Deranged Marriage (31 page)

When Imogen left home I knew she would never come back, and I followed her soon after. We never gave our parents too much to worry about, well, not until now anyway. Imogen had always been immensely sensible. She was the sort of person who would make a pros and cons list before making a decision. ‘Shall I buy the red dress or the black dress? Well the red dress is more dramatic, the black more practical.’ That sort of person. I loved her for that, because she was as cautious as I was not. I would never ponder a decision for too long, which is probably why I was in the mess I was in. Imogen would never have got as drunk as I did with George. Then she would have pulled away from his kiss so she could weigh up the options. Then sensibly she would have left. I used to think that my sister was boring, but not any more. Imogen is happy, she might be controlled but she is happy. And I’m not.

‘Have you got your car?’ she asked, letting me go from her light hug. I didn’t feel it was the time to point out that I didn’t actually own a car as it hit me how little we really knew about each other. It was going to be a fun week.

‘No, I got a cab. I’ve been to see Joe.’ I led her towards the taxi rank.

‘Holly are you sure that you should be spending your money on cabs? Babies are expensive you know.’

‘Well, you can pay for this one then,’ I snapped, then regretted it. Arguing with Imogen was a new thing, and not one I was entirely happy about. I liked our relationship; liked the fact it wasn’t over-emotional in any way. I didn’t want it to change. Too much was changing.

‘Holly, I didn’t mean that. Let’s just get home, huh?’

‘Sorry.’

I asked Imogen about her favourite subject: her husband Jack. That kept the conversation flowing for the journey home.

I let us both in, and took her straight to the spare room.

‘It’s not a bad flat to bring a baby home to,’ she said.

‘Thanks.’ I hadn’t thought about the baby as actually living here. I supposed there would be time for me to decorate the nursery, and buy clothes, but I had done none of that yet. Saying that, I still had five months to go, so there was no great hurry.

‘It’s big enough, you don’t have to negotiate too many stairs, and the spare room will make a lovely nursery. Here, I’ve got you a present.’ Imogen rummaged around in her small suitcase. It was an air-hostess suitcase, albeit a Prada one. One thing that was in direct conflict with Imogen’s organisational manner was the way she had packed. Everything was thrown in.

‘Do you need hangers or anything?’ I asked.

‘No, apart from my travelling suit, that needs to be hung. I’ve got jeans and tops otherwise.’

‘Imogen, why do you dress up to sit on a train? It seems a bit crazy.’

‘I don’t know really, I just always like to look my best. Holly, I know you think I’m old before my time.’

‘I don’t. It’s just that that’s the sort of thing mum would do. She would wear her posh outfit to travel and then wear casual clothes the rest of the time.’

‘Maybe I’m turning into mother.’

‘I feel like I am,’ I replied sitting on the bed and rubbing my stomach. Just then Imogen found what she was looking for and pulled out the sweetest set of babygrows in a range of colours. She handed them to me. They were so small, how on earth where they supposed to fit a person? They were tiny. I couldn’t hold something that tiny, look after something so small, it would break. I would break it. I touched the soft fabric and the enormity of my predicament hit home. I burst into tears.

‘If you don’t like them I can change them,’ Imogen said, coming to sit next to me and putting her arm round me.

‘It’s not that. How did I get into this mess Immi? I am going to be responsible for a baby, a baby that is going to be so small it will fit into these, and what sort of start have I given it. I’m known in the press as this bitch woman, I’ve lost Joe, I don’t know who the father is. And that will be reported in the papers soon, now George has become the nation’s darling.’

‘Let’s calm down. Everything is unimportant apart from the baby. You have to keep yourself together for the baby’s sake if nothing else. What did Joe say when you met him today?’

‘Basically that he loved me, and he hated what was happening but he still didn’t know if he could forgive me.’

‘But it was a start.’

‘If I could tell him for sure that the baby was his then maybe we could get back together, but I can’t tell him that.’

‘And you don’t want the test because you could lose the baby as a result.’

‘Yeah and can you imagine George. He’ll be unbearable if it is his. The thing is as soon as the press find out, and I reckon they’ll find out soon, then he will probably demand a test. What I’m hoping is that I can stall him, and the only way he can make me have a test is to take me to court. In a perverse way I feel as if this is the only ammunition I have against him now. He’ll be so frustrated by me that maybe he’ll start to realise how awful this whole situation is. Do I sound petty?’

‘Yes, but I understand. George has totally lost it. I can’t believe that he’s turned into this monster. Is there anything we can do to stop him?’

‘Nothing that I can think of.’

‘Holly, can I ask you something?’

‘Sure.’

‘How did you get pregnant?’ I looked at her.

‘Immi, you’ve been married for years, surely you know the basics.’

‘Holly, don’t be so facetious. You know exactly what I mean. You were on the pill I take it.’

‘You really are turning into mum.’

‘Holly, I am trying to be supportive but you have to be honest with me.’

‘The pill isn’t always one hundred per cent safe.’

‘If you take it per instructions the chances of it failing are very slim.’

‘Well I’m just one of those unlucky cases.’

‘You’re not.’

‘I never forgot to take it, not once.’

‘Right. So why didn’t it work?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You do.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Holly, we never had these pathetic arguments as kids, I’ll be dammed if I’m going to start having them now.’

‘Well then, perhaps you should leave it alone.’

‘Or you could be honest for once.’

‘I was ill.’

‘Right.’

‘That’s the truth. I had been ill, I was on antibiotics. I slept with Joe while I was on them and I also slept with George. I also drank heavily, and didn’t take the tablets that seriously. I had some sort of ear infection, but I forgot all about it. The doctor told me it might make the pill ineffective but I forgot that too.’

‘I have never known anyone as good at denial as you.’

‘Yeah, I could teach classes.’

‘Holly, don’t you see, you’re to blame for this mess, not George. OK, so most men wouldn’t have gone to the lengths he has to pursue you, but the pregnancy, the baby, the paternity, that’s down to you.’

‘I know.’

I hadn’t thought about it like that. The reason I hadn’t was because, as my sister so correctly pointed out, I was good at denial. Look how long I was pregnant before I noticed. I remember being ill and feeling miffed because I needed to take antibiotics. I remember having a debate with Freddie about why they tell you not to drink with them. He said it was because it decreased their effectiveness, I said it was because they got you really pissed, an idea that appealed to me. We agreed on a compromise where I would be allowed the odd glass of wine, which is what happened. Then Joe and I had the fight, then I got steaming drunk with George. And not once did I think that my pill wasn’t working. I just didn’t think. I did it, and afterwards when it was too late to think I put it to the back of my mind. Until now. Now, when my sister, who is turning into my mother, decided to make me face up to the fact that actually I was responsible for the situation I found myself in. There was no one else to blame.

Self-blame can be quite liberating.

I cooked a chicken while Imogen changed, and then she called Jack and chatted for ages. What they could talk about as they’d been apart only for half a day was beyond me. I liked my sister’s relationship, it made me think that love was worth it after all. She stopped me from being a cynic. Eventually when she came off the phone I dished up dinner and we sat at my table in the sitting room. Imogen drank wine, I sipped at my ice-cold water.

‘You are funny. Normally you drink like a fish but now you won’t go near it.’

‘I don’t want to do anything else to harm my baby. I’ve done enough don’t you think.’

‘More than enough, Holly. You know that you need to take some control back don’t you?’

‘How?’

‘Start with Joe. Keep in touch with him, try to meet him regularly, I think that as long as he can forgive your indiscretion with George, then he might be able to accept things with the baby.’

‘Maybe, but I don’t know if he’ll ever be able to accept bringing up another man’s child. I will keep in touch, because I still love him and I pray nightly that this child is his, but I need to get on with life for the two of us. I also need to know what I’m going to do if it does turn out to be George’s.’

‘Get a damn good solicitor.’

‘Exactly. You know, the more George hogs the limelight, the more I want to hurt him because he’s dragging my name through the tabloids and the TV without a thought for how it’s affecting me. I don’t even think that he’s thought about what would happen if I went running to him. He doesn’t want me any more, he wants the fame now. That’s why I am so confused.’

‘Holly, I’m not going to let this man beat us. We’re the Miller sisters, we can get the better of him.’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘I don’t know but I’ll work on it. I might be angry with you, well only because of your head-in-the-sand stance, but I still love you and if it’s the last thing I’ll do, I am going to get you out of this mess.’

Later as I lay in bed, cocooned in my duvet, I felt better than I had in ages. I was going to fight George, somehow, and I was also going to fight for Joe, but most of all I was going to take care of the baby, because that was my main, if not my only priority.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Although it was Sunday, Francesca and Freddie were coming over to my place to talk about what we were going to do next. The initial burst of media frenzy had come to a halt but we expected more the following week. Not so much television, but we knew that articles would appear in the papers. We had been using all our contacts to find out who was running the story, or any story, and when, and although we could do nothing to stop it, at least we were aware.

We all sat in the living room, Imogen made coffee, then came to join us.

‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ Freddie asked. He had brought the Sunday papers with him.

‘The good?’

‘Wrong answer, there isn’t any good. The bad news is that you’ve sparked a huge debate in the
Mail
about women who use men and the fact it’s a growing phenomena. They use you and George as a case study, and he comments all the way through. God knows how he got any sympathy, he’s an arrogant prick.’

‘Freddie, can we get on with it,’ Francesca snapped. Freddie looked suitably chastised.

‘Sorry. The
Sunday
News
have a story about you and, oh shit this is embarrassing, did you ever date anyone called Justin?’ I felt the redness start in my toes and creep up my entire body. ‘I’ll take that as a yes. Well, the thing is that he has sold his story about how you used him.’ I almost couldn’t bear to look as Freddie passed the paper to me. There in full colour was a picture of Justin, a lovely man with bright orange hair. Justin was a man I dated for two months when I was twenty-six. I have to admit to using him. He worked in the City and I met him through a mutual friend at a party. I was single at the time and he had a good job. I thought it might be nice to be wined and dined for a while and I was right, it was. Sex with a man with ginger pubes was a small price to pay (although it took me months to get rid of the remnants from my bathroom, stubborn little buggers they were). Anyway, he was such a bore that I really couldn’t bear it for longer than two months (and it was only that long because he arranged a trip to Paris just as I was going to break up with him). Finally when I did tell him that I didn’t think we should carry on seeing each other, I must admit he did get a bit angry, especially as I told him on the way back from Paris when we were sitting in the first-class carriage of Eurostar (all paid for by him). I did feel bad, but then I was young.

Everyone watched me. I found it hard to concentrate on the story. But I did.

I KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE USED BY HOLLY MILLER

Justin
Stamp
,
30
,
City
Broker
is
another
man
used
and
dumped
by
Ms
Miller
.
‘I
can
fully
sympathise
with
George
,
’
he
said
.
‘The
thing
about
Holly
is
that
she
is
a
complete
vamp
ready
to
reel
you
in
,
then
once
you’ve
fallen
for
her
she
gets
what
she
can
and
then
dumps
you
without
a
second
thought
.
’
Justin’s
sad
tale
began
with
an
introduction
at
dinner
.
Immediately
he
was
attracted
to
the
dark
-
haired
beauty
(
pictured
right
)...