Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [147]
Startled, Chloe said, `I thought you were going to give me a lift?'
He glared at his ex-wife, then at the waiter who had been making such a prat of himself over her.
`Find your own way back. Or better still,' Greg snapped, `get your toyboy here to give you a lift.'
`Gosh,' said Chloe when he'd stormed out. `Sorry about that. Ex-husband,' she added, by way of explanation. `Bit of a wally. Actually, quite a lot of a wally.'
**
`I can't give you a lift.' The waiter looked worried. 'I'm only sixteen and a half. All I've got's a pushbike.'
Chloe tried for a moment to picture herself on it, eight and a half months pregnant and riding pillion.
Maybe not.
`Don't worry. Better cancel pudding, though.' She flicked open her purse, praying she had enough to cover the bill. Scattering notes and coins across the table like that had been an undeniably dramatic gesture, but now that she'd counted it up, Chloe discovered that Greg had actually left her with a petrol receipt, a parking ticket and the fabulous sum of three pounds twenty-seven pence.
Hey, small spender.
Then again, it didn't come as any great surprise. He'dalways been a bit that way inclined. Even before he'd taken to recycling engagement rings.
When the young waiter brought the bill, Chloe discovered that thanks to the large Scotch and ginger Greg had secretly knocked back at the bar while she'd been in the loo, she had enough money on her to pay for lunch and twenty-four pence left over for a tip.
On the pavement outside the restaurant, Chloe watched the bus she could no longer afford to catch sail past her. Stamping her cold feet and pulling her army surplus greatcoat around her huge stomach - oh yes, glamour no object - she set off down the road in the direction of the shop. Just over a mile to be covered in twenty-five minutes. It was achievable, but it would have been a lot easier if only her back didn't ache so much.
Four hundred yards along the road, Chloe was forced to stop for a rest. She had a raging stitch in her side and the backache was gathering force. Leaning against a phone box, she waited for the stitch to subside. And then something awful happened…
Oh, good grief, thought Chloe, I've wet myself!
Warm liquid trickled in an unstoppable stream down her legs. Thank heavens, the phone box was empty. Crushing her knees together, squeezing her pelvic muscles for all she was worth, Chloe shuffled penguin-style into the phone box.
Phew, right, shame about the glass sides - not a lot of privacy to speak of - but at least nobody could see the puddle forming at her feet, which was the main thing. Flushed with embarrassment - especially when she glanced down and saw that in the cold air the puddle was actually steaming - Chloe leaned her forehead against the
welcoming cool glass for a moment and tried to work out a plan.
No money, that was the first stumbling block, not even ten pee. Oh dear, don't even think of that word, at this rate she'd soon be up to her knees in warm water and the glass would start misting up like a sauna.
Chapter 58
Taking a couple of deep breaths - not that it was doing anything to help the stitch in her side - Chloe dialled the operator.
`I'd like to make a reverse-charge call please.'
She told the woman the number of the shop and waited to be put through. It was all right, no need to panic, everything was under control. Bruce would be able to help.
`Chloe, is that you? What the bloody hell d' you think you're doing?' Bruce sounded irritated beyond belief. `Have you any idea how much it costs to accept a reverse-charge call?'
`I'm sorry. Look, I'm in a phone box on Dempsey Street.' Chloe tried to find a nice way of saying it. `My… um, waters have broken and I'm in a bit of a mess and I haven't got any money on me-'
`Good grief, girl! If you're in labour, tell that husband of yours to get you to the hospital.'
`Greg's gone.' Chloe felt the prickle of perspiration at the back of her neck.