Starting Over (31 page)

Now was the time to tell him.

Or maybe not right now.
That
was too good to postpone.

Whilst their breathing slowed, she snuggled in the crook of his arm, her hand on his chest. It was time.

A jump in her chest. She must tell him but her mouth seemed suddenly reluctant to open and let the words out.

Possibilities turned over in her mind, his likely reactions chased after. If only she could know his reaction
first
,
it would make selecting her approach so much easier.

‘What’s up?’

She jumped, wrong-footed. He caressed her cheekbone as he waited. Seeing through her.

So, time to tell. Feverishly, she re-revised her openings. Women had to tell men this all the time, there had to be ways to make it important, welcome news.

But, if it wasn’t? What if it was a catastrophe?

Blue eyes were turning wary, black eyebrows straight-lining above them. He was wondering. ‘Tell me,’ he suggested, mild, but with that hint of hardness which reminded her that people didn’t mess with him. He could be difficult, though not with her, never with her. Yet. She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes, hovering between two opening gambits.

‘Tess!’

She took a deep breath to deliver the news in a reasonable, measured manner. But unrehearsed words pushed past her planned phrases, tumbled past her lips. ‘We’ve been a bit careless.’

The eyebrows shot up. The arm around her tightened, gave a slight shake. ‘What?’

Heat rose to her face, she half smiled, half laughed. ‘Um,’ and ‘Well ...’  She tried again. ‘When I was ill, you know, that night, the curry, remember?’ He nodded, dawning suspicion in his eyes. Her gaze dropped to the twin fans of black hair on the power of his chest, her hand rose to smooth them. ‘If you read, if we’d read, the instructions with the contraceptive pill ... Well, we should’ve taken other, um, precautions.’

She cleared her throat, flicked a glance at his poleaxed expression. ‘So what happens, you see ...’

‘Holy crap,’ he croaked. ‘We’re having a baby!’

‘Mmm.’

Expression ludicrous, incredulous, he stared into her eyes. ‘Really?’

‘Mmm.’

‘How did that happen?’

‘I just told you.’ She must be composed. It was vital not to give too much away until he’d reacted, committed himself.

He was very still. Apart from the ridiculous incredulity, she couldn’t read his face. Distaste? Fear? Disappointment? Dismay? Let it be joy! Or, at least, acceptance.

He blinked. ‘You
do
want to keep it?’

Relief made her head buzz. ‘Of course
I
want to! Do you?’

‘Why wouldn’t I want to? Tess!’ He dragged her off her elbow and into his arms, burying his face in her hair, hugging her too tightly. ‘I love you!’ Laughing, kissing, rolling over her, ‘Oh my God,’ and, ‘I can’t believe it,’ and, ‘Oh my God,’ again. He kissed his way down to the abdomen where it was all to happen, began a silly one-sided conversation with what he called ‘his foetus’.

Eventually, he just cradled her against the hot flesh of his body. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

‘Dr Warrington, today. He said, “Aha! The incredible baby-producing tummy bug!” And gave me a stack of leaflets showing veiny breasts and screwed-up babies. He’s doing a test to make sure.’

She watched Ratty’s lips descend slowly until her eyes closed and her lips opened to reciprocate his kiss.

Against her mouth, he murmured, ‘Is everything going to be all right this time?’

‘He says there’s no reason to think it’ll go wrong again. But, be very sensible.’

Ratty gripped her. ‘We’ll be more sensible than anyone has ever been before. I love you. We’ll love our baby.’ Kiss, kiss, ‘Everything will be wonderful,’ kiss, ‘because nothing bad is going to happen,’ kiss, ‘nothing could – happen to – spoil – this.’

Nothing could spoil it. Certainly not so soon. How should she have known that carrying the mail up to open with that first cup of tea, would do it? Suspect, when he opened his eyes, smiled his sexiest and joked, ‘Hullo, Mummy,’ that she shouldn’t have giggled back? There was nothing, then, to stop her abandoning the tray and bouncing in beside him, agreeing that the baby would be their secret for a few more weeks. It was only sensible.

Then, the unexploded bomb was just one of a dozen envelopes waiting for attention.

So she knew the love was still on her face, the tenderness in her eyes when she opened her bank statements, the laugh in her voice when she repeated a remark about her credit card and he didn’t answer.

But she deflated abruptly when he began to swear, softly and continuously.

‘What?’ she reached for the pages in his hand. She gazed in dismay as he leapt up and turned his back. ‘What? Bad news? Rats?’

Two of his strides across the tiny landing and the bathroom door shut. She heard the bolt slide.

She sat, stunned, among the junk mail, the envelopes, the statements, in their bed, her heart hammering blood round her veins, forcing cold sweat through her pores. Fruitless questions swarmed around her mind. Sitting on their bed like a mermaid washed ashore, she felt sick, wondering frantically what had caused Ratty to dive for cover. Had to be something bad.

He was white, when he emerged, hair damp at the front as if he’d rinsed his face. Hesitantly, he sank down beside her, cleared his throat, slid his arm around her.

His eyes, his troubled eyes, it had to be something
bad,
bad. This was how people were when they had to impart awful news, with gentle sympathy and a grave expression.

‘
What
?’ She trembled when his gaze faltered and dropped to a thickness of papers clutched in his fist beside him on the bed. She couldn’t take her eyes away.

‘It’s ... a problem. My Christ.’

She waited, swallowing back the rising in her throat. Fresh sweat broke on her swimmy head.

‘The Child Support Agency says ...’

‘CSA?’ Stiff lips, rubber tongue. A voice which sounded something like hers.

He wavered a sigh, wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. She watched the sheaf of printed paper as his hand moved.

‘They say there’s a child.’

Her heart thumped right up in the back of her throat as she sifted frantically through his words for the meaning. Could this be something to do with
her
child, the collection of cells which was apparently inside her, waiting to be their baby? She didn’t see how. And in his face she saw guilt.

‘You’ve got a
child
?’

‘They say so. I didn’t know, no idea!’

She shook off his arm, battling waves of nausea. Morning sickness. How humbling, how intolerably humiliating if she barfed it all up, here in their bed, in front of him whilst he told her the incredible news that he had a child!

She took a grip on herself. ‘Who? I mean, the mother?’

‘Madeline Gavanagh. Madeline and me ... a couple of years ago. I promise you I didn’t know there could be a baby. Well ...’

He tailed off. His face, that face she’d loved so wholly, was chiselled with misery. And guilt.

A deep breath. She waited for the thudding in her ears to subside. It was imperative that she get this straight. ‘This baby is more than a year old?’

‘Apparently. I don’t know why she’s waited to make a claim.’

‘And it’s your baby?’

‘Apparently.’

‘You had unprotected sex with her?’

He barely nodded. ‘Once or twice.’

She felt a ferocious red tide of anger erupt inside her. ‘
Don’t you even know
which
?’

His eyes were filled with misery.

She gripped her temples with her fingertips. ‘Just let me clarify. After you had unprotected sex with this Madeline, which of you ended the relationship?’

She could see him thinking about lying. The indecision was written on his face as he looked down at the paperwork in his hands, then out of the window. Then at her.

‘Me.’

‘Without knowing she’d fallen pregnant? So,’ she sank her face into her palms. ‘You didn’t bother to find out. You left her up to her neck in it!’

Suddenly she had to get away, off their passionate bed. Such a mockery. She swayed to her feet.

He protested, ‘It was only a couple of times!’ Then, bitterly, ‘I’m usually careful.’

She swung round. ‘Do you really think so? When we got it together, I don’t remember
condoms
figuring in your Great Plan!’

His eyes were hunted, anguished, hair curling down to thick, dark brows, pallor accentuated the shadow of his day-old beard. ‘I assumed you’d say something if you wanted me to take care of it.’

‘Bloody big assumption!’

‘But with Madeline it
was
only a couple of times, when I was boozed up! It was unlucky.’ Expression desperate, he moved around the bed towards her; she backed off.

‘Unlucky! I’d say they were persistent little bastards, your “guys”! A boozy session for her, a tummy bug for me and bingo!’

‘It doesn’t have to change anything.’ Desperation, panic in his voice. ‘Don’t let it change what we’ve got, we don’t have to suffer for this. It was before us, before we’d met, even!’ Desperately, ‘If it helps, I won’t see the baby.’

‘Is it a boy or a girl?’

He hesitated. ‘Boy. It’ll just be financial.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Jason. I won’t see him.’

Step by step he’d backed her up to the doorway. She stared at him as if she’d never seen him clearly before, held up her hands to stay him.

A deep breath. ‘
You won’t see him
?’ She was screaming, suddenly she was screaming and she couldn’t help it, screaming because she felt screaming was the only means of communicating such disgust, fury, pain. ‘
How can you not
see your son? Christ, last night you lay there,’ she flung a hand to the bed, knowing tears were making her nose-running ugly and not caring. ‘Carrying on an entire conversation with
your foetus
, nothing more than a bunch of cells hitching a ride on an egg. And you think you’ll be able to stay away from a living, breathing, loving baby?
Your son
! And why
would
you, anyway? How can you suggest it? Does Jason deserve being ignored by his father? And doesn’t Madeline deserve help with the parenting? Do you think that you
ought
to be able to have your drunken sex and then sail on your merry, selfish, I’m-all-right-Jack way, leaving a child and a changed life behind you?’

She dragged in a huge, ragged breath. ‘If you can ignore Madeline’s baby, you can ignore
mine
! Is that what I’ve got to look forward to?’

‘
Of course not!
’

She watched fury flash across his features, before he collected himself, forcing himself to be calm, concentrate. Search for a solution to the problem, ways of gaining ground. Eyes casting about, he located the tissues beside the bed and held out a handful for her.

And when she reached for them he snatched her hand, as she’d known he would, and pulled her towards him. She could almost feel his comforting heartbeat across the few inches remaining between them. Yes, let him soothe her, wipe her face with clean, cool tissues, stroke back her hair where it plastered wet cheeks. Enable her to breathe again, see properly to be disillusioned by his remorseful, hunted, wary eyes.

‘Don’t cry, Princess.’ His hands sidled gently up her arms as if sneaking a halter onto a nervous pony. Inching closer, he slid his arms around, letting their bodies gently touch, pressing a delicate kiss against her forehead, each swollen eye, the tip of her nose, cheeks, and so slowly to her parted lips. A kiss to feel his way, to bridge the chasm the bomb had caused, to coax her that everything would be all right.

But when his mouth fastened onto hers, his tongue quivering, probing with all his usual tenderness, she forced herself to stand indifferently immobile. Arms clamped to sides. Lips passive. Tongue flaccid and mouth unaccommodating. The most insulting, contemptuous action, far more hurtful than simply fighting him off.

He jerked away.

And finally, she was free to make for the bathroom to heave over the toilet bowl.

When he knocked, she asked him wearily, calmly, quietly, to go to work as usual. ‘I need a shower, time to think. Space. You mustn’t crowd me. I’ve got a lot to come to terms with.’

And he said, ‘OK.’ She heard him. And then, ‘I love you.’

But when she emerged it was to find him waiting in the bedroom, gaunt and haunted. She recoiled as he rose from the bed. ‘I thought you’d gone to work!’

He brushed her words aside, brows down, eyes intent. ‘We have to talk! I can’t just go to the garage and leave this unresolved between us, you’re treating me like a monster, some bastard who gets his girlfriend pregnant and then scarpers –’