Poles Apart

I watched as she walked out for a second time. I didn’t like her. She reminded me of the nasty Carson I’d met today, and I silently wondered if that was a sure sign I’d been deceived by an act all those years ago and that this was the real Carson Matthews. Maybe he’d just put on a front to ‘charm me into bed’ like he so often joked. It had certainly worked, but from now on I was putting my guard up so I wouldn’t be hurt or fooled by him again.

ONCE HIS MOTHER AND SISTER HAD LEFT, Carson and I were thrust into awkward silence. I didn’t know what to say. My body felt cold, and my insides squirmed with a mixture of anger and mortification. His mother’s opinion of me hurt a lot more than I thought it would. Deep down, I had known the meeting wouldn’t go well. In the ten minutes before she’d arrived, I’d prepared myself marginally for her disapproval, but I hadn’t expected her to be that horrified at the thought of her son with someone like me. All I wanted to do was curl into my own bed, in my crappy little flat, and cry myself into oblivion.

“I want to go home,” I whispered.

He sighed deeply. “Don’t start that again. This is what’s happening. People, including you, will just have to get used to it,” he replied confidently. “Look, I’m sorry about her. She shouldn’t have said any of that, and you shouldn’t have had to listen to it.”

I frowned and flopped down onto the sofa, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on the deep pile carpet. “It’s no worse than what you said earlier. I don’t know why you bothered defending me,” I replied, swiping at my face and wiping the tears wetting my cheeks.

“I defended you because she was wrong. She just doesn’t know you, that’s all. She’ll come around.” He sat down next to me, so closely I could feel the heat emanating from his body to mine as he pressed against my side. “This wouldn’t be such a bloody shock to everyone if you’d just told me two fucking years ago about Sasha.” His tone was harsh and accusing again.

I closed my eyes, not having the words to explain this to him. I’d probably never be able to explain my actions to Carson. He’d probably never see I was trying to do the best thing for him, or that I thought he was better off without us. If I’d told him I was pregnant, his life probably wouldn’t have gone down the route it was now. For all I knew, he might have given up racing to get a ‘real job’ so he could support Sasha, and then he wouldn’t have the mansion he was currently trying to pretend was my ‘home’.

Thankfully, a buzz of the doorbell deemed my reply unnecessary. “That’ll probably be the personal shopper woman.” Carson sighed and pushed himself to his feet, stalking into the hall to answer the door. I could hear him talking to someone through an intercom, and a couple of minutes later Carson and a lady dressed in a smart, blue business suit walked into the room. From her expression and the doe eyes she was shooting Carson, I already knew she had a thing for him and knew who he was. She smiled politely when Carson introduced us, telling me her name was Marian and she was here to order the furniture for Sasha.

It was weird watching Carson and her interact. She’d sat on the sofa between us, pointing out things and gushing about the way it was manufactured. Carson had seemed a little out of his depth the whole time and kept waiting for me to make the decisions, but when I didn’t play along he’d had to take charge. I actually couldn’t care less what type of wood Sasha’s cot was made out of or if it turned into a toddler bed, or what was the ‘most popular range’ they had. We were happy at home with the cot Lucie had given me, but I didn’t have the will to protest anymore.

By the time she got to the back of the catalogue, Carson seemed to have purchased one of everything in the most expensive range they had, regardless of whether it was a necessity or not. After she had a list almost down to the bottom of the page on her clipboard, they took a tour of the house while she noted down the safety equipment that needed to be ordered. I heard plug covers and stair gates mentioned, and when they went into the kitchen they were counting cupboards so they knew how many child locks to order. I didn’t bother following them as they walked around the expansive house while Carson spent money as if it were water. I hadn’t even been upstairs yet, but I didn’t need to. I would bet my life it was just as breathtaking as the lower floor – either way, it still felt like a prison to me. I closed my eyes and sat back against the sofa, settling myself into the soft cushions and willing the dull aching in my head to subside.

The sales rep was in the house for a grand total of two hours, and in that time I had probably spoken less than ten words. Once they were finished, she assured Carson it would be delivered in the morning and her staff would assemble it and put it all in place for him. Clearly it didn’t matter that it was Sunday tomorrow. No doubt there was no expense spared from Carson’s direction to make that happen.

By the time she left, I was mentally exhausted and sat there listening to Carson making endless phone calls to the people he worked with: his press agent, removal companies which would pack up and transport all our possessions to his house, his family and his friends. The whole time, the depression was building and building inside me. Carson seemed determined to do anything other than speak to me.

AT TEN O’CLOCK, we’d barely exchanged more than a few sentences. I stifled a yawn and ignored him tapping away on the laptop ordering goodness knows what else he felt he needed to buy. “You want to go to bed?” Carson asked suddenly, catching me off-guard.