I break off, because the expression on Gus’s face will always haunt me, but I can’t convey it in words. It was too private, too painful. I shouldn’t have seen it.
“Shocked,” I resume at last. “He looked pretty shocked. I don’t know if he’s told Romilly he knows yet.” I look at Bean for a reaction, but she doesn’t seem able to speak. “I mean, they’ll work it out,” I add reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Bean.”
“Did he…” She swallows, licking her dry lips. “Was there…more than one test?”
“More than one test?” I say, confused. “Don’t think so. I could see the bin and it was empty. What, you think Romilly would take ten tests? You’re probably right.” I give a sudden laugh. “God, that would be so her—”
“It’s me.” Bean’s voice cuts me off. For an instant the horizon seems to wobble, and I grasp for the ground, because—
Bean?
Bean?
“I used their bathroom, earlier on,” she’s saying, her voice tiny, her gaze fixed ahead. “My loo’s…you know…”
“Broken,” I supply on autopilot.
“Exactly. I just chucked the stick in the bin afterward. I was in such a state, I didn’t think…I didn’t think…I’m such a moron, I should have wrapped it up and put it in the kitchen bin…” She clasps her head in self-reproach, and I come to life.
“Bean, stop! Whereabouts you threw the test isn’t the…Bean…oh my God.” I throw my arms round her and squeeze hard. Bean. A baby. I don’t know how…or who…but is that relevant? Does that matter?
Actually, it kind of matters.
“How?” I lift my head. “I mean, who? Is this the guy you were telling me about?”
“Ye-es.” Bean’s voice judders, and once again she can’t quite speak. “He’s…he’s…” She fumbles in her pocket, pulls out her phone, and finds a picture of a friendly-looking guy. Dark curls, warm brown eyes, waterproof jacket. Mutely, she scrolls through photos of her beaming with him in cafés and by the river. On a walk. A couple.
“He looks…great?” I say tentatively, because I don’t know how this story goes.
“He is. He’s…” Bean swallows. “But we’ve only been together for a few weeks, and now this has happened. I only found out yesterday. I was in total shock.”
“Is that why you were crying in the garden?” I venture and she nods silently. “Oh, Bean.” I clutch her arm desperately. “Whatever you want to do…”
“Oh, I’m having the baby,” says Bean with resolve. “I’m having it. But…” She glances down at her phone.
“Does he know?” I ask warily.
“Yes. I was in such a panic, I couldn’t wait a moment. So I called him…” Again she can’t speak.
“What did he say?” I ask, ready to swipe this guy if he did the wrong thing.
“He’s honest.” Bean wipes her nose. “He takes his time. He’s not like Hal. He’s said he’ll support me, whatever happens, but he wants to think about…That whatever we do, he’ll do one hundred percent. He already has a child,” she adds. “So he’s already…But he’s not married,” she adds hastily. “He’s divorced. He’s funny, and…he can cook,” she adds randomly. “He’s an architect. He draws!” She scrolls ahead to a sketch of a tree. “He did this. And this one…and this one…”
“Amazing,” I say, looking not at the sketches but at the love blossoming in her eyes.
“But a baby is…” She seems unable to contemplate finishing that sentence. “It’s just…It wasn’t meant to—”
She breaks off into silence, and for a while we just sit there, the breeze blowing through the long grass.
“Maybe it was,” I say softly.
A Bean baby. I can’t imagine anything that would enhance the world more than a little Bean baby. Then something occurs to me.
“But you drank champagne! And wine…”
“I didn’t drink it,” says Bean, rolling her eyes. “It was subterfuge. I didn’t want anyone saying, ‘Oh Bean, you’re not drinking, why’s that?’？”
“Well, you fooled me,” I say, impressed. “You’re far more sneaky than you make out, you know.”