Part 14 (1/2)

None of which bothers her now. She is used to her life, loves her life, and only ever misses the sophistication and glamour of London when she a very occasionally a goes back there, but today she isn't sure she is up to the pretence. Today she isn't sure she can stand there and make small talk about softball, or gossip about coaches, or ask questions about how the house renovation is coming along.

Today she'd much rather stay at home and hide. If it wasn't for Alanna, forgiving, loving, lovely Alanna, that is exactly what she would do. She is wearing yoga pants that are stretched to a s.h.i.+ne over her burgeoning b.u.mp, with a long tunic-style T-s.h.i.+rt and a voluminous scarf that drapes round her neck and falls in generous folds, covering her torso in swathes of linen.

If they don't know she's pregnant they might not necessarily guess today. Gabby takes a deep breath. She doesn't have to do anything other than smile and be polite. And if Claire is there, which she undoubtedly will be, maybe they can grab a coffee afterwards. Perhaps when Claire sees Gabby at the Poetry Cafe she will be able to forgive her; perhaps she will be able to be a true friend still.

Chapter Twenty-One.

As usual, Gabby is late. She pops into the school office to sign in, then walks quickly down the hallway to the library. The homeroom teacher is talking, introducing the Language Arts project, as Gabby waves at the couple of women who look up to see who has come in.

In the front row is Claire. She does not turn round but Gabby can see her profile and would recognize her anywhere.

Next to her is Elliott.

Gabby is shaken. She takes a seat in the back row, her mind whirring. Why is Elliott here? He never comes to school events; he is always too busy with work to make it to anything. How did he even organize his schedule to be here, and why? This is her domain; it has always been her domain. She looks around the room at the handful of other fathers that are always there, fathers who work from home, who run their own hedge funds in town, who are on *gardening leave', the ironic but oh-so-handy euphemism for being unemployed.

Elliott is not one of those fathers. Had this happened before she would have been delighted; nothing would have made her happier than Elliott turning up unexpectedly at an event at school. But now this feels like a betrayal. She cannot take her eyes off the back of his head. He is her husband, the man she loves. He shouldn't be sitting over there, so far away. If he is here, he should be by her side.

But the chasm between them is growing wider and wider, and she still struggles to understand how something so good can fall apart so quickly and so easily. It doesn't make sense to her that everything they have built up over twenty years can be ruined by one moment of madness.

Claire turns and looks straight at Gabby, who smiles awkwardly and raises her hand in an almost-wave. Claire smiles in return, then turns back. Gabby watches to see if she will tell Elliott, and sure enough, a couple of minutes later, Claire tilts her head to Elliott's and clearly tells him. Gabby knows this because his shoulders tense immediately, while hers sag in dismay.

Elliott has been avoiding her, and Olivia refuses to see her. Gabby drives Alanna back and forth to Claire's house to stay with Elliott, never getting out of the car, texting Alanna from her position of safety if she needs to let her know she is outside. She asks Alanna if Dad is coming out, but Alanna always says no, and Gabby doesn't want to put her in the middle, doesn't want to ask Alanna to tell Elliott to come outside.

Nor can she walk up the garden path and into the house in the way she has done a million times before. This house is now surrounded by an invisible barrier that keeps Gabby out. Gabby isn't the type to trample on boundaries, to walk into homes where she knows she is unwanted. She has already pictured the look of shock and dismay on the faces of all of them should she have the temerity to walk into the kitchen.

No. That isn't something Gabby will be doing.

Alanna steps up to the front of the cla.s.s, a piece of white paper held firmly in her hands. Poised and confident, she reads a poem she has written about fall. Gabby's heart threatens to burst with pride. Cheering and clapping, she has to physically restrain herself from jumping up and throwing her arms round her little girl.

As Alanna goes back to her seat Gabby catches Elliott staring at his daughter, and the expression on his face is exactly the same as on hers. Pride and love. An acknowledgment of the extraordinary girl they have created.

If only he would look at Gabby that way too.

Gabby is standing by the table that has been covered with paper plates of snacks: chocolate-chip cookies, cut-up chunks of cantaloupe, cheese sticks, grapes, chocolate brownies.

The children have raided the snack table, but Gabby is helping herself to the brownies. She would not normally allow herself to eat them but she is pregnant a although never, during her last two pregnancies, did she use that as an excuse to eat whatever she wanted. She remembers being terrified of becoming a whale, of never being able to get rid of the excess weight.

This time round she doesn't care. She's a pregnant single mother, or at least it looks that way. If she can't comfort herself with food, what hope is left?

She turns, chewing a mouthful of brownie, to find herself inches from Elliott, so achingly familiar and lovely it almost makes her burst into tears there and then. His twinkling blue eyes. The stubble that never goes away, even immediately after he shaves. His Barbour, the coat she bought him for his fortieth birthday, which smells of waxed cotton and of Elliott, and is so lived-in and loved it is now as soft as silk. All of him is hers. Was hers. His strong, masculine hands. His salt-and-pepper hair, as tousled as ever. She wants to reach up, as she always does, to tuck the stray bits back, but she no longer has that right.

This is her husband, her man, her best friend. The man to whom she has told everything for twenty years, yet now she finds herself looking at him with no idea what to say.

Elliott clears his throat. *Hi.'

*Hi.'

There is an awkward silence.

*You look good.' She is lying, because in fact he looks terrible. His face is gaunt, his clothes are hanging off him.

*I look terrible,' he says.

*You're right. I'm sorry. You look terrible. Can I just ...' And she reaches up to tuck back his hair, except when he realizes what she's doing he turns his head sharply, so she brushes the air and has to withdraw her hand, embarra.s.sed. *I'm sorry,' she says again. *Just ... your hair.'

*Oh. Right.' He brushes it back himself. *Alanna was good, wasn't she?'

*I was so proud.' Gabby puts her hand on her heart. *Our little girl. Who knew she had such a talent for poetry? And performing!'

*Who knew?' echoes Elliott.

*How did you get time off work?'

*Harvey's taking my patients while I'm here. I thought it best, while we figure things out, to be there for the kids. They need both of us. Especially now.'

Gabby tries to swallow the lump in her throat. *Elliott, can we talk? I know it's been only a few weeks, and I know you may not be ready, but there's stuff we have to figure out. I can't keep driving Alanna back and forth, and I need to see Olivia.'

*She doesn't want to see you.'

*I know. But I'm her mother. She and I have to work this out. Please, Elliott. Can we at least have coffee? Can we just sit down and talk about it?'

Elliott thinks, then nods. *Okay. Coffee.'

*Do you want to come over after this?'

*No!' He is vehement. Nothing would cause him more pain right now than going back to the house he no longer lives in, back to the life he has been forced to leave. *I'll meet you at Starbucks on the Post Road. In an hour?'

Gabby, seeing a glimmer of hope, agrees. *Okay. An hour.' She walks towards the door, turning, surprised, when she feels a hand on her arm. It is Claire.

*How are you?' Claire's face is filled with sadness.

*Pretty terrible. How are you?'

*Okay. Fat. Emotional. Tired.'

*How's Elliott?'

*You were just talking to him.'

*I know, but you're with him every night, Claire. How is he?'

Claire looks at her for a few seconds before shrugging. *He's pretty terrible too. He cries at night. A lot. Sometimes I have to take him in my arms and hold him until he stops. Tim has tried to take him out with the boys for a drink, to take his mind off it, but he doesn't want to do anything other than sit on the sofa and cry. He pretends to be okay until Olivia goes to bed, but then his pain just fills the house and a'