Chasing Daisy

faces around the table. I don’t wait for them to say anything else before hurrying out of the venue.
    I set off down the street, deciding to walk rather than call the driver.
    Pregnant? Pregnant? What would I do? Of course, I would keep it. What if it was a boy? What if he looked like Will?
    A lump forms in my throat and tears prick at my eyes as I run across the street in my three-inch heels. I’m not used to wearing them and my feet are already starting to ache, but that’s good. Physical pain helps deflect from the emotional kind.
    Would I tell Laura? Would Laura want to know that Will had a son? What about his parents? Would they accept me? They would have to. I would be the mother of their only grandson . . .
    Or perhaps it’s a girl. A little girl who takes after me. But she could have her daddy’s eyes . . .
    Tears start to stream down my face and I brush them away, quickly. My soles are burning. I should have called the limo. It was probably only waiting around the corner.
    I want to speak to Holly, but no, I’m not ready.
    Oh God, I want to be pregnant. Please let me be pregnant. When did I last have my period? It was ages ago. I start to cry properly as I stumble down the sidewalk. Passers-by glance at me warily, but no one asks me if I’m okay and I don’t want them to. And then up ahead, I see a limo parked on the side of the street. Is it mine? I reach it and realise with a wave of relief that it is, banging on the window at the driver who leaps out of the car in shock.
    ‘Take me home!’ I wail.
    ‘Miss Rogers! Did you call me? I’m so sorry.’
    I shake my head at him wildly and climb into the car. He knows better than to ask any more questions.
    There’s a fresh bottle of champagne chilling on ice. I can’t believe I drank so much tonight! What if I’ve harmed the baby?
    Oh, please God, let me be pregnant!
    No one knows about you . . . Laura is the one he left behind . . .
    I thought Holly’s words would haunt me forever, but they’d all know about me if I were the mother of Will’s only child. I would-n’t have to hide. I wouldn’t have to grieve in silence . . .
    I want his baby, so much!
    I could go to a pharmacy . . . Get a pregnancy test . . .
    No. No. I don’t want to do that.
    What if I’m not?
    Don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t think it.
    I wipe away my tears as we pull up in front of my apartment block. Barney comes to hold open the door and I step out, calmly thanking him. He looks concerned when he sees my red and no-doubt puffy eyes, but I walk past him with my head held high.
    Most of the lights are off in the apartment and I go straight to my bedroom. In the bathroom I lift up my top and stare at my stomach. Flat as a pancake. But I wouldn’t be showing, yet. I must eat healthily tomorrow. Make up for all the booze I’ve had tonight.
    Would I have the baby here? Or would I go back to England? I could go to Italy! Nonna would look after us both!
    Italy . . . That was where he said he first fell for me . . .
    Sobs ricochet through me as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I miss him so much. It’s been over two weeks, but I want him back. He can’t be gone forever!
    He was trying to block Luis from overtaking him, and ran wide, crashing into a wall and spinning through the air before landing the wrong side up on a gravel pit. He broke his neck, they said. It was quick, painless. But he must’ve known he was about to have an accident.
    I wonder if he knew he was going to die . . .
    No, no, NO! He was mine! But his life was snatched away on the very day he became so. We could have spent our lives together. I was on the verge of being happy – the happiest I have ever been. How can I cope with the pain of his loss, now?
    I love him!
    How dare she love him, too! How dare she!
    I run and throw myself on the bed and cry, hard, into my pillows. It should have been me. It should have been me at the front of the church. It should have been me on the front of the papers staring out at me at Heathrow. I should have been reading about me as I knelt on the floor of the newsagent’s at the airport, my fingers turning black from the newspaper print.
    But it was her. It’s all about her.
    Italy. Italy. That’s where I’ll go. Nonna, me and the baby. He’ll like living in the mountains. I’ll bring him up bilingually . . .
    Two days later, I get my period. I sit on the toilet in shock, unable to cry, unable to do anything except sit there and stare into