As Gus opens the car door, he seems distracted, even for Gus.
“Hi,” he says. “Bean says you’ve got something important to tell me?”
“Romilly’s not pregnant,” I say, and watch his face go through about six different colors.
“How…？ How did you…？” He swallows. “Wait.” He checks his phone and winces. “She’s forgotten the music too. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I wait impatiently until he returns, gets in, and plonks two dinky little music cases on the backseat.
“I don’t get it, Effie,” he says dazedly. “How could you know about…How the hell could you even—”
“I saw you in the bathroom through the trapdoor,” I say swiftly, trying to cut through his confusion. “You found a positive test. But it wasn’t Romilly’s. It was Bean’s.”
“What?” Gus starts in shock. “Bean?”
“I know. So that’s a whole other thing. But the point is, what you saw was misleading. It’s not Romilly’s baby. It’s not your baby. And that means…” I can’t finish the sentence, because what I want to say is, You’re free.
For a moment, we’re both silent. Then I realize Gus’s shoulders are shaking. His face is wet.
“Gus!” I say, aghast.
“I’ve been such a fool.” He brings two fists to his face. “Such a bloody…I’ve been coasting along in a relationship I don’t really want, because of…I don’t know. Inertia. Procrastination. Denial.”
“Well, then, this is good!” I say encouragingly. “Now you know how you feel! You can do something about it!”
“Yes. Thank God. I still can’t believe it.” He seems in shock. “Effie, you don’t know the night I’ve had…”
“I can imagine,” I say wryly.
“Wait, though. Wait.” He seems barely able to get the words out. “Wait. What if that wasn’t Bean’s test? What if somehow Romilly is pregnant too? What if they both are?”
I can feel his panic. He’s had a glimmer of freedom. A moment of self-realization. What if the iron gate clangs shut after all?
“Find out?” I suggest. “Call her?”
“OK.” Without hesitating, Gus speed-dials her. “Hi,” he says. “Yes, in the car. Listen, I was wondering something. Are you pregnant?”
Beside him, I splutter incredulously. I thought he’d work up to it a tad more gradually. I can hear a stream of words on the other end, and then Gus’s face releases. He looks like a child let out to play.
“Right!” he says, glancing at me. “So that’s definite. You’re not.”
Beside him, I let out a silent whoop, punching the air. I high-five Gus, who clutches me in a hug, the phone still clamped to his ear.
“Don’t know,” he says. “I just got a sudden strange idea about it…Anyway, good to know you’re so sure.”
He breaks away from me, giving me the thumbs-up, then silently he does a little victory dance with his arms. I join in, mirroring his ecstatic movements, both of us beaming in our exhilarated relief. All this time, Romilly has been talking, and now Gus chimes back into the conversation.
“I know we haven’t, but I’m talking about it now. No, this isn’t my weird way of proposing.” He makes an appalled face at me, and I make an equally horrified one back. “But yes…maybe we do need to talk. Yes, I did find the music cases,” he adds patiently. “And yes, I am on my way.”
At last he puts the phone down and breathes out. He looks drained.
“That was the closest shave of my life,” he says at last. “And I am a fucking…idiot.”
“Let’s deliver the violins,” I say. “And you can end it. I’ll keep you company.”
And make sure you don’t get talked round, I add silently.
“Yes. I need to end it.” Gus starts the car. “I feel like I’ve woken up from a bad dream,” he adds, as we drive slowly over the grass. “I’m like one of those frogs in the pots of water. They don’t notice the temperature going up, because it’s so gradual.” He turns onto the main village road, his brow furrowed. “I couldn’t tell you when things started going wrong, exactly. You wake up and you realize you’ve tipped over from happy to unhappy. But you blame yourself. You rationalize. You bury yourself in work and think things must surely get better. It’s crazy.”