The No-Kids Club Read online

  Anna shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so.’ Michael leaving his video games for a whole weekend was an event she’d definitely have remembered.

  Michael put an arm around her, drawing her close. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, hon. I was sure I’d told you. We’ve been talking about it at work for ages. This place is supposed to be spectacular! And we’re going to visit a whisky distillery, too.’ The words tumbled out of him. It was the first time she’d heard her husband so excited in ages—at least since the latest Xbox release.

  Anna leaned her forehead on his shoulder so he couldn’t see the tears filling her eyes. The idyllic weekend was slowly fading away, a bitter disappointment seeping in to take its place.

  ‘We’ll be back Sunday afternoon,’ he said. ‘So what do you have planned for the next few days? Are you working? Big night out with the girls?’

  Anna swallowed hard to keep down her emotions. A big night out with the girls? As if. And she’d traded her shifts at work, thinking she’d be away all weekend. Empty space stretched before her like a desert.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she responded, forcing her voice to sound bright. ‘I’ll find something. Have fun.’

  ‘I will.’ Michael’s lips met hers, then he pulled her in for a hug. She felt numb in his arms, her head still trying to understand that she wasn’t going anywhere. ‘I’ll give you a call tomorrow—it’ll be too late by the time we arrive tonight.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Guess we’d better set off. I’ll see you Sunday.’ And with that, he zipped closed the suitcase, dropped a kiss on her cheek, and lifted a hand as he walked through the door.

  Anna stayed frozen in place as she listened to his feet thumping down the stairs, the bustle and excited voices of the men as they gathered their things, then the bang of the door as it closed behind them. Silence filtered through the house, cloaking it with loneliness.

  She sank onto the downy pillows of the bed. There was so much she should be doing—cancelling their flight, letting the hotel know they wouldn’t be checking in—but that all made the ruin of the weekend seem real. Not only that, but the one occasion her husband did drag himself from his lair, it hadn’t been to spend time with her. It’d been to pal around with his workmates, who he saw every day.

  It wasn’t Michael’s fault, she told herself again, staring up at the ceiling. Besides, she could always rebook—if she could get the cash back. But despite her attempts to rationalise his leaving, she couldn’t push aside the feeling that no matter what she did, nothing was revitalising their relationship. And on top of everything, she seemed to be the only one who noticed—or cared.

  If Michael was happy, perhaps she should just leave it. He certainly didn’t appear bothered by how things were going. Maybe she shouldn’t be, either.

  But even as she closed her eyes, Anna knew that wasn’t the answer. The only problem was, she didn’t know what was.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Clare pivoted in front of the mirror on Saturday night, raising an eyebrow at her reflection. Were the black jeans and jade-green blazer too formal or just right? Did these high heels make her look like she was trying too hard? And did she really need to be wearing the lacy lingerie? Better safe than sorry, she thought, grimacing as she pictured her usual greying cotton underwear. Nicholas would run away screaming if she sported those undergarments.

  Truthfully, sex was the last thing she fancied. With all her night shifts, she was used to being exhausted, but this queasiness . . . She took a swig of Gaviscon, hoping this would do the trick, because she was really looking forward to tonight.

  She’d rung Nicholas after returning from her parents’ house, keen to banish the past—and Edward—from her mind, and ready to embrace the life she wanted. Nicholas had been full of enthusiasm, saying he knew just the place for dinner. He’d made no explanation for the silence since they’d last met, but Clare wasn’t bothered. They were their own people; they didn’t need to account for what they got up to when they weren’t together. Who wanted to hear all those boring details, anyway?

  Tam’s words about separating different parts of her life came to mind, and Clare shook her head. She might have meant just the present and the past, but Clare saw nothing wrong with keeping other bits of your life separate, too—it certainly made things easier to deal with.

  Okay, so she still hadn’t succeeded in packaging up Edward’s memories. She’d deleted his message, but just last night Clare had dreamed they were together again, up on his tiny rooftop. He’d been sipping the port he loved and reading one of those thick novels Clare never wanted to invest so much time in. She lay next to him, wrapped up in blankets as the lights of London glowed in the sky. When her eyes had snapped open this morning and she realised she’d never see him again, her insides squeezed painfully. She’d thrown off the covers, forcing herself to think about tonight . . . and Nicholas.

  The flat buzzer sounded, and Clare glanced at her watch. Seven p.m.—right on time. She sprayed on some perfume, then hurried to the entrance.

  ‘Hello.’ Swinging open the door, she smiled at Nicholas. Clad in a slim-fitting cream jumper and a tailored pair of jeans, he was even more handsome than she remembered.

  ‘Hello, yourself.’ He grinned and leaned down to kiss her cheek. ‘Ready? I’ve booked a fantastic place.’

  Clare nodded. ‘More than ready. So where are we going?’ she asked as they went out into the chilly night. Drizzle hung in the air, making Clare’s face feel cold and clammy.

  ‘It’s a new spot that just launched over in Camden. Top-class DJ and fantastic sushi.’

  ‘Fabulous,’ Clare managed to say, despite her stomach turning at the thought of sushi. Given her tricky tummy, raw fish was the second last thing she wanted—right after sex. And a DJ? Hopefully the music wouldn’t be too loud. She’d kind of been hoping to learn a bit more about Nicholas. For God’s sake, she thought, rolling her eyes at herself. When had she become so old?

  Nicholas opened the door to his sleek BMW and ushered her in. The man had manners! On previous dates she’d been whipped in the face with the door when the bloke pushed through before her, failing to hold it open.

  ‘You’re going to love this place,’ Nicholas said as they crossed the city. ‘The food and service are fabulous, and only over-eighteens are allowed in. It’s nice to enjoy eating out without sitting next to a screaming baby or watching a toddler mash a meal all over his face.’

  Clare laughed, recalling the time she’d gone to Pizza Express one night with Ellie and the child at the table next to them had thrown the pepperoni like a discus. ‘Very true.’

  Nicholas manoeuvred the car into a vacant space on the street outside Camden Market. He cut the engine and turned to face her, eyes gleaming in the dark. ‘You know, I’m so pleased I found someone who isn’t in a rush to settle down.’ He put a hand on her arm, and Clare glanced down at it, noting the slender fingers. An image of Edward’s solid hands—and how they practically engulfed hers—swam into her head. She shoved it away. ‘I’m really looking forward to tonight.’ His words were weighted, leaving no doubt what he meant.

  ‘Me, too,’ Clare said, trying to mentally replace the thought of Edward’s hands on her body with Nicholas’s. It was time to move on, she told herself; she hadn’t worn her sexy lingerie just for kicks. Given the way the bra was cutting into her, it felt more like torture.

  Nicholas led her across the canal lock then up a flight of stone stairs to the restaurant. Music drifted from various pubs lining the street, and the whoop of partygoers echoed up and down the canal. It was Saturday night in Camden, and she was going to have a good time if it killed her. Her stomach flipped again and she stifled a groan. At this rate, it just might.

  And when Nicholas led her inside the restaurant, it became even clearer having fun might take more effort than she could expend. House music boomed from a turnstile in the corner of the room, and purple spotlights
illuminated each table as if they were on a stage. Waiters and waitresses—clad in black clothing with neon patches—looked like luminous aliens floating around the space. The whole thing was uber-cool, stylised to within an inch of itself . . . and exactly what Clare didn’t want.

  ‘Isn’t this fantastic?’ Nicholas yelled over the music, his face lit up with enthusiasm.

  Clare forced a grin and nodded. ‘Amazing.’ It was amazing—just so not her thing. She gave it ten minutes before her throat was sore from shouting.

  Nicholas rested his hand on the small of her back as the maître d’ showed them to a table, the warmth of his palm seeping through her blazer. She slid onto the metallic banquette, squinting from the purple lights reflecting in the shiny surface.

  ‘I’ll join you here so we don’t have to yell.’ Nicholas scooted beside her, angling his body in her direction. ‘Right,’ he said after handing her the cocktail menu. ‘Good news! I finally ran your pitch about the club past my boss.’

  ‘And?’ Clare raised her eyebrows.

  Nicholas’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘And they think it’s a great idea. Child-free living is always a hot topic; people love to debate it, as I’m sure you know. You’d be up for an interview to explain why you set up the club, right?’

  Clare nodded. ‘I guess. I mean, I don’t have much experience with television, but I could give it a try.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it won’t be live. If you lose your train of thought, we can always start over. And I’ll take it easy on you.’ He grinned suggestively, and Clare returned his smile, waiting to feel a rush of attraction, of anticipation, of something. Right now, the two of them in bed seemed more theoretical than real.

  ‘Sounds good. I’d love to find some new members,’ she responded. ‘And speaking of members, do you think you can make it out to the club one night, maybe this week? It’d be great to have you along.’

  ‘Oh yeah, possibly. Let me check and make sure I don’t have anything else on this Wednesday.’ He grabbed his iPhone and punched at the screen, then tossed it on the table. ‘Silly thing, I can never figure it out. I’ll have a look and let you know. Ready to order some drinks?’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t even read the menu yet.’ Clare scanned the long list of cocktails, wondering at his lack of response. Hadn’t he got in touch because he wanted to join the club? So why wasn’t he keen to come? Perhaps he was busy, but if that was the case, why didn’t he just tell her? She’d have to run it by Ellie when she had a chance. God, she hadn’t seen her friend in ages. The closer her due date, the harder Ellie seemed to be working.

  After a very strong vodka martini, the purple lights took on a softer glow, darkness wrapping the table in a cocoon-like atmosphere. Even the music didn’t seem as loud or irritating, fading into the background like a pleasant hum. Combined with a bottle of warm sake, Clare managed to stomach some blackened tuna and rice. Dinner passed in a blur and she’d no idea what they talked about, but Nicholas was as effusive and charming as ever. The tip of her nose was numb from too much drink, but at least the alcohol had taken the edge off her fatigue.

  ‘This has been great, Clare.’ Nicholas met her eyes and leaned in until his face was inches from hers. She couldn’t help focusing on his lips and the little cleft in his chin.

  She moved closer, too. ‘I’ve had a really good time. Thank you.’ Although this place wasn’t her speed and she wouldn’t be keen to do it again, she had enjoyed Nicholas’s company.

  ‘So . . . ’ He paused, then gave her a smile. ‘I’d love to invite you back to my place for a nightcap, but I’m having some renovations done and it’s a disaster. Maybe we can head to yours?’

  Clare held his gaze, the wheels in her foggy mind turning. The night had been leading up to this, she knew, and she did want it—at least her brain did. She’d feel more in the mood once they were away from this place and settled back at home. She was just about to open her mouth to say that’d be wonderful when a fresh wave of nausea crashed over her and she gulped in air.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Nicholas eyed her with concern. ‘You’ve gone a little pale.’

  Clare nodded, trying to fight the sensation. ‘I just—’ Her stomach clenched, and she shot to her feet and stumbled down a corridor towards what she hoped was the loo. Leaning against a cubicle door, she bent over and gulped in air until her tummy righted itself. She should have known not to drink alcohol so quickly.

  A knock sounded on the door. ‘Clare? You all right in there?’

  She gingerly lifted her head, waiting to see if she actually was okay. When her stomach stayed settled, she splashed some water on her flushed cheeks, grimacing at her dishevelled reflection in the mirror. ‘I’ll be fine, thanks.’ She swung open the door and met Nicholas’s eyes, trying not to notice how he subtly backed away as if she was about to upend the sake on his shoes—not that she blamed him.

  ‘I should head home,’ she said. ‘But I definitely want to take a rain check on that nightcap.’

  ‘I understand, and yes, for sure, when you’re feeling better.’ Nicholas touched her lightly on the back. ‘Are you all right to get in the car now, or do you want to wait a bit?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Clare said, wiping sweat from her brow. She still felt woozy, but she couldn’t take another second of this music and the now-pulsating lights. Before Nicholas could respond, she was out the door, breathing in the fresh night air. Shouts and music reminded her the night was still young, and she turned to face her date. ‘Sorry to make you head home so soon.’

  Nicholas shrugged, taking her arm as he led her back down the stairs. ‘That’s okay. I don’t usually stay up late anyway.’

  ‘Because of your job.’ Clare nodded as she climbed into the car. ‘I’m the same.’ Despite the differing tastes in restaurants, it was nice to find someone similar in so many ways.

  Thirty minutes later, Nicholas pulled up in front of her flat. Clare turned to face him, relieved her stomach contents had stayed put. ‘Thanks again. And I’m sorry.’

  Nicholas waved a hand in the air. ‘Please don’t worry. I just hope you feel better soon.’ He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll be in touch. I’m already looking forward to the next time.’

  ‘Night.’ Clare wiggled her fingers as she climbed from the car.

  As she stood on the pavement and watched him pull away, she realised that despite the few dates they’d been on now, she still didn’t know much about him. The car vanished around the corner, and she dismissed the thought. She knew the important things, and hadn’t she just been thinking how similar they were?

  The rest of the blanks could be filled in over time.

  Poppy watched as Alistair cheerily dried the last plate after the Sunday night roast. It was a tradition in their house that every Sunday, Alistair cooked and washed-up after the meal, leaving Poppy free to finish her last-minute planning. People often thought being a primary-school teacher was all fun and games, but there was a hell of a lot of preparation involved to get thirty little ones working in tandem. Still, she’d definitely miss it when she took a year off for maternity leave.

  This round of IVF would work—if they ever got started. Poppy sighed, thinking of the mess of the past week. She had returned home from the clinic, eager to tell Alistair she was ready to begin again. But as soon as she’d swung open the door, mayhem had met her eyes. The upstairs neighbours’ bath had overflowed, and the flood of water had weighed down their plaster ceiling so much it had caved right onto the kitchen table.

  The days that followed had been a nightmare of calls to the insurance company, workmen traipsing in and out, and fumes that made her dizzy. The experience had left both her and Alistair with frazzled nerves—hardly the ideal time for a serious discussion, even if it was for something as wonderful as IVF.

  Now, though, calm had finally been restored—along with their ceiling—and
Poppy was determined tonight would be the night to talk about it. She’d even read in the Daily Mail yesterday of a couple who’d been successful after seven IVF cycles! She’d clipped out the article and placed it by Alistair’s bedside in a move straight from his book, thinking this would be the perfect opener to tell him about her appointment. But when she’d got up this morning, he hadn’t said a word; just drank his one cup of coffee, kissed her quickly, and carried on as normal.

  She swallowed hard. What if she’d been wrong, and he didn’t want to try again? Poppy pushed the thought from her head. He just needed some encouragement, proof she could handle it this time.

  ‘So.’ Poppy smiled up at her husband as he plunked two cups of tea in front of them. Her heart beat fast as the words circled around her brain. Here we go, she told herself, gripping onto her mug. She was about to open her mouth to mention the appointment when he sank onto a chair next to her, rubbing his head.

  ‘What a week, huh?’ He grabbed his drink and took a sip. ‘Thank God I’ve got some extra clients lined up next month. That repair job has pretty much wiped out our bank account. Insurance will reimburse us, but who knows how long that will take. In the meantime, we’ll have to be very careful.’

  Poppy’s heart sank. They’d never had a big financial reserve, and they’d spent most of their savings on IVF cycles. It had been a few months since the previous attempt, though, and she’d thought—combined with the meagre amount she’d managed to put aside—they’d enough to scrape together the fee. If Alistair was having doubts about trying again, the cost of IVF certainly wouldn’t help. And the last thing she wanted was to give him a reason to say no.

  Her mind raced. Perhaps she should wait until their finances were solid once more? But Poppy was ready now: she was healthy and strong, both mentally and physically. With the consultation completed, the urge to start was unstoppable.