‘I would love tandoori chicken!’ I say enthusiastically. Tandoori chicken happens to be one of my all-time favourites and right now it also means I don’t have to cook.

‘That’s decided then,’ Sid says and seems to hesitate. ‘Are you busy or can you talk?’

His words are music to my ears.

‘No, no—I mean I am not busy, I’d love to talk,’ I say, untying my apron.

Sid nods and goes back into the dining room and I follow him. He seems uncertain about where he wants us to sit—he looks at the dining chairs and then at the sofa—and finally pulls one of the dining chairs and sits down. He looks at me and smiles—somewhat nervously—but I can’t imagine why he needs to be nervous around me.

‘Look. I know you will think I am a bastard—especially after the incident the other night.’ I couldn’t remember initially but then it came back to me. ‘I am sorry about what’s occurred Polly … you have no idea how sorry,’ Sid says regretfully.

I am too stunned to speak and simply shake my head in response. Is this why he has been avoiding me—because he has been feeling guilty about that night? I shake my head more emphatically.

‘No, no Sid, don’t be sorry, it’s—’

‘I didn’t mean to have sex with you that night, Polly. It was a mistake. I should not have had sex with you that night,’ Sid says.

‘You were drunk Sid, that’s all. You didn’t hurt me or anything and I was a willing participant, mostly. It’s not as if—’

‘You’re not getting my point, Polly. I did not want to have sex with you. I mean, we don’t have much sex anyway,’ Sid says and then quickly clarifies, ‘and don’t misunderstand, I’m perfectly fine with the lack of sex—in the current scenario it’s better we don’t have sex, it just confuses matters. But the other night I was so drunk, I wasn’t thinking properly. And we—did I use protection, Polly?’

‘No,’ I say, answering the question while my mind tries to make sense of what Sid is saying.

I can’t make sense of whatever it is that Sid is saying. Why is he asking about a condom?

‘Why didn’t you want to have sex with me—because you were drunk?’ I ask.

‘No. As in no, that’s not it but—Damn it—I am doing a terrible job of explaining. Phew!’ Sid says and gets up from the chair.

He paces around the table, scratching his head and ‘phewing’. I wait for him to settle down. He needs to get it out of his system—whatever is bothering him—before I tell him about the baby.

‘I had a girlfriend, Polly—we had been dating since college,’ Sid says out of the blue.