15
As I leave the hospital behind, my thoughts drift back to Amy. She’s getting impatient, despite my constant reminders that I have no plans of ever leaving Annie. She knew the deal when we started. I think – not for the first time – that maybe it’s time to end it with her, but the reality is, every time I’m away from her there’s a yearning at the pit in my stomach that can’t be filled. She’s a drug that makes me feel all the things I used to feel. Young, visceral, strong, powerful.
But tonight is about me and Annie, the woman I married, the woman who brought my girls into the world and puts up with me. We promised each other for better or worse. Maybe one day soon things will be better again.
When I get home, she’s waiting in the lounge, talking to the babysitter. She’s wearing a short red dress that sticks to her body like rust on iron. She’s not as skinny as she was when we first met, but curvy and full and lovely. The dress shows off her cleavage and black lace peaks from beyond the red fabric. Annie notices me walking in and turns. Her face breaks into a beautiful smile. She’s wearing her fire engine red lipstick, or as I like to call it; blow job red. I smile back at her and watch her finish off, always attuned to the smallest of details when it comes to our girls.
“You look stunning.” I kiss her on the cheek; I don’t want to ruin her lipstick. I want her to ruin it on my cock later. It’s the only other time in the year it’s likely to happen.
“You’re not too bad yourself.” She nudges me with her hip and winks.
“Ready?”
“Sure.”
The drive to the hotel isn’t long, and Annie spends it making small talk, telling me about her day and about the girls. I spend it fantasising about stroking my wife’s legs, parting them and feeling her sweet pussy as I drive. But even as I brush my fingers along her legs, she keeps her thighs closed tight and inaccessible. Not like Amy. I chase away the thought and listen, trying to be present, to be in the car with my wife instead of back in Amy’s kitchen, inside her, angry and volatile and fucking insane with rage and lust.
The valet takes my car, and we are ushered into the lobby. As always, Annie gasps at the elegant grandeur. From the original grand staircase – with its striking addition of a glass elevator running up the centre – to the walnut panelling and natural light that spills into the lobby. It doesn’t matter how many times we’ve been here, each time is like her first. I find it all over-the-top and pretentious, but Annie – she loves it, despite the fact that every year when we walk in here, she wears the same face, total awe dipped in embarrassment. I hate that she feels like she doesn’t belong here, even though she’s right – we can’t afford this place, but once a year we deserve a night off and there is no better hotel in the city. I spend a year saving for this one night, for her, for us. It’s where we spent our honeymoon, and every anniversary after that.
The first five years we had to bring Libby with us, she was just a baby and Annie’s mum didn’t want to spend the night with her. Now that the girls are older, we get to enjoy this more, and I don’t have to spend thirty quid on some fucking chicken nuggets that only get half-eaten. I also get to fuck my wife instead of watching cartoons and waiting for a toddler to fall asleep in a five-hundred-quid-a-night room.
We check-in and I slip my hand over Annie’s as I lead her to the elevator. The walls are gold plated and the carpeted floor is probably worth more than my car. We stop as smoothly as we took off and I walk out, leading Annie to our room.
When the door shuts behind us and we are alone, Annie is not her usual self. She doesn’t run to the bed and jump on it sighing in pleasure as she always does. In fact, she’s been quiet ever since we walked inside.
A bottle of champagne and two flutes wait for us on a table, along with a fruit basket and some posh handmade chocolates. I walk over and pop the cork. It flies across the room and the alcohol gushes from the bottle like a teenager with a porn magazine. My hand is wet and sticky, but I can’t wipe it on my suit pants, they’re the only ones I own.
“Would you like a drink?”
She looks at me with a strange expression on her face. When she doesn’t answer, I top up both flutes. I hand her one of the glasses, we clink, and I take a small sip, noting that she doesn’t. “Are you okay, Annie?”
“I need to tell you something.” She looks beautiful and austere, and my heart begins to pound in my chest viciously. “Do you want to sit down?” she asks.
My stomach rolls and a slow chill makes its way up my spine. Scattered, urgent thoughts fly inside my mind as I wonder what it was that gave me away. A single strand of hair? A lipstick stain? Maybe her smell. I draw in a long stealing breath and wait for her to talk because that’s the only way I’ll get my answer.
“No, I’m okay.” I take a long swig of the champagne, trying to wash away the sour taste that suddenly rises in my mouth.
“Well, I guess there’s no other way to say it. I’m pregnant.”
My heart stutters for a few beats then restarts. I’m not sure if it’s relief or panic. I throw my head back, emptying the flute into my mouth with a gulp.
“Are you sure?”
Her mouth twists for a second. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure. I’ve taken three different tests and they’ve all come back positive. So I went to see the doctor two days ago, and the blood tests confirmed it.” She licks her lips, her hands entwined together in front of her body, her shoulders hunched and stiff.
I clutch the back of my neck and rub the muscles even as they tense against my fingers. “How far along are you?”
“Six weeks.”
I do a quick mental calculation and choke on the air in my lungs. Six weeks. The same amount of time that Izzy has been in custody, the same the amount of time I’ve been fucking Amy. I got my wife pregnant on the same night I fucked Amy for the first time. Guilt tries to claw its way through the walls I’ve raised inside myself.
My mind reels. I swallow the lump in my throat and pour more champagne, downing it. The bubbles try to burst back from my mouth, burning my throat on the way down.
I take it all in, entirely unsure how I’m feeling about it. We already had one surprise baby; the little girl who made me do the right thing by her mother. The reason I put a ring on Annie’s finger. The drunken night that sees us here tonight all those years later, and now, Savannah, our baby, the one we chose to have, is at an age where she can be independent. There are no more nappies, no more toilet training, no more restless nights. Those years are behind us. Theywerebehind us.
The thought of doing it all again is fucking draining, not to mention it will be another mouth to feed when we’re already struggling on my fucking wage. Annie keeps staring at me, and I realise I haven’t said anything for a while and that I am being an asshole. She knows I’m processing, but I know she needs something.
“Have you been feeling okay?”