So where did he, Mark, fit in to all this? He was an absent brother and a pretty crap son, with little idea what to say to any of them, and even less notion of how he could take charge. Out of everyone who had been involved in the family counselling session, he had been the limp lettuce. It made unpleasant thinking.
But here was one thing he could do something about. Chloe meant a lot to him, and he had to tell her before her husband came back. Alex had been gone for a while now – really, how would those two ever get back on track after this? Whereas he and Chloe might just be able to… The last time, they’d been young, inexperienced, ambitious. This time Mark felt more confident that he could settle down, and that his career wouldn’t suffer unduly.
And if she’d lost the child, as Neil had implied, he could tell her now without there being anything in the way. There could be other children for Chloe. Mark had no objections to starting a family sooner rather than later. It might be better if Chloe left the firm, anyway; there could be problems if the two of them continued to work together.
Chloe’s mother opened the door.
‘Mark, it’s been a while,’ she said, civilly holding out a hand.
‘Hello, Margaret,’ he replied, shaking it. ‘Is Chloe up and about?’
‘She’s in the sitting room.’
Mark went on ahead and rounded the doorway into the lounge. He stopped in shock. Chloe’s face was pale, her eyes had dark circles underneath them, and she was nestled under a duvet surrounded by pillows.
‘Bloody hell!’ he said.
Chloe smiled. ‘Did you just think I was skiving?’ she asked. ‘Nope, I am actually not feeling so great.’
‘I can see.’ Mark sat down opposite her. It wasn’t quite how he’d imagined pouring out his heart – he’d have preferred her well and seated opposite him in a restaurant somewhere so that it felt more romantic – but she didn’t look like she’d be going out any time soon, and this couldn’t wait.
‘I’ve put all the Abbott papers over there.’ She indicated a pile on the table nearby. ‘Do we need to go through anything?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll call you if I have any questions.’ Mark paused. ‘I also came to find out how you are.’ He moved closer and took her hand. ‘I’ve been really worried about you.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘Just got to take it easy.’
‘So,’ he began, nervous of the answer to the question he was about to pose. ‘Did you… are you…?’
Chloe looked puzzled.
‘I got the impression, from Neil, that you might have lost the baby,’ Mark blurted.
Chloe looked surprised. ‘No! And thank god! I don’t know where he got that from.’
As he watched her rubbing her belly, Mark tried to take in this information, and what it meant for them. What should he do now?
‘It gave me a scare, but I’ve just got to rest up a little and it should all be fine. I’m really sorry about the Abbott case, though, leaving you in the lurch,’ she said.
Mark’s mind had wandered. ‘What?… Oh, don’t worry. I can handle it.’
‘I’ve no doubt about that,’ Chloe laughed. She paused, and looked at Mark curiously as he sat awkwardly opposite her. ‘Is there something on your mind, Mark?’
Mark looked down. He still had hold of her hand. She was watching him, meekly, sweetly. She was waiting. Could it work with a baby that wasn’t his? Should he speak? He had an innate feeling that this was his one opportunity, right here and now.
‘Chloe, I’ve been thinking…’ he began. He cleared his throat. ‘About us.’ He cleared his throat again and patted his chest. Get a grip, man.
Chloe was looking a little uncomfortable, he noticed, but it was too late to back out now. He ploughed on desperately. ‘These last few weeks I’ve come to realise -’
‘Mark, don’t.’ Chloe put a hand on his arm and shook her head as she looked at him. He fell silent, appalled at how this seemed to be unfolding.
‘I have really enjoyed spending time with you recently. You have been such a good friend -’ she paused, seemingly lost for words, while Mark stared down at the slick lines ironed into his trousers.
‘Mark,’ she tried again, ‘I’m so -’
He knew for sure that he didn’t want her pity. ‘Forget it,’ he cut in, more abruptly than he intended, and waved his hand dismissively. Chloe reached across to touch his arm again, but he moved away. ‘No need to feel sorry for me, Chlo,’ he said, a slight coldness to his tone. ‘It’s not like anything has changed. Friends?’
He held out his hand formally, and ignored her amused expression.
‘Friends,’ she smiled, taking his hand and giving it an agreeable shake.
‘And perhaps not so much criticism of my husband in future?’ she added.
‘Actually, he really does deserve it at the moment,’ Mark retorted.
Chloe opened her mouth and then closed it again. Because, unfortunately, Mark was right.
There seemed to be little else they could find to say. Mark was about to make his excuses when Margaret came in with tea, so he was forced to sit in excruciating awkwardness and try to sip it down quickly while it was still scalding hot. He was relieved to be finally given a reprieve from this torture by his ringing phone. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, rummaging in his pocket. He flicked open the lid without even registering who was on the other end; he was just grateful to them for buying him some thinking time.
The voice that began speaking was frazzled with worry. Mark listened, his eyes widening.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ he eventually spluttered.
Chloe’s eyes were saucer-wide as she watched his expression change. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘What is it, Mark?’
95
The flight home had taken Amy and Alex into a kind of limbo-land. They hadn’t talked much during it. There was either too much or too little to say, and neither of them knew where to begin.
Amy had spent a lot of the time remembering the idyllic few days at the beach – just them, together again, something she’d had only in her dreams for ten years. They were still good together, she could tell. So right for each other. If only…
When they had cleared customs at Heathrow, neither of them knew what to do next.
‘Shall we go for a coffee?’ Amy asked eventually.
Alex nodded, his face weary.
They collected watery coffee from a kiosk and found a table free of debris. Alex stared into his cup, brooding, as though looking for answers in the brown murk.
‘Al,’ Amy tried, gently.
Alex just shook his head. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes.
‘What am I meant to do now, Amy?’ he asked. His voice was an entreaty, a plea for an answer she couldn’t give him.
She reached over and grabbed his hand. ‘Al,’ she took a deep breath, ‘I still love you. I can’t change that. But I understand the situation you’re in. And I won’t hold your decisions against you.’
Alex shook his head, his eyes growing tearful. ‘Fuck,’ he growled, banging his fist on the table and looking down at his steaming coffee as it slopped over the edge of his mug.
‘Look,’ Amy said, wondering where she was summoning her words from. ‘Just listen to yourself. That’s all you can do. You and I – we’ll -’ she had to fight through her own emotions to say it ‘- we’ll never be history, it’s not possible.’
Alex looked up, his face wretched, listening to her intently.
‘You and I,’ she continued, ‘we share something, something that I don’t think can be broken. But it’s not just about us any more, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about that.’
‘Amy, I don’t know what you’re saying.’
She tried out a quick laugh, but there was no merriment in it. ‘Neither do I, really. But, Al, if you can take your guilt out of the equation for just one moment, if you can bring yourself into the here and now, don’t you know what you want, really – don’t you know, deep down, what you’re going to do next? Aren’t you holding yourself back because of the pain you might cause, or experience, not because you don’t know?’