Conrad & Eleanor by Jane Rogers Page A

tell you. I’m pregnant.’ She feels him turn in his seat to stare at her, and has to force herself to meet his gaze.
    â€˜You’re sure?’
    â€˜Absolutely.’
    His astonished face suddenly cracks, and he is leaning in to her, arms encircling her. ‘Oh El! El!’
    His body is shaking, and she realises he is crying. ‘Con – it’s OK, it’s OK —’
    â€˜I’m so glad.’ His breath is hot in her ear. ‘I’m so, so glad. You don’t know how glad I am.’ He draws back far enough to look at her, his face alight and happy. She knows she must press on, not let this joyfulness distract her.
    â€˜But we weren’t planning to have another —’
    â€˜It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter. It’s like Paul, it’s meant to be. It’s exactly what should happen now. I don’t know how I didn’t guess. Have you tested?’
    â€˜Yes.’ She needs to tell him why she didn’t mention it before. ‘But there’s something I must tell —’
    â€˜You’re wonderful! You’re perfect! Come on – we’ll have champagne.’ He is out of the car before she can reply, bending to lock his door. She gets out slowly, and he is looking across the car roof at her, still grinning from ear to ear. ‘When you rang this morning – I should have guessed! What an idiot!’ He takes her hand as they approach the pub and doesn’t drop it even when they reach the bar. He asks for champagne and they have to wait while some is found in the cellar and apologies are made about its not having been in the fridge.
    â€˜Celebrating?’ asks the barman and Con nods. El is afraid he will tell the man, but he just smiles at her and squeezes her hand.
    When all the business of opening it and pouring and toasting and sitting at a table is out of the way, El tries again. ‘We need to slow down a bit, Con. There’s a reason I didn’t tell you before —’
    He reaches over and puts his finger against her lip. ‘Remember when you wanted to get rid of Paul?’
    â€˜It wasn’t Paul then, it was a five-week embryo, no bigger than a pin head.’
    â€˜Yes. And what a mistake it would have been. Left to ourselves we’ll never decide to have another – how can we? You’re too busy, I’m too busy, life’s too short. And so, like a blessing, it just happens. If you even for a moment imagine us talking about not having it – forget it. It would be the worst and stupidest thing we could ever do.’
    â€˜But —’
    â€˜No buts. Drink.’
    She sips, bites the inside of her cheek, starts again. ‘I have —’
    But Con is speaking at the same time. ‘It’s a new beginning. Let’s start again, El. Look how we’ve drifted – I didn’t even notice you’d missed a period —’ His voice catches and El glances quickly at the barman, afraid Con may be about to cry again. But he gathers himself. ‘No wonder you couldn’t tell me before. Why should you tell a man who isn’t even aware —’
    â€˜Con. Stop it. I didn’t tell you because… because I didn’t believe it myself.’ Is she? Is she going to tell him now he’s said they must have it, is she going to break his heart? ‘I thought my period was just late because I was tired. It didn’t dawn on me for ages, I felt stupid when I realised —’ El is out of breath. Is she going to lie to him after all? She is astonished at herself. But what can be gained by telling him about Glenn, when it’s gone and over and done with? When he will read far more into it than there ever was? What can be gained by souring his joy over this baby which may, for all she knows, even be his? (But she knows it’s not.) Wouldn’t honesty be self-indulgent?
    The turnaround is giddying. But it is