Page 43 of Love, Accidentally

‘OK. Promise me one thing though.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t give up. I long to see you settled down and starting a family of your own. I mean I know I’ve got Natasha and the devil child, as she calls him, but I’ve always dreamt of being surrounded by lots of lovely grandchildren.’

‘Mum,’ I say in a warning tone. This is a conversation we’ve had a few times lately and it never ends well.

‘You don’t even need a partner any more,’ she persists after a short silence.

‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘You could go to one of those sperm banks. Apparently, they’re all the rage with your generation.’

‘Mum!’

‘What?’

‘I’m not using a sperm donor, OK?’

‘Shame. I read somewhere that you get to choose the donor based on all sorts of attributes. You could have a Scandinavian professor or something. Do you think it would be a good idea to freeze some eggs, just in case? I’m sure your father could help with the cost if necessary.’

‘Are you for real?’

‘Just thinking of all the possibilities, darling. More tea?’

* * *

Unsurprisingly, my conversation with my mother hasn’t really done anything to calm me down, and I still feel like a lead weight is sitting on my chest as I drive away. Luke may have no difficulty shifting the blame on to other people, but I can’t just shrug off my guilt like that. The rational part of me knows that I’m just as much of a victim of Luke’s duplicity as Cindy is, but that doesn’t stop me feeling responsible. My mind is a vortex of ‘What ifs’ and ‘If onlys’ as I thread my way through the afternoon school-run traffic. The pavements are crammed with teenagers in school uniforms, and I’m trying to distract myself by casting my mind back to the simpler times of my own schooldays when a street sign catches my eye. I must have driven past it without noticing it thousands of times before, so it takes me a moment to work out why it’s standing out now. It’s the name of the street on the piece of paper that Jonathan Barwell gave me.

It’s just idle curiosity, I tell myself as I switch on my indicator and make the turn. I can’t even remember which number is his house; I’m just driving down here to get a sense of the kind of neighbourhood he and Will would live in. In my mind, I can picture him in one of those 1930s semis, with a concrete driveway and a garage to the side. Inside would be fairly dark, with lots of antique furniture and maybe a grandfather clock, its tick being the only thing disturbing the silence as Jonathan works on his crossword.

I’m only a few yards in before I realise that my preconceptions are miles off. The houses here are large and detached, with immaculate front lawns and shiny SUVs on almost every driveway. Some even have elaborate hanging baskets outside, with bright flowers cascading down from them. Around halfway down, I have to stop behind a bright pink van with ‘Gina’s Cleaners’ written on it in a swirly font in order to let an enormous black Range Rover come the other way. It completely dwarfs the woman behind the wheel, who ignores me as she sweeps regally past.

‘No, thank you too,’ I mutter darkly as I start to pull round the van, only for my heart to jump into my throat. This road is completely devoid of actual people, apart from the one unloading what looks like shopping from the boot of a small hatchback that doesn’t fit the upmarket vibe of the rest of the street at all. As I pull level with the van, Will raises his eyes and, if the surprised expression on his face is anything to go by, my attempt at an incognito drive-by has just gone up in flames. Shit.

I’m frantically trying to think of a plausible explanation for being here as I pull over again and lower the window. My initial plan to tell him this is a street I drive down all the time is derailed when I glance further down the road and realise this is a cul-de-sac. I could pretend to know someone in one of the other houses, but that’s way too risky. I know people in these types of neighbourhoods tend to keep themselves to themselves, but it would be just my luck to pick a house at random and find Will actually knows the people that live there. In the absence of anything better, I decide to go with a version of the truth.

‘Hello, Tilly. This is a surprise.’ To my relief, Will seems curious rather than suspicious.

‘I was visiting my mum,’ I explain. ‘As I was in the area anyway, I thought I’d just check in to see how you were doing.’

‘Wow. The NHS really has upped its game. I didn’t know discharge-day home visits were part of the service now.’ He’s smiling broadly, but I can feel my skin flushing with embarrassment. ‘Are you going to switch off the engine and come in?’ he asks after an uncomfortable pause. ‘Dad would be delighted to see you.’

‘Umm, yes, of course,’ I stutter as I reach for the key.

‘I didn’t leave him on his own,’ Will says earnestly as I grab a couple of bags from the boot of his car to help. ‘The cleaner’s here, so I took the opportunity to pop to the supermarket for supplies.’

‘It’s fine,’ I reassure him. ‘I’m not checking up on you, I promise. How is he?’

‘Good, I think. Being back in his own space has cheered him up no end. He was getting quite grumpy and fidgety while we were stuck in the discharge lounge waiting for the green light to go. Who calls it the discharge lounge anyway? Sounds like some kind of disease.’

I smile. ‘I’ll tell Mike, my flatmate. It’s part of his domain. Anyway, how are you doing?’

He smiles back. ‘I’m not the patient here.’

‘That doesn’t mean you’re not important as well. It’s a lot of responsibility for you to shoulder, and you’ve had to put your life on hold. If you’re struggling…’

‘I’ve only had him home for a couple of hours,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Even I can cope with that.’

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