Fiona Gibson 3 Book Bundle. Fiona Gibson
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‘Sorry, Rob, but Kerry can do whatever she likes now. She could get a herd of buffalo if she wanted to.’
‘Tell it like it is,’ he murmurs, wishing he was one of the happy, smiling people around him who are enjoying this pleasant October evening. Of course, Simon’s right, that’s the worst part of it. Rob is vaguely aware that, in directing his focus on a minor aspect of the proceedings – Kerry’s impending acquisition of a crotch-sniffer – he’s attempting to avoid the bigger ones. Like how it’ll be when he sees Freddie and Mia this weekend, the first time since ‘it’ happened. Whether his mum will speak to him or concuss him with her meat cleaver. And, beyond that, Nadine’s pregnancy – culminating in a baby, obviously – and how he intends to deal with that. Birth, nappies, reading bedtime stories to a child whose genetic make-up isn’t fifty percent Kerry’s … not to mention impending bankruptcy when he finds himself supporting two families. Right now, these things feel gargantuan. Who could blame him for fixating on a dog?
‘So how are things with Nadine?’ Simon is asking.
He shrugs. ‘Okay, I guess. Sort of … polite.’
‘So you haven’t, you know …’ He waggles a brow.
‘No,’ Rob hisses, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘It’s not like we’re together, in a proper relationship or anything. It was just that one time. Just a stupid, drunken, flukey thing.’
‘Blimey,’ Simon mutters with a shake of his head. ‘And there’s no way you can, you know … fix things with Kerry and get back together?’
‘No, I’ve tried everything. She won’t even consider it, not even for the kids …’
Simon pats his arm consolingly, and they fall into an uncomfortable silence as Rob lights up another cigarette. He’d looked forward to this drink after work and the chance to talk to someone who’s known him for years, with whom he doesn’t have to put up a pretence of being young and dynamic and remotely interested in some surgically-enhanced model from a TV reality show. He’d imagined making his friend laugh about the terrible Miss Jones column he’s being forced to write, after which they’d launch into an extremely satisfying character assassination of Eddy, Frank and the rest of the team. Rob had also planned to ask if he might be able to stay with Simon if the need arises when he has to move out of the house in a few weeks’ time. Now, though, he’s decided to wrap up the evening as quickly as possible.
‘So,’ Simon ventures, ‘does anyone at work know yet?’
‘No, thank God. She’s only told her close friends, and she’s just broken the news to her parents …’
‘Ah, your new in-laws.’ Simon smiles ruefully. ‘Had the pleasure yet?’
He shakes his head. ‘They live in Zurich and don’t seem to have any plans to come over, as far as I can gather. Nadine said she’s had some pretty intense chats with her mum on the phone, but her dad doesn’t seem that involved.’
‘Until he comes charging at you with a big stick,’ Simon chortles, ‘or a bucket of boiling oil or a bread knife …’
‘Yeah, okay.’ Rob laughs dryly.
‘… And chops your knackers off.’
‘Hmmm.’ Rob blinks at him.
‘Back on the fags, then,’ Simon observes.
‘Yeah. Gonna quit, though,’ he says, stubbing it out. ‘Fancy going inside? It’s a bit nippy out here.’ In truth, Rob doesn’t feel entirely comfortable standing out in the street so close to the office.
With a resigned shrug, Simon heads inside, where they grab the only free table and sit in silence for a few moments, sipping their drinks.
‘Um … can I ask you something?’ Rob starts.
‘Sure, fire away.’
‘Have you ever had a rough patch with Louise? A really bad one, I mean, when you thought you might break up?’
Simon frowns. ‘Nope, never. Love her to bits, mate.’
Rob takes a moment to digest this. ‘I don’t mean that. I know you do. I mean … have you ever done something you really regretted, that could have ruined everything?’
Simon thinks for a moment. Surely he has, Rob reflects. Everyone makes mistakes, don’t they?
‘Oh, yeah,’ Simon says finally. ‘I was painting the garage – you know, with a roller – and it was really windy and when I looked round, one side of her brand new Audi was completely speckled in white.’
Rob frowns at him.
‘I know, you’re speechless, right?’ Simon guffaws. ‘Can you imagine Louise’s face?’
‘Yes, I can,’ he says, shaking his head in disbelief – not about the car, but the fact that, even with his old friend, he has to act like a phoney idiot. What does he care about a speckled car?
‘Anyway, another drink?’ Simon is already out of his seat.
Still feeling a little stung over that knackers quip, Rob shakes his head and quickly drains his glass. ‘No, better get home. Still got that bloody column to finish.’
‘Oh yeah, I heard about that,’ Simon sniggers as they squeeze their way out of the now bustling pub. ‘Not the best timing, is it?’
‘To be a woman? No.’
‘I mean to start dishing out sex advice.’
‘You could say that.’ Rob musters a laugh.
‘Yeah, well, I’m sure things’ll work out,’ Simon says, giving him a firm pat on the back as they part company. Rob looks back just once, catching his friend’s concerned glance as he pulls out his packet of cigarettes and lights up.
*
Although he intended to go home, Rob finds himself not heading for the Tube but following random streets, not really considering where he’s going until he arrives in Baker Street. It’s almost 9 p.m. when he buzzes Nadine’s bell.
‘Hey,’ she says through the intercom, ‘this is a surprise.’
‘Hope you don’t mind?’
‘No, it’s fine – come up.’ She buzzes him in and, when he arrives at the door to her flat, he realises all he wants is company with someone who won’t make jokes about hot oil, or go on about how bloody perfect their relationship is.
They don’t even talk about the baby, not really. Nadine makes him tea, and they chat companionably about her upbringing in Berkshire – horses, lavish dinner parties, all the trappings of the wealthy English countryside – financed by her banker father. Granted, she’s not the most fascinating person Rob has ever encountered – and he’s a little perturbed to discover that her bijoux CD collection consists entirely of chart compilations. Talking to her is like falling into conversation with a pleasant young person on a train, he decides as she goes to refill their mugs. It’s relaxing and enjoyable – but you’re not exactly devastated when they get off at Crewe. You’re not sitting next to her on a train, idiot, he reminds himself sternly. You’re having a child with her. He rearranges his expression into a perky smile when she reappears with tea and toast, thanking her profusely and complimenting the bland abstract print on the living room wall.
‘It’s Mummy’s actually,’ she says. ‘I think she got it in Debenhams.’ Jesus fuck.
‘I really like it,’ he says, wondering where these hitherto undiscovered reserves of fakery are coming from.
Nadine smiles warmly and checks her watch. ‘You can stay tonight if you like. It’s been lovely, chatting with you. Nice and normal after all the craziness.’
‘Well … if you’re sure it’s all right,’ he says hesitantly,