Trapped

by Freda Lightfoot

  Oliver instantly agrees, so I’m surprised when he suddenly springs it on them. We’re all enjoying Christmas lunch, about to tuck into Mum’s wonderfully tender turkey with all the trimmings when he puts his arm about me and whispers loudly in my ear, ‘Shall we tell them our good news, darling?’

  I can’t help but start and glance nervously into his face, but he’s smiling at me, looking so handsome, so delighted and happy that he almost fools me into believing he’s as thrilled as I am. ‘If you like,’ I say.

  Then he turns and beams at all the curious faces around the table, a wicked twinkle in his grey-blue eyes, and makes the announcement. ‘I’m delighted to inform you that Carly is pregnant. Would you believe it, we’re having a baby. Aren’t we clever?’

  Mum erupts out of her seat, rushes over to give me a suffocating hug and instantly launches into a lecture on what I must and must not do in order to take proper care of myself. Dad grabs Oliver’s hand and starts pumping it hard. ‘That’s great news, lad! Brilliant!’

  Jo-Jo goes all weepy. She’s still in that post-baby blues period, having recently delivered baby Molly, weighing a healthy seven pounds six ounces. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased for you, love, really I am. Now you’ll be a proper family, like us.’

  ‘Well done, darling girl!’ Gran says, kissing me on both cheeks.

  ‘Well done, Oliver. That’s proved your mettle,’ Grandad says, lucid enough to take in what is happening for once. He punches Oliver playfully in the shoulder.

  There’s general mayhem as everyone congratulates us and the information is relayed to the children. They too get all excited at the prospect of a new baby cousin, although Samantha sulkily protests she doesn’t like babies because they’re boring, and everyone laughs. Dad opens a bottle of champagne to celebrate and Oliver is looking so pleased with himself it’s as if he planned the whole thing.

  This is so typical of him. Just when you’re expecting the worst, perversely he turns all kind and loving and shows himself at his best. Oliver can be really good fun when he puts his mind to it, a wonderfully generous man. I always feel such gratitude for these moments, for the times when he shows me true love and affection, as he did in Paris. I’m thrilled by the way we’ve rediscovered each other again in the weeks since and feel a great surge of relief and gratitude that everything is going to be all right, after all.

  Deep down, despite all our problems, I still love him. Love isn’t something you can turn off like a tap, and I still hope and pray that one day he’ll grow up a little and change.

  It turns out to be a wonderful family day, one in which Oliver treats me as if I’m made of spun gold. He constantly kisses and hugs me, demonstrating his love and affection, finds me a comfy chair when I move from the table, a cushion for my back. He takes an active interest in the inevitable talk of pregnancy and babies that follows, showing not the slightest sign of boredom over topics such as breast feeding and toilet training. When we finally get up to go he fetches my coat, holds the car door open for me. It’s a perfect, happy day.

  Later that evening when we’re alone, I thank him for dealing with it so well. ‘You didn’t give the slightest hint about your reservations. I’m so proud of you.’

  He barely glances at me. ‘One of us has to make some attempt to keep up appearances. I can’t let your family guess what a consummate idiot their younger daughter is, that she is incapable of remembering to take a simple pill each day.’

  I’m stung by this retort, instantly drenched in misery as I realise that the whole performance of his today was simply that, an act put on for the benefit of appearances. A complete lie. He’s put on a show to save face, and to make himself look good.

  ‘How can you do that?’ I ask him, appalled.

  He grunts, eyes half closed as he stretches out in comfort by the fire, uncaring of my disappointment that the joy he exhibited was all a sham. ‘Don’t start. Everyone was happy, weren’t they? What more do you want? You’re never satisfied, woman.’

  Yet again he’s twisting everything round to lay the blame on me. If I went to Mum and Dad and told them all of this, told them the truth, would they believe me? I very much doubt it.

  For once my husband goes to bed alone, and I sit mindlessly watching a late-night movie on TV while I contemplate how long it will be before he starts to show any interest in our child.

  ‘Hon, you seem miles away. I think you’ve forgotten I’m even here.’

  Oliver turned to the sexy blonde beside him to give her a long, lingering kiss, tonguing her delectable mouth and sliding his hand up her silky thighs. They were in his car in a lay-by not far from the motorway turnoff, a dark, secluded spot where they’d be unlikely to be disturbed. ‘How could I forget when you’re so irresistible, and as pretty as your name?’

  Poppy giggled softly and slipped a hand round the bulge in his trousers, giving it an encouraging squeeze, then startled wrestling with the buckle on his belt. ‘You just don’t seem quite yourself tonight, sweetie. Anything I can do to help?’ She cast him a wide-eyed, coquettish glance out of green, kitten eyes and Oliver groaned.

  ‘You’re doing fine, darling, don’t stop. But you’re right, I am feeling a bit down tonight. Things are getting worse at home, not better.’

  The girl nibbled on his lower lip as she eased her hand inside his pants. She wasn’t in the least interested in the sorry tale of his marriage, or that nagging wife of his. Oliver Sheldon was a sexy guy, which was all she cared about. She nursed hopes that he’d eventually divorce the stupid cow and marry her. He was going places was Oliver, and Poppy meant to go with him. ‘Poor love. You need taking out of yourself. Time for a bit of fun, sweetie.’

  She gave him plenty over the next twenty minutes with her usual degree of generosity and verve. She rode him hard despite the confines of the car and the difficulty of negotiating levers and pedals, and he seemed even more aggressive in his love making than usual, which delighted her.

  Poppy admittedly would have appreciated a little more foreplay, perhaps some romantic chit-chat, but Oliver was rarely interested in small talk, and even less so today. Nor was he wiling to indulge in a repeat performance. He took her fast and hard, then putting her from him brusquely informed the girl that he didn’t have time as he had an important appointment to attend to. She was annoyed and whimpered her disappointment, as always when he dismissed her so abruptly. Not that Oliver took any notice. She wasn’t in the least important to him, he never gave her a moment’s thought once the business was done. And he always cleverly ensured that they came in separate cars to the lay-by, for the sake of his reputation.

  Poppy knew she should give him up and find someone more her own age, but he fascinated her. She was obsessed by the masculine aura of power which emanated from Oliver Sheldon, as all women were. Yet she was all too aware, in her heart of hearts, that to him she was merely an attractive, conveniently willing, pretty little blonde.

  She nibbled at his lower lip, teased him with her pink tongue, hoping to persuade him to change his mind and go for a second round. ‘I heard old Don will be retiring soon. Won’t that mean you’ll get offered a partnership soon, sweetie?’

  Oliver preened himself a little. ‘One can only hope so. I certainly have every reason to believe that will be the case.’

  ‘You deserve it, you’re so clever.’

  She tried kissing him some more, but his impatience was growing and he suddenly grasped her firmly by the shoulders and thrust her away. ‘Now go, be off with you, there’s a good girl. I have more important things to do tonight.’

  She kept on talking, still seeking an excuse to keep him there. ‘Your wife won’t be there, will she?’

  ‘Won’t be where?’

  ‘At his retirement do? He’s sure to have one.’

  ‘Not if I can avoid it. Go on, go.’

  ‘Okay, you will call me?’

  ‘As always, darling.’ He opened the door and practically shoved her out of the car. ‘See you tomorrow.’ Then
he fired up the engine and gunned the car in the direction of the motorway. If he put his foot down he could be in Windermere in fifteen minutes.

  Emma was surprised to find Oliver on her doorstep at nine in the evening, and instantly concerned. ‘Is something wrong? Is Carly ill?’

  ‘No. No, not ill exactly, but I would just like a quick word if you’ve got a minute.’

  She invited him in, but he declined. ‘This won’t take long.’ Oliver had no wish to have that partner of hers ear-wigging in on their conversation, nor to spend a moment longer than necessary in this poky little flat. He was content to remain in the hall.

  For some reason Emma couldn’t explain she’d never taken to Oliver Sheldon. Far too full of himself. Arrogant and priggish. All that keeping tabs on Carly, the clock-watching whenever she went out for the evening, the suggestion she should give up her car. He was manipulative, like the time he insisted she be excused evening work because they were newly married, bullying Emma into agreeing to his terms. And then there was the mystery of why Carly had found it necessary to use that key in the middle of the night, but had then run back to him. She really couldn’t understand what her friend saw in him. Now Emma casually folded her arms and waited for him to explain the reason for his visit.

  ‘The fact is, I’m not sure if she’s told you yet, but Carly is pregnant.’

  Emma was stunned, yet managed not to show it. ‘Well, that’s a surprise. I assume congratulations are in order?’

  Oliver manufactured a proud smile. ‘We’re both delighted, naturally. Carly is particularly thrilled as she adores kids. The problem is, she realises it’s going to rather screw things up career-wise.’

  Emma frowned. ‘I don’t see why it should. I’m sure we can work round it.’

  ‘Oh, I know it should be quite straightforward in this day and age, nannies and flexible working hours and such. The thing is, Carly doesn’t want to go down that road. She was quite happy to have this holiday letting agency to occupy her when she was free and single, but it’s become far more demanding than she’d expected. It’s been difficult for her, particularly in recent months, to keep up with the work level and the responsibility, not least the long unsocial hours. Now all she really wants is to stay home with the child and be a full-time mother.’

  ‘Goodness, that’s the last thing I expected. Look, this has come as a bit of a shock actually. I really do need her. I’m not sure how I could cope on my own.’

  Oliver nodded sympathetically. ‘I’m sure it won’t be easy. I’m in business myself, about to accept a partnership in a large firm actually, so I understand perfectly. That’s why I wanted to give you as much warning as possible. Not spring it on you at the last moment that she’s leaving.’

  ‘Leaving?’

  ‘As she will most certainly wish to do, once the baby is born.’

  Emma let out a heavy sigh. ‘I see. Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, Oliver. I appreciate your telling me so soon.’

  He smiled. ‘I wanted to give you as much time as possible to start looking around for a replacement partner. In return, I would appreciate it if you could tactfully inform Carly that you really don’t need her any more. You could let her off the hook, as it were, without her even needing to embarrass herself by asking.’

  ‘Embarrass herself?’

  ‘You know how sensitive and shy she is. She hates to be a nuisance or bother to anyone. And she really does want rid of all of this. I’m sorry to say it but Perfect Cottages has put her under enormous pressure lately. I’ve been really quite worried about her. She hasn’t been looking at all well recently, has she?’

  ‘No,’ Emma conceded. ‘No, she hasn’t been quite herself.’

  ‘Too stressed, and now with the baby coming . . .’ He held out his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘You know how it is. First time mum and all that. She’d be miserable if she was obliged to hand over child care to some stranger.’

  ‘I certainly don’t want Carly to be miserable,’ Emma remarked, her voice tight with disappointment. ‘Please tell me, why are you saying all this to me, and not Carly herself?’

  Oliver looked suitably contrite. ‘You know how she is, so sweet and loyal that she finds it difficult to tell you to your face that she wants out. She’d kill me if she ever found out I’d spoken to you. I’m trusting you to keep schtum on the subject. I would just like you to try to make it as easy as possible for her to ease her way out of the business without any sense of guilt. The last thing I want is for her to be upset, which might harm the baby. I hope you understand, and that this conversation can remain strictly private, just between ourselves?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Emma tried to decide whether she was being manipulated or not.

  ‘I’m so sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’ He sounded so genuinely apologetic that she softened a little and smiled.

  ‘It’s good news really, a baby for Carly. And of course she must be allowed to enjoy being a full time mum, if that’s what she wants. I’ll work something out. Thanks for being so frank and honest with me, Oliver, and for giving me time to sort something out before we get really busy.’

  ‘No problem.’

  After he’d gone, Emma closed the door with a thoughtful frown and went to join Glen on the sofa.

  ‘What was all that about?’ he asked.

  She briefly related what Oliver had told her.

  ‘Heavens, that’s a bit of a shaker, isn’t it? No wonder you look sad and unhappy.’

  ‘I don’t really understand. Carly never gave any indication to me that she would be the sort to turn into a housefrau, the professional stay-at-home mother. But there it is, and I have to accept it. I just wish she’d felt able to tell me herself. It’s made me realise that you really don’t know people at all, do you?’

  Outside, on the car park, Oliver climbed into his car and drove away with a smile on his face. He was feeling really rather pleased with himself, but then he generally found a way to turn a situation to his advantage. Getting rid of Perfect bloody Cottages and having Carly permanently at home, all to himself, was really not a bad idea at all. Quite a pleasing notion, in point of fact.

  I’m suffering badly from morning sickness, which apparently is supposed to ease after three months, but doesn’t appear to be doing so in my case. It’s rather like suffering from sea-sickness all the time and food has become a bit of a problem. I ask Jo-Jo about this and she recommends that I eat little and often, never let my stomach get empty or too full.

  My sister is naturally supportive over all the issues surrounding pregnancy, birth, and child rearing. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised since she now has four children of her own. I go round to see her quite often and we chat and have a good laugh together. The new baby seems to be growing at a phenomenal rate and I watch with interest, trying to pick up a few tips. Jo-Jo offers me lots of helpful advice and we seem to grow a little closer.

  Relations between Oliver and myself have also improved in recent weeks, better than I could hope for. He still goes out a good deal but when he is home he’s making much more effort. For once, he really seems to be trying, is constantly fussing over me and making me put my feet up, fetching me cups of tea, even apologising profusely for being so grumpy and bad tempered when he first heard the news.

  ‘I was just scared,’ he admits, caressing my still flat stomach. ‘But now I’m thrilled and proud. I’ve a feeling that having a baby could all turn out for the best.’

  I’m so relieved to hear him say this that I hug him. ‘Thank you, thank you. Everything will be fine, you’ll see. I still have to tell Emma yet, but before I do, I need to decide how much time I intend to take off once the baby is born. I can’t see it being more than a month or two,’ I explain. ‘Three at most. It wouldn’t be fair to take any more time off than is absolutely necessary. Perfect Cottages gets very busy with bookings in the Spring, and then it’s absolutely mad come summer. I’ll mess Emma up enough this coming season, just by giving birth. But I don�
��t see why I can’t go in fairly soon afterwards, by late summer, if only for a few days a week, taking baby with me if necessary.’

  He laughs softly, patient affection in his blue-grey eyes. ‘Goodness, you’ll be planning to return to your job from the maternity ward next. I know you’re always banging on about equality and a woman’s right to work as much as she pleases, but isn’t that carrying things a bit far?’

  ‘Oliver, I’d be climbing the walls with boredom if I were stuck in the house day after day.’

  He laughs. ‘I doubt it, not with a young baby to look after. Obviously I’d love to see you have time to relax and enjoy the baby instead of working yourself into the ground, but it’s up to you. I’ve heard you complain enough already about how lonely and isolated you get at times. I wouldn’t dream of putting any pressure on you. What do I know, I’m only a mere male? I know nothing about babies.’

  He sounds so sweet and understanding, so tolerant of my indecision that I’ve no wish for this to devolve into another row. And it’s so generous of him not to put any pressure on me. I smile and confess that it would indeed be pleasant to have a few months at home with the new baby, were it possible. ‘But I can’t see how Emma could cope without me. Besides, we need the money. Perfect Cottages is finally making a profit, albeit a small one, and you still haven’t got that partnership yet.’

  His face darkens and I realise I’ve put my foot in it, yet again. It’s very hard to have a reasonable, adult conversation with Oliver without him taking offence. ‘Not that you won’t get one soon, I’m sure,’ I hasten to add, smiling sweetly.

  ‘I believe a partnership is on the cards. The boss hinted as much only the other day,’ he assures me, and continues with surprising patience and diplomacy. ‘Maybe when it does come through, you’ll give serious consideration to giving up work completely and devote yourself entirely to being a wife and mother. If you wish. If that’s what you decide you want, darling. It’s entirely up to you.’