Page 21 of The Work Husband

‘Ben’s gone to the gym,’ Molly said proudly, jiggling Arthur on her shoulder while I pierced the film on a Thai green curry ready meal. ‘First time since we had Artie.’

‘What?’ I glanced at her sideways. ‘So he gets to swan off to the gym and leaves you here flying solo?’

Looking at her, though, I realised almost immediately that my worry was unfounded. She still looked tired, there were still baby-sick stains on her top and the cheese plant on the side table still looked badly in need of some TLC.

But there was a new confidence in her. Her hair had been washed and even looked like it had been blow-dried. Clean babygrows hung on an airer in the kitchen. A bunch of flowers that someone had brought was arranged in a vase, rather than wilting on the worktop.

‘He looked after him when I went out earlier to get my nails done.’ She extended a pastel-manicured hand with a flourish, like she thought I’d never seen Builder in a Bottle before. ‘It’s batshit, I know, but I really needed to get out. And we even managed to go for coffee yesterday, the three of us. It only took two hours from deciding to leave until actually leaving.’

‘Wow.’ I uncorked a bottle of wine. ‘It sounds like you two are getting the hang of this.’

‘Artie’s helping.’ She kissed her baby’s silken head, and I felt that weird twinge I’d felt the first time I saw him. ‘He’s sleeping brilliantly. I got five whole hours last night. With a feed in the middle, but still.’

I thought back to my time working in yachting, when I’d often survived on five hours’ sleep a night or less. It had been brutal – and I’d been paid handsomely for it. Maybe an adorable, cuddly baby wasn’t such a win-win proposition after all.

But then I remembered how I’d felt the first time Sam and I met Artie: how my heart had swollen and then almost pinched with love when I’d seen my boyfriend cradling the baby tenderly in his arms. How happy that love, that sense of potential, had made me. How I longed to have that feeling back – or, better still, for it not to have changed.

I slid the plastic tray of food into the microwave and checked the instructions before pressing a few buttons, then poured chilled chardonnay into two glasses.

‘Anyway’ – Molly led the way to the sofa and sat down, opening her top so Arthur could have some dinner too – ‘tell me what’s been happening with you. Have you been out to fabulous bars? Been to a gig? Bought a new bodycon dress? Go on, remind me what I’m missing.’

Despite the shadows under her eyes, I could tell that there was nowhere she’d rather be in than on her own sofa at that moment, nothing she’d rather be wearing than the shabby wrap top that allowed her baby easy access to her boobs.

‘Actually,’ I muttered, taking a sip of wine, ‘we haven’t been doing much. Things have gone a bit weird… with Sam.’

‘What? How? When you first came to meet Artie, he looked like he was ready to flush your contraceptive pills down the toilet the second you got home, and even last time we saw you, things were… maybe a bit different. He was maybe a bit quieter. But still okay. So what’s happened?’

I wanted to tell her. I needed to tell her – to confide in my best friend. But first, I needed information. So instead of answering her question, I asked one of my own. ‘Moll, how well did you know Ava?’

‘Ava?’ Her eyebrows rose and she looked at me, then looked down at Artie again. ‘Not that well. I mean, we rowed together, obviously. But it was… I don’t think I ever told you this. I always felt kind of different from the other people in the rowing club. They were friendly and everything, but they – ugh, there’s no nice way to say this. They were all posh as fuck, and I’m not. One guy, Perry, even had a title, for God’s sake. His dad’s like a lord or something. And they saw the difference, and so did I. That’s why I ended up quitting and not doing a third season – I just never felt like I fitted in.’

‘But Ava did fit in?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, I mean, Ava was privately educated. I think her parents were quite wealthy. She wasn’t as stand-offish as some of the girls. So we hung out sometimes, at uni and a bit afterwards, but I kind of gradually lost touch with her and then never really saw her or Sam after they split up. Then I bumped into him again at a wedding, and invited him to my birthday party because I was pissed, and then he met you. I haven’t seen Ava for – what, six years?’

‘Did she ever tell you why they split up?’ I pressed. ‘Because when I asked Sam, years ago, he just said she ended it.’

‘Georgia, what is this? Why are you worrying about Ava? She’s ancient history. You and Sam are together now. He probably doesn’t think of her much more often than I do.’

The microwave pinged. I got up and gave the food a stir then set the timer for another three minutes. I was conflicted. I didn’t want to worry Molly or be disloyal to Sam. But I needed to talk to someone – and I knew that, right that moment, Sam was… wherever he was, with Ava.

I returned to the sofa with the wine bottle, like it was some kind of magic truth potion that would work on us both.

‘She’s back on the scene,’ I explained miserably. ‘Like I said, Sam never really told me why they split up – just that she went kind of cold on him, and then dumped him. It always seemed weird to me because of how close they were.’

‘We were only twenty-four,’ Molly said gently. ‘It’s prime time for relationships to end, right? Hardly anyone stays with the boyfriend or girlfriend they’re joined to at the hip when they’re at uni. But what do you mean, she’s back on the scene?’

While I fetched the food over to the coffee table and spooned it into bowls, I brought her up to speed on the situation.

‘But if she’s just moved to London, surely it’s totally normal that she’d want to catch up with old friends?’ Molly asked reasonably, when I’d eventually finished.

‘Maybe. But then old friends would include me and you, right? And Sam wouldn’t be making a massive mystery out of the whole thing. He’d be like, “Why don’t we invite Ava round for a takeaway?” Or, “Why don’t we get some of the old gang together with Ava?”’

‘Hmmm.’ Arthur was nodding off, and Molly laid him carefully down on the sofa next to her, then attacked her food. ‘Okay. I get that. Or even like, “Do we know any single blokes we can introduce Ava to?”’

‘Exactly. He wouldn’t be going off to meet her one on one in Manchester and refusing to tell me why.’

Molly reached out and cupped Arthur’s head with her palm, frowning. ‘There was a thing,’ she said. ‘I’ve just remembered. A little while before Sam and Ava split up, she cut her hair.’