All That Mullarkey by Sue Moorcroft Page A

was definitely on the no-no list for mums-to-be. A booklet she’d picked up in Boots told her about following a healthy lifestyle before as well as during. She’d been flabbergasted to learn that the father should be prepared to contribute healthy sperm by eating a balanced diet, stopping smoking and cutting down on alcohol for three months before conception
    Who wrote that stuff?
    What planet were they on?
    Maybe it was sound advice for earnest couples pragmatically plotting an immense change in their lives, exchanging meaningful glances over the lettuce leaves and decaff. But for her? Too late, irrelevant and hugely annoying. Then she grinned, reluctantly, at the thought of what state of inebriation Justin’s ‘guys’ must’ve been in. Any baby produced would probably be born with a hangover. Unless the Aquavit had got that far.
    Justin was watching for her from a seat in the corner, facing the door. His black shirt was open at the neck.
    On her way over, Cleo bought a bottle of water from the bar. Once settled across the table from him, she raised her eyebrows, her voice tight. ‘So? What’s the problem?’ Dark strands of her hair fell across her eyes.
    ‘No problem. I just wanted to talk to you.’
    The water bottle chilled her fingers. She was aware of her own breathing, rapid, uneven. All day apprehension had pinched her belly with mean fingers. Don’t let this be more trouble! She had enough already.
    He smiled suddenly, lighting his golden eyes. ‘I didn’t want to leave things as they were. This is a sorry. Sorry I was foul to you outside Muggie’s, sorry I wound you up at the seminar. I’m a bit of a git sometimes.’ His smile looked like the Cheshire Cat’s. Wide, drawn into sharp points at the corners. For a bright instant she let herself wish that they were meeting as lovers. And that she was free to.
    Little muscles tugged at her top lip, drawing her mouth into a reluctant, answering grin.
    He touched her hand lightly. ‘Let’s forget all the crap, it’s a shame if that’s all that’s left from that weekend. Although I was really pissed at you.’
    ‘I noticed.’ She swallowed some of her drink.
    He slouched, extending his legs until she felt them brush hers. ‘Can you blame me?’
    ‘Not entirely.’ A sudden, vivid memory of the shop doorway; the liquid sensation of reaching out for more.
    ‘But it’s all behind us, we’re just two friends having a few drinks.’ He raised his glass to her.
    Heartbeat calming, she returned the salute. Everything was going to be fine. She glanced at her watch. ‘But I can’t stop long.’ It had been worth keeping the date now that she’d discovered everything was going to be OK; but Gav would be wondering where she was.
    ‘Oh, come on. It’s just a drink! I want it to be all right when we see each other.’ He folded his arms on the table, leaning towards her. ‘I like you, Cleo. I’m sorry I was an arse. You’ve obviously had your problems. Whatever happened between you and your old man was bad enough to send you my way. I shouldn’t have let pique get the better of me. I want to be on good terms.’
    It was ridiculous that his words should bring sudden tears stinging to her eyes. He wanted her company! She felt inexplicably touched. ‘But I’m still married,’ she pointed out. ‘There’s still Gav.’
    For the first time, he looked impatient. ‘And he dictates your every move, does he?’
    She flushed. ‘Of course not!’ It would sound wimpish and under the thumb to admit that Gav would absolutely hate her to have a male friend.
    ‘If I was a woman there wouldn’t be a problem. I’d say, “Have another drink, Cleo,” and you’d say, “Lovely, Justine!” Right? But just because I’m a bloke … Can’t you trust yourself that we’ll act like two civilised people? Or doesn’t your old man trust you?’
    She wanted to cry, ‘Both! Both!’ But instead she met his gaze coolly. ‘Fine. We’re out for a drink.’
    And as