TELEPHONES are useful devices – when you turn them on.

When you turn them on you can get messages to whoever you need to. In Petra's case, you could receive messages sent from your friend Sarah telling you she hasn't told Dane she's pregnant. If you're Sarah turning on a phone on would allow you to receive a message from your best friend telling you that her husband has dropped you in it and now your mutual friend now knows about the baby.

Hell later on in the night, if you were Dane, you could even get a message that your girlfriend is on her way from Paris.

If you don't turn them on, then well, they are beyond useless and let's face it you have opened yourself so that the shit can well and truly hit the fan and your life can go to hell in a hand-basket at lightning speed.

Sarah Huntington turned her phone off after messaging Petra to tell her not to let slip to Dane that she was pregnant; that she was going to his house tomorrow to tell him face to face as friends should.

Neville had figured out what she was hiding straight away and Sarah wondered if the others had too. Not willing to risk giving herself away totally, she'd taken the cowards way out and rung the rest of her family. Margaret Hilditch had been cautious, Jane suspicious (and their conversation had been cut short by "another call coming in"), Lydia supportive and Athena, thrilled.

Her little sister had nieces on the Hilditch side but she'd actually thought there'd be a snowflakes chance in hell of a little Huntington coming into the world– not that this was all Huntington (though Thena didn't need to know that – not yet – down the track when she was older and Dane was married with ten kids then maybe).

She'd told work people, well just those she worked closely with. She kept herself to herself at the best of times and wasn't about to shout her private business to the world but she had a tiny bump now and it was starting become difficult to hide; soon even the October/November coats and jumpers wouldn't do much to keep her secret. So she needed to get out there and control the narrative, speculation was her enemy. 

With her pregnancy progressing, the preliminary 14-week scan out of the way, it was now time to tell her superiors. 

That's why she was having this dinner party.

This was a party crammed with the people who made sure she was paid and paid well. Well enough that she could afford to do this on her own, with no input from the "sperm donor". 

She didn't need anything from him. 

In fact, Sarah was trying her hardest not to think about him, about the fact that he was home and later tonight he'd be back just a block from her door, her bed. Yeah like that was ever going to happen again – look where it landed her last time! Up the duff and in danger of waddling like a duck, when she wasn't puking into the nearest receptacle. Dane Hilditch wouldn't be allowed to warm her sheets again! 

And she wouldn't think about him tonight, wouldn't think about the man who'd contributed half the DNA for little Bean. Tonight was about her bosses at the library and the RSC and her director from the BBC and their spouses – her friends. That's why she'd turned down Petra's invitation (well that's what she told herself) but it was certainly why she'd turned off her phone.

It was also why, as she entertained her guests at her house in London (and not in Stratford as she'd told Petra) she was blissfully unaware that Dane knew there was a baby – and in his addled jetlagged, boy's brain had put two and two together and come up with seven.

She was also totally unaware at 8pm, as she served up the main meal – a full roast beef dinner with Yorkies and homemade gravy (Dane's favourite) that her old friend had left Petra's – even though Petra had left a message about George's gaffe. They'd eaten early and he was too tired to stick around too long – it wasn't a lie – traveling had drained him and then the news had finished him off. He made his apologies and left.

Petra had tried to smooth things over – "you know Fox, she wouldn't want to tell you something like that over the phone, I'm sure you'll hear from her as soon as she's back". 

Some part of him took that in, understood, but another region of his brain was angry, no, more hurt than angry; hurt, betrayed, lonely and lost. Sarah Charlotte Huntington was such a huge part of his life and he'd hoped, expected, that she felt the same way. He expected this type of decision would be one she would have told him about, even if she didn't discuss it with him beforehand. 

Throughout their lives, they'd always talked out decisions like this. What had changed? At least he knew why she hadn't rung him. Not that it was entirely her fault, he was perfectly able to pick up a phone, he knew that. He also knew Sarah had a real problem with feeling abandoned, abandoned by her mother and father – even though they couldn't help it – abandoned by lovers, friends. And he'd played into that even it had been with the best intentions. 

He knew now he should have talked to her the next day as he'd promised. But he'd had an attack of the guilts and then he'd realised things, things that didn't matter now. He couldn't believe she'd lied though. Something hard and dark settled in his stomach, weighed him down and exhausted him. Despite that Dane knew he needed to see her.

He'd take a quick detour past her place on the way home just in case, maybe Petra was mistaken and she was home or maybe she'd come home early? If she wasn't there he'd ring her, he just knew, despite the bone-sapping tiredness that threatened to embrace him, that he had to see her. They needed to talk this out before it did irreparable damage to their friendship, face-to-face or on the phone, he didn't care anymore.

All these things, and nothing went through his head as he rode in the back of the cab on the way to his own house. He lived less than a block away it wasn't really even a detour, he had to go past her house anyway (well if you took the back way and a side street). If the lights were off they'd keep driving, if they were on he'd stop, talk to her and then walk home.

The lights were on.

Somebody was home.

The lights were blazing.

Dane knocked on the door.

He'd never been so nervous in his life, not to see Sarah. Well, maybe the night they'd slept together that first time. Maybe the day after their last impromptu coitus. He'd sat there that morning typing in her number, staring at his phone willing himself to call.

He knocked, he rang the doorbell, he even considered ringing her phone.

And then he heard her.

"Coming!" she yelled.

Sarah opened the door, her wild hair tamed back off her face but still threatening to stage a breakout at any moment, her glasses perched upon her head, a black low-cut top, her signature long flowing skirt – patchwork silk in patterned black and white with touches of emerald, a strand of emerald green crystals around her neck – knotted and dipping in her rather voluptuous breasts, the emerald earring drops he bought her for her 21st with his first acting pay-cheque dangling from her ears. Backlit by the hall light, she looked like she was glowing. Pregnant women did that, didn't they? Isn't that what people said? She's glowing? In Sarah's case it was true, she was beautiful and he knew then just how much he'd missed her.

He was supposed to be angry but instead he was gobsmacked, a deer in the emerald green headlights of her eyes, his own eyes traveled down Sarah's torso to the gentle swell of her stomach.

She was taking him in too – mouth open.

"Dane," she said quietly like she'd seen a ghost obviously trying to regain her composure and recover from what was obviously a 6'2 dark-blond-haired shock.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She looked slightly panicked for a minute before schooling her thoughts.

"I came home today," he said on autopilot staring at the woman who was supposed to be his best friend, the woman who he knew everything about - sometimes too much. 

But this woman, this woman was at once achingly familiar and a complete stranger. He knew every curve and every secret of the woman in front of him - well he had until recently.

"I know," she replied.

"George told me," he said pointing towards her stomach.

She nodded, her eyes not leaving his. She suddenly wished there was no house full of important guests. He knew. And yet despite knowing he was going to be a father he was strangely calm and he looked like death. He was very obviously in the vice grip of jet-lag. She wondered how long it had been since he slept.

"Were you going to?" he asked as they stood on either side of the door jam on a chilly early November night.

"I wanted to tell you. You never rang and then I thought it would be better if I told you in person."

And then it just flowed out, not with a raised angry voice - eerie calm - not like her emotional Will at all. She could hear the hurt in his voice, he had a right to that, he'd be shocked and hurt to find out that way, to find out he was going to be a dad through someone else. So she just let him go.

"You should have told me you were thinking of doing this, you should have told me you were pregnant that night," the words tumbled out. Yeah, she'd hurt him, she could see that now except. What the fuck?

"What?"

"George said you were 14 weeks pregnant, we, you know after that," he said shifting uneasily from foot to foot. 

"Um I'm not comfortable having this conversation out here, can I, are you going to invite me in?" he asked running his hand through his short cropped wavy hair. She missed his wild curls though it had been nice running her hands through his short hair too. 

"I have a house full of guests, I could come over in the morning though?" she said still shocked to see him. Still watching him as he looked her over like she was a strange mythical creature, still trying to work out what he was saying. They needed to talk this out but now she wasn't sure what he was thinking. Sarah had planned this conversation out, she knew how it would go, had rehearsed both sides.

She planned to tell him she'd thought about what he said, about the pact, and had decided that she really did want a baby and had accessed a sperm bank after he left. 

That was the plan but Dane didn't seem to be following that script.

What was he thinking? What had he deduced was happening here?

She had know idea.

But she did know he should be asleep; in bed not trying to sort this out now. 

Sarah herself needed to be back with her guests. 

They would be finishing their food. 

And then she saw him rub his arms and shiver; she didn't feel the cold as much anymore – all that extra blood flowing through her veins thanks to the baby, his baby. He needed to be out of this cold it was obviously leaving him addle-brained.

It was weird because when he first arrived she'd thought, given the way he'd looked at her (like she was made out of porcelain) she'd thought he'd deduced the truth. 

Now though, she saw he hadn't even considered that eventuality. Instead, he'd jumped to conclusions and thought the worst.

First he didn't bother to ring her and now this. 

She didn't know what to think.

All she knew was that she couldn't have this conversation here, he was right, they needed to be inside. 

As the reality sunk in she felt the anger bubbling. 

He didn't even consider that this could be his child. He didn't even realise that she wouldn't make a decision like this without talking to him for hours. 

She suddenly felt right not to tell him.

"Sure but only for five – you'd be cold – acclimatising I would expect," she said, teeth starting to grit.

He had always had trouble adapting to temperature changes, she didn't want him to catch a cold, he had projects to film, bikini models to bonk.

She gestured him in. 

He came.

They stood facing each other in her small front sitting room; cozy chairs, warm fire, guitars in stands, TV tucked away on the wall at the end, above the piano. They'd spent a lot of time in this room.

 It felt weird now and he felt out of place.

"You were at Petra's?" she asked as they stood oddly apart near the fireplace staring at each other.

He nodded, still on automatic. Still staring almost rudely at her torso.

Numb.

Numb like that day he had received that phone call at Cambridge from his mother. 

The day he had to tell her about her father.

He tried to read her, to work out what was going on. 

Hang on - did she look angry at him? 

Why would she be angry with him? 

He felt emotions bubble he shook his head, she did look angry, angry and hurt.

No! 

That was what he should feel. 

She couldn't own those emotions they were his. 

He tried to keep himself calm, he was bewildered and lost though and he wanted to yell at her but it wouldn't achieve much, instead he was quiet, controlled.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he sighed.

"We've shared everything Fox, we shared everything and suddenly our friendship didn't matter?" His voice was getting louder as he went along and despite using all his willpower the anger was creeping in, she could hear it. 

He'd gone from sad to angry. 

He had no right to either emotion they were hers. 

She was tired, hormonal and alone and he had a nubile French girlfriend.

"Our friendship, us, was everything to me but you slept with me and then just left me, didn't ring me as promised, didn't talk to me, went back to your beautiful French girl like I didn't exist, like I didn't matter, like we got drunk and fucked against a wall every day but I thought it was more," she growled trying to keep the emotion out of her voice but it cracked under the strain.

There were tears now. 

She hated pregnancy hormones.

His eyes bugged.

Tears.

That's not what he expected, this wasn't his Fox. His Fox would have slammed him against the wall and kissed him hard, or chucked him out on the street and told him to take a good look at himself.

He fought the urge to hug her.

"I did feel bad, I thought I was doing the right thing, I ran because..........well it doesn't matter anymore does it? You went and did this," he said gesturing to her stomach. "Had done this – oh god the amount of wine you consumed that night? You did that pregnant? Are you drinking tonight?"

She saw red then. 

Her wet eyes blazed.

And then there was a knock on the door.

A head popped round. 

Dehlia from the library.

"Sorry to interrupt – I wondered if you wanted me to serve up the cheesecake?" she asked innocently looking from Sarah to the man she knew was Dane, Sarah's best friend, a frequent visitor to the library when he was home. 

She'd wondered when Sarah dropped the bombshell.........Deciding to have a baby and just doing it was very Sarah but so was pouring over a decision like that for months before. They were friends, she'd thought Sarah might have at least talked to her about it. 

But she'd seen her face when one of the young library assistants talked about his new French girlfriend......And then even after she was pregnant, Sarah had said nothing, nothing until tonight. Not that she didn't suspect. She was a historian, a researcher, Dehlia noticed things. She wondered how this would play out – badly, she suspected - that's if they were allowed to continue now.

All of her guests had heard them talking - the voices carried down the hall.

They hadn't finished their meals but Dehlia could see this becoming something the pair of them couldn't come back from, so she'd marched up to help.

Sarah took a deep breath.

Whatever she was going to say was filed away.

"Sorry Dehlia I'll be down in a second, it's okay – um you remember Dane," she added as an afterthought.

She smiled and nodded.

"Hi, Dane – have you just flown back from New Zealand? You look tired," she said pointedly. Dehlia was a straight shooter it was probably why she and Sarah had become friends over the years. Tough, no-nonsense and in her 50s, she'd become one of the movers and shakers at the library. She knew when to read a situation and she knew this boy, man, man-boy had to leave now or her friend would let lose all those lovely bubbling pregnancy hormones and hurt feelings.

"Yeah I suppose I am," he said yawning and running a hand through his hair.

Good boy Dehlia thought. Get out while the getting is good.

"You do look tired," Sarah said, staring at Dehlia and not looking at Dane, knowing what she was doing.

"We should maybe talk about this in the morning," she offered still looking at Dehlia.

"Sounds like a good idea," Dehlia said still looking at her friend.

"Do you need a lift home? I've had a bit to drink but my wife is still sober?"

Dane looked a little like a deer in the headlights. One minute he was angry and hurt and now he was confused and being shoved out the door. 

Dehlia was a force of nature, like Sarah only older and tougher. No wonder they were friends, you wouldn't want to cross either of them, ever and he got the feeling he had been about to but he didn't know why or how. 

His head was swirling, he really was over tired and confused.

"Um no, I probably need the fresh air," he started.

"Nonsense!" Dehlia said leaning around the door to call down the hall to her partner.

"Barb can you drive a friend of Sarah's home for her – he just lives close."

"Yep no problem!" came the answer and before he knew it Dane was saying goodbye to Sarah, hugging her stiffly at first and then he felt like he didn't want to let go and neither did she. He shouldn't feel like that, he had a girlfriend and she had a baby. They had what they wanted, perfect lives.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," she whispered in his ear. He nodded numbly as he trundled after Barb and was bundled into the car.

Sarah watched them leave as Dehlia put an arm around her young friend.

"You young lady have a lot of explaining to do! But first, we'd better get your pregnant arse back inside – I think we both need a big slice of that famous cheesecake of yours!"