Love is the Drug

She hurried back to the workshop. Anger had replaced the initial shock of finding Niall in bed with Vanessa, combined with worries about what their split meant for her future and that of the baby. She needed to make her business work more than ever if she was going to be a single mum.

Another wave of nausea washed over her but she took a few deep breaths. She had to think of the baby now though it was hard to imagine a life beyond the cottage and the Tiara Kabin. She remembered the days they’d toiled on it in rain, hail and shine the previous autumn. It had a space where she could run her small workshops and entertain clients, with a tiny kitchenette for preparing drinks and snacks. Niall had got a mate to plumb in the sink and Sarah’s electrician cousin had wired it up to the mains. It was hardly the Grand Arcade but she loved it and the investment had finally been starting to pay off.

Closing the door behind her, she took some long, slow breaths. If she had to move out of the cottage, she’d have to find somewhere with room for the Kabin. But where and how could she possibly afford another place near Cambridge with outdoor space on her own?

On the desk, a light flashed on the phone. A message had come in while she’d shown Cassandra to the gate.

It could be Niall again … saying he’d made a massive mistake and begging her to let him back. She wouldn’t, of course … absolutely no way.

Sarah listened then rolled her eyes as she heard heavy breathing then a clatter and a groan and someone muttering, ‘Oh bugger.’ Her finger hovered over the delete key. The last thing she needed was a pervert asking the colour of her knickers.

‘Erm. Really sorry about that. I dropped the phone.’

Sarah listened. It was a man’s voice. Neutral accent, older than her, maybe, but not much? There was more heavy breathing. Sarah’s finger touched the button then he spoke.

‘I was wondering if you er … had any places left on your tiara-making workshop?’

Sarah removed her finger from the button. OK. Probably not a pervert and it wasn’t unheard of for guys to attend a workshop but … She’d had a couple, once, who wanted to make matching Swarovski crystal cravat pins for their civil partnership but, without stereotyping people – actually she was stereotyping people – she was ninety-nine per cent sure this guy must be gay. Or he could be a cross dresser, of course, which was fine, or at a push, the director of a local am dram group.

‘The tiara’s not for me, of course,’ he said.

‘Of course not,’ Sarah muttered to herself.

‘It’s for my daughter who’s getting married …’

Sarah arched an eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘I know it must sound strange …’

‘Just a little.’

‘But it’s something I want to do.’

Sarah sighed. She really didn’t need to know all this in an answerphone message but this poor guy clearly needed to get it off his chest.

‘So if you can phone me back, I’d appreciate it.’ Brisker now, faster and more confident. He’d obviously got through the worst part and felt on safer ground. ‘And if you could call me back as soon as possible, I’d be grateful. I’m in a bit of a rush, you see.’

‘A rush? Hey, you should meet Cassandra.’

‘Thanks.’

The phone went dead.

Sarah sighed and tidied up the bundle of bridal magazines that Cassandra had flicked through while Sarah had made her a coffee. Behind her the phone started buzzing again. Sarah’s heart beat a little faster. This time it really might be Niall but she was frozen to the spot, not knowing what to say to him if he called.

The answerphone pinged again and the same voice echoed around the workshop.

‘Erm. Sorry for this but it’s Liam Cipriani again. I don’t think I left my number in the last message. Or my name for that matter. But as I said, it’s Liam. Cipriani. Here it is. 0787 …’

‘No shit, Sherlock?’ Sarah’s shoulders slumped as with another apology and a further request to “phone him back as soon as she possibly could”, Liam rang off.

She hovered by the phone a few moments longer, just in case he felt the need to tell her his life story or provide his inside leg measurement, before stacking the magazines in the middle of the table. As she rubbed the lipstick off Cassandra’s mug in the sink, she wondered why Liam had booked when he sounded as if he’d rather have his chest hairs plucked out one by one than attend a tiara-making workshop. Why was he coming at all, rather than his daughter?

And she really should phone him back right now.

‘Hello!’

Startled, Sarah saw a face at the window. A bald red-faced guy in a hi-vis vest grinned back at her. She opened the door and the cold hit her.

‘Erm, excuse me, love, this dropped out of the bin and I’m not sure you want to throw it out or if you dropped it on your way to your shed?’

The bin man held up the tiara, slightly deformed but still recognisable. It had a string of spaghetti dangling from it.

‘Oh, I see. I …’ Sarah couldn’t think of a way to say why she’d thrown the tiara in the bin, but worse than that, she couldn’t let the tiara go. Not even after its last wearer had been Niall, and Vanessa had possibly worn it too, for all she knew.

‘You want it then or shall I chuck it on the wagon?’ he asked.

‘No. I’ll have it.’

She took the tiara from him, shivering. ‘Thanks.’

He grinned. ‘Pleasure. Happy New Year.’

Sarah looked at the tiara. It was slightly bent but it had always been a reject. It was one from the early days when she was still learning her craft. Not good enough to sell but one of the first she’d actually been pleased with. The first one worth keeping.

The bin man jogged back up the path, steam rising from his head in the chilly air. Sarah stood by the door, the tiara between her frozen fingertips. The string of spaghetti slithered to the paving stones. Why hadn’t she let him take the bloody thing to the tip, which was what it deserved – just like Niall.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A couple of days later, Sarah sat nervously opposite the GP in her surgery. The doctor was new and probably even younger than Sarah. She beamed in delight. ‘So, Mrs Havers, you’re almost eight weeks pregnant. Congratulations.’

Sarah didn’t know what to say. Of course, she already knew she was pregnant, but hearing it confirmed officially was surreal.

The GP smiled encouragingly. ‘Pregnancy and motherhood is a huge change for any woman and it can come as a bit of a shock. Are you OK?’

‘Yes … yes, like you say, it’s a bit of a shock.’

‘Does your partner know?’

‘Not yet.’ Sarah thought of the six missed calls on her phone. Niall had been trying to reach her over the past few days but she hadn’t trusted herself to answer him. Her focus had been on the baby and today’s doctor’s appointment. ‘It’s Ms Havers by the way.’

Sarah didn’t think the GP had heard her reply because she just carried on. ‘Going by the date of your LMP, your due date should be the thirtieth of August. I’ll send you for a scan as soon as possible and the midwifery team will take over from there. You’ll also need …’ The GP went on, listing all the places Sarah needed to be and people she had to see and things she couldn’t eat, drink or touch. That was one thing then: she now had a great excuse for never going near goat’s cheese.

‘Now, I need to ask a few questions about your family health history. Is there any history of …?’ The GP reeled off a list of diseases and genetic conditions.

Sarah knew the answer to a few of the questions but most were answered with: ‘I’m not sure.’

‘I’m sorry to be so vague but my parents died when I was a teenager so I can’t ask them. I’ll have to phone my auntie and uncle and see if they know.’

‘And I’m sorry to hear about your parents,’ said the GP, looking genuinely sympathetic. ‘And all these questions and information must seem like an awful lot to take in when you’re still coming to terms with being pregnant. Maybe you can ask your partner about his own family history when you give him the news?’

Oh hell, she had to tell Niall at some point, if only in case there was some terrible genetic problem in his family that she didn’t know about. It wasn’t likely as he’d never mentioned any problems but then, they’d never discussed having children. She felt rather than heard the buzzing of her phone in her bag at her feet.

‘Yes. Yes, I will,’ she said and hurried out of the surgery.

There were two more calls from Niall. Knowing she couldn’t ignore him forever, Sarah found a parking space on a side street near one of the university departments and walked through the Backs into the centre of the city where she was due to meet Molly. She listened to one of Niall’s messages.

‘Sarah. Where the hell are you? I’ve been trying to call you. You must let me explain about the other night … me and Ness. It’s not what you think. It was … a huge mistake.’

‘Gah!’

Sarah’s snort of disgust sent a flock of ducks scattering onto the river, quacking loudly. Even though it was winter, there were still plenty of tourists taking selfies, loitering in the middle of the road and almost getting run over by bikes. Students whizzed around the narrow streets by the market square, ringing their bells when a hapless pedestrian dared to cross. Sarah wandered in and out of JoJo Maman Bébé and John Lewis, looking at the cribs and baby baths, the tiny pairs of jeans and miniature Ugg boots.

Her eyes watered at the price tags but her baby would need all of these things from somewhere. She definitely wanted it to have them, except it would be summer when she or he made an appearance and she – or he – would need pretty dresses or cute shorts and mini jelly sandals. She would have to provide it all, with Niall’s help, of course. The responsibility was overwhelming … and apart from Molly, there was no family to share the news with, no mum or dad … Her parents would have loved a grandchild, if they’d been here. God, she’d give anything to share her news with them, even if she and Ni had split up.

She’d give anything to turn back the clock. She stopped on the edge of the pavement, her legs suddenly weak and her head light. It was only the shock of the past few weeks and the baby making her feel faint. It was understandable, normal … Her legs almost gave way and she stumbled into the road.

‘Whoa!’

She stepped back onto the pavement just as a cyclist whizzed by, so close she felt the rush of air against her face. Sarah hadn’t even noticed him approach. Had she got baby brain already? She glanced around, expecting people to stare or roll their eyes at her doziness but everyone hurried past, oblivious to her presence. That’s what it would be like from now on, she thought. She was on her own.

Feeling hot despite the bitter air, she hurried along the narrow lane that snaked between the market and the street where the café was situated. A cool drink and a sit-down would help but the stone walls of the colleges seemed to press in on her and she had to dodge round tourists taking photos outside porters’ lodges.

Although it had started to sleet, she pulled her scarf out of her coat to let the sharp air cool her chest, but she still felt hot and light-headed. If she could make the café and sit down, gulp down a glass of iced water, she’d be OK … She spotted the railings outside the café, with student notices and playbills fluttering in the wind, and put her hand over her mouth.

Oh no, she was going to be sick! But far better to throw up in the café toilets than vom over a tourist.

She hurried down the pavement and stepped onto the wet cobbles.

‘Look out!’

A bell jangled loudly and she felt a sharp tug on the back of her coat.

‘Hey!’ The curse from the cyclist was already just a streak of noise.

‘Are you OK?’ A tall man in a black padded jacket held her by the elbow.

Sarah caught her breath ‘Yes. I … yes, of course.’

‘You do know you almost stepped right in front of that idiot?’

‘I know. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I think I might be the idiot.’

‘He was on his mobile, the twat, but you did seem to be in a world of your own.’

If Sarah hadn’t felt so crap, she might have been offended but she didn’t have the energy. ‘I’m not feeling that great, but thanks.’

‘No problem.’

‘You can let go of my elbow now,’ she said. ‘You’re Ewan, aren’t you?’

Ewan’s bushy eyebrows met in a frown that weirdly did nothing to spoil his ruggedly handsome looks. ‘Do I know you?’

‘I’m Moll’s sister.’ Sarah hoped she wouldn’t throw up on his Timberland boots.

‘Mol?’

‘Dr Molly Havers. Your colleague from the lab? I was at the – um … New Year party with her.’ Sarah could have kicked herself for mentioning the scene of Molly’s humiliation but it was too late now.

‘Oh yes. That Molly, of course. Sorry.’ He glanced down at Sarah. ‘You do look pale. Are you ill?’

Wow, he is blunt, thought Sarah. No wonder Molly’s having a hard time with him and judging by the way he hadn’t instantly recognised her sister’s name, it didn’t bode well.

‘I just felt a bit light-headed and nauseated for a second.’

‘Do you want to sit down? I can get you a glass of water from the café?’ His dark brown eyes held genuine concern and boy, was he gorgeous. Poor Molly, thought Sarah, he might be a bit of a prat but close up he was a real heartbreaker.

‘I think I was just too hot but I’m feeling a bit better now and I don’t want to put you to any trouble. You must be busy. In the lab …’ she added, remembering Molly’s comments about her boss being a workaholic.

‘It’s no trouble. I came out for some fresh air, and to be honest I could do with a break. I’ve been in the lab since four o’clock this morning.’

Ewan smiled, the way Sarah had seen him smile when he’d asked Molly to dance, only this time he was sober, she was sure, unless he had a secret daytime drinking habit. Sarah hesitated a moment longer then decided. Surely this was the perfect opportunity to bring Molly and Ewan together on neutral territory?

She threw him a smile. ‘Then for your sake, I’ll say yes. Thanks.’

‘Good. Is the Old Church Café OK? It’s right opposite.’

‘Perfect.’

By the time they’d found a table in the café, Sarah’s sickness had subsided although she still felt what her and Molly’s mum had liked to call “peculiar”. However, seated in a cool corner of the café next to a window that Ewan had insisted on opening, she was beginning to feel more normal. While Ewan queued at the counter, she glanced at the text she’d just had from Molly and felt slightly guilty.

Running 10 min late. Just setting off from lab. See you asap. x

Would Molly thank her or be furious? Would Ewan be embarrassed? Sarah didn’t think so; he seemed quite kind and considerate under the blunt exterior and he must fancy Molly or he wouldn’t have come onto her at the party, even if he was pissed. Perhaps he was being kind to Sarah specifically because she was Molly’s sister: maybe he wanted to show Molly he did have a softer side. Then again, Sarah thought, she might be making the situation far worse than it already was, but it was too late now.

Carrying a tray, Ewan weaved his way between the tables, drawing admiring glances from several of the other customers. When Molly arrived, how would Sarah explain that she’d arranged to meet her and hadn’t mentioned the fact to Ewan? Oh shh … sugar.

With a smile, he put the tray in front of her. ‘OK. I got a glass of iced tap water and a ginger tea and some ginger biscuits. It’s meant to be good for nausea although of course it’s purely the hydration and rise in blood sugar that helps.’

‘Um. Thank you,’ said Sarah, wondering if this could really be the cold and mercurial man who’d dumped Molly at the party. ‘How much do I owe you?’ she asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Oh, I can’t let you pay.’

Ewan looked at her sternly but not unkindly. ‘Shut up and drink your tea.’

Right, thought Sarah, I will do. Bloody hell, Molly had definitely bitten off more than she could chew with this one. She was mightily glad he wasn’t her boss and that she didn’t have a boss at all because if she was going to feel sick, faint and burst into tears at random moments, she didn’t know how she would have held down a conventional job as she once did. But then again, a job would have come with its salary and rights and maternity leave …

‘Better?’ Ewan cut into her thoughts.

‘Yes, thanks.’

Sarah sipped the water and tried the ginger tea while Ewan tackled a large cappuccino. Molly had told her he was an Iberian Celt. Sarah wasn’t entirely sure what that meant genetically but it had produced a very alpha human being and Sarah could understand exactly why Molly had fallen for him. It must be excruciating to work together on a project like the Love Bug …

‘Are you very busy at work? Molly says so,’ she said, hoping Molly would put in an appearance soon.

‘Does she?’ said Ewan, his interest piqued. Sarah wondered if she’d said the right thing.

‘Well, she obviously never tells me anything about what you’re working on,’ said Sarah hastily. ‘That would be unprofessional. She loved Science at school and always had her head in a textbook. I preferred English and Art.’

Ewan smiled. ‘I enjoyed Art but I had to drop it. My teachers thought I had too much on my plate with my Science GSCEs and A levels and they were probably right. What do you do now?’

‘I run my own business.’

‘Really? What do you do?’

‘I used to work in a bank. I managed the SME liaison team but now I um … have my own small craft business.’

‘Craft? What sort? Sculpture? Woodwork?’

‘Jewellery, actually.’ Sarah knew she should be proud of her business and hated herself for feeling embarrassed about it but Molly had banged on so often about Ewan’s fearsome intellectual reputation.

‘Silversmith? Or another material?’

‘I do use silver wire. I make tiaras …’

‘That sounds high-powered. For royalty?’ He smiled – briefly – probably to show he was joking and wasn’t used to it, Sarah decided. Whatever, she wasn’t offended at his joke.

‘In my dreams. No, for brides, mainly, though some of them do behave like princesses. Most, in fact,’ she said, thinking of Cassandra Burling’s demands. ‘I sometimes do commissions and I run workshops for brides and people who want to create their own jewellery.’ Like Liam Cipriani, she thought, making a mental note to call him back.

‘I must admit that bridal tiaras are out of my sphere of expertise,’ said Ewan.

But he was married once, Molly had said. Sarah wondered if the ex-Mrs Baxter had worn a tiara. Somehow, she couldn’t picture it.

‘How are you feeling? Do you think you should see your GP about the faintness?’

‘I already have. In fact, I saw her this morning. I’m pregnant.’

Ewan looked taken aback but then nodded. ‘Aha. Congratulations.’

‘Thanks.’ Sarah managed to squeeze the muscles of her mouth into a very fleeting smile. Even though Niall was a shit, she still desperately wanted this baby, but Ewan was too sharp not to notice her reluctance.

‘Did I say the wrong thing?’

‘No. You didn’t. It’s just … well, my partner and I have split up.’ Christ, it hurt her heart to even say it out loud. ‘The night of the party actually.’

‘Bummer. I’m sorry.’

‘Yeah.’

Ewan fiddled with the wrapper off the biscuits. ‘It’s never easy, when a relationship goes wrong. Spectacularly wrong in my case.’ He glanced up at her. ‘I’d like to say it gets easier and I suppose it does but it takes a long time.’

‘How long?’ asked Sarah, wishing he hadn’t said anything that made her heart hurt. But now like a child drawn to a flame, she had to feel the pain, know the worst from someone who’d been through it.

‘Everyone’s different, obviously, but for me? Six months before I even accepted she’d gone.’

‘And now? How long has it been since she left you?’

Ewan blew out a breath. ‘Two years, eleven months and ten days.’

Sarah’s jaw dropped. ‘Please tell me I can’t feel this bad for the next three years.’

‘Oh no, I hope not. You won’t, I’m sure.’

Sarah’s disbelief must have been obvious because Ewan’s voice took on a slightly more soothing tone. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m making things worse, aren’t I? I do that: make things worse for people whenever I open my mouth. I think I’m trying to help but I end up making people feel like shit. Anna – my ex – said I was the most tactless man on the planet. It was one of the reasons she ran off with a colleague, along with me being a workaholic and possibly a little bit obsessive.’

Even though she wasn’t reassured, Sarah managed a smile for him. ‘You’re not making things worse. I don’t feel they could be any worse at the moment and I know that getting over Niall will be awful, even though I would never take him back of course, which is exactly why I can’t face it.’

‘Well, at least you don’t work with this guy. Do you?’

‘No. He’s a paramedic.’ Hot anger surged through her veins again as she relived the scene in the cottage bedroom. ‘I came home after the party to find him having sex in our bed with the bloody woman who drives the ambulance. He was wearing one of my tiaras.’

‘Bloody hell …’ Ewan had hissed the words through his teeth but a nearby customer glared at him. He lowered his voice. ‘That’s terrible.’

All Sarah could do was nod.

‘Anna left me for one of the post-docs in my lab at my old uni. She was his boss and I was her colleague. It was crap having to work together every day. I left in the end and got the job here in Cambridge but the last three months were a hell on earth, seeing her and him together every day.’

‘I’ll bet it was,’ said Sarah innocently, knowing that Molly had told her about Ewan’s lecture on the perils of people working – and shagging – together.

‘However, I’ve learned my lesson. I will never get involved with anyone I work with again as much for their sake as well as mine,’ said Ewan firmly.

‘It sounds awful.’

‘Everyone in the lab knew what had happened between the three of us and I know most were waiting for me to have a meltdown or us all to have a bloody duel or something. People ended up taking sides and the atmosphere in the lab was a nightmare. You know, refusing to share offices or go to the pub together, sitting separately at lunch; acting like schoolkids. It was impossible to behave professionally or focus on our work and excruciating to have everyone at work knowing about our private lives.’ Ewan went on gloomily. ‘I took my eye off the ball and we missed out on a major grant that was vital to our work.’

Sarah felt sorry for him but she was way more worried for her sister’s chances with Ewan. They were looking worse by the minute and she had a suspicion that Ewan might be telling her his sorry tale precisely because he knew Sarah would be bound to pass on the conversation to Molly and warn her off. Oh shit.

Molly breezed up to the table in her hi-vis jacket carrying a cycle helmet. ‘Sarah! I am so sorry I’m late …’ She stared at Ewan like he was a zombie. ‘Ewan? What are you doing here?’

‘I was just going actually.’ He scraped back his chair and got to his feet with indecent haste.

Sarah cringed on Molly’s behalf. ‘I wasn’t feeling well and Ewan saw me. He bought me a drink,’ she said hastily.

‘I can see that. Why didn’t you text me?’

‘I … um …’ Sarah floundered. Ewan didn’t have to be a professor to realise that Sarah had expected Molly all along.

‘I must go. I’d hate to interrupt your lunch,’ he said coolly.