Free Last Chance Saloon by Marian Keyes Page B

it.’
    ‘Sleepless nights, dirty nappies.’ She winced playfully. ‘Who’d blame you? The poor child would probably die of neglect.’
    And that, she hoped, would be the end of that. But the conversation wouldn’t lie down and play dead because Thomas repeated, in the same confrontational tone, ‘I’d have nowt to do with it.’
    She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t stop herself asking, in a voice much diminished, ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘I mean what I said. I’d have nowt to do with it.’
    Tara was assailed with a creeping sense of dread. The whole thing was only meant to be a joke, but Thomas wasn’t laughing.
    Let it alone, her head urged her. Let it lie. Don’t open any doors you can’t close. He’s not serious. And if he is, you don’t want to know. ‘You mean, you wouldn’t…’ She stopped, just before she said the words ‘Marry me?’ She’d scared Alasdair away with that concept and she’d sworn she wouldn’t make the same mistake with Thomas. Instead she said, ‘You mean, you wouldn’t stand by me?’ And belatedly managed a very brittle, unconvincing smile.
    Thomas sat down on the couch and stared at her. Tara was very, very sorry that she’d ever opened her mouth. She had a horrible sensation of déjà vu, and an awful presentiment of what was coming.
    ‘I don’t know,’ he said, flatly.
    Tara’s heart plummeted through her body, carried on a waterfall of cold fear. ‘Surely you’d stay with me and make a go of things?’ she asked, desperately. Her voice sounded muffled, as if her ears were blocked.
    Again he stared at her. ‘I don’t think I’d want to,’ he said, as if he’d just undergone a revelation.
    It’s not surprising
, she breathlessly reminded herself.
How can he believe in families? After what happened to his parents
.
    This was scant comfort.
    ‘But you love me,’ she protested.
    ‘Aye, but…’
    ‘Would you give me money for the baby?’ Tara croaked, feeling as panicky as if there really was a baby.
    ‘Tara, you earn twice as much as me,’ he said bitterly.
    ‘I suppose,’ she admitted, ashamed.
    Silence fell, a taut thread of tension stretched between them.
    Horrible questions clamoured in Tara’s head. What did all this mean? What kind of future had they?
    ‘But, if you wouldn’t –’ Tara started and abruptly stopped. Why lever the lid off a can of worms? ‘This discussion is mad, because I’m not pregnant,’ she exclaimed, forcing a grin, as she frantically worked on patching up the rip. Quick, quick, before he noticed. Quick, quick, before
she
noticed. ‘Fat, certainly, but not pregnant. There’s nothing to worry about!’
    Thomas was looking at her differently. In confusion, almost. As if questions were occurring to him, too. He opened his mouth to say something.
    ‘Let’s go,’ Tara blurted, in an attempt to stop him. ‘We’ll be late for the film.’
    He wavered on the brink, his breath drawn to speak. But between the breath and the utterance, the lethal light in his eyes died. ‘OK,’ he said, putting his arm around her. ‘Let’s go.’
    No more was said about it. But after the pictures, instead of going out to a party or club as they often would, they came home instead, and watched telly, smoked and drank a bottle of wine in silence. When the wine was finished, Tara went to the kitchen and had a huge, secret gin and tonic. Then another, and another. She drank enough to fell an elephant, but couldn’t get happy.
    Later that night, as Thomas snored beside her, she made drunken plans. Though she wasn’t going to examine it, she knew she’d been given some sort of warning tonight. She simplymust try harder to make this tormented, scarred man of hers happy.
    It was within her power to do so. He’d been mad about her at the start.
Mad
about her. God, how she yearned to return to those wonderful days when he smiled all the time and told her what a cracking bird she was. When they had sex around the clock. When he said