone number in a jeans pocket this morning. Unable to face making lunch, she taps out the number.
‘Hello?’ The male voice is abrupt.
‘Hi, erm … I’m probably too late about this,’ Kerry starts, ‘but I saw the ad for your dog …’
‘Oh yes, he’s still here if you’re interested …’
‘Could you possibly tell me a bit more about him?’
She hears an intake of breath. ‘Why don’t you just come over and meet him? Are you local?’
‘Yes, we’re down at the seafront …’
‘Sorry,’ he says briskly, ‘I’m just taking a quick lunchbreak – would tomorrow be okay? I can arrange to be at home if I know you’re coming.’ Kerry pauses, rapidly losing her nerve. ‘If you think he might be right for you, you can have him on loan to see how you get along,’ the man adds, which to Kerry’s mind sounds like the equivalent of meeting for coffee on
