tell you. Iâm pregnant.â She feels him turn in his seat to stare at her, and has to force herself to meet his gaze.
âYouâre sure?â
âAbsolutely.â
His astonished face suddenly cracks, and he is leaning in to her, arms encircling her. âOh El! El!â
His body is shaking, and she realises he is crying. âCon â itâs OK, itâs OK ââ
âIâm so glad.â His breath is hot in her ear. âIâm so, so glad. You donât know how glad I am.â 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.
âBut we werenât planning to have another ââ
âIt doesnât matter, it doesnât matter. Itâs like Paul, itâs meant to be. Itâs exactly what should happen now. I donât know how I didnât guess. Have you tested?â
âYes.â She needs to tell him why she didnât mention it before. âBut thereâs something I must tell ââ
âYouâre wonderful! Youâre perfect! Come on â weâll have champagne.â 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. âWhen you rang this morning â I should have guessed! What an idiot!â He takes her hand as they approach the pub and doesnât 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.
âCelebrating?â 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. âWe need to slow down a bit, Con. Thereâs a reason I didnât tell you before ââ
He reaches over and puts his finger against her lip. âRemember when you wanted to get rid of Paul?â
âIt wasnât Paul then, it was a five-week embryo, no bigger than a pin head.â
âYes. And what a mistake it would have been. Left to ourselves weâll never decide to have another â how can we? Youâre too busy, Iâm too busy, lifeâs too short. And so, like a blessing, it just happens. If you even for a moment imagine us talking about not having it â forget it. It would be the worst and stupidest thing we could ever do.â
âBut ââ
âNo buts. Drink.â
She sips, bites the inside of her cheek, starts again. âI have ââ
But Con is speaking at the same time. âItâs a new beginning. Letâs start again, El. Look how weâve drifted â I didnât even notice youâd missed a period ââ His voice catches and El glances quickly at the barman, afraid Con may be about to cry again. But he gathers himself. âNo wonder you couldnât tell me before. Why should you tell a man who isnât even aware ââ
âCon. Stop it. I didnât tell you because⦠because I didnât believe it myself.â Is she? Is she going to tell him now heâs said they must have it, is she going to break his heart? âI thought my period was just late because I was tired. It didnât dawn on me for ages, I felt stupid when I realised ââ 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 itâs 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 itâs not.) Wouldnât honesty be self-indulgent?
The turnaround is giddying. But it is
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