“Thank you. It’s so good to see you, Rosie. I haven’t half missed you.”
“Me too,” she said. “I’m sorry I cancelled the other week. Work was flat out.”
Will gathered up their bags from the boot.
“Hi Will.” I kissed him on the cheek. “You well?”
“I’m great. You look lovely.” As he smiled, the dimples on either side of his mouth deepened.
“It’s the mountain air. I swear there’s something in it. At least when it’s not freezing my backside off.” I laughed and felt happy to be spending time with my best friend again.
“The house is stunning. I thought Rosie was exaggerating. It truly is a thing of beauty,” Will said, taking it all in. Then retrieving something from the boot, he said, “Here Rosie, you do the honours with the house gift.” And he passed her a cardboard box.
She took it from Will and handed it straight to me.
“There you go Kat, Will’s far too modest to give you these himself.”
I opened the box. It held three large frames. “Wow. Did you take these Will? They’re incredible.”
“Aye, I did. I know how much you and Max love Mother Nature and I thought they’d fit perfectly with your surroundings,” he said, and smiled proudly.
They were colour photographs of a single stem of bracken at three different growth stages. In the first, the shoot was newly emerging from the soil, pastel green with tiny delicate hairs, in the second the fern was tall with coiled and curling fronds, and in the final photograph, the fern was huge, richly green and abundantly flourishing.
“You are clever Will. They’re perfect. And I know just where I’m going to hang them. Come on, let’s find Max.”
We met Max in the hallway, and after enthusiastic hugs and kisses all round, Max whisked Will away upstairs, I guessed to crack open the beers.
Rosie and I dropped their overnight bags in the guest room. She flopped back onto the bed and let out a long sigh. I lay down next to her.
Flipping onto her side and resting on one elbow, Rosie turned to me with a quizzical expression. “Kat, tell me to shut up if I’m wrong, but am I right in thinking you’re with child?” She said, and did her funny speech marks thing.
“Are you kidding? Why - have I got a pot belly?”
“Course not yer daft clot. I know it’s a cliché, it’s just that you look so radiant, your skin, your hair. Honestly, you look different.”
“You sound like an advert. Sure you haven’t swallowed a L’Oreal promotion?” I asked.
“That’s the trouble with writing adverts all day long,” she replied, with a wry smile.
“Sorry,” I said, “I’m being ungracious. Thank you. I’ll take it as a compliment that you’ve noticed my skin is finally zit free and I’ve put conditioner on my hair. But no, I’m not preggers and no chance of being either. We will at some point, but not yet,” I said. I laid back and pinched my midriff to check it hadn’t thickened.
“In that case, let’s get up to the kitchen and join the boys before they drink your fridge dry.”
I placed a glass of wine on the table in front of Rosie.
“Shall we sit in the living room? It’s lovely now we’ve got sofas,” I said, and raised my glass.
We still hadn’t bought a great deal of furniture as we were scouring antique fairs and second-hand shops to find pieces we felt would fit with the ethos of the house. Ideally, we only wanted items made from natural materials, preferably locally sourced or that could be recycled or adapted to suit us. Andy Mason, a carpenter who had been with us since we started the build had created a magnificent wall of bookshelves out of old wooden floorboards. It ran the best part of the west wall in the living room, bar the full height window through which we could view the sunsets. Max hadn’t needed much persuading when I’d suggested it.
“I’ve always wanted a library of some sort, ever since I visited Norwegian Granny. There’s a whole room devoted to her books,” I explained. “She’s got a huge collection of bird and wildlife books but her real passion is crime fiction. I’m amazed there are any left for her to read.”
After coming to our wedding she’d sent over a couple of her favourites, and I was working my way through them using my pidgin Norwegian, but hand in hand with my dictionary. The first story wasn’t exactly flowing, but I was determined to finish it, not only to find out what happened but to cultivate my Scandinavian roots.
So far, we’d only filled a couple of shelves, and these were mostly our University textbooks. After visiting my parents I’d brought back two enormous cardboard boxes of the books I’d grown up with. I’d spent several evenings flicking through them again, and they were bringing back so many happy childhood memories.
Recently, we’d bought two futons with bright orange cotton mattresses, crammed full with sheep’s wool. We’d positioned them on the floorboards opposite one another and adjacent to the large ceiling to floor windows, so that we could sit and look out at the glen, lochs, and hills beyond.
Rosie flopped onto the futon and tucked her legs under her.
“I love that you’ve bought futons. We’re still grungy students at heart aren’t we?” She jigged up and down to test its firmness.
“Yes,” I said. “Though I’m not sure anyone could ever have accused you of being grungy.”
“Do you remember, who was it? Oh yeah, it was Phil, put his foot through the slats on mine one night, fell over and broke my stereo,” she said.
“Aye I do, and I seem to remember he had to go to hospital for an X-Ray the following morning and could hardly walk for days afterwards,” I added.
“Poor Phil.” She gazed dreamily outside for a moment and then turned back to me. “At least his ankle recovered, which was more than could be said for my stereo.”
We lounged about for most of the afternoon and caught up on one another’s news, shared stories about our newfound careers and reminisced about our time at Uni.
“Will’s just taken over control of the newspaper’s photography, haven’t you?” Rosie said, smiling up at him and stroking his thigh affectionately.
“Indeed. It’s my big chance to introduce something a bit more ground breaking and artistically challenging. I boldly told the Editor-in-chief things were getting predictable and samey, and the next thing I knew, I’d been promoted.”
“I’m sure it was your coverage of the festival that did it. Everyone says how much they love your style, and you’re brilliant at getting something a bit different out of people.” Rosie snuggled up and rested her head on his shoulder.
It was sweet to see Rosie was still serious about Will. Perhaps her days of jumping from one man to the next were over. Post University life was, it seemed, all rosy. That evening I even managed to rustle up a salmon en-croute with asparagus, albeit ever so slightly burnt at the edges. After which we played cards and drank ourselves stupid on good wine and whisky.
Next morning, after a full fat breakfast of bacon, eggs, and beans, we agreed we had sufficient energy for a hike up Benn Cady. I was filling my rucksack with water bottles and biscuits when Rosie appeared.
I looked her up and down. “You can’t go like that Rosie. We can get any weather up there, and those shoes are simply not up to the job, I’m afraid.” I eyed them suspiciously.
Rosie wore a trendy denim mini-skirt over black tights. She also had on a pair of gorgeous lace up, three-inch block-heeled boots.
“I’ll be fine, seriously,” she said, with a twirl. “I can walk all day in these.”
“No you won’t, seriously. They might be just the thing for shopping down Princes Street, but you’ll break an ankle up the mountain. You can borrow a pair of proper walking boots, and I’ve got a spare waterproof.” I rummaged amongst the shoe rack under the stairs. “I know it looks warm out there but the weather changes in a matter of minutes. I was up a month ago in hurricane force winds and it’s dangerous if you’re not dressed properly. You’ll need a woolly hat and gloves too - it’s freezi
ng at the top, even in summer.”
“Fine, I bow down to your superior mountainological knowledge. Go on then, dress me up like Edmund Hillary, no wait, I’ll be Michaela Strachan,” she said, spreading her arms out wide.
Laughing, I handed her a pair of walking boots. “Sorry, I know I’m being bossy. I can’t help myself.”
“Yes you are, but I’m sure you’re right.” She grudgingly unlaced her boots.
Max ended up lending Will some boots too, and as the four of us set off we looked as if we were about to conquer K2, minus the breathing apparatus and oxygen canisters.
Our mountain, Benn Cady, was simple in structure, with a steep stretch up to the rocky outcrop, followed by a steady climb of about 650m to the rocky scarp at the summit. The first short rise to the outcrop was a stony path that wound and curved in-between heather, gorse bushes, and a few trees of birch, hazel, and spruce. We stopped at the outcrop, and Will took photos of us and the view down to the house. From up here the grass roof merged effortlessly with the tufted grass and heather-clad stretch in front of the house and leading down to the road. As we head up from the outcrop, Rosie and I dropped behind, and chatted about our jobs.
“What’s your manager like then?” I asked.
“She’s OK actually. When I started, some of the team warned me about her. They said she could be a right bitch if you got on the wrong side of her or if they didn’t work late when a big deadline loomed, that sort of thing. Hannah’s been all right with me, and we even go out together sometimes. We’re good mates.”
“Wow, that’s cool. Always helps to get on with the boss.”
“It helps that I’m happy to work into the evenings. I often go in at weekends. I love it - it’s challenging and creative.” Rosie unzipped her coat, pulled off her woolly hat and stuffed it into her pocket.
“I like my time at home with Max. You know, doing the house and everything. I’m not sure I’d be up for too much evening and weekend working.”
“Yeah, there’s a girl in my section, Cindy, who’s just come back from maternity leave and she can’t stay late, has to pick up her baby from nursery. Hannah’s made a few comments about Cindy not pulling her weight. I’ve defended her, but Hannah’s so career driven I’m not sure she can see work as anything other than a religion.”
I nodded. “Some people aren’t great at seeing things from anyone’s perspective but their own. Probably best if you don’t decide to settle down and have babies yet, at least not with her as your boss.”
“Good grief. No, I need to climb a few more rungs of the ladder first. Babies would hold me back. I’m not even sure I’ll ever want a baby, don’t think I’m the maternal sort.”
“Me neither. I don’t feel remotely broody. Funny though, as soon as you get married everyone expects you to start dropping sprogs left right and centre.” I prodded her playfully. “Don’t they? Anyway, I’m only twenty-three, I’ll wait until I’m thirty-three at least. That way I get to be the boss before I have children.”
As it turned out, I’d overestimated the quantity of outdoor clothing and woollies we should wear, because the weather turned out to be perfect for the climb. Of course, the temperature had dropped by several degrees by the time we reached the peak, but there was only a light wind, and the sun had broken through the few cappuccino clouds that drifted unhurriedly over us. Rosie and I parked ourselves on a large rock, telling the men we wanted to admire the view, but wanting an excuse to catch our breath after the final ascent. Max led Will further up along the ridge to take some photographs of the stunning views to the South, dominated by Stac Pollaidh, Canisp, and Suilvan.
“It’s incredible Kat,” Rosie said, smiling, her eyes bright in the sun. “The view is unbelievable – and right on your doorstep.” She lifted her camera and took a photo of me. “Your life’s so . . . sorted. And Max, he’s the best. Worships you, even though you’re an old married couple.”
“Maybe we’re still in the honeymoon period, not sure how long it’s supposed to last. But yes, I do feel jammy. I hope I’ll never take him for granted though.” My hair flapped around my face, and I tucked it up into my woolly hat. “I want to look at him every day and feel lucky. Not like those old couples you see in restaurants with nothing to talk about other than their kids or where they’re booking their next city break.”
“You paint a miserable picture of a long marriage. Surely it’s better than having a clandestine affair, or worse, battering him with a wet fish?”
“What are you on about?” I said, and giggled. “Are you going soft on me? You wouldn’t stay with someone who didn’t light your fire in bed.”
“I dunno, there has to be more to a marriage than great sex,” she said, her face suddenly serious. “The sex is important, but you can’t expect it to be mind-blowing every time long-term, it’s not realistic, is it? You should love more than one another’s bodies. There has to be more to connect you. Shared interests and kids must be a big slice of that connection,”
“You are right, but I can’t ever imagine not wanting to rip Max’s clothes off. I honestly never tire of doing it.” I sniggered. “Sorry, you probably didn’t want to know that.”
“You’re just abnormally randy – a bitch on never-ending heat,” she said.
“Have you heard the saying with the words pot and kettle?” I jumped up and pulled her to her feet.
Max and Will had returned and were smiling and chatting.
“What’s so funny you two, care to share?” said Will.
We looked at one another and burst out laughing.
“Most definitely not,” I said, and linking arms with Rosie, we set off back down the path.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Motherly Urges
The children from the rocky outcrop didn’t make a repeat appearance, and as I was so busy with work I didn’t give them much thought. However, after a couple of months I realised something about the children had sunk deeply into my subconscious. Whenever Max and I made love the two children playing up the hillside began to flash randomly into my mind. They would appear in place of the more typical things I thought about when we were having sex, which rarely strayed beyond anything fleshly or erotic.
One evening, after a particularly energetic lovemaking session, I lay exhausted and fulfilled across the bed.
Turning onto my side I ran a hand over Max’s chest and lightly caressed his chest hair. “What sort of things do you think about when we’re making love?”
“Ahh, let me think,” he said, and his brows knitted together. “Nearly always about you and how beautiful your body is, particularly your breasts and arse, oh and your lips - both pairs,” he grinned. “Unless my mind wanders to the sink of washing up you left for me.”
I nudged him. “Nearly always? And, are there any other, I dunno… things you think about?”
“Why, what do you think about?” He traced a finger around my nipple.
“Honestly, you. Oh, and how many more orgasms I can have before you.”
“And do you ever feel short changed?”
“I’d say you’re generous in that department, but I tend to stop counting past five or six.” I smiled sweetly. “Jealous?”
“Nah, don’t reckon.”
“Oh?”
“You see; my one orgasm is way more powerful than all of yours combined.” He stroked my hip and smiled back.
“Not a chance. If mine were any more powerful I think my life would be in danger.” I fell onto my back and clutched my chest.
“Katriina, you really are a show-off.” He leaned over and kissed my nose, then flopped onto his back.
I decided to change the subject, as it seemed Max wasn’t seeing little children playing merrily alone on a mountainside, and even to me, it did seem pretty ridiculous. Max stared at the ceiling for a few moments and then turning to me, placed his hand on my belly before trailing a finger back and forth.
“Kat, I know we’ve only been married a few months, but the busine
ss is going from strength-to-strength and I was wondering if you’d thought much about us starting a family. Are you feeling any motherly urges?”
I could tell by his expression that it was something he wanted and I decided I should be cautious about replying too quickly or too honestly.
“Well, I wouldn’t say I hadn’t thought about it, but I do think we should wait a year or two until my career is more established. My training doesn’t finish for another eighteen months.”
“Oh, OK.” His hand fell still, and he lay back.
“But I’d like to at some point. You know that don’t you?” I said, and brushed his fringe off his forehead.
“Of course, it’s fine. I don’t want to rush you. It’s only that I think having children would make our lives even more perfect . . . if that’s possible.”
I knew he was suppressing some disappointment, but I simply didn’t feel ready, and it was my body. I knew I wouldn’t be having my coil removed any time soon.
At first I put my nausea down to a tummy bug and then when it continued I thought it must be a virus, lingering for longer than it should.
“Kat will you go and see the doctor, please? I’m worried. You haven’t been yourself for weeks.”
Usually, I felt so fit and healthy and I rarely saw a doctor. But Max’s concern bothered me, and so I booked an appointment.
“It’s been going on for weeks now. I feel sick pretty much all of the time, and I keep falling asleep after our evening meal. Maybe I’m anaemic or something? I’ve even gone off tea and alcohol, which for me really isn’t normal.” I was sitting forwards, eagerly describing my symptoms.
The doctor started smiling, which hardly seemed like the sort of reaction a health professional should be having with a patient who was worried about her health. I felt annoyed rather than reassured.
“And, have you considered that you could be pregnant Katriina?”
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