eyes.
“That’s £11.95, please.” The young woman at the till was smiling at her.
Kate blinked back the tears that threatened. Blimey, she hadn’t even looked at the price. Were they that expensive? She fumbled in her purse to find a note. She took the change and grasped the bag.
Yes, a child that might be brought up in a single-parent household, with a visiting Daddy. She felt a little sorry for “it” already. But there might not be an
it
after all, she told herself – just wait and see. Out on the street, she checked whether you could see through the thin plastic of the bag, but the test wasn’t obvious. She’d go straight home – get it over with. A spasm of panic gripped her insides. The “what if’s” flying left, right and centre through her brain. She clutched the bag guiltily, protectively, as she walked back along the high street, past the row of banks, towards the art gallery, the tea-rooms.
Two figures stepped out from the café ahead. Something struck her about the taller one, the build, his dark hair, smart suit, the familiar way he walked. He was leaning in towards the other figure, seemingly deep in conversation. They were holding hands.
Michael. And, it had to be… Sophie.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. It was them. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I… DO… NOT… WANT… TO… BE… HERE. Kate ducked into a doorway for a second or two. I… DO… NOT… WANT… TO… SEE… HER. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.
What does she look like?
Kate poked her head out to swipe a glance up the street, an old lady passing by gave her a strange look. They were still walking towards her. They’d come out of the café, it was early in the morning. Breakfast? Is that what you did when you had no children to worry about? Go out for breakfast, have cappuccino and croissants before starting work at a leisurely hour. How nice for them, how sodding nice! So they were out cavorting, while she struggled to get the girls ready in the mornings, making packed lunches, organising school bags. She hardly had time to brush her own hair, let alone put on make-up and go out for a coffee.
So why was she in a shop doorway, hiding? She had done nothing wrong. It was
his
guilt not hers,
his
blame. She stood stalwartly back onto the pavement. They were only metres away. The bag with the test in began to burn in her hand.
He looked up, caught her eye, his face lost all colour. His eyes flicked away nervously. Then he muttered something to the woman, his lips mouthing “Kate”. He shifted a fraction away from his partner, but still held her hand. Sophie looked up then, too. Kate stared. So, Sophie was medium height, not as petite as Kate had painted her in her mind, with a curvy figure. As she got nearer, Kate could see that her eyes were dark brown, laden with mascara, set above a pert nose and a pout of a mouth, red and glossy with lipstick.
She was pretty, no doubt about it, but not a stunner, just normal pretty. The hair was auburn, how had she guessed? But a slightly duller tone than Kate had given her. It fell to just below the shoulders. She was wearing black trousers with a red jacket, a spotty scarf knotted at the neck. Smart. She’d definitely had time to put full make-up on this morning.
Sounds became too loud inside Kate’s head. Her pulse pounding just behind her ears, the loud gulp of her swallowing. They were nearly there, four metres apart, two, one. The three of them. She saw Michael drop their joined hands lower.
Sophie looked uncomfortable. Michael face to face with Kate now. He had a glow about him despite his evident nervousness. He was the first to speak, “Hello, Kate,” his voice was a little stilted.
“Ah… hi.” And so, they met. She was on autopilot now, polite formality masking the knife blade in her guts. “So, this must be…” Her throat went dry.
“Sophie… yes.”
The other woman gave her a timid smile, “Hello, Kate. Nice to meet you.”
Well, wasn’t this awfully nice? Meet the fucking lover.
“That’s £11.95, please.” The young woman at the till was smiling at her.
Kate blinked back the tears that threatened. Blimey, she hadn’t even looked at the price. Were they that expensive? She fumbled in her purse to find a note. She took the change and grasped the bag.
Yes, a child that might be brought up in a single-parent household, with a visiting Daddy. She felt a little sorry for “it” already. But there might not be an
it
after all, she told herself – just wait and see. Out on the street, she checked whether you could see through the thin plastic of the bag, but the test wasn’t obvious. She’d go straight home – get it over with. A spasm of panic gripped her insides. The “what if’s” flying left, right and centre through her brain. She clutched the bag guiltily, protectively, as she walked back along the high street, past the row of banks, towards the art gallery, the tea-rooms.
Two figures stepped out from the café ahead. Something struck her about the taller one, the build, his dark hair, smart suit, the familiar way he walked. He was leaning in towards the other figure, seemingly deep in conversation. They were holding hands.
Michael. And, it had to be… Sophie.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. It was them. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I… DO… NOT… WANT… TO… BE… HERE. Kate ducked into a doorway for a second or two. I… DO… NOT… WANT… TO… SEE… HER. Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.
What does she look like?
Kate poked her head out to swipe a glance up the street, an old lady passing by gave her a strange look. They were still walking towards her. They’d come out of the café, it was early in the morning. Breakfast? Is that what you did when you had no children to worry about? Go out for breakfast, have cappuccino and croissants before starting work at a leisurely hour. How nice for them, how sodding nice! So they were out cavorting, while she struggled to get the girls ready in the mornings, making packed lunches, organising school bags. She hardly had time to brush her own hair, let alone put on make-up and go out for a coffee.
So why was she in a shop doorway, hiding? She had done nothing wrong. It was
his
guilt not hers,
his
blame. She stood stalwartly back onto the pavement. They were only metres away. The bag with the test in began to burn in her hand.
He looked up, caught her eye, his face lost all colour. His eyes flicked away nervously. Then he muttered something to the woman, his lips mouthing “Kate”. He shifted a fraction away from his partner, but still held her hand. Sophie looked up then, too. Kate stared. So, Sophie was medium height, not as petite as Kate had painted her in her mind, with a curvy figure. As she got nearer, Kate could see that her eyes were dark brown, laden with mascara, set above a pert nose and a pout of a mouth, red and glossy with lipstick.
She was pretty, no doubt about it, but not a stunner, just normal pretty. The hair was auburn, how had she guessed? But a slightly duller tone than Kate had given her. It fell to just below the shoulders. She was wearing black trousers with a red jacket, a spotty scarf knotted at the neck. Smart. She’d definitely had time to put full make-up on this morning.
Sounds became too loud inside Kate’s head. Her pulse pounding just behind her ears, the loud gulp of her swallowing. They were nearly there, four metres apart, two, one. The three of them. She saw Michael drop their joined hands lower.
Sophie looked uncomfortable. Michael face to face with Kate now. He had a glow about him despite his evident nervousness. He was the first to speak, “Hello, Kate,” his voice was a little stilted.
“Ah… hi.” And so, they met. She was on autopilot now, polite formality masking the knife blade in her guts. “So, this must be…” Her throat went dry.
“Sophie… yes.”
The other woman gave her a timid smile, “Hello, Kate. Nice to meet you.”
Well, wasn’t this awfully nice? Meet the fucking lover.
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