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‘Your enthusiasm is overflowing.’

‘Fake it till you make it, right?’

The words tumble in my head as we cycle back home. But how can I fake that I’m dying to go on a date, when it feels more like a root canal without anaesthesia? How can I convince myself that any guy can outshine my very important friend? Whose importance isn’t his rising to stardom, but how he brightens our life with his presence; how he embraces us like a big, protective hug; like we are his. It’s pretty much like a street lamp trying to outshine the sun. And just like that, my argument—which was lame to begin with—starts fading, until only one word is left; fake.

Chapter Forty-Five

Now

Corrie

Bea barges in. ‘What the hell is happening?’

My tired expression is in stark contrast with hers. While I was waiting for the part of my support group that was available, I had enough time to scroll. True, part of it was to check what was written, but it was like being thrown in a vortex, where the pull of lies is the same as that of the truth, if not stronger. So I kept scrolling, trying to focus on how a piece of fake news can be distorted into a parallel reality.

Before Luuk left, he warned me about the gossip that would start multiplying, now that he was about to go back onstage, because everyone was waiting for the naughty boy to resume his “activities”, regardless of how invented those were. We agreed to give ourselves some time before hard-launching our relationship, although he wasn’t planning on stretching it.

‘I want you and the kids with me whenever possible. There’s no way I’m hiding the best thing that has ever happened to me.’

While I loved the sentiment, I dreaded the exposure. Whenever I pictured us entering the world as a couple, or rather a family, one image rose like a cloud about to discharge its fury: the day of Johan’s funeral when we entered that church. In my mind, the limited space expanded, becoming the whole world. Countless heads would be leaning towards each other to whisper in as many ears, creating a deafening aggressive buzz that terrified me, but most of all raised my hackles when it came to the kids.

Six years ago, Ada and Otto weren’t even around, let alone old enough to realise what was happening, but now things are different. I have no doubt that Luuk’s presence in our lives will be discussed, but I hate the thought of my babies having to defend us, all of us, against whatever gossip their classmates will reproduce from the comments they would hear at home. There’s considerable effort to stop myself from spiralling, but the fear is there and makes me want to surround them with several layers of protective bubble wrap.

A blurry photo of Luuk kissing his ex-girlfriend surfaced, which surprised both me and him. No matter how certain I am that it wasn’t true, the barb was still there and it hurt.

Now, while he’s raising Hell trying to do some management of this shitshow, I’m here hating that I can’t help or do anything other than wait, watching the line that started it all take a life of its own, morphing in increasingly uglier versions of itself.

Celina pregnant with ex-boyfriend’s Luuk’s child!

From there on, storytelling spread like wildfire. Everyone wanted to know how it all happened: what led from them parting ways quite a while ago to rekindling their relationship. Invented ‘information from sources close to the country music heartthrob’ talked about ‘an exotic destination resulting in the announcement, a few weeks later’.

‘People’s bullshitting capacity is fathomless,’ Bea says, scrolling on her own phone. ‘But I’m pretty sure it’ll die out soon, you just have to hang in there. Are we sure…?’

She leaves the question hanging, and it’s only reasonable to ask. Given how recent Luuk and I are, an “encounter” with anyone really could have happened before.

‘Absolutely certain.’

I don’t want to elaborate. The only ones who know why Luuk couldn’t have gotten anyone pregnant are my parents—he made a point of calling them and explaining the situation. They were touched by the vulnerability and joined ‘The Fury Group”, as Dory suggested we rename the cock-tales.

I miss having all three of them here. When Bea leaves too, the house feels empty with the kids at school, the aggressive buzz louder in my ears. I end up speaking out loud, hoping that the sound of my voice will cover the noise in my mind.

‘We’ll get through this.’

I try to sound decisive, but then there’s another, more specific buzz, playing in a sinister joyful sound: ‘Karma is a bitch.’

A week later, the buzz hasn’t receded.

Luuk does his best to be supportive, but his time has shrunk to the absolutely necessary hours of sleep and meals. We manage to make the time to video call while he’s eating lunch and I have my coffee or dinner, but it’s taking a toll on both of us.

‘I wish I were there,’ he repeats, but I know he loves what he does and what he really wishes is for all of us to be together, wherever this might be.

For a few days, things seem to be cooling off, and I start hoping we’re out of the woods. Until Dory rings my bell after the school run.

‘You don’t have to leave for work, right?’

I assume she’s got another disastrous date she needs to discuss. It’s early, but my friend goes for “her” bottle, as we jokingly call the Hibiki, so I assume there has been a major letdown. But it appears that the surprise visit is about me.

‘Drink,’ she instructs. ‘It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?’