Page 43 of Parker
Chapter thirty-four
Kelvingate Women's Clinic, Glasgow
Nicky
“Congratulations, Ms. Smith. You’re pregnant. Sixteen weeks, by the looks of things.” The nurse beams at me.
“Sixteen weeks?” I repeat back to her. “I’ve never carried for so long. My miscarriages have all occurred around twelve weeks.”
She leans forward and squeezes my hand. “Well, this pregnancy is different. Everything is looking perfectly normal.”
As I walk out into the April sunshine, the spring breeze caresses my skin. I’d been feeling unwell for a few weeks with sickness and headaches. When painkillers didn’t solve the issue, I made an appointment with the doctor. Pregnancy was the last thing I expected to be diagnosed with.
The familiar feeling of elation and terror appears instantly. This time, I have no one to go through the fear with. I’m on my own and pregnant with the baby of my ex-husband.
Sophie told me about Ebony after meeting her at a fancy business dinner. I have no idea where she keeps picking up high-profile men who take her on these dates. My heart splits in two at the news. He’s found someone else. The one woman I wished he never would. I always knew it was a possibility.
Since then, all I’ve seen are headlines and news articles about Scotland’s new power couple.
Photos of them at various engagements around the city, arm in arm.
The one that stung most was an image from outside the hotel where Sophie met them.
It was from the following morning, them dressed casually, lips locked as they posed for the press. It was a gut punch from hell.
My emotions are stuck somewhere between knowing he’s dangerous for me and not wanting her to have him. Now, a part of him has taken up residence in my womb. Again.
When I push open the shop door, Sophie’s bright smile greets me as it does every day. “Morning. What did the doctor say?” She harassed me to get a check-up when I told her I was unwell. The outcome is one I’m not ready to admit to yet.
“It’s just a bug,” I lie. “A few days and I’ll be a right as rain.” She scowls, not believing a word. “Look.” I hold up the pharmacy bag containing the pregnancy vitamins I was told to take. “Meds for a few days and I’ll be fine.”
Placated for now, she returns to pinning the sleeve on the mannequin she’s dressing.
It turns out Sophie has a good eye for fashion, like me.
I’ve been training her in the basics of clothing design, and she’s attending an evening college course on sewing.
Together, we’re developing a small, independent fashion line to sell via the shop and our website.
Working with my best friend is the most awesome feeling in the world. I bounce into work every day.
By the end of the day, though, I’m exhausted.
Imelda appears again to order yet another outfit. She’s become a regular customer since we opened, commissioning pieces every other week and bringing in bits and pieces for alterations. She struts through the door, looking as glamorous as always.
My ex-mother-in-law has been showing up more and more.
I haven't received an apology per se for the false accusations made against me by Ebony. But, she’s never been nicer – complimenting my work and my tenacity.
Only last week she commented that she wishes she had the drive I had to work at something they love.
“Nicky, darling,” she coos, embracing me in what is her new normal. “I’m in a dreadful pickle. Next week, I have an important charity dinner. Everyone will be there, and I’ve nothing to wear.”
I giggled at my ex-mother-in-law. She expects me to believe that.
“That dress in your window,” she says, pointing her perfectly manicured nail to a long blue chiffon dress I made as a sample. “Could you alter that to fit me?”
“Of course, but you have your own fashion house. I very much doubt you’re short of options.”
Her eyebrows lift, and she smiles. “Yes, but my fashion house doesn’t have my favorite stylist working there, now does it?”
Standing in the middle of the shop, she turns to Boyd behind her. “Lock the door,” she orders, then lifted her cream summer dress over her head. “Measure me.”
After three hours of measurements, adaptations, and alterations, Imelda stands wearing my creation. She looks incredible.
“Yes, this will do,” she trills. “Thank you, darling.”
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a rectangular piece of card, handing it to me. The Parker crest proudly embossed at its center.
“Let Boyd know how much I owe you for the dress. He will sort you out.” She taps the card in my hand. “Think about it. I hope you make the right decision. There will be people in attendance who can help you.”
I place the card on the counter, resolving to return to it later when no spying eyes are watching.
Parker Industries Charity Garden Party
Saturday, May 8, 2021
Parker Fashion House, Glasgow
2pm
The team would like to invite you along to sample the best cuisine and drink the city has to offer. There will be a fashion show and a charity auction.
All proceeds go to Action Against Knife Crime. Our organization is working to stop knife crime on Glasgow City Streets. Find out more at www.AAKCGlasgow.com.
I laugh out loud. The Parker family is campaigning against the back-alley violence their thugs partake in. The irony is breathtaking. But Imelda is right. Everyone who is everyone will be there. My phone rings. The name Boyd flashes onto the screen.
“Hello, Boyd. I want nothing for the dress.”
“Mrs. Parker, thanks you for your generosity,” he replies. “But that’s not why I’m calling. She wanted to offer you two places on the catwalk if you decide to come to the garden party. A chance to get your work in front of people who count.”
“Why would she do that?” I mutter, and he chuckles.
“Forgive me for speaking out of turn,” he says, “but Imelda thinks a lot of you and your work. She’s saddened by how everything has turned out.
This is her way of helping you up the ladder, back to where you were before this all happened.
” He’s never called her by her first name in front of me before, and the familiarity surprises me.
“I’ll think about it,” I say and quickly put the phone down.
***
My soft pink dress fits just below my expanding bust, then flows gracefully over my curves. At four and a half months pregnant, I’m not showing, but there is a fullness to me that wasn’t there before. He’ll be there today, I know it. I wonder if she’ll be there too.
His partner, Ebony. My nemesis. The woman who took me down.
Boyd told me he would send a car for Sophie and me. It’s due to arrive in ten minutes. My friend looks incredible in a floral fitted dress and kitten heels.
“You look beautiful, Nicky,” she says with a soft smile.
“But there’s something different about you.
I can’t quite put my finger on it.” Nerves dance in my chest. She’s not worked out my secret yet, and the longer the deception goes on, the harder it’s getting to tell her.
“The style,” she says, interrupting my thoughts, “it’s different for you. ”
“Well, it’s a garden party,” I mumble as a way of explanation. “Not every outfit has to cling to you.”
Ignoring my tone, she asks, “Are you ready to see Joel?” I shrug. She walks over and places her hands on my shoulders. “You look incredible. He’s going to be cursing himself for letting you go.”
***
The dark barriers of Parker Fashion are thrown wide open.
Instead of the locked gates, four men in black suits stand, allowing people entry to the premises who pass them an invitation.
A huge white marquee has been erected on the front lawn.
Dressed in florals and bright colors, a crowd gathers around the driveway fountain.
A dozen servers weave amongst them, handing out glasses of champagne.
A pianist sits at the entrance to the marquee playing classical music.
The crowd parts, and someone waves our driver through, allowing us to be dropped off at the front steps.
My ex-mother-in-law appears, opens my door, and takes my hand as I exit the car. “Nicky,” she enthuses. “I’m so glad you came. You look incredible.” Her son appears at her shoulder. He smiles softly in greeting, and my blood heats.
A piece of you is inside me, I want to blurt out. I want to throw myself into his arms and never let him go. Fearful of silently revealing my pregnancy, I avert my gaze.
Imelda takes my hand and leads me toward the marquee. I scan the crowd for her, Ebony, with the dark, sleek hair.
Inside, more than one hundred tables are set for our meal. Each one has an enormous vase of fresh pink and white flowers at its center. A catwalk extends from the back of the marquee and runs through the middle for three-quarters of its length.
“You’re at our table,” Imelda tells me. “As a designer with garments in the show, you need to sit with us all.” She pulls out a golden chair, and I sit, then she settles herself next to me.
Joel disappeared somewhere between the house and the marquee.
People are entering and taking their seats.
A familiar face approaches me, and Ebony sits down directly opposite.
“Hello, Nicky,” she says, not meeting my eye.
“Hi,” I murmur, the word clipped.
Imelda’s voice breaks the awkwardness. “Ebony, I believe you have something to say to Nicky. We agreed you would do this,” she reminds her, gently but firmly. The way a parent nudges a child into an apology.
Ebony takes a breath. For a moment, I wonder if she’s nervous.
“Nicky, I apologize for what I did to you,” she says, looking me straight in the eye. “The lies I constructed. I was in a bad place.”
That’s it. She implodes my life, and that’s all she’s offering. After ruining my marriage, manipulating my husband. Lying to his face and mine. And now she gets to sit here and pretend to seek redemption? There’s so much I could say.
But I don’t. Because this isn’t the place. And I will not ruin my day for her. She won’t take one more happy moment from me. I could list the damage she did, but what would be the point? She’s not sorry. She’s rehearsed.
“Well, I hope you’re in a better place now,” I reply, voice flat. And she flinches, just a little. Then looks away.
And that feels like winning.
My eyes scan the tables for Joel. All the seats here are filled. Sophie sits next to me, reading the auction prizes with exaggerated interest.
Then I see him at a table packed with men in sharp suits and expensive watches. He’s standing, filling each man’s glass with champagne, then fills his own flute with water. He says something, and the table bursts into a round of applause. My stomach twists.
“Excuse me a moment,” I say, rising quickly. I’d taken note of where the toilets were when we arrived. My sickness comes at all times of the day, not only in the mornings.
Walking as fast as I can without looking odd, I head for the bathroom, getting there just in time to puke up my breakfast from this morning into the toilet bowl.
“For fuck’s sake,” I whisper to my stomach, “could you please make me sick at a more convenient time?”
I flush, then open the stall door and walk straight into Sophie, standing on the other side, her eyes wide in shock. “When are you due?” she whispers. “And who’s the father?”
I wave her away. She doesn’t move.
“Nicky?” she shrieks. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”
“Keep your voice down.” I glance around. “This isn’t the place or the time. I’m due in September.”
“It’s him, isn’t it?” I look down at my toes. “Tell me.”
“Yes, the baby is his. We had a night together at Christmastime. A final farewell.”
She scoffs. “Farewell. He’s bloody left a baby in your belly. That’s not what I call a final fuck for closure.”
Tears prick my eyes. “Soph,” I say, “I’m scared enough as it is. No other pregnancy has ever gotten this far. And I’m not even with the father. Please don’t give me a hard time. I didn’t know what to do.”
She steps forward, wrapping me in her arms.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers into my hair. “It was the shock. I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” I whisper back through tears.