Korpanski had told her she’d love the little thing the second it was born. Before then, even. Would she? She was very unsure of this. She was not maternal. She was doing this for Matthew, for the man she loved.
Then other considerations crowded in. How would Eloise greet the news? Was she sufficiently absorbed in Kenneth to skate over an event which would alter her importance and status in her father’s eyes? Or would her hatred for Joanna combine with jealousy of anything which might replace her in the pecking order and her father’s attention?
And Matthew’s parents? How would they respond to a child they might regard as a bastard? Oh, yes. She had heard them. ‘Should be still married to Jane.’ There were struggles ahead and like most news it was at the same time both good and bad.
Downstairs, she could hear Matthew humming. He was making them both some coffee. An entire cafètiere. She could smell it wafting up the stairs, rich and pleasant. She gripped the test stick which told the first chapter in such a significant story – a story of life. She moved towards the bathroom door. If there was one thing she knew without doubt it was that in a couple of minutes Matthew Levin, doctor, pathologist, husband, would be the happiest man on the planet. He would want to laugh and shout and sing. And tell everyone. Share the wonderful news. If Matthew could climb the tower of St Edward’s Church and ring the bells he would.
It was the only thing she knew for certain.
She wanted to crawl back into the bathroom, lock the door and think.
But she couldn’t, wouldn’t deny him this. Not for one more second. She went downstairs, into the small, oh-so-familiar kitchen. He was in a blue towelling dressing gown, feet bare, honey hair morning-tousled. He looked up at her and he knew.
He already bloody well knew.
‘Jo?’ he said uncertainly and took a step towards her. Then his arms were around her and she felt the warmth of his body, the musculature of his arms, his legs, his face wet with tears. ‘Jo,’ he said.
And in Morgan Street the banners were still up. ‘Welcome home, Kath.’
Crooked Street Page 30