Blind-Date Baby

by Fiona Harper

  In other words, she was up the creek without a paddle. And she was just crazy enough in love with him to want to jump out of the boat and drown in him. She just didn’t care.

  But they never spoke of love. It was an unwritten rule. Not part of their agreement.

  One morning, almost a month after their return from Paris, Grace decided there was only so much mooching around a big old house that a woman could do. Noah was hidden away inside his study, as he often was in the mornings, wrestling with some character problem that was making him a huge grouch, and she knocked on the door and let him know she was going into town. He just waved with his left hand and continued scribbling in a notebook with his right. She didn’t take offence. She was starting to get used to the Noah who retreated into his imaginary world for hours every day.

  Walking up the cobbles in the High Street made her sad now. The Coffee Bean and Martin’s book shop, which had also been snapped up, were now boarded up. It wouldn’t be long before the Java Express logos appeared on them. It felt as if a part of the village’s soul had died.

  Without warning, tears filled Grace’s eyes and she began to sob.

  What was happening to her? Yes, she was an emotional kind of person, but she wasn’t normally given to weeping in the street. Maybe it was all getting too much for her—the pain of seeing Noah, blithely going about his business, never realising for a second that she wasn’t totally happy, despite his best efforts to give her all the things he’d promised her. She wouldn’t want to be without him. She loved him too much to leave him and still held out hope that, given a few years, he would soften and come to love her too. But she was starting to think that her grown-up decision to marry Noah for companionship and security hadn’t been her most sensible moment. After all, even grown-ups made mistakes.

  A yawn crept up on her. She was tired, that was all. And, she had to face it, there was plenty in her life at the moment that was contributing to her general weariness. It was probably just PMT making her all emotional. She’d been through a major upheaval in the last couple of months—losing her job, moving house, getting married. No wonder she was wiped out and falling into bed before ten in the evening.

  Grace walked down the High Street in the clear fresh sunshine that only came with a gentle English summer’s day. It was too nice to spend the morning cooped up in little boutiques, looking for ever more cocktail dresses to wear to Noah’s writing bashes, so she kept walking and made for the common. The wind was blowing the long grass flat, first this direction and then that. She chose one of the paths of short grass that had probably marked the common for hundreds of years and followed it.

  The school holidays were still a couple of weeks away and it was relatively quiet, with only the playground a source of noise. She chose a bench on the far side of the common, with a view of the pretty little church, far enough away from both the Tiger’s Head pub and the playground to be quiet and to have very little traffic. The sun was just peeping over the tops of the houses, sending vanilla rays to warm everything, and she just sat back and closed her eyes, drinking it in.

  Despite the practically idyllic surroundings, tears gathered beneath her lids and pushed their way between her lashes to trickle down her cheeks. She smudged them away with her palms. Damn this PMT. It wasn’t helping things at all, it really wasn’t.

  Since relaxing seemed to be beyond her, she decided to look in her diary and check when this hormone-induced dementia was likely to be relieved. She pulled the little book out of her handbag on the seat beside her and flicked through the pages until she found the current week. Then she went back a week and stared at that page. No, that couldn’t be right. And then she flipped back another week.

  According to her diary, she was—she counted the days with her finger, flipping over onto the current page—thirteen days late.

  Late. And not one or two days—thirteen!

  Still, she’d never been like clockwork. It was probably just stress. There’d been times when she’d been so stressed that her cycle had gone completely out of whack. However, in recent years, she’d never had a reason to worry that it had been anything but stress.

  Stop being so overdramatic! There weren’t any other symptoms—such as the overwhelming urge for anything starchy like she’d had when she’d been expecting Daisy. This was just panic talking. Any time now, her period would start and she’d laugh at herself for even considering that…

  She flipped back to the pages to when she’d been in Paris. Okay, so that would have been slap-bang in the middle of her cycle, but it didn’t mean anything. They’d been careful. Okay, considering she’d been very careless with her heart, careful probably wasn’t a good word to use in connection with Noah, but they’d used protection. She was just worrying over nothing.

  Grace put the diary back in her bag and stood up. There was a late-opening chemist three doors down from The Coffee Bean. No, where The Coffee Bean had once been. She’d just pop in. Not that she really needed to. It was just that, with everything else in her life at the moment, she really didn’t need one more thing to keep her tossing and turning at night.

  Grace sneaked into the kitchen late that night, Daisy’s laptop under her arm. Noah had dozed off in front of a war film on telly. She logged onto Blinddatebrides.com and sent up a prayer that, even though it wasn’t their usual day to chat, Dani and Marissa would be online.

  Blinddatebrides.com is running 12 chat rooms, 26 private IM conferences, and 5216 members are online.

  Grace looked at the little header she normally glossed over and laughed out loud. Blinddatebrides.com, indeed! Not only had she found a groom, but she’d come away from one of their set-ups with a little more than she’d bargained for.

  She sent an email SOS out to the girls and waited.

  Englishcrumpet invites Kangagirl and Sanfrandani to a private IM conference.

  Englishcrumpet: Anybody out there?

  Grace inhaled, breathed out and waited. By the time she was just starting to run out of oxygen, there was a ping from the laptop.

  Kangagirl: What’s the emergency? Grace?

  Englishcrumpet: We’d better wait and see if Dani shows up. I’m not sure I can do this twice.

  Kangagirl: Now you’re scaring me.

  Englishcrumpet: I’m a little freaked out myself.

  A second ping announced Dani’s arrival.

  Sanfrandani: Hi, guys!

  Kangagirl: Grace is just about to drop a bombshell. She’s gone all mysterious and dramatic.

  Sanfrandani: Bigger than the I’m-getting-married-to-Noah bombshell?

  Englishcrumpet: Way bigger. But kind of related.

  Kangagirl: Don’t leave us in suspense, Grace!

  Grace looked down at her stomach. There was another thing that would be getting bigger shortly. Here goes, she thought.

  Englishcrumpet: I’m pregnant.

  Once again, she’d stunned them into silence. If there were awards for that kind of thing, Grace was sure she’d get a medal.

  Englishcrumpet: Say something!

  Sanfrandani: Congratulations?

  Kangagirl: How? I mean…oh, you know what I mean.

  Englishcrumpet: Kinda relieved you’re not asking for a blow-by-blow account there, Marissa!

  Sanfrandani: You’re not taking this well, are you? The more flippant you get, the worse things are, usually.

  Grace stared at the home pregnancy test she’d propped up by the laptop screen, just to make sure she hadn’t been seeing things. Tests had moved on quite a lot since she’d last taken one and now they were practically idiot-proof, no faint little blue or pink lines to count, just a big digital screen reading: PREGNANT. It might as well have added, You, Dummy! The pregnancy tests might be idiot-proof, but the people who needed them obviously weren’t. Why else would a forty-year-old woman have got herself into a situation better suited to a reckless teenager?

  Englishcrumpet: I’m trying to get my head round it, to be honest. Humour seems to be the only way to
stop myself losing the plot entirely.

  Sanfrandani: Have you told Noah?

  Englishcrumpet: I haven’t told anyone! Not even Daisy! What if she doesn’t want a little brother or sister stealing her limelight?

  Kangagirl: If Daisy is half the girl you’ve brought her up to be, she’ll be wonderful!

  Sanfrandani: And Noah?

  Englishcrumpet: Dani, do you have to be the voice of reason all the time?

  Englishcrumpet: Sorry, that was meant to be a joke, but it just came across snippy.

  Sanfrandani: No offence taken. I can tell you’re scared witless.

  Kangagirl: You can’t not tell your husband, Grace. He’s going to notice eventually.

  Grace sagged. She had no idea if Noah had ever had any thoughts about becoming a parent. They’d both just assumed it wouldn’t be part of the package. And that had been fine with her, but now—even though Dani was right, she was scared witless—part of her was desperate to make it part of the package and hope that Noah would agree. Maybe a baby would help. He couldn’t help but break out of his cold, tight little shell with a son or a daughter to love.

  Englishcrumpet: I’m not sure how he’s going to feel about this.

  Sanfrandani: Don’t be too hard on him if he’s a little shocked. After all, you’re feeling the same way yourself. But think, what a wonderful way to start your new life together!

  Kangagirl: Oh, Grace! I’m so happy for you! The man of your dreams and a new little baby on the way.

  God bless Marissa and Dani. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps her dreams could come true.

  But then reality slapped her round the face and made her sit up.

  Dreams. She’d just got used to thinking about having some of those. A new career. Time to herself. They were just going to have to go on hold for another eighteen years or so. If she wasn’t so confused about how to tell Noah, about what to tell Noah, she’d be in fits of laughter. Oh, the irony of it—the empty-nester who’d finally gathered up the courage to find her wings suddenly had another chick to hatch.

  Noah woke the next morning to find Grace stroking his thigh, a naughty little smile on her face. He grinned back at her. This was better. In recent weeks Grace had been less and less like herself, and the last few days she’d been positively testy. Whatever had been bothering her was obviously dealt with.

  He didn’t mind forgoing his morning run for a little bit of exercise with Grace, not one little bit.

  Afterwards, when they were wrapped round each other and he was starting to doze, she lifted her head from his chest and looked at him.

  ‘Are you happy, Noah?’

  He nodded. Yes, he was. Not just in the afterglow of great sex, but with his life generally. There’d been a few hiccups at the beginning of their marriage—teething problems, he supposed—but now it looked as if things were back on track.

  She sat up a little so she could focus on his face properly and he rolled over a little to face her. She licked her lower lip and then stuck her thumbnail in her mouth. After nibbling it for a few seconds, a tiny frown deepening between her eyebrows, she pulled it out again.

  ‘I have some news,’ she finally said.

  His eyebrows raised. ‘Good news or bad news?’

  ‘Um…Depends very much on how you feel about it.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you tell me what it is and I will tell you how I feel about it?’ he said in a voice as smooth as clotted cream.

  ‘You’ll tell me how you really feel?’

  ‘Yes.’ Or at least he’d tell her what he thought. That would just have to do.

  She took a deep breath. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  The world seemed to freeze for a second and, when it got going again, he was sure it was revolving in the wrong direction.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  Grace pulled the sheet up over her chest and held it with clenched fists. ‘We’re going to have a baby. I’m pregnant.’

  A baby? How was that…? When had they…?

  ‘But…how could you be? We used—’

  Grace lost her forlorn expression and became a bit more like the sassy woman he’d gone on a blind date with. ‘Only ninety-eight per cent effective. It says so on the box.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘You said you were going to tell me how you feel.’

  He blinked. Something instinctive rushed through Noah. Something primal, fierce and protective. But he didn’t know what to call it. And it terrified the life out of him. She didn’t really want to know that, did she? That he was feeling strange things—especially fear. That wouldn’t help at all.

  And that wasn’t actually what she’d been asking. She’d be cross with him if he was brutally honest. Just like Sara always had been. Damn these women and their subtexts.

  He got out of bed and put on his robe, tying the knot just a little too tightly for comfort. So he retied it, looser this time. He needed to process this, to understand this strange tug inside him. Anchoring it in something real, in facts and figures, might help.

  ‘Do you know when we got…erm…?’

  ‘Pregnant is the word you’re looking for, Noah.’

  Grace gathered the sheet around her and stood up too. That was the first time she’d done that. She’d never bothered hiding her body from him before, not even right at the beginning.

  ‘Paris, I think. What difference does it make?’

  Somehow it helped to know, to analyse. To work out where the turning point had been, the moment at which everything had changed, even if he hadn’t realised it at the time. It was the way he looked at his characters, understood what was happening to them. Perhaps it would help him to understand what he was feeling, this new thing that made his eyes prickle and his heart pump. Was he going to cry? He never cried.

  A look of exquisite pain passed across Grace’s features.

  ‘Come here,’ he said, opening his arms.

  Grace looked wary but she shuffled over to him, the sheet tangling in her feet, and let him hold her. He could feel her breath moist against his chest.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He smoothed her hair with the flat of his hand, long strokes that travelled down her shoulders and onto her back. ‘We can deal with this. We’ll work through this.’

  And then he laid a kiss on the top of her head and stepped back.

  ‘I need to…I think I’ll…I’m going for a run.’

  We’ll work through this?

  Grace stared at the bedroom door with her mouth open. He’d made it sound as if this was a problem with their taxes or a lost passport. She’d told him they were going to have a baby and he’d gone for a run? Unbelievable!

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and folded the sheet around her.

  What a difference from when she’d told Rob they were expecting Daisy. It had been only days before their first wedding anniversary, and Rob had whooped with joy when she’d told him. He’d picked her up and swung her round, only to stop and place her on the sofa as if she were delicate porcelain. He’d apologised a dozen times and kissed her twenty more before phoning everyone he knew to brag.

  Grace twisted the sheet between her fists. What was it with her new husband? What was he afraid of? That she’d have less time for him? Was he jealous? She just didn’t get it.

  Her hands wandered to her stomach. Not exactly flat, but as flat as a woman her age was likely to have. Almost twenty years would separate her two children, but she was as connected now to the tiny life inside her that was only a bundle of promise as she was to the one outside her who was fulfilling that promise by exploring her potential. And it was an even greater joy finding out this time, because she knew all the wonderful times waiting for her in the future.

  This was her baby.

  Well, at least Noah’s reaction had an upside.

  Now she knew how she felt about being pregnant. She wanted this baby more than anything. She wanted to feel its kick, to feel it moving inside her. She wanted to hear its first cry and feel that total rush of
love when they first met.

  She stood up and went in search of underwear. Noah would show his excitement sooner or later, wouldn’t he? Perhaps Dani was right and he was just poleaxed by her announcement. Whatever the problem was, she hoped he would be in a better state of mind when he came back from his run.

  Noah’s feet pounded on the hard paving slabs. He glanced up the road, saw there was a gap in the traffic and sprinted across and onto the cricket pitch. Grace was pregnant. With a baby. His baby. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to jump up a tree and do a Tarzan yell or go and buy cigars.

  At least you’re feeling something.

  Shut up.

  But this changed everything. What about the trips all over the world? The parties and awards ceremonies? He hadn’t ever envisioned doing that with a pushchair in one hand and a nappy bag over his shoulder.

  You’re being selfish.

  I know. Shut up.

  He ran faster, harder, until the breath sliced cold in his lungs and his thigh muscles burned. He’d never considered becoming a father. Although his own had been a poor example, at least the comparison with friends’ dads had given him an idea of what a father should be. He should be able to interact with his son, praise him, talk to him, teach him about life. Not freeze him out and act as if he didn’t exist most of the time, even when the boy did his very best to make him proud.

  Noah stopped running and rested his hands on his thighs, panting. But the feeling that he was pounding, churning, moving stayed with him. It was as if darkness were coming up from the inside of him, threatening to overtake him. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. This feeling was darker than the one he’d felt when Grace had told him she was expecting his child. Whatever this feeling was, he’d better outrun it.