Just the Two of Us Read online

  JUST THE TWO OF US

  Georgie Capron

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  About this Book

  About the Author

  Table of Contents

  www.ariafiction.com

  About Just the Two of Us

  Lucy is the wrong side of thirty and tormented daily by the idyllic family pictures cluttering up her Facebook newsfeed. All of her friends seem to be getting married and having babies, and yet here she is, resolutely single, and no prospect of creating the perfect family she's always dreamt of.

  How she longs for it to be her turn.

  But finding love is complicated, and as time passes she wonders if there might just be another way to make her dreams come true. Is she brave enough to go it alone, or is the fantasy of 'baby makes three' just too precious to give up on?

  Funny, warm, and a story for our time, Just the Two of Us will make you laugh and cry, and remind you never to give up on love.

  To my husband Tom

  Contents

  Cover

  Welcome Page

  About Just the Two of Us

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About Georgie Capron

  Become an Aria Addict

  Copyright

  Prologue

  October 2016

  ‘Aaargh!’ groaned Lucy as another tidal wave of contractions careered through her, taking her breath away with the full and brutal force of its impact. She gripped Claudia’s hand as the taxi hurtled through the streets of London at breakneck pace. Mid-grimace Lucy caught a glimpse of her unlikely knight in shining armour in the rear-view mirror. He appeared to be muttering frantic yet muted prayers under his breath, no doubt pleading that his Good Samaritan act of kindness would not result in the permanent tarnishing of his immaculate leather upholstery, or worse, the need for him to perform a heroic delivery on the side of Oxford Street.

  Claudia’s brown hair was plastered to the side of her face with nervous sweat as she tried to remain calm and in control of her own nerves. ‘Don’t worry Luce,’ she said, reassuring her best friend that they were nearly there, that all would be well. Claudia’s hatred of hospitals and all things medical was one of the reasons why she had never wished to put herself through the pain that was currently sending her best friend into anguished spasms beside her.

  ‘This is not supposed to be happening!’ groaned Lucy through gritted teeth as they careered around a sharp right-hand turn. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the door handle in an attempt to steady herself.

  ‘Plenty of babies come early, it’s nothing to worry about!’ reassured Claudia, her fingers firmly crossed behind her back as she leant across to rub Lucy’s shoulders.

  ‘You’re hardly an expert,’ said Lucy. ‘How are we meant to know? Oh God, grab my phone will you and pass it over. I’m going to call the hospital again.’

  This was not what Lucy had had planned for today. She and Claudia were meant to be enjoying a blow-out lunch to celebrate the start of Lucy’s maternity leave. A last meal of indulgence before Lucy found herself struck off the social scene with sleepless nights and nappies taking over her life. The plan was to have lunch and then to do some gentle pottering around the shops in search of the somewhat curious combination of stretchmark cream and lingerie. No prizes for guessing which item on the list was for her, Lucy thought with a wry smile.

  She had struggled to the restaurant in quite a bit of pain. In fact, she had been feeling niggling pains for the past few hours that had come and gone like a particularly bad bout of period pain. Erring on the side of caution, she had spoken to her midwife on her way to meet Claudia. The midwife had reassured Lucy that these ‘twinges’ were probably false alarms, harmless Braxton Hicks contractions that were to be expected at this late stage of her pregnancy.

  The pains had grown more intense throughout lunch but Lucy hadn’t said anything, not wishing to alarm her most un-maternal of friends, who, let’s face it, was finding pregnancy by proxy a challenging enough experience as it was! Surreptitiously, Lucy tapped the Contraction Monitor app that she had downloaded on her iPhone, logging another twinge of pain as she tried to time their frequency. Her suspicion that she was, in fact, in labour was growing stronger by the minute, though she was determined not to make a fuss until she was sure. Lucy had long ago sworn to herself that she wouldn’t fall into the category of hysterical first-time mother when millions upon millions of women had gone through the process of childbirth before her with nothing even as advanced as pain relief to ease the process. However, by the end of lunch she was feeling faintly terrified; if what she was currently experiencing were merely Braxton Hicks, how unutterably dreadful would the real thing be? It was hard to contemplate.

  Her waters had broken, or more accurately, ruptured, in as explosive and humiliating a way as possible, all over the floor of Selfridges lingerie department just as she had tried to negotiate her enormous bump past a rail of silk briefs that would have been hard-pushed to cover a mere inch of her disproportionately large and swollen derriere. Shoppers had looked aghast as she shrieked in horror, puce with embarrassment, having realized what must have happened. Claudia had come hurtling out of the fitting room at the sound of Lucy’s desperate yelp and, having rapidly assessed the situation, dragged Lucy towards the lift amidst mumbled apologies to the startled shop assistant who stared gaping at the floor, dumbfounded.

  By the time they had made their way out of Selfridges and onto the heaving streets thronging with tourists and Saturday shoppers, Lucy had started to panic. With one hand on her lower back to support herself and the other shielding her protruding stomach, she began to sob. Claudia, in full protective tigress mode, sharpened her elbows as she pushed and shoved, yelling ‘Get out of our way! She’s in LABOUR for Christ’s sake!’ at the top of her lungs, clearing a pathway for Lucy to follow along behind.

  Eventually they lurched over to a taxi rank and pounded on the window of the first unsuspecting driver in the queue – the man who was currently doing a good imitation of Lewis Hamilton in his desperate bid to deposit his unexpected cargo safely at the hospital doors.

  Reassured by the midwife that all was well, Lucy dropped her phone in Claudia’s lap as another agonizing surge of pain twisted through her. A garbled, inaudible screech escaped her lips.

  ‘What was that, Luce?’ asked Claudia, trying to ignore the bone-crunching grip of Lucy’s fist as she reached for her hand once again.

  Taking a deep breath in, Lucy looked at
Claudia, her eyes pleading. ‘Call him!’ she begged. ‘Please, Clauds, I need him…’ she tailed off as she closed her eyes and began to concentrate on her breathing.

  Claudia reached for Lucy’s phone with her free hand. ‘Okay, Luce, I’ll call him now. Don’t worry. It’s going to be okay,’ she muttered as she found his name and pressed the green button, sending a silent prayer that whatever he was doing and wherever he was, he would answer his phone.

  Chapter One

  June 2014

  ‘You have got to be joking!’ A wave of nausea rushed up the back of Lucy’s throat. Seriously? she thought, What is wrong with people? Is there no shame? She peered again at her laptop screen and re-read the post from her long-lost school friend Eliza Longchamps-Delauney. Even the name made her stomach squirm. A far cry from her previous surname, Pratt, she noted with a wry smile.

  Facebook Status Update:

  Eliza Longchamps-Delauney: feeling blessed (1 hr: London)

  Eliza is the luckiest girl in the world, thanks schmoopy for the best anniversary surprise – ten red roses. One for each year. You are my soulmate and I am so glad I found you!

  ‘Oh, pleeease,’ Lucy muttered to herself, ‘spare me!’

  She scrolled down her newsfeed and scanned the updates from her various friends and acquaintances. Lucy winced and swept her fringe away from her eyes, leaning closer in disbelief as she caught sight of yet another portrayal of blissful family life.

  Michelle Murphy (2 hrs: London)

  Thanking my lucky stars for my perfect family.

  The caption accompanied a carefully posed photograph of Michelle and her ridiculously handsome husband with their three blonde children, all in neatly pressed matching sailor suits, sitting on the steps to their mansion. They looked like a Ralph Lauren advert.

  Gorging on these cringeworthy posts had become Lucy’s preferred pastime. Why did people insist on sharing their private thoughts and moments with the world on social media? Her favourite of all time was from an American ex-colleague called Brett Davies. His post from across the world in Chicago had made her want to share it on worststatusupdatesever.com to publicly shame him.

  Had a proud fiancé moment today. My speakers crashed off the wall at 3 a.m. and I leapt on top of Danni to cover her body with mine in case she got hurt. So pleased my natural instincts were to protect her first.

  Lucy didn’t want to look at these displays of sickly-sweet marital bliss but she couldn’t quite resist the urge. She found them bizarrely intriguing. They were a bit like the traffic jams caused by cars slowing down as they passed the site of a gruesome accident.

  ‘I will never share sentimental crap like that on social media’ Lucy vowed solemnly to herself, attempting to shove aside the familiar sneer that popped into her mind that she may never get the chance. She wondered briefly if there was something wrong with her, if she was missing some kind of ‘romance’ gene that would turn her into a simpering fool like Eliza or Brett. Perhaps all the romance-free years that fate’s hand had dealt her had tarnished her tolerance. Or maybe, the cynical voice of reason suggested, she was just jealous. For, in truth, the one thing Lucy longed for more than anything else was her own other half, someone to stroke her hair and fall asleep with, someone to share her life with and, most specifically and heart-wrenchingly of all, someone with whom she could start a family of her own.

  Before she could stop herself, she had tapped the letters ‘JACK’ into her Facebook search bar, clicking on the first name to appear in the scroll down list of her acquaintances, Jack Hawkins. Even the tiny icon of his profile picture was enough to get her heart racing. She knew it was pointless and would only serve to torture herself further but she couldn’t help it. She scrolled down his wall looking for any new posts. There was nothing new, which wasn’t particularly surprising considering that she had last looked at his page immediately before going to bed the night before. Unable to resist, she clicked on his cover photo, a picture-perfect family snap of his beautiful wife, Penelope, and their two children, Max and Arabella. She had never actually met them yet she felt like she knew them all pretty well thanks to her Facebook-stalking habit. She imagined snipping Penny’s perfect face out of the picture and inserting her own instead. She scolded herself… this had to stop! How could she even consider breaking up such a happy family? She knew it was partly Jack’s fault, despite being one of her superiors at work he flirted outrageously with her at any given opportunity. Over the past few months the flirting and flattery had escalated to such a point that she was starting to entertain the prospect that he might actually have feelings for her. She fantasized about a deeply unhappy marriage behind closed doors and dreamt of the day he would leave his wife and declare his undying love for her instead. Forcing herself to get a reality check, she clicked on the cross to close the page.

  She rolled her eyes and sighed, rubbing her face with the palms of her hands to try and wake herself up. She had to stop procrastinating on these hateful social media sites and get to the task in hand. Her best friend was getting married. She still couldn’t quite believe it. Today was finally the day when little Claudia, the scruffiest, scrawniest girl in school was to be wed. And Lucy was maid of honour. Claudia was, as her namesake might suggest, the Winkleman to Lucy’s Tess. Though unfortunately for Lucy, the blonde hair was about as far as her own comparison went. Claudia, meanwhile, with her dark looks and waif-like figure, was a real dead ringer for the Strictly host.

  Despite Claudia’s obstinate refusal to pander to the opposite sex in any way, shape or form, she had well and truly pipped Lucy to the matrimonial post. Though, to her credit, Claudia was doing her best to soften the blow by promising Lucy the wedding’s most eligible bachelor as her dinner companion. The prospect of this, and Lucy’s determination to prove that she was not giving up on life or love just yet, trebled her resolve to transform herself from cygnet into swan for the occasion.

  She slammed her laptop shut and chucked it on to her battered, floral sofa, rootling around amongst the biscuit crumbs in search of the remote. She found it, aimed for the TV and flicked through the music channels to find some suitably upbeat tunes. Satisfied with her choice, she looked at the clock: 9 a.m., one hour to get ready and out the door in time to catch the train from Paddington to Little Bedford. The service was not until 3.30 p.m. but Lucy was under strict instructions to be there by lunchtime to help with last-minute preparations and to steady Claudia’s nerves. Though what there was to be nervous about when you were marrying someone as awesome as Dan, Lucy couldn’t imagine.

  At her bedroom mirror, swaying her hips in time to Beyoncé, Lucy took a long, hard look at herself. She patted her squidgy love handles and round belly, trying to repress the familiar critical thoughts that vied for her attention. She was relieved that Claudia had chosen a sculpted, shape-enhancing dress with boning that would squeeze her curves into all the right places. Today of all days she didn’t need to worry whether any unsightly lumps or bulges would disrupt the contours of her bottom half. She released her blonde hair from its ponytail, checking her fringe, which she decided was in dire need of a wash and straighten, and examined her face. She moved a little closer to the mirror, scrutinizing the sprinkling of freckles, the slightly open pores, the smattering of broken veins on her cheeks and her cornflower blue, black-ringed irises. Thank god for make-up. Without its wonders, she looked like a puffy-eyed mole taking its first glimpse of daylight. A university boyfriend had once joked that make-up took her from a paltry five to a more impressive eight out of ten in the looks department. Of course, she had laughed it off at the time, but she hadn’t forgotten the barbed compliment in the fourteen years that had since passed.

  Brushing these thoughts aside, she jumped into the shower and turned the taps to full blast. A happy sigh escaped her lips as the invigorating, warm water sliced over her. She scrubbed herself with some mint shower gel, washed her hair and scraped a rusty old Bic over her armpits and legs to eliminate a couple of weeks’ worth of
unsightly stubble.

  Lucy stemmed the flow of water and opened the shower door, watching the tiny droplets of spray swirl in the steamy condensation as they made their bid for freedom in the small bathroom. She hadn’t done much to the flat since she had bought it six years ago. There hadn’t been a penny left over from the money that Granny Annie had given her. She adored her little home more than anything and had done a wonderful job of making it cosy. She had invested all the love and attention that most people showered on their other half into her home instead. It was filled with bits and pieces from her extensive travels and she had scattered her beloved plants about the place in brightly coloured pots.

  With one eye firmly on the clock, Lucy scanned the living area; the table in the kitchen was strewn with newspapers and magazines as well as the remnants of her breakfast. Not wanting to come back to a messy house, she quickly cleared the table, shaking the toast crumbs into the bin and stacking her plate and coffee cup into the dishwasher. In her bedroom, she gave her body a final, vigorous rub-down with the towel, made the bed and raked her hairbrush through her damp hair.

  Lucy had always loved getting dressed up for any occasion. She prided herself on her ability to transform from the most disastrous of early-morning appearances in a surprisingly short amount of time. She had a well-established routine that had been perfected over the past decade of pre-first-date preparations. She luxuriated in the smell of cocoa butter as she smoothed moisturizer all over her skin. This was followed by several pumps of bronzing gel, which she rubbed into her chest, face, arms and legs to give herself a sun-kissed glow. After that she tousled her shoulder-length hair with the hairdryer before running her straightening irons over it, paying special attention to her fringe. She chose a new set of blue silk lingerie from her underwear drawer, the same striking cornflower blue as her eyes. There was nothing so confidence-boosting as the knowledge that a killer set of matching underwear lay hidden beneath your clothes, even if they were covered by a thick layer of Spanx. She wiggled into them to the beat of Madonna’s ‘Like a Virgin’, wondering what tunes she might be dancing to that evening… and more importantly with whom?