A Song in the Night (8 page)

Beth smiled weakly and forced herself up from the bed. “I’ll just go brush my teeth.”

She limped to the bathroom, closed the door and leaned back against the wall. A second wave of nausea swept over her. She bent forward and gripped her knees, her forehead clammy with perspiration.

Is this supposed to happen? What if it’s one of those ectopic things?

Suddenly, she felt like a little girl. Ignorant, frightened, out of control in her own body. She really didn’t like this at all. A rush of vomit forced its way up her throat. She heaved violently. Times like this, she wished her mother lived just around the corner.

She was in the bathroom for some time. Eventually, when the sickness had subsided and the pain had reduced to a slight tenderness somewhere deep in her guts, she washed quickly and went back into the bedroom. Ciaran was already asleep, his breathing barely audible in the stillness. But Beth lay wide awake. As her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, a strange unease began to play in her mind. She didn’t fancy any more episodes like that. Maybe it was time to bring the test forward.

____________

Rosie looked at her watch and groaned. Ten to eleven. She felt edgy, and it was practically bedtime. She hated going to bed feeling like this. She tried to tell herself that it was because of the kids. They’d been pretty hyper all day. But she knew deep down it wasn’t that. The house phone had gone five times that evening, and each time, her heartbeat had doubled in speed as she’d gone to answer it. Four of the calls had been for Mel, and Mel, true to form, had been out all night. The only call for Rosie had been from Beth, telling her about some dumb book she’d turned up.

Despite herself, Rosie had been rather hoping that Gavin would ring. Not that she was eating her heart out over him, even though he was drop-dead gorgeous. No, it was the waiting around that got to her.
Will he call – won’t he call?
She’d been here too many times before. And it was almost a week since she’d last seen him. Maybe he’d been less than truthful with her. All this
‘I’d like to see you again, Rosie – I’ll call you when I get back’
rubbish. Maybe he’d been letting her down gently. Perhaps she wasn’t his type. Not quite the image of perfection he’d been hoping for on his blind date.

She pulled herself up with a start. What was the matter with her? Poor guy probably only got back yesterday. But that was the worst thing about the dating game. The not knowing where you stood. Apparently it wasn’t so bad once you got past the first bit. The bit where both partners are trying to play it ultracool and not look too eager. Once you managed to negotiate your way through that stage and pass onto the comfortably familiar bit, when either party could ring the other at any time and for no particular reason, things usually went okay. Or so she’d heard. Getting to the Mr and Mrs Comfortable phase was a bit out of Rosie’s experience.

At that moment, a bleeping sound came from her handbag. Caught by surprise, she pulled out her mobile, her hands beginning to tremble slightly.

“Oh hi, Gavin. Yes, I’m fine. No, no I wasn’t in bed. Tomorrow …? Yes, that should be okay. You’ll pick me up at seven? Right – great. See you then.”

She clicked off her phone and mentally kicked herself.
Well, that went swimmingly, didn’t it? Couldn’t you have played a little harder to get? What if he’s got the notion you’ve been sitting around waiting for him to ring?
She kicked herself again. What was it about this guy?

She went to bed completely annoyed at herself. He was too confident was Gavin, that was his trouble. Too confident for his own good. She was going to have to take back some ground. Rosie Maconochie didn’t jump for any guy.

It was Tuesday evening and Rosie and Gavin were sitting at a restaurant table waiting to order. Mel had managed to persuade Rosie to wear a scarlet halterneck evening dress that had been hanging in her wardrobe for the past year. Rosie had bought it for a wedding do. It was the only occasion she’d ever worn it.

“You look fabulous!” Mel had gushed when Rosie had tried it on. “It’s perfect with your hair colour. You look like a model!”

Rosie had felt less than happy about it. “Don’t you think it’s a bit much? I feel really overdressed – I mean, I’d hate him to think I was trying to impress him.”

Mel had smiled at that. “I don’t think you could outdress Gavin, Rosie. You might outdress everyone else in the place, but I don’t think you could ever outdress
him
.”

Somehow that observation had niggled Rosie, and she’d ended up wearing not only the dress, but also a flamboyant necklace of coloured gems that Mel had offered to lend her. Mel had pinned her hair up, done her nails, and now Rosie was sitting across from Gavin, aware that he was looking intently at her.

“You’re looking lovely tonight, Rosie.” Gavin’s voice was smooth as butter.

Rosie merely smiled in reply.
If you think I’m gonna say the same about you, sunshine, you’ve another think coming.

Gavin leaned slowly back in his chair, never taking his eyes off her. Feeling self-conscious, Rosie turned her head and stole a discreet glance around the room. Soft jazz music was playing, and there were candles and orchids on every table. The place was very tasteful – very Gavin.

“Not knowing too much about you, Rosie, I’d no idea what your eating preferences were,” Gavin began. “I wasn’t sure if you preferred to go for hot and spicy, or whether you were more of a sushi lady. So I decided to play it safe. I figured an English girl
had
to like English food. And as far as I know, this is one of the best places in London for English.” He was still looking at her, a composed, perfect smile on his face.

Suddenly Rosie couldn’t resist the temptation. “There’s just one problem.” She looked at him directly. For a split second, she saw a flash of consternation pass across his eyes.

He frowned, his mouth still set in its smile.
“Oh?”

“I’m not English.” For the first time since they’d met, Rosie knew she had the upper hand. She guessed it might not be for long, but it was a moment to savour. Gavin looked at her questioningly. Was it her imagination or was he feeling ever so slightly embarrassed? Served him right for jumping to conclusions. It was Rosie’s turn to lean coolly back in her chair. “I’m Irish,” she said simply.

Gavin shook his head, still smiling. “My apologies, Rosie. Your accent gave nothing away.”

“I’ve lived in England most of my life,” Rosie countered, her confidence beginning to grow slightly. “But I can assure you, I
am
one hundred per cent Irish.”

Gavin began to nod, an expression of amusement on his face. “I see,” he said at length. “So tell me – what do young
Irish
ladies like to eat?”

Rosie was quiet for a few moments. For someone so charming, there was something incredibly irritating about Gavin at times. Before she had time to think, a bizarre notion flashed through her mind. She suddenly found herself leaning forward and looking him straight in the eyes. “Ever heard of Jack and the Beanstalk?”

Gavin looked nonplussed.

Rosie took a deep breath.
Oh shoot. I’ve started so I’ll finish.

“
Fee, fi, fo, fum …
” she growled in a low voice that she hardly recognised as her own, “
I
smell the blood of an
Englishman
.
Be
he alive or
be
he dead, I’ll
g-r-i-n-d
his bones to
make
my bread.”

Gavin looked momentarily shocked. Not that Rosie perceived he’d taken the threat seriously. It was more, she suspected, that he’d never dated a girl who recited fairy stories at the dinner table. For Rosie herself, it was time for a horrible reality check. Where had all that come from? He probably thought she was completely bonkers now. Maybe this was the time to remind him that she worked with children. That while he spent
his
days doing grown-up things like pumping iron and Pilates, she spent
hers
knee deep in kids’ books and elbow deep in play dough. Trying to regain her composure, she sat back, smoothed her dress over her knees, and said, as breezily as she could and in her best Irish accent, “With Guinness of course. A good meal always warrants a Guinness.”

For a few seconds there was an awful silence. Gavin looked puzzled at first. Then a quizzical half-smile began to play around his mouth. After a few moments, he threw his head back and began to laugh quietly to himself. Rosie wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

“Well, that’s a new chat up line on me, Rosie,” he said at last, straightening up in his chair. “You’re not part of a paramilitary organisation, I trust?”

Rosie hoped that he couldn’t tell how stupid she was suddenly feeling. “Be very afraid,” she retorted, narrowing her eyes.

Gavin took her hands across the table and squeezed them gently. For the moment, his cool, confident expression had given way to one of bemusement. “Oh yes. I can tell I’m gonna have fun with you.”

Rosie was relieved to see the look of good humour in his face. She felt herself beginning to relax. Poor old Gavin. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps he was just used to girls going totally gaga over him the minute they clapped eyes on him. Girls like Mel. But what was it Sadie at the nursery always said?
Treat
’
em mean, keep
’
em keen?
Obviously that didn’t extend to threatening to eat a guy on one’s second date, but there was a principle in there somewhere. All the same, Rosie noted to herself, for the rest of the evening she must at least try and zip her mouth until she was sure her brain was in gear. It would be a shame to lose a catch like Gavin over some silly culinary misunderstanding.

They met again the following evening. This time they went for a drink and spent the time talking about London, Leicester and Ireland. London was the only place Gavin had ever lived. He was proud of it too. “It must be strange for you living so far from home,” he said suddenly.

Rosie was caught off guard. “Sorry?” she returned, genuinely not comprehending his meaning.

Gavin frowned. “You know – your being Irish and everything.”

“Oh right.” Rosie forced a smile.
Home?
Where was
home?
She’d spent far more of her life in England. Even though it was the land of her birth, Ireland was something of a childhood blur, punctuated by vivid, yet disconnected recollections of various places and happenings. She hardly looked on it as home. Leicester certainly wasn’t either, even though she’d spent the biggest part of her existence there. No; if home was the place where one’s nearest and dearest were to be found, then the only home she had now was London. With Ciaran and Beth. At this stage, however, she hardly wanted to explain to Gavin the complexities of her family life. She smiled as disarmingly as she could. “I’m like a tortoise,” she announced, finishing her drink. “Everywhere I go, my home goes with me. My parents very nearly called me Michelle.” It was an old joke, but Gavin clearly hadn’t heard it before. He laughed loudly when it clicked.

Later that night as they pulled up outside Rosie’s house, Gavin turned to her and took her hand. “I like you, Rosie.” His expression was gentle, almost serious. “You’re different. What my grandad always used to call
a
feisty lass
.”

Rosie was a little surprised at his directness. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

Gavin’s face broke into a helpless grin. “Oh dear – don’t you like feisty?”

Rosie shrugged. “Feisty’s fine by me.”

“And it’s fine by me.” He leaned over and kissed her softly. Rosie found herself responding. Suddenly it was good to feel his arms around her, the brush of his face against hers, the smell of his skin. It was almost funny. Here she was kissing the most gorgeous guy in the world according to Mel – and he
liked
her. Could it be that life was beginning to look up at last?

Raindrops drummed on the roof and ran in rivulets down the windscreen. Gavin pulled her close to him, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders. “This is nice, isn’t it, Rosie? Reminds me of caravan holidays when I was a kid.”

Rosie glanced at him. “I can’t imagine you in a caravan.” Her own sole experience of a caravan holiday brought back memories of outside toilets and trips to the shower block. Gavin didn’t seem the type.

“I used to love it,” Gavin reminisced. “Me and my older brother … you wouldn’t believe the things we got up to. I’d probably hate it now, mind. Not so keen on roughing it these days.”

Now there’s a surprise,
Rosie smiled to herself, but she huddled up closer to him and said nothing. They agreed to meet two days later on the Friday night.

“I won’t be able to see you after that until next week,” Gavin apologised. “I’m going away Saturday morning till Monday. Health and fitness convention. But I’ll call you the minute I get back.” He kissed her once more and they said goodbye. As she stepped out into the driving rain and hurried towards her house, Rosie couldn’t help wishing she’d had the common sense to fish out her key before leaving the car. By the time she eventually got inside, she was pretty soaked. She went to her room and closed the door. Glimpsing herself in the full length mirror, she smiled. Her hair hung in damp, dark curls round her face and her clothes were spattered with rain. But her eyes were shining. The most beautiful guy in the world actually liked her.

____________

Beth was ready for bed. She’d just been sick again and now she felt washed out and achy. This whole thing was really beginning to get to her. She remembered once reading an article about a woman who’d not been able to keep anything down but digestive biscuits for practically the whole nine months. The magazine had carried before and after photos of her. And a picture of her baby. An eight and a half pounder too. That being said, the woman had been a pretty buxom wench to start with. Plenty of fat reserves for little Junior. Beth pressed at her own ribs. They felt scrawny and pronounced. She might be gaining inches round her waist, but the rest of her seemed to be shrinking. It was depressing. That evening on her way home from rehearsals, she’d finally plucked up the courage to buy a pregnancy test. Now as she sat on the bed, she wrestled with the thought of using it. She looked at the clock. Just gone ten. She was expecting Ciaran in about eleven. That gave her an hour. Sixty minutes that could change everything. Should she do it now or wait until just before he got in? She knew these things didn’t take long to work; she also knew they were highly accurate. It was like waiting to be hung. Her eyes fell on the diary. It was where she’d left it on the bedside table. Perhaps she could read a bit more of that. Do the test in half an hour or so. She climbed under the covers and opened it. There was nothing like a bit of procrastination when your future was hanging in the balance.