Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [44]
Or, worse still, back in Manchester with her mother.
A bit of Dutch courage would have come in handy. Since she wasn't allowed to down a bottle of wine, Chloe psyched herself up with another biscuit instead.
Swallowing her pride along with her custard cream, she punched out Adrian's number.
Predictably, the answering machine picked up the call.
`Greg, it's me. Chloe. I need to speak to you urgently.' Her voice began to quaver. `Please ring me back.'
Dropping the receiver on to the hook, she gazed at the phone.
Less than two minutes later, it rang.
`What's happened?' Greg spoke without preamble. `Is something wrong?'
Was something wrong?
Oh no, everything's fine, thought Chloe, I'm pregnant and my husband's walked out on me and I'm probably about to lose my job and I don't have anywhere to live and if I don't stop eating I'm going to end up the size of the Millennium Dome
'Chloe? Are you there?'
It was weird, hearing his voice again. She gripped the receiver in both hands.
`I've spoken to my mother. There won't be any more phone calls.'
`Well, good. Not that it makes any difference to me,' said Greg. `As Ade told you, I'll be out of here by next week.'
Right, here goes, thought Chloe. She took a deep steadying breath.
`Greg, I can't cope. Financially, I mean. I'm looking for a cheaper flat, but it's still going to be almost impossible to manage on my wages.'
Long pause.
`You should have thought of that before you got pregnant,' he replied coldly. `So? What does this have to do with me?'
How had it come to this? We were so happy once, thought Chloe. Nobody could have been more charming than Greg when they'd first met.
But she thought she knew, now, what it was. The thrill, for Greg, was all in the chase. Once the novelty of marriage had worn off, he had begun to lose interest.
Basically, he had a short affection-span, Chloe reminded herself. Oh yes, and when it came to money, he'd always been a bit mean.
`I thought… I thought maybe you could help me out.' The empty custard creams wrapper crackled as she curled her fingers helplessly around it.
`Impossible, I'm afraid. I'm moving too, aren't I? This new flat's costing me a bomb.'
This new love-nest, you mean, thought Chloe.
`The thing is, I was talking to Bruce about it. He told me I was legally entitled to maintenance. If I go to a solicitor, he'd be able to serve you with-'
`No chance, Chloe. I'd fight it all the way. You chose to have this baby, I didn't. God,' he sounded disgusted, `you're a bitch, aren't you? First you wreck our marriage and now you have the nerve to expect me to support you. If you're in a mess, that's your fault, not mine. I'm the innocent party-here and I'm damned if you're going to bleed me dry.'
`I don't want to bleed you dry.' Chloe was instantly consumed with guilt; he had always been able to argue a case with terrifying efficiency. `But I'm desperate, Greg. I have no money, and as the law stands, you have to-'
`Don't threaten me with the law! I'm changing my address, I can change jobs too. So the law's going to have its work cut out, making me do anything.' He spoke with an air of finality. `Because they'll have to catch me first.'
Chloe was alone in the shop the next morning, disentangling bubble-wrap from a boxful of alarmingly delicate porcelain figurines.
When the phone rang, her shattered nerves reacted as if a bomb had gone off. Chloe's fingers jerked and an especially fragile porcelain daffodil, clutched to the bosom of a pallid-faced young country girl, caught on a corner of bubble-wrap and snapped off in her hand.
The figurines weren't wildly expensive, but that was beside the point. This miniature daffodil, Chloe thought, was in effect her P45.
She pictured herself, bags packed, climbing on to a coach about to head up the Ml.
Home to Mother.
Truly a fate worse than death.
`Hello,' she sighed into the phone.
`Oh my word, that won't do at all. No no no,' a familiar voice scolded her good-naturedly.