Baby Dear: a gripping psychological thriller

by Linda Huber

  Which was why he was planning a special meal for tonight. Good food, a glass or two of wine, and they could have a long chat and put things right.

  Jeff drained his cup, checked his wallet and went out to the hallway for the car key. It was good luck he wasn’t working this evening. He usually did on Mondays, but Davie had phoned that morning and asked him to change shifts in Cybersonics, the internet café they ran together, so a special meal for Caro would be no problem. He was going to make chicken curry – it was her favourite and they had a brilliant recipe. The list of ingredients was long, but the supermarket would have everything.

  A sob caught in his throat. How very much simpler life would be if he could buy a baby too.

  Caro

  Caro pushed rice and curry sauce round her plate, forcing herself to swallow the odd mouthful and trying to avoid Jeff’s eyes. For once, a lovely meal cooked by her husband wasn’t making her feel cherished. As if a plate of curry would solve anything. Jeff’s behaviour over the weekend had been the pits and although she could imagine how gutted he must be, ignoring the problem wasn’t the way to go. On Friday afternoon she’d been desperate to talk about this baby they were so unlikely to have, but Jeff had blocked her every time she’d started. Then he’d vanished out to work and she’d barely seen him since.

  ‘Another chapatti, love? They’re the good ones.’

  Caro glanced up and then down again. His expression was so hopeful – it was pathetic. This was so not what she’d signed up for. Hot resentment fizzed inside her, and she could feel her face closing. She probably looked like a teenager in a strop and she didn’t want that, she wanted to behave like a grown-up. But that was impossible with Jeff gazing at her like a hungry dog trying to ingratiate itself with its owner.

  He had obviously planned this meal so that they could talk, have a heart-to-heart like they’d done when they decided to go for tests in the first place. So why was he yakking on about bloody chapattis? But then, she wasn’t talking either.

  ‘I’ll halve one with you,’ said Jeff brightly, tearing a chapatti in two and putting one piece by Caro’s plate. ‘Come on, love. It’s your favourite and I made it specially. I – I want us to talk, Caro.’

  She made herself look into his spaniel eyes, weariness washing through her. He had put on a clean shirt for their meal and she was a mess. She’d barely slept all weekend and she hadn’t done her face again after work. But what did any of that matter? Caro laid her fork down. Food was the last thing she could face right now.

  ‘Oh Jeff,’ she said, hearing the depression in her voice. ‘I’d have talked all you wanted on Friday, but now… What can we possibly say that’ll change anything?’

  He began to tremble, and she saw the sweat shining on his brow. ‘Caro, love, I want us to get through this and be happy together. Of course I want a baby too, but – surely we are more important? Our marriage?’

  Theoretically, he was right, but it was exactly what Caro didn’t want to hear, because it wasn’t true for her. A baby was an absolute necessity if she was going to be happy. It was actually the biggest reason she’d married Jeff.

  ‘Our family is the most important thing,’ she said heavily. ‘You and me – and our baby. But it doesn’t look like there’s going to be a baby, does it?’

  He was silent, cowed in his chair.

  Caro fiddled with her fork, then took a deep breath. She would say exactly what she was thinking. ‘I went on the internet and found out more about IVF,’ she said, looking straight at him.

  He mopped his brow with the Easter chick serviette left over from the last dinner party, when someone had teased them about being ‘dinks’ and Caro had laughed and said they wouldn’t have a double income forever. Everything was rosy then; she’d been happy and hopeful about the upcoming tests, because doctors could do everything, couldn’t they?

  She’d found out different now. ‘Jeff, it sounds horrific. They bombard you with hormones to stimulate your egg production. I could end up bloated, with a permanent headache and mood swings worse than you get in the menopause. And there’s no guarantee of success, it’s actually a lot more likely to fail. You heard what Dr Bingham said. I just don’t know if I could take it… But if I don’t, there won’t be a baby, end of, and if I do there most likely wouldn’t be a baby either. The whole thing sucks.’

  His Adam’s apple moved up and down and for a moment she felt sorry for him. This wasn’t his fault. He was so infatuated with her, had been from the day they met, at a barn dance Caro’s workmates dragged her to. Jeff was a lovely guy, nine years older and more sophisticated – not to mention rich – and Caro had allowed herself to be swept off her feet. The following week she’d come back here with him, seen the house, and realised this was the relationship she’d been waiting for. Except now she knew it wasn’t.

  If he would only accept that this terrible thing was happening to them, then maybe they could find a way round the problem. She’d have nothing against artificial insemination. But he was trying to play it down, and that was very hard to take. His next words only confirmed this.

  ‘Well, love, maybe we can look into adoption? Or – or foster care, or something? We won’t give up, will we?’

  Something inside Caro snapped. She leapt to her feet and with one swift movement swept plate, glass and cutlery from the table. ‘Don’t you understand? Don’t you even care? You don’t, do you? You know we wouldn’t get a new baby to adopt, they’re toddlers at best and usually a lot older – and I’m not going to foster a baby and then have it taken away again. I really, really wanted my own tiny baby to love right from the moment it’s born, Jeff. I wanted to be pregnant and that’s not going to happen. I feel like someone I love has died.’

  She left Jeff amidst the wreckage of his dinner table and took refuge in the bathroom, listening to him clearing up downstairs. Still fuming, Caro ran a bath, and when it was full she lay back in the hot suds and closed her eyes. She shouldn’t have chucked all that stuff on the floor, but it was so frustrating. It didn’t seem to matter to Jeff that they couldn’t have a baby. Or at least, it mattered in a different way.

  Caro slid under the water. A bath was a good idea, she thought dully. Warmth comforted, and heaven knows she needed comfort. Her life was in tatters.

  Sitting up again, she took the loofah and started to massage round her shoulders. This was the time of year for short sleeves and skinny tops. Caro gazed miserably at her slim, perfect body. Oh, to be a big fat pregnant mum with stretch marks and varicose veins, and a bump with a baby that kicked and made ripples in the bathwater, like Louise’s had. Louise had been pregnant last year and she hadn’t talked about anything else. And Caro had to sit in the same office all through the pregnancy, listening to the details… Why not me, why not me, her soul shrieked every day. I’ve been trying all this time, what’s wrong with me?

  Now she knew there was nothing wrong with her. What on earth were they supposed to tell people? A low sperm count was such an embarrassing thing to have to admit to.

  The water was barely lukewarm now and Caro reached to pull out the plug. Tears mingling with bathwater on her face, she stepped onto the mat and wrapped herself in a towel. If she stayed, she would be drying off this same horrible skinny no-baby and not-a-mum body for the rest of her life. If she left Jeff, she could kiss goodbye to the lifestyle she’d become used to. Where was the way forward there?

  All Jeff wanted was for them to grow old together and weather life’s storms. Well, this was one of life’s storms. But right now, Caro wasn’t at all sure she could weather it.

  3

  Tuesday, 24th May

  Sharon

  Sharon drained her mug and clunked it down on the coffee table. She had a whole day ahead of her and nothing to fill the hours until it was time to be a proper little housewife and make dinner for Craig coming home. No classes with students making funny mistakes, no banter amongst the other English teachers in the staff room and no-one saying, ‘Hey, you must r
ead this, it’s brilliant.’ Just her and the bump. Full stop.

  At least she had tomorrow’s lunch with Julie to look forward to. Today she would – yes, she would go into town and buy some lovely smelly stuff, then come home and pamper herself. She should make the most of the peace and quiet, because before long she’d be changing nappies and shushing a screaming baby.

  Sharon pressed her lips together. Pampering herself was well and good, but she couldn’t pamper away the fears, could she? They – and the baby – kept her awake at night. What if she hated being a parent? What if Craig hated it? And the big, huge, heavy one – what if she took one look at the baby and thought – oh my God, no?

  Get a grip, woman, she told herself. Look on the bright side. Four more weeks and then at least you’ll be able to leave the baby in a different room now and then. Sharon pulled her cardigan over the bump, knowing she was whistling in the dark.

  An hour later she was walking along the High Street – who was she kidding, she was waddling better than Donald Duck. Sharon glared at her reflection in the shoe shop window, then turned into the largest department store in town and made her way to the cosmetics section.

  A sales assistant rushed to help her. ‘Body lotion? Right.’ She produced two sample bottles and set them on the counter. ‘Try these, they’re nice and light and flowery. Here, sit down, take your time.’

  Sharon allowed herself to be creamed and advised and eventually persuaded into buying several bottles and jars, and left the shop feeling much more positive. She would window-shop down the High Street now, then go home along the river pathway and after lunch she would put a lounger on the terrace, do her nails, and blob. Shopping was tiring.

  She stopped for a moment to look at a jeweller’s display, then moved on more slowly, dismayed to find her legs trembling. This whole pregnancy thing was so crappy; her body didn’t belong to her any more. A wave of giddiness hit her and she put out a hand and steadied herself on the nearest shop window. The feeling got worse, though, and black spots appeared before Sharon’s eyes. She dropped her bag and leaned her head on the window, conscious that her heart was pounding and sweat had broken out on her face.

  ‘Are you okay? Can I help?’

  ‘Take her other side, Phil. In you come, love.’

  Men’s voices were speaking, and Sharon felt strong hands grip her arms. She was walked indoors and lowered onto a hard chair. The dizziness receded as she leaned her head on a counter, breathing deeply as doubts swirled mockingly round her head. Why am I doing this? – I’ll never make it as a mother. I don’t want to, either. Tears, never far away, rushed into her eyes and she wiped them away with a cold hand. A man was staring at her, his face shocked. Hell – had she spoken aloud?

  ‘Here you are.’ A younger man brought her a glass of water and Sharon took a sip, sitting straighter on her chair. That was better, thank goodness she hadn’t passed right out. She looked round. This was Bridgehead’s one and only internet café. The two men were standing on either side of her chair, gazing at her with almost comically concerned expressions. The older one was clutching a mobile, his thumb hovering over the ‘9’ button.

  ‘Should I call an ambulance?’

  Sharon shook her head. ‘No need for that. It’s just this–’ She choked the words ‘bloody pregnancy’ back. ‘–just what being pregnant does to you. It’s the pits, but I’ll live to see another day. I guess.’ She smiled to show she was fine, and sipped again.

  The older man frowned. ‘You shouldn’t be alone now – is there someone you could call? Or shall I get you a taxi?’

  Sharon thought. In spite of her automatically humorous reply she still felt weak. Suppose something like this had happened when she was crossing the road, or walking beside the river? There was nothing funny about that.

  She glanced at her watch. Good, it was almost lunchtime. ‘I’ll call my husband – he’s an optician; he owns the shop at the top of the High Street.’

  Craig was concerned and promised to collect her straightaway. Sharon ended the call and nodded at her rescuers.

  ‘Sorted. I’m Sharon Morrison, by the way.’

  The older man perched on a chair beside her. ‘I’m Jeff Horne and this is Phil Waterson, who is supposed to be with his Over-60’s Course right now.’

  He jerked his head and Phil gave a mock salute before jogging back to a group of older people at the rear of the shop.

  Jeff Horne was staring at her bump. ‘When’s the baby due, then?’

  Sharon pulled a face. ‘End of June. I’m beginning to wonder if I’ll last the pace.’

  He nodded. ‘It’ll be worth it, though, when the baby’s here.’

  Sharon pulled out a tissue and dabbed her face. What a mess she must look – that face pack was going to have its work cut out. Hopefully the rest of her pregnancy wasn’t going to be like this, or she wouldn’t be able to put a foot over the door. That would be the last straw.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘Look, there’s Craig now. Thanks a million, Jeff. If I ever need an internet café, I’ll come straight to you.’

  He helped her up from the chair and picked up her bag. ‘I hope you will. We do courses too – you could come and learn something. Or we could start a mother and baby group, now there’s a thought.’

  Sharon took her bag and did her best to smile. Mother and baby group – what a nerd. But he was only trying to be funny, and he’d saved her from passing out on the street, which would definitely have involved an ambulance and a trip to hospital. She should be grateful.

  Craig ran up from the car. ‘For God’s sake, Sharon, are you okay? Let’s get you home and phone the midwife. Someone should check you over. And the baby, of course.’

  Sharon settled into the car, closing her eyes as Craig pulled away from the kerb. She would be fine, she knew. And the baby was fine too, if the kicks were anything to go by. No need for the midwife, but they could argue about that at home.

  Jeff

  Jeff stood in the doorway, watching as Craig’s car accelerated down the High Street and turned right at the traffic lights. It had been a shock coming across a hugely pregnant woman like that; his failure to give Caro a baby was mocking him at every turn. It was a failure that wouldn’t go away and it left him with a heavy, sick feeling in his gut. It was grim – all Caro wanted was to be pregnant, and Sharon had been so blasé about it. Not exactly brimming over with the joys of prospective motherhood, was she? Talk about ungrateful. Of course, it must be difficult, being enormous like that and passing out all over the place – was she really all right? It would be good to know for sure and he’d let her go without getting her number. Still – he knew Craig worked in the swish little optician’s that had been a dairy when Jeff was a child. He’d gone there most days after school and spent a couple of pence on sweeties.

  The Over-60’s group were getting ready to leave and exchanging banter with Phil. Jeff escaped into the staffroom and flopped into a chair. He still had to come to a decision about his own baby problem. Meeting Sharon had made him realise anew how bad things were. He tried to imagine Caro with a bump like Sharon’s, but it wasn’t easy; Caro was as thin as a rake. He would lose her if he wasn’t careful and he couldn’t, couldn’t lose Caro. But she wanted a baby and he wasn’t able to give her one… the usual way.

  So. Maybe he should start considering unusual ways. Something he’d thought yesterday shimmered back into Jeff’s head and his breath caught. Maybe he could – buy a baby. Maybe that wasn’t such a way-out idea. Babies weren’t all lovingly expected and wanted, were they? Somewhere, some woman or girl must be having a baby she didn’t want to raise. All he had to do was find her. He could put a couple of feelers out on the World Wide Web right now; Twitter might be a good place to start. He could try different hash tags. He typed swiftly – good God, find a baby, get a baby, even buy a baby. They all existed. Jeff leaned back in his chair, mentally composing his tweet. With a bit of luck, they’d soon be a family of three after all. And Caro
wouldn’t be as blasé about it as Sharon was.

  In fact, now he came to think about it, Sharon hadn’t as much been blasé as unwilling. And although there was nothing to say that Craig and Sharon would want to pass their baby on to someone else, they had shown him clearly that not everyone was overjoyed at the prospect of becoming a parent. Sharon certainly wasn’t, and Craig had rushed in swearing and only mentioned the baby as an afterthought. If these two were run-of-the-mill parents-in-waiting, it should be fairly easy to find someone even less keen who would provide him with an unwanted child. A baby for Caro to love.

  Sharon had given him faith in unwilling mothers.

  Jeff sat straight again and began to type. Operation Baby was about to begin.

  Caro

  Caro grabbed her handbag and almost ran towards the door of Rawlington Car Salesroom. Hallelujah, she had two whole hours away from Louise and the incessant baby talk. But that was unfair. Poor Louise had been up most of the night with Anja, who was teething more violently than every other baby in Bridgehead and Caro knew that if things were normal – i.e. if she had any prospect of having a baby of her own – she’d have been both interested and sympathetic. As it was, she was glad to get away.

  ‘See you at two!’ she called, not waiting to hear Louise’s reply.

  It was pleasant outside, warm for the time of year. A lovely day to go shopping. Caro put on her sunglasses and turned towards the town centre. She and Louise often doubled up like this, one of them looking after the phones right through the lunch period, allowing the other a full two hours to do some shopping. At least, she was the one who did the shopping nowadays. Louise went back to her mother’s for lunch and a visit with baby Anja. Lucky, lucky Louise.