‘Tracey and I had a thing, ages ago, before I met you, and a few months ago she broke up with her partner and things have been a bit flirty between us since then, I guess. It’s just a bit of fun at work. We don’t see each other outside of the office.’
‘But you text?’
‘Yeah, occasionally.’
‘And you’ve told her you’re not sure about the baby?’
‘Not in those words, exactly,’ he said. ‘But I think maybe she’s put two and two together from a conversation we had the other day.’
Netta took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. ‘And does two and two make four, Pete? Is it true?’
‘No. Yes. Sort of,’ he stammered. ‘It’s true that I’m not sure about it anymore.’
‘I’m sorry, what?’ Netta felt explosive, like there were only seconds to count down before she self-destructed. ‘I thought you wanted it as much as I do!’
‘I did!’ he said. ‘IthoughtI did. But then when it wasn’t happening, I started thinking …’ He trailed off, his eyes trained on the table. ‘Thinking that maybe if we couldn’t, it wouldn’t be so bad, you know? It might even be a good thing.’
Netta felt as though he’d slapped her across the cheek.
‘Having a baby is a big deal, Netta,’ he said, his tone pleading. ‘It’s hard. Everything changes. And I’m forty-eight. I guess I just feel like maybe I’ve done my time, you know? With Hannah and Sam.’
‘Christ, Pete, you make parenthood sound like prison!’
‘Trust me, Netta, it feels like that sometimes! You have no idea what it’s going to be like until you’re in it.’
‘But if that’s how you feel, why did you agree to try for a baby?’ said Netta, wrestling her voice into a level, measured tone. ‘What would you have done if I’d gotten pregnant? Run for the hills?’
‘No!’ Pete’s head hung over his bare chest. ‘I know trying is important to you. And if you get pregnant, I’ll do it, you know? Be a dad. I won’t leave you high and dry holding a baby. I guess …’ he paused, as though working out how to devastate her as tidily as possible. ‘I guess I just don’t want it as much as you do, that’s all.’
‘I can’t believe this is happening.’
Pete’s eyes met hers then flicked to a coffee stain on the table. He rubbed at it distractedly. ‘I don’t really know what to say.’
‘I want to see the text trail between you and Tracey.’ The words were out before Netta even knew they were on their way. She’d never pried into someone’s phone before, but there was too much at stake here and, quite frankly, fuck it. ‘From the start.’
Pete dropped heavily into a chair, his belly protruding over the top of his boxers, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. When he removed them, his expression gave him away— it was clear he already knew exactly how screwed he was. He straightened a little, scrolled up to the top of the message chain and pushed the phone across the table to Netta with a defeated sigh.
Doubt writhed in Netta’s stomach. Once she saw what she suspected she was going to, she would never be able to unsee it. She thumbed down through weeks’ worth of messages, bile rising in her throat with every innuendo, every mention of the things they used to do to each other, every revolting pet name Tracey called him. It was way past ‘a bit of fun at work’. This was straight-up betrayal, whether it had gotten physical or not. Pete, who had just moments ago been comforting her on the couch, who she’d thought was her safe harbour, who she’d been so sure would be the father of her baby, was no better than Mitch fucking Carlton.
She came to the end of the message chain with a jolt. ‘Gross, Pete,’ she said. ‘Is this why you were horny that night we did it in the toilet? Did you want sex withmebecauseshesent you this?’ She turned the phone to show him the photo Tracey had sent while they’d been watchingBreaking Bad. The curve of a breast, a hint of lace.
Pete’s colour drained. He shook his head. ‘No, Netta—’
‘Nope.’ She held her free hand up to him to stop and dropped the phone to the table. ‘Sleep on the couch. Or go and sleep at Tracey’s. I don’t care.’
She swept out of the kitchen and made it to the bedroom before the tears came, hot and uncontrollable, her barren body curled into a ball with her back against the door as her life—herfuture—crumbled around her.
Chapter Eight
NETTA
The next morning, before her eyes were even open, Netta felt Pete sit on the edge of the bed and reach for her under the sheet. His fingers trailed the side of her waist, over her hip and onto her thigh, the dry warmth of his palm pressing into her skin. For a split, sleepy second, she welcomed it, but as her awareness grew, the revelations of the previous night swooped through her mind like a grass fire, setting flames to her skin under his touch.
She shoved his hand away, rolled over and sat up to face him. He was dressed and ready for the office but looked pitiful and unslept, his face arranged into an expression of pathetic apology. A small box sat in the palm of his hand. He opened it to reveal a diamond ring.
‘Netta, will you marry me?’
‘Are you serious?’
