Saint Kate of the Cupcake: The Dangers of Lust and Baking (29 page)

Lindsay managed to book me for a photo shoot and interview with a particularly sympathetic reporter who worked at a glossy magazine, and I was amazed that with hair, makeup, and lighting I could look like a normal human when I felt like a disintegrating zombie. Lindsay had some major pull with the magazine because the article was flattering to the point of gushing, making a huge deal about “our” excitement about the new addition to the family. No mention was made about my last pregnancy, only the boys. There was also a heavy plug for my previous books. Lindsay must have called in serious favors, and I owed her.

I went to pick up the boys up from school, summoning as much energy as I could to meet their buoyant enthusiasm. I told them I was housesitting for a friend to get some peace and quiet while I worked on another book. It wasn’t the time yet to tell them while they were sitting in the car. I had really missed them, and I found myself tearing up and having to cover it by looking away and busying myself with something.

“Mum, what’s wrong?” Charles asked as I sat quietly in the breakfast room, eating my toast the following morning.

“What do you mean?” I asked surprised.

“We know you keep crying. We can see it, you know.” He sat down next to me. I know you’re not supposed to have favorites, and I loved Edward to the last beat of my heart, but there was something about Charles I just got. It wasn’t that he favored me in looks—both boys took after Jack—but even when he was little, I understood him a bit better. Clearly, it went both ways.

“Your father and I are separating. I need to talk to Edward too. I wasn’t sure when to do it,” I said sadly.

“It’s okay, Mummy.” He gave me a hug. “We thought you guys were going to eventually. It was a bit of a giveaway that you’re living in a different house,” he continued dryly. “Why would you have some of our things here if you’re only housesitting?”

“Really?” I was shocked. “I didn’t think you’d recognize any of it.” I hadn’t brought much with me, though I guess I hadn’t been thinking too clearly because my favorite painting that I had bought on our honeymoon was in the sitting room, and it was fairly distinctive.

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes, in a typical “whatever” teenage way. “Besides, you’re one of the few parents still together, and it’s not like you guys were super affectionate or anything.”

“I’m so sorry. I wanted to give you both good role models, but I guess we didn’t do a great job. It doesn’t have to be like this, you know. I wish I could have shown that to you.”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out. It’s not like you were horrible to each other or anything.” Little did he know, and I was thankful for that.

“So, are we going to get a stepfather soon? Were you really hooking up with that Norwegian actor guy?”

I couldn’t believe we were having this conversation. On the inside, I squirmed uncomfortably.

“No. No stepfather,” I said bluntly, and thankfully, he just nodded and didn’t ask any further questions. I’d spent way too much time dwelling on what a cock-up I’d made of my life, without having to try to explain it to my fourteen-year-old son.

Looking back, I could see that I’d never really given Anders a chance. I didn’t seriously consider his offers of a real relationship, not being able to trust that he was genuine or that I’d ever have the freedom to pursue it. Maybe that’s why he felt the need to take the drastic action of leaking stuff to the media and springing photos of himself with someone else on me with no warning. Not that that made it okay, but I had to accept that my actions had contributed to the situation. With Anders, I’d at least had the chance to have at something genuine and fulfilling, rather than the fraud my precious marriage had been. I had thrown away any potential happiness with Anders out of fear and pride, and it was too late now to go back.

Chapter Twenty-Five

H
AVING
T
HE
B
OYS
A
T
H
OME
turned out to be just what I needed. They took me out of myself and forced me into genuine recovery, seeing friends again, going to the gym, grocery shopping, ending my self-imposed exile. I even told Bats what had really happened and had to stop her from going off to hunt down and shoot Jack, which was nice in a homicidal way. She urged me to go to the police, but all I wanted to do was put it behind me and move on with my life. There was no way either of us were going to get up in court and regurgitate the events of our marriage for the entertainment of the general population. No matter how confidential you tried to keep it, details would always get out. I had a baby to support, and that sort of bad publicity could kill what was left of my reputation.

“So, moving on with your life, huh?” She gave me a skeptical look.

“Well, not just yet. I think the overly large stomach might put off any potential first dates.”

“Okay, after that?” she conceded. “Will you marry again?”

“It might be a bad time to make any firm judgments, given that I’m so horny due to the hormones. At the moment, all I want is a man who can fuck like a bunny and doesn’t talk. He will only be able to speak a few words of English, maybe with a fabulous accent—something Latin and sexy. Strangely too, after watching an equestrian program on TV, I’ve been having fantasies about men who ride horses. It looks like they’d been able to do a good job, so to speak. So my requirements are: young, sexy, Latin, and can ride a horse. That’s it.”

Dear God, it had been a long time since I had sex. I had never been so sexually frustrated and hormonal at the same time. I was ready to jump the next man who was nice to me. Flirty butchers beware…

“I know you. You’re a relationship person. I can’t see you doing the casual sex thing. You’ll meet someone who will love the baby and you, and you’ll be ecstatically happy while I’ll be green with envy.”

“No. I don’t have the energy for it, even if I could find someone who’d be interested.” I sighed. “I’d have to wax.”

“Maybe you can become a trophy wife and get someone to take care of you.”

“Nope, then there’s no sex because they’re too old. What I need is a young, fabulously hot guy who’s ridiculously rich and wants to take care of a knocked-up old lady!” I laughed.

“Hmm…maybe a South American polo player? I’ll keep a lookout. You’re not old,” she said belatedly.

“Thanks.” I rolled my eyes.

The boys decided to go to a friend’s house in France for the rest of the summer holidays. I missed them, but it was great to see their happiness and enthusiasm, even for such a short time. They were growing up, strong independent teenagers, and they didn’t need me so much anymore. It was a bittersweet moment, but it put my pregnancy into perspective. I should have talked to them about it, but the moment never came. As teenagers, they were completely oblivious to the possibility, given I was so ancient and wore nothing tight fitting anyway, and the shock of the separation was enough for the moment. The school fees were paid up until the end of the next school year, but after that, who knew what Edwina would do.

Gradually life resumed, though different from what it had been. I wasn’t particularly good at navel gazing, and it was unlikely that I would be repeating the circumstances of my marriage, so I wasn’t sure what lessons there were to be learned from it all. Don’t marry gay men? Have sex on the first date to make sure it all works properly? Never assume you’re infertile?

My new life had its good points and its bad. I wasn’t particularly happy on my own. I wondered how I was going to manage a baby by myself and what kind of childhood I could give it. Would I still be able to take it to Smith & Gardener with me for a haircut, or would I be surviving on a much-reduced budget by then? We would be living on whatever I could earn, and the next few months would probably be the decider. I hadn’t kept as good a handle on our finances as I should have. I knew what I made, but Jack had handled the mortgage and the proceeds from the sale of the house. We still had the joint accounts, but that would change sooner or later.
God, I wish Picasso’s hadn’t closed down.
I was craving one of their bacon sandwiches really badly right now, flashing back to my previous pregnancies when I had gorged on their salty bacon-y goodness. There was a café on Northcote Road that did them, and they were pretty good, but just not the same.

At night, there was no one around, and the house felt empty. Strange noises in the night kept me awake with a pounding heart, bracing for the sound of footsteps on the stairs that never came. On the upside, I was able to get a lot of work done and cook in the early hours when I couldn’t sleep without fear of disturbing anyone. My cooking felt stilted and robotic, though, and I struggled with ideas. I was also overly obsessed with bacon. Could I do a bacon cookbook? God, I loved bacon. And orange juice. Together was the ultimate. I was on a tasting mission to find the best bacon available in London and was steadily working my way through all the sources. I was also pairing it with new combinations of sauces: maple syrup was divine, though tartar sauce was very odd in a strangely compelling way. Tomato sauce was good too.

Trying to work this time around was a completely different experience from my previous books, especially
Temptations
, which flew out of me with virtually no effort or stress. The only idea I thought might work in my current frame of mine was a book on fast and easy family meals. My working title was
Quick Roasting in the Fires of Hell
. I was thinking I might need to change it before it is published.
If
I got it published. I was hardly a “family” icon now.

A lot of our friends dropped off the radar, clearly deciding that staying friends with Jack was more important. I wasn’t really surprised. At least I knew now who had liked me for me. Bats stayed with me, but her life was busy, and I had a lot more free time now. As hard as I tried, I was lonely.

Somehow I couldn’t see myself on RSVP or speed dating. Being pregnant was a handbrake when it came to getting back into the singles scene. Plus, it had been so long, the thought of dating terrified me. Also, the only person I had been intimate with in years (other than Jack) was Anders, and how could anyone compare with that? Nothing in my life before had come close to it, no one had ever wanted me like that, nor had I wanted someone with that intensity. What were the chances of feeling a spark like that more than once in your life? Or maybe it was just the hormones talking. I wouldn’t know unless I saw him again, but that wasn’t going to happen unless I sought him out. I wasn’t going to, at least not yet. Maybe when I had it a bit more together. Mentally right now, I was in a bad place. To feel I could hold my own with Anders and the world he lived in, I needed to be confident or I would sink under the weight of my own insecurities. My self-esteem was barely treading water as it was.

Bats came over every Wednesday for dinner, pretty much the highlight of my week. At the sound of her knock, I hurried to open the door, but I could tell immediately that something was wrong by how tense she was.

“What’s up?” I asked after pouring her a glass of wine and myself a sparkling water.

“I think you should be sitting down.” She gulped down a slug of wine. “Jack has started seeing Caroline.”

I gasped, feeling like I’d been bitch-slapped. “You are fucking kidding me!” Thinking back to how she treated me when Jack and I had first started seeing each other, it seem almost like it was a deliberate move on Jack’s part.

“No, unfortunately not. Frankly, even I was surprised at the speed at which she dumped her husband once Jack was free. I didn’t know him well, but he seemed nice enough, and it is him I most feel sorry for. On the upside, from what I hear, Edwina is so very happy with Jack because he’s finally with the ‘right’ type of girl, that she’s going to keep paying the school fees for the boys. At least that’s what she told Mother.”

Oh, good God
. I should have pitied her for what she was getting into, but really just then, I hated them both: Jack for being a hypocrite and a coward, scurrying back into the closet as fast as his rat legs would take him, and Caroline for just generally being a completely heartless bitch. Her poor husband. At least they hadn’t had children.

The thing I most regretted about our breakup was how public it had all become, now that we were unable to keep it just between ourselves. Everybody thought they knew what happened, or some version of it, from the Internet and gossip magazines. Of course I’d borne the brunt of the blame, despite Lindsay’s best efforts.

I was now seen as a slightly notorious scarlet woman, though I tried to pay as little attention as I could to horrible things that were being said about me. It was hard to see the headlines on the weekly magazines everywhere, screaming that you’d been dumped by both your “brave” husband (who had finally found love again with his childhood sweetheart) and your “sexy” younger lover (who had been busy living it up with the loveliest young Hollywood things).

Jack hadn’t publicly denied that the baby was his, but neither had he said that it was, which they used for fuel, speculating on the deeper meaning of his silence. I tried not to let it get to me, telling myself that the interest in us would pass soon enough and the vultures would be on to their next victim. Despite all the rumors, there was no actual evidence that I’d had an affair with Anders, so there were no photos of us together or other proof to regurgitate endlessly in the media. It was too easy to deny it ever happened, which shouldn’t have made me sad but it did.