Always Mr. Wrong (6 page)

The last couple of weeks, I had done my
utmost to keep our engagement as low key as possible. Low key? That
was a laugh. Dad had demanded he take an official engagement
picture of us both. Then when I opened the
Times
the
following Sunday, I squealed in horror. There was Guy, sitting at
my dad’s desk, I stood behind him, my diamond-clad hand resting on
his shoulder. Outside through the French windows the snow covered
garden made a romantic backdrop. We looked like a member of the
sodding Royal Family, announcing their forthcoming nuptials. And it
seemed that half of London thought the same, as hundreds of cards
and e-mails from well-wishers flooded through our letterboxes and
inboxes.

Fabric swatches, paint colour charts and home
improvement magazines littered the kitchen table. I personally
thought this a little premature as we had only put in an offer on
the house, and by all accounts, there had been three other offers.
However, Guy thought we should think positive and start
planning.

And in retrospect, he was right.

* * * *

Jess had brought every Bride Magazine she
could lay her hands on, complete with little post-it markers and
scribbled notes of things she thought would interest me. Funnily
enough, I had seen a wonderful simple calf length, off the shoulder
dress in pale blue floating chiffon that I fell instantly in love
with. I rang my Mum’s dressmaker without a second thought to Jess’s
girly, fun-filled day of wedding dress shopping.

The front door slammed. I waited to hear
Guy’s keys clatter into the little china bowl that now was home for
both sets of our house and car keys. It had become a welcoming
action, that the love of my life was home safe and sound, making a
mental note when we had
our
new house we needed a table by
the front door.

I couldn’t contain my excitement, leaping
from the chair, I ran to greet Guy. Shouting as I ran into the
living room “Have you heard? Did the estate agent call you? Two of
the bidders for the house have dropped out. Guy, that means there
are now only us and one other.” Knowing right away that he knew,
with his arms already outstretched a massive grin on his handsome
face.

“I know, I know.” We hugged each other.
Holding me tight, he lifted me up off the floor, swinging me
around. “I can feel it, Clare. I just know that house is for us.”
Placing me carefully back down, I could see the twinkle in his
eyes. “Don’t be mad with me, but I was passing the store on the way
home, and in expectation I brought this.”

Grabbing my hand he led me back to the sofa.
Sticking out of a huge carrier bag I saw two floppy, gold fur ears.
I stood staring at it, knowing very well what was inside the bag.
“Come on, pull it out.” With shaking hands, I pulled out the
toddler-sized teddy bear. “It’s for the nursery.”

My heart froze. I felt sick to the stomach.
It was no good. I had to say something. Guy had been so honest with
me right from his proposal of marriage, of how he saw our life
together. It was now time, for both our sakes, for me to be honest
with him.

“Do you really need a nursery?”

“I see what you mean. I must admit that I
have been reading some of those mother and baby magazines on your
ward while waiting for you, and some do suggest that a baby is
better sleeping with its parents.”

Throwing the teddy bear onto the chair, I
grabbed his hands, pulled him closer to me, I knew what I was about
to say would turn his world upside down. “No, what I mean is, Guy
do
you
really need a baby?”

“Are you saying you don’t want a baby?”

“I’m not saying no, maybe in time, yes,
but....” I pulled my hands away and covered my face. “Oh, Guy,
please don’t hate me for saying this. There has never been a man
that I have loved as much as you, and I know this sounds selfish,
and I should have said from the start... Phil and I had Olivia so
early in the marriage, and we spent all our time and efforts caring
for her that we never had time for each other. I just want time for
us.
I want us to enjoy our life together.” Suddenly the
emotions I had been holding back for the last few weeks opened up a
bursting dam. I could not help the tears streaming down my
face.

Taking me in his arms Guy held me tight,
soothingly rubbing my back, planting kisses on my forehead, he
softly said, “Hey, hey, there is no pressure here. We can put this
on hold. Talk about it another time. Okay?”

Through the sobbing I managed a muffled,
“Yes.”

* * * *

It had been a difficult few weeks. Our offer
on the house had been declined. We had put offers in on two others
in Southgate, Guy feeling we would be better living nearer Olivia’s
school, family and friends. Guy’s small apartment was still up for
sale, but as of yet no interest had been shown.

But what was more challenging was how Guy and
I seemed to avoid mentioning the
B
word, which made talking
about my shift at the hospital very hard in deed. Guy had always
been thrilled to talk about my work, yet since my outburst, his
interest had somewhat dissipated. I did, however, notice how much
more time than before he spent looking through the nursery window
rather than chatting at the nurses’ station when he came to pick me
up.

Waking in the early hours of the morning, I
rolled over to cuddle Guy only to find his side of the bed empty.
Leaping out of bed, I began to panic he had left. Noticing his work
clothes still hanging on the wardrobe door the panic subsided. In
the hallway, he was just closing Olivia’s bedroom door.

“Is she okay?”

Hearing me, he turned and put his fingers to
his lips. “Yes,” he whispered. “She had a bad dream. I sat with her
for a bit. She’s sound asleep now.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I never heard her.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Too many things going
around in my head.” Taking my hand, he led me back to the
bedroom.

In silence, we got back into bed. For a few
moments we both lay looking up at the ceiling.

“Okay, if you want me to I’ll do the baby. If
you want me to I’ll give up work or take an au pair...if you want
me to.”

He stretched out his arm, pulled me to him,
wrapping his arm around me. “I don’t want you to have to
want
to
for me. I want you to want to for you.”

I buried my head in his chest, “Guy, I’m so
scared, so scared that if I say I
don’t
want to I will lose
you.”

His grip tightened around me, making me feel
safe. “Clare, I have spent my whole life looking for that special
someone to share my life with, and she’s right here, laying in my
arms. If it means keeping you here, I suppose I will have to accept
that is what you want. I suppose I can live without the whole
package.”

I pulled myself away, sat up in bed and
looked down at the love of my life. “No, Guy, if you have to
suppose
and
accept
, this marriage won’t work. I’ve
been that person. I don’t want you looking at me with resentment.”
He took a breath to speak, but I placed my finger on his lips to
stop him. “I know what you are going to say, and trust me, you
will. I know because after having, Olivia, I wanted another child.
Phil didn’t. I felt that resentment every day. I never want to be
in another relationship like that again.” I could see the tears
welling in his eyes. “Guy, what are we going to do?”

He pulled me back down, my head in the crook
of his neck, his hands softly rubbing my arms. “For now we will
just hold each other.”

* * * *

Three weeks passed. For the first week after
Guy left I never moved off the sofa. It sounds silly, I know. After
all, it was me that had ended it. Even so, the feelings of loss
seemed to overwhelm me.

I rang in sick to work, claiming a bad bout
of the flu. By my hoarse voice I was more than convincing. I lay
there crying, wearing a sweater of Guy’s that he had left in the
cupboard, a blanket of Kleenex covering me.

Olivia couldn’t understand Guy’s departure,
and to be honest, neither could I. I’d thrown away the best thing
that had happened in my life. But no matter how hard I tried to
assure myself I’d done the right thing in asking him to leave, I
felt as though my whole life had fallen apart.

Eleanor had not spoken to me for a week. She
said I was clearly out of my head. Jess seemed even more upset than
me if it was truly possible. I had written the completely wrong
ending to her love story. Mum called around every day with chicken
soup that I never ate, her not once, saying, “I told you so.”

Dad would do the evening shift, never
commenting, until the end of the first week. “I popped in to see
Guy today. He’s really cut up about all of this, Clare. He’s taking
a week off. He says he has to get away and clear his head.” I
rolled over on the sofa, wondering how he could possibly be that
cut up if he was planning to go on holiday. He hadn’t even tried to
call.

The second week I went back to work. It was
hard, but knowing that Guy would not be there made it a damn sight
easier. Come the third week, it started with an awful shift at the
hospital. Four nurses had genuinely called in sick with the flu
that had passed through the hospital staff like the plague. One
other also rang in sick, but we all knew she had been trying to
change her shift. She wanted to see one of her many grandchildren
say one word at some charity show. The agency we used, due to the
epidemic, could not offer us any temporary staff which didn't ease
the tension. That tonight of all nights every pregnant woman in
London seemed to be going into labour and being admitted to our
hospital. If all this was not bad enough, my period was two weeks
late.

* * * *

Walking across the parking lot to my car, I
began reading a host of texts and emails from an elated Jess and
concerned Eleanor that I may be
with child
. Speaking out
loud over coffee the other day with Jess, Eleanor curled up on the
sofa with period cramps, complaining
she hated being a
woman.
In a moment of weakness, I said, “You should be so
lucky. I’m two weeks late.”

Strangely the last two texts said the same
thing.

Have u told Guy yet?

Whom should I walk straight into? Guy.

After the initial claims of, “Sorry, I was
not looking where I was going,” then realising whom we had bumped
into, there was an uncomfortable silence.

For someone who had just been on holiday I
could not help but notice how tired and drained he looked. In fact,
I would go as far to say he looked worse than I did. Awkwardly we
gave each other a hug.

Guy cupped my cheek in his hand. “You look
tired.” Despite the fact that it was the middle of February and
snowing, his un-gloved hand felt warm and comforting. Like drinking
a hot milky chocolate on a cold winter’s day.

No, don’t even start to think about that
feeling, Clare. Keep your mind free of any of those types of
thoughts.
You see, when I’d had a hard day at work or Eleanor
playing me up, and on the odd occasion Olivia, Guy would take me in
his arms and say, “I know what would make you feel better, some hot
chocolate inside of you. And I don’t mean the drink.”

That is not going to happen, however much my
body was yearning for it.

Instinctively I placed my hand on top of his,
our fingers naturally interlaced.

“You’re not looking so good yourself. You may
be going down with the flu.”

“The only thing that is wrong with me is a
broken heart.

“I know,” I mumbled

“How’s Olivia?”

Please do not guilt me with the Olivia
card.
“Well, apparently I suck at reading The Famous Five.” We
both managed a smile.

“Come and have breakfast. It’s Monday...your
favourite in the consultants restaurant. Bacon, beans and egg
waffles.”

“Guy, please don’t make this harder than it
is.” I pulled our hands away from my cheek, but we still held onto
to each other.

“It’s just breakfast.”

“I’m sorry. Phil is taking Olivia away for
the half-term break. I need to get home and say goodbye.” It was
more of a white lie. Phil had taken Olivia away on Saturday.
“Another time?”

We kissed each other on the cheek. I am sure
we both left hoping there would be another time.

In my car I watched Guy walking away,
shoulders hunched, almost dragging his feet. All of a sudden, a
weird feeling emerged in the pit of my stomach. Grabbing my bag, I
jumped out of the car and raced across the parking lot. Two weeks
of anxiety, knowing that at some point I would have to come face to
face with Guy, must have been released. I’m not saying I felt
better, far from it, yet somehow the tension had gone. Locking
myself inside the toilet cubicle, my period had started. I dropped
my head in my hands and sobbed.

* * * *

“I’d know that cute backside anywhere. Clare
Coleman, I can’t believe it really is you.”

I straightened up from my shopping trolley.
From behind a floppy sun-bleached blond haired fringe, I saw a pair
of piercing blue eyes. His face was tanned, not from a two-week
beach holiday...a deep tan that said he’d spent a long time
somewhere hot.

My thoughts went straight to Guy. We had
planned to take a last minute flight to somewhere warm during
Olivia’s half-term.
Funny he never mentioned that or where he
had been after we...

“Timmy? Timothy Knowles.” I fumbled with two
large boxes of super plus Tampax that I’d cried over as I’d placed
them in my shopping trolley earlier. Part of me hoped I’d not have
to buy them. Promptly dropping one box on the floor, Timothy
unashamed bent down to pick it up, but took his time to stand as he
scrutinised every inch of my body, finally giving a nod of his
approval.