One Night in Italy by Lucy Diamond Read Free Book Online Page A

question. ‘Thank you,’ she said faintly as the sonographer wiped the goo off her belly with professional briskness.
    After a sleepless night, she got on a train to Sheffield the next day, carrying herself with a new sense of wonder, still shocked by her own momentous decision. The evening before, she’d sat in the science section of the university library, poring over everything she could find on the subject of babies and childbirth. Her body felt like a ticking clock, a precious vessel, rich with mystery.
    Clutching the bit of paper with Mike’s address, she knocked tremulously on his door and waited there in her parka and fingerless gloves, the grainy scan photos tucked carefully in her pocket.
    Mike’s mum Shirley answered, a pewter-haired woman in a grey wool dress, a small silver cross around her neck. ‘Yes, dear?’ she asked.
    ‘Is Mike there? Mike Evans?’
    The woman looked at her with curiosity. ‘No, dear, he’s at university down in Nottingham. Won’t be back for another few weeks.’ She hesitated. Clearly something in Catherine’s face signified that this wasn’t a casual popping-round visit. ‘Can I give him a message?’
    Catherine’s hands stole instinctively to her belly. She had recently felt the babies moving inside her for the first time and the strange fluttering sensation had returned. ‘I . . .’
    Shirley noted the positioning of the girl’s hands, the pinched look on her face, the urgency with which she’d asked after Mike. She was a practical woman who could recognize disaster when it appeared on her doorstep. ‘You’d better come in,’ she said.
    It was nearly six o’clock in the evening now and Catherine had been sitting in the layby for hours. The sun had slipped behind the hills without her even noticing; the other cars had their headlights on as they zoomed through the thickening darkness. She didn’t know what to do. Her brain wouldn’t function properly. What if she went home and that woman was still there? What if she walked in and Mike and that woman were still having sex, both laughing at her?
    Oops , the woman might say again cattily. She’s back, Mike. Take a hint, can’t you, love?
    Feeling cold, she put her arms around herself, tucking her hands in her armpits for warmth. She still couldn’t believe it. The whole thing felt like a bad dream, a joke. If only she hadn’t hurried home so quickly! If the twins hadn’t been so keen to see the back of her and the motorway traffic hadn’t been so light, she might never have interrupted Mike and her. Who was she, anyway? And how long had she been stripping off and having sex with Catherine’s husband?
    Oh God. It was so awful, like something from a soap opera. The mistress in the bedroom while the wife was out of the house. Talk about tacky. And talk about out of character. Was Mike ill? Having a breakdown? Maybe he was in some kind of fugue state where you didn’t know what you were doing. She’d seen it once on TV. There must be some explanation because he loved her, didn’t he? She was his wife!
    Unless . . . A cold fear pierced her. Unless he wasn’t ill. Unless he knew exactly what he was doing. Unless he didn’t love her at all.
    Her phone was ringing, she realized after a while. It was past seven o’clock now and becoming darker by the minute. Another whole hour had slid silently by without her even noticing. Maybe she was having a breakdown?
    Her fingers were numb with cold as she reached into her handbag to retrieve the phone. ‘Hello?’ she said hoarsely, her throat aching from crying.
    ‘Catherine,’ said Mike. ‘Where are you?’
    ‘I’m . . .’ She blinked and stared out of the window. She could see nothing. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted.
    Pathetic. She knew that was what he was thinking. Pathetic. How could anyone drive somewhere and not know where they were? Sometimes he spoke to her with such scorn it made her want to shrink out of sight.
    ‘Don’t make a scene, Catherine,’