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Chapter Eleven

‘So this is where you’ve been hiding.’ Yvette sashayed across the yard, dressed in skintight leather trousers and a huge, puffy coat. ‘You haven’t returned any of my calls, Ricky baby. And when I went to our flat, it looks like a bomb went off.’

‘I’m having work done at my flat. And you never called me.’ He could feel Angela’s eyes on him, and he still had her perfume in his nose from kissing her just a few moments earlier. ‘We broke up.’

‘No we didn’t, silly. And I called you lots. You just never answered.’ She pouted. ‘But I forgive you, baby.’

‘For what?’

‘For being naughty and not calling me back.’ The pout deepened to full-on photo pose and she flipped her hair.

‘Yvette,’ he kept his voice firm. ‘You texted me something about being on a yacht with your girlfriend Jean. And that was it. I’ve not heard from you in two months. And I didn’t expect to, because we broke up, remember?’

‘No we didn’t, silly. That was just a little lovers’ tiff. We’re so much better than that, baby.’ She wrapped a hand around his arm, her perfectly manicured nails clawing into his jumper. ‘Come on, let’s leave this smelly place and these stinky animals and go somewhere to catch up and talk.’

‘Yvette.’ He gently peeled her fingers off his arm one by one. ‘As far as I’m concerned we have nothing to talk about.’

‘But of course we do, darling. We have to talk about our future.’

‘Yvette, I don’t know how to make this any clearer, but we don’t have a future.’

‘Of course we do, Ricky.’ The name and her simpering tone made his teeth clench.

‘No. We don’t.’ He shot Angela an apologetic glance over the top of Yvette’s head. He had no idea what his ex wanted — that was very firmly, very clearly all she was to him — and he really hoped Angela understood that too. The only other person he needed to convince was Yvette.

‘But of course we do, Ricky. We need to talk about the baby.’

The bottom dropped out of his world as her words penetrated his brain. She couldn’t possibly be saying what he thought she was saying. They’d always been so careful . . . Even after swallowing twice, the words were a half-squeak that sounded nothing like his usual voice. ‘What baby?’

‘Our baby, of course, silly.’ She unzipped the huge coat and thrust out her stomach. ‘Our baby.’

‘You . . . what . . . how . . . ?’

‘Come on. We need to talk about our future. About our family.’ She rested her hand on the tiny but life-changing bump. ‘Take me home.’

‘Angela . . . I’m . . .’

‘It’s fine.’ She was ashen, her voice shaky, and she wouldn’t look at him. ‘Go.’

‘But . . .’

‘Just go, Rick.’ She still wouldn’t meet his gaze.

‘Come on, baby. You heard what she said.’ Yvette’s claws wound back around his arm, dragging him away from where he really wanted to be. They were halfway down the drive, him being dragged away from Bill’s and Angela, before he realised what was really bothering him and turning his stomach: Angela had called him Rick, not Ryan. And that really left a bad taste in his mouth.

He listened to Yvette prattle away as he walked back to the cottage, his feet moving automatically as she whittered about getting his car out of storage, painting rooms and names for the baby he really didn’t want to have — not with her. Obviously he’d step up, look after it and support her — he wasn’t a total arse. At least, not anymore, but how the fuck had this happened? Well, he knew how it happened, but he knew he’d always been careful . . . hadn’t he? And she was supposed to be on something. He definitely remembered seeing her pills in his bathroom. To have two lots of birth control fail — what were the odds against that?

‘When do you think this happened?’

‘What?’ She looked at him, confused for a moment.

‘When did it happen? I mean, we were always careful . . . I was trying to figure out where we . . .’ He trailed off, not wanting to say what he was thinking. ‘I mean, when it happened.’

‘Before your accident. Don’t you remember? I changed pills.’

Did he remember that? He wasn’t sure.

‘Oh my God this place is so cute!’ Yvette squealed as he opened the front door, snatching away his train of thought. ‘Why haven’t you been ’gramming this cottage? It’s like out-of-a-film-set cute!’