Page 40 of When We Were Friends
‘He wants kids but says it doesn’t matter if we can’t. I’m the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with.’
‘He sounds pretty perfect,’ said Emily.
‘He is, to me,’ said Paige in an almost inaudible voice. ‘Sorry. I don’t know where all this came from. I haven’t told anyone else. Not even Mum and Dad.’
‘A bit like me with the escort business,’ said Tiff and she sighed. ‘Although, to be fair, apart from fretting that dating escorts would never lead to a wedding, Mum would probably worry and not understand the agency is safe, or think that the men might sell their stories if I find more success.’ Tiff shook her said. ‘They say being a parent is hard – being a child ain’t a piece of cake, either.’
The four of them smiled with understanding, like they used to in the old days when one of them was moaning about a parent. How Morgan’s mum and dad would make her earn every penny of her weekly allowance by setting the table, keeping her room tidy, weeding the borders. Whereas Paige’s insisted on teaching her about boring grown-up financial matters, such as tax returns, pension pots and mortgage agreements. Emily’s mum’s latest escapades were the subject of her complaints, before she got ill, anyway. Like the time she went out in a tutu skirt, and how she’d filch Emily’s sanitary products as she always forgot to stock up.
A sensation swelled within Morgan, toasty and comforting, as Paige talked about the nursery plans she’d made and the others made sympathetic noises. Morgan had hoped so much that the spirit of their friendship was still there, the four of them cheering each other on, coaxing out problems, offering support.
‘Tic, tac, toe, okay, my turn,’ said Emily quietly, and she placed her palms together. However, her watch caught her eye. ‘Wow. Look at the time.’
‘I need to get to that shop,’ said Morgan. ‘I don’t want to miss any chance of meeting him. Sorry to stall you, Emily… you’ll tell us later, right?’
Emily had already drained her cup and stood up. Morgan got to her feet too and grabbed her coat. Emily hastily followed as if she’d been let off an extra shift. Paige said she’d be a minute and Tiff followed the other two outside.
22
PAIGE, EMILY, TIFF
Paige sat in front of her empty coffee cup.
’Madame?’ The waiter gave a small bow and handed her a glass of water with a slice of lemon in it.
Her eyes stung as she drank.Don’t be kind to me. Don’t. Paige really had meant to tell the others about Felix but had failed again. When the women had met in New Chapter Café in Deansgate and Morgan had sat on the floor outside the toilets, Morgan had left her handbag and Paige had taken it back to the table. Her eyes had fallen on the official-looking letter sticking out, and one word on it had jumped out. She’d had to go outside to get some fresh air. Shocking as that word had been to read, it made sense of why Morgan had wanted, so badly, to meet up again and spend time rebuilding the friendships, if possible.
And now it felt even harder to reveal Felix’s identity, now that the four of them were closing the space between them. So she’d blurted out another secret instead, about her worries that she’d never have a baby. Her mum had got pregnant days after coming off contraception. She always used this to make sure Paige understood that as long as they were taken properly, precautions were highly effective and gave women choices. Paige’s gran got pregnant on her honeymoon. Paige never thought she’d have problems conceiving. At thirty-five, had she left it too late? Both she and Felix only wanted one child, so where was the harm in delaying? Hers was a happy childhood, close to Mum and Dad in a way she might not have been with a sibling. Felix’s hadn’t been so straightforward. His parents had struggled enough coping with one child so he balked at having more than that.
‘Of course we haven’t left it too late,’ said Felix, the last time they’d discussed it. ‘All in good time.’
‘I’ll be called a geriatric mother on my medical records.’
He’d raised an eyebrow and wiggled it. ‘There’s nothing elderly about your eggs or my sperm.’
Paige had done the research. She ate well. Didn’t drink too much. Or smoke and suffer much stress – not until recently. Lots of women got pregnant in their thirties. Now Olly proved Felix’s fertility was fine so maybe all this meant that there was actually an issue with Paige’s ‘wiring’, as her gran used to call it. She loved Felix. He filled a gap she didn’t know existed. With her doting parents, the lifestyle that left her wanting for nothing, life had felt complete. Felix tore up that story, as if it were a first draft that needed rewriting, the money, the image, fell away, and together, they’d rewritten it. Now, wanting a child had done the same again. This was another reason she’d put off seeing the doctor. She didn’t want being childless to become this big thing between Felix and her.
‘I’m sure it will be fine,’ he’d said. ‘But if having a baby is going to take more work, I’m here, by your side, all of the way. Diet, tablets, injections, whatever it takes, for either of us, however long, whatever the cost. We’re in this together. If we don’t get the outcome we want, there are options. We’ll explore every avenue…’
Paige met Hugo – Felix – again, for the first time in 2016. At twenty-eight years old it had been twelve years since she’d last seen him, at the prom. She was coming out of Harvey Nicks. Ahead of her was a line of wooden festive market huts, the air smelt of hot chocolate and mulled wine, people bustling with bags full of artisan pickles and cheeses. It was a crisp Saturday afternoon, the week before Christmas. Paige had been working so hard, she’d not bought any presents yet. She walked forwards towards a gin tasting stall, taking off her gloves. She’d tried a couple of gin samples. It was her flatmate’s favourite drink. She stood next to a tall man in front of her talking to the gin maker who handed him a plastic bag containing two bottles. The gin maker made a comment and the man laughed.
A punch to her stomach.
She’d only heard a laugh like that a few times, in private, like trickling water that started to run faster, gurgling in an infectious manner. The floppy hairstyle had gone, replaced with a buzz cut. Instead of school uniform, he wore a fur-lined cutler jacket, tight jeans and trainers. There was no mistaking the copper eyes, the wide lips that reminded Paige both of vindictive words and passionate kisses. However, his stance had changed. The slightly hunched shoulders no one else would probably have noticed had been replaced by a straight back. The hands that were often shoved in his blazer pocket, or that touched his nose or pulled on his ears whilst talking were by his sides, palms open. As the gin maker leant forwards, chatting about distillation processes and botanicals, he leant forwards too, head tilted, unlike the Hugo from 2004 who’d lean back when people talked to him and nod whilst looking in a different direction.
Giddy, Paige span around and headed right, towards the Tudor pub, the Old Wellington, not really focusing on where she was going. However, a hand gently caught her arm.
‘Excuse me, you dropped one of your gloves.’
Crap, crap, crap.She came to a halt. Hugo appeared in front of her.
‘Paige? Paige Forbes?’ His mouth fell open.
‘Hugo,’ she’d said, politely and took the glove. ‘Thank you.’
‘Actually it’s Felix now,’ he said. ‘Long story. Wow. How are you?’
‘Fine. You?’ she’d said stiffly.
