They ate the rest of the meal in silence, Netta with her legs crossed on the couch and Mo with one leg hooked over the other in a figure four, Netta’s Ugg boot still dangling from his foot. With every mouthful, Netta’s stomach churned at the thought of the impending conversation. She had to tell him about the miscarriage and her baby plans. She needed to know about Lorena. He owed her an explanation about his vanishing act after Margate.
Mo took her empty plate from her and set it on the coffee table with his. He turned to her, his eyes loaded, his face taut.
‘So,’ he said, ‘we’ve got a bit to catch up on.’
Chapter Fifty-Eight
NETTA
‘It was all a set up,’ said Mo, shaking his head. ‘Lorena rang me and said she needed help with a track she was recording—wanted my input on the production. So, I went. I needed something to focus on, other than … you know.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘She suggested we go for a drink afterwards at this little bar downstairs from the studio and when we left, the place was crawling with photographers.’
‘She’d tipped them off herself?’
‘Yeah, she admitted it later on. I know it looked we’d been on a date or something but, honestly, I have no interest in Lorena.’ He rubbed at the back of his neck and caught Netta’s eye. ‘She’s no Netta Phillips.’
His comment hovered like a hot air balloon, straining against its tether to lift them above this strange, foggy situation they found themselves in. Mo held eye contact, but Netta quickly broke it, shifting her gaze down to her hands clutched together in her lap.
‘The thing is,’ Netta started, her mouth contorting against a sudden urge to cry, ‘I don’t thinkI’mNetta Phillips anymore, either. At least, not the one you knew in England.’
Mo took her hand in his. ‘What do you mean?’
A well opened in Netta’s core, hunching her body, her heart faltering in her chest. ‘I’m just… differentnow,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same again, after what’s happened.’
‘Oh God, Netta.’ Mo’s face was a picture of remorse. ‘I’m so sorry for what I did to you, I didn’t mean—’
‘Not you,’ managed Netta, her voice hoarse. She pulled her hand from his and he leaned back, as though sensing she needed space. ‘After I got home, I found out …’ She drew a deep, shuddery breath. ‘I was pregnant.’
Mo’s eyes widened. Struck silent, he pointed to his chest and raised his eyebrows.
‘No, it wasn’t yours,’ Netta said, shaking her head. ‘It was Pete’s. I didn’t know, but I was pregnant before I even left for London.’
Mo was silent for a moment. ‘Hang on, you saidwas? As in, past tense?’
Netta straightened and gave the tiniest of nods. ‘I had a miscarriage a few weeks ago.’ She pressed her lips together and fought the gathering tears, avoiding looking at Mo. ‘It was … awful.’
‘Netta, I’m so sorry.’ Mo reached out to hold her, but she shied from his touch, sure it would dissolve her to nothing.
‘I was so happy—completely terrified, but happy—when I got that positive test result, even though I knew it was Pete’s baby. And when I lost it …’ Netta took a breath to balance her thoughts before she continued. ‘When I lost it, I felt soempty.Being pregnant just felt so right.Like I was finally in the right place after driving around aimlessly without a map.’ She looked up to meet his concerned gaze. ‘It made me realise how much I want a baby though. And it forced me to face up to the fact that I don’t have much time on my hands. I’m forty now. I can’t wait any longer. I’ve started the process of doing it alone and I’m using the money from the gala to pay for it.’
Mo was silent as he digested her announcement. ‘You’ll be an amazing mum, Netta,’ he said. ‘Perfect.’
Netta smiled her thanks. ‘I don’t think the perfect mother exists,’ she said. ‘But I know I’ll always do my best—if I’m lucky enough to get pregnant again, that is.’ She took a sip of the glorified grape juice to regroup and shifted on the couch. ‘But if it doesn’t work out and I can’t have a baby, at least I won’t have to grow old regretting not trying.’
Mo stared at the Ugg boot still dangling from his left foot. ‘I hope it works out for you. You deserve it, Netta.’
‘So, yeah. That’s that, I guess,’ she said. ‘What about you? You seem a bit different now, too.’
Mo kicked the Ugg boot off and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. ‘Yeah. You could say that.’
‘Tell me.’
‘My recording deal’s off the table, for starters.’
‘So not just a hiatus, then?’
His smile was sombre. ‘No. But big picture—it was my doing. I knew it would happen if I didn’t deliver, and I didn’t. Couldn’t. I can’t be bitter about it—it was my own call, really.’
‘What will you do now?’ Netta flicked the lamp on the side table on, its soft glow lighting the darkening room. ‘And what about the expansion of Play On? Is that off the cards now?’
