Cover Your Eyes Read Free Page B

think that I’d see my words in print when the magazine appeared at the end of the week. Maybe Simon had an advance copy. The nearer I got to the restaurant, the more convinced I was that this was going to be a double celebration: his divorce and my first publication.
    Simon was waiting on the pavement. He paid the driver and then kissed me briefly. He wasn’t smiling.
    ‘Hi, Megan,’ he said, and we went into Farrington’s without another word. Something was wrong. The place was almost empty, which maybe wasn’t surprising early on a Tuesday evening. As we sat down opposite one another, at a table near the back of the room, he looked away suddenly as if he wanted to be anywhere but where he was. Then he recovered himself a bit and smiled at me, but I knew in an instant that something was different. He wasn’t like he usually was. From the moment I’d stepped out of the taxi, I’d been aware of a lack of warmth about him. If you’ve done nothing for the past six months but interpret looks and actions and words, you know instantly when something isn’t as it should be.
    He was stiff and polite. I could have been someone he’d only just met. I told myself: he’s got to be formal. He can’t be all over you in public. What if someone he knows is at this restaurant? Lots of media people go to places like Farrington’s and everyone knows the editor of
lipstick
, who is famous for being just as good-looking as most of the male models spread across its pages.
    It struck me that this restaurant wasn’t a place to have a romantic meal together – it was a place where the person you were with couldn’t make a scene. No one would dare to shout or weep around people who might recognize you; among the crystal glasses and the starched white napkins in a room where the walls were covered in silky, dark red wallpaper. A chill came over me. He wasn’t going to tell me about his divorce from Gail. I think part of me had known that from the moment I sat down.
    The food came but I had no appetite. I left most of it on my plate. My stomach was in a knot. Thinking back, I can’t remember what we spoke about. Nothing important. It was like having a meal with an acquaintance. I was longing to put out a hand and touch his, but I didn’t. He hardly smiled when he spoke to me and by the time the pudding arrived, I felt as if every nerve in my body had been stretched as thin as a thread.
    The words, when he spoke them, fell like blows, even though I’d been half-expecting them.
    ‘Megan, love, I don’t know how to say this. I’m not good at this sort of stuff, but, you know … I have to say it. I have to. I don’t want to, but it’s no good. We’ve got to stop seeing each other. I should have stopped it long ago, but it was so hard. Now, we’ve got to put an end to … well. We’ve got to draw a line, that’s all. I hate it, but there it is,’ He paused. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’
    I took a sip of wine.
Love
. How did he dare to call me
love
? And he hates it … how much can he really he hate it if he’s doing it, I thought. I must have stared at him. He went on: ‘Don’t look at me like that, Megan, okay? I can’t bear it. It’s not … I mean I don’t want to, you must know that, but I’ve got to. Stuff has changed, I’ll be honest with you. It’s not the same any longer.’
    ‘I’m exactly the same. What’s happened to you?’
    ‘I’m … we’re … that is, we’re expecting a baby.’
    The inside of my head seemed to swell and all of a sudden, my eyes were full of tears and I picked up the heavy damask napkin and dabbed at them and left mascara on the white cloth. A baby.
    ‘When’s it due?’ I said. I couldn’t say what I wanted to say. I wanted to shout:
How dare you lie to me about your marriage being over?
    ‘Early spring,’ he said. I took a long sip from the wineglass and considered throwing the rest in his face. Instead I put the glass down and counted backwards. Gail was