When the telephone rang at seven in the morning, I already knewit was Richard. Only he would call at such an hour with the voice of someone who believed the day began at five.
“Yes?” I grumbled, barely awake.
“Margaret, Im sorry to wake you, but I need to ask a huge favour.”
I sat up in bed. With him, a “huge favour” always meant either disaster or madness.
“Out with it, then,” I sighed.
“Ive got to go on business to Manchester. Two weeks. And Sophies six months alongthe doctors ordered her to rest”
“You want me to look after your pregnant wife?” I cut in.
Silence hummed down the line.
“Just make sure she eats properly, gets to her appointments, doesnt fret”
“Do you hear yourself, Richard?”
“I do,” he exhaled. “But youre the only one I trust. And Sophie adores you. Says youre the sister she never had.”
Lovely, I thought. The sister who once was his wife and still isnt certain shes entirely over him.
I hung up, yet twenty minutes later, I stood at their front door. Sophie answeredwrapped in a nightgown printed with ducks, her hair tousled, her belly round and glowing.
“Margaret! I never meant to trouble you, this was all Richards idea,” she said, flustered.
“Relax, I dont bite. Wheres your globetrotter?”
“Upstairs, hunting for socks. Navy ones. Unsuccessfully, as usual.”
Oh, I knew that search well.
“You actually came?” Richard appeared in the doorway.
“On one condition.”
He tensed. “Which is?”
“No calling every five minutes. When youre back, dinner at the poshest restaurant in town. And buy Sophie those Belgian chocolates shes been craving since yesterday.”
“Howd you know?” Sophie blinked.
“Seen it in your eyes,” I smiled. “Pregnancy cravings dont lie.”
When he finally left, the two of us remainedthe former wife and the current, both slightly bewildered.
“Odd, isnt it?” Sophie said, pouring tea.
“Terribly. But Ive grown used to odd things in life.”
We fell into a rhythm. Mornings together, breakfasts Id cook, chores wed share. We watched telly, laughed, talked about everything.
“Tell me honestly,” she murmured one evening, “do you still love him?”
I couldve lied. But not to her.
“Yes. Just not as before. Its love for a memory now. It aches, but it doesnt wound.”
She nodded.
“I was afraid you hated me.”
“Believe me, I tried,” I chuckled. “But youre too good to hate.”
The next day, we went for her scan. When the tiny heartbeat flickered on the screen, Sophie squeezed my hand.
“See? Thats him.”
And I dida little life spun from a past Id once shared with that man. It hurt yet somehow, it soothed.
“Handsome,” I said truthfully.
“Dyou think Richard will cry when he sees the picture?”
“Undoubtedly. He wept at the end of *Casablanca*.”
We laughed. We cried. We became friends.
One night over supper, Sophie asked, “Why did you two really split?”
I set down the knife.
“We were opposites. I was order, he was chaos. I was quiet, he was a storm. We loved but couldnt live together.”
“And with me?”
“With you, he found balance. You steady him. I only ever stoked the fire.”
She smiled through tears.
“Youre remarkable, Margaret.”
“No. I just learned to let go.”
When Richard returned, Sophie nearly bowled him over. He showered me with thanks.
“Youre an absolute angel.”
“An angel who wants dinner at a Michelin-starred place,” I reminded him.
They laughed, and as I watched them, I realisedyes, I still loved this man. But now it was a love without demands. A love that could rejoice in anothers happiness.
“This little ones going to have the best aunt in the world,” Richard said, gazing at the scan.
“Aunt?” Sophie echoed.
“Naturally,” I grinned. “After two weeks, Im officially part of this odd, happy family.”
“Sure you want this madness?” he teased.
“Too late to back out now,” I said. “Someones got to stop you naming the child Algernon.”
“Whats wrong with Algernon?!” Sophie protested.
The three of us dissolved into laughter.
So I became “Aunt Margaret” to my ex-husbands child and his wonderful wife. And dyou know what? I wasnt lonely anymore.
My story mightve sounded like the plot of some peculiar radio play, but it had everythinglaughter, pain, tenderness, forgiveness.
And when, months later, Sophie rang to say,
“Margaret, we want you to be our sons godmother,”
I just laughed and replied,
“Well, now Im stuck with you lot for good.”
