“You might regret not taking it.”
“I might regret taking it.”
“True.”
He doesn’t say anything else but I know he’s thinking.
“What?” I bark, demanding he speak.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “What my mum always used to say was: you just don’t know where the journey will take you and opportunities don’t come your way for no reason. Maybe you’re meant to take this, maybe it’ll lead you to something… a destination you might not have predicted. I don’t know. Some things happen for a reason, that’s all I know.”
I shoot him an annoyed expression. “And now you’ve undone my logic. Thanks for that.”
He laughs, throwing his head back again. How different he is when he’s had his end away, hmm?
***
We come up for air three days after arriving in the Cotswolds. We’re finally in the hot tub after spending the past few days having sex, eating and sleeping. Naked, we’re grinning at one another from either end of the square tub, enjoying the hot water even as the cold outside threatens to give us frostbite. All the other little chalets around here are far enough away that nobody will see us in our tub, starkers and clearly fresh from a marathon of sex.
“This is the life,” he says.
“It truly is,” I giggle.
We shared the driving down here now that Paul’s on my insurance. It feels like we’re assimilating at our own natural pace even though everyone else probably thinks things are moving too fast.
“That thing you did with your teeth was good.” He’s looking at me like I’m a rump steak.
“What thing?”
“When you bit my knob a bit.”
I burst out laughing. “Nobody calls it that anymore.”
“We’re in the open air,” he contests.
“Well, I liked that thing you did with your tongue… the edging… it would have blown my socks off if I was wearing any. You haven’t let me get dressed in three days.” I pretend like I’m annoyed, when I’m really not.
“Clothes shmothes,” he laughs.
I let my head fall back against the tub and close my eyes, relaxing. Surrounded by trees and nature, the clear, early-spring skies and lots of fresh air, I feel like I’ve been propelled out of myself a bit.
“You never said about the job,” he reminds me.
Damn, I thought he might have forgotten about that.
“What did you tell them? They must have asked you on Thursday?”
It’s Easter Monday now and we also have tomorrow together, but Wednesday is when I’m expected to tell them.
“I said I’m going to think about it over the weekend.”
“And have you been thinking about it?”
I open my eyes and find him watching my breasts very carefully as they float around, buoyant on the bubbles surrounding us. I can’t help but smile.
“I’ve had no time to think.”
“That’s why you’ve been using me like a slave.” He folds his arms, nose in the air, like I’ve been abusing him or something.
“As if you’ve not enjoyed it.”
He shrugs. “Might have.”
I look out across the green land and tell him, “I don’t know what I’m going to say. I suppose I’ll decide on the day I go back, but right now, I feel like I can’t say no. It feels like I’m between a rock and a hard place. If I say no I’ll be wondering what if, if I say yes, I’m signing my life away, but it also feels like I’m needed somewhere or they wouldn’t have asked me, so soon after starting this job.”
He hmms as he considers my predicament. “You’ll be training to start with anyway?”
“For a couple of months.”
“What have you got to lose, then? See if it’s a fit.”
I turn and smile. “Maybe. Right now, I just want to get out and visit the local village, buy some trinkets and eat a hot lunch. How about you?”
“Right after I’ve had a hot woman.”
He wades towards me, takes me by the waist the drags me back over to his side. Straddling his lap, he looks up into my eyes and murmurs, “Love you.”
“Love you.”
A few hours later, we’re eating hot bacon and brie paninis in a cosy, quaint coffee shop, our purchases in bags at our feet, steam rising from the teapot in front of us, lots of other tourists crammed in – and I have my eye on the cake display for later. This is a perfect day for me.
“I’ve been meaning to ask but haven’t wanted to…”
He looks at me, knows what I’m referring to. “My dad.”
“How’s he doing? Your mother said anything?”
“John texted me the other day,” he says with a sigh, drinking some tea, “he said Dad’s down the pub again.”
“What?”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t surprise me.”
“That’s awful. Doesn’t your mum ever say anything?”
“This is years we’re talking about here. Years of saying he’s going to the newsagents, and three hours later he arrives home pissed, excuses himself by saying he bumped into someone. He once came to pick me up from work in town and was an hour and a half late because he got side tracked. If it’s not that he’s off to the newsagents, he’s going out for a takeaway which took longer than he thought. He used to take me and the lads for sweets on Sunday afternoons but really he’d leave us in the car while he went drinking the whole time.”
I shake my head. “Oh my god. He drove you around pissed? He left kids in the car? Even in summer?”
He’s nodding fast. “Just the tip of the iceberg, honey. Trust me.”
Paul makes light work of the crusty panini, devouring it much quicker than I am.
I’m happy he’s opening up and telling me things; that he feels comfortable enough to do that now.
“You know, growing up, I always thought you were all so tight. I used to look at you from the outside in and think you couldn’t ever be pulled apart. I’ve never been close to Lauren or my mother. They’ve never had the appetite for life I have. My dad is staid, would never say boo to a goose, but remains the most quietly intellectual person I’ve ever known. He’s boring but he’s solid. I used to wish he’d wake up one day and just do a little dance or a singsong or something just to prove there is somebody in there, you know?” I chuckle and so does Paul. “Your dad on the other hand, he hid it so well because nobody knew. Everyone thought he was a charming, life-and-soul type of guy. That was all. We grew up thinking he was just a geezer. We didn’t know better.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, his eyes telling me a different story, “he hid it well, a high-functioning alcoholic is what they call him. One of the worst things about being the kid of an addict is the lying to yourself. Seeing your mother lying to herself and knowing that’s the only way she’s coping, even though it makes me angry just thinking about all that, when you’re in it – in the eye of the storm so to speak – it all becomes normal, lying all the time. We had to pretend to everyone else it wasn’t happening because we knew if people started calling him out, that’d make him all the more likely to drink. Make him even more prone to self-damage. What you probably saw was three brothers sticking together through thick and thin because we were the only ones who truly understood. And my mother? She still loves him, even after everything. She will bury him like a martyr even though he’s whacked her, belittled her, made her watch as her kids got beaten, you name it… he’s done it. Whether he remembers or not, he’s done some really nasty shit, and somewhere deep down he must know what he’s done to all of us and hates himself… and the vicious cycle… I don’t know how you get out of that tornado he’s in, I don’t. I know for a fact he’d never get clean if any one of us asked him. Not on your life.”
I reach across the table for his hand and shed a tear. “I hate that he hurt you. I hate it.”
“Do you know what I hate?” he asks, stony-faced and angry.
“What?”
“That my poisonous relations
hip with him kept me away from you for so long. That’s the worst thing he’s ever done to me. I could’ve lost you. I could’ve— Well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”
“It doesn’t.” I squeeze his hand. “All that matters is we stick together and you tell me how you’re feeling. That’s all.”
“It feels better already, talking,” he says, “I know I can trust you.”
“You can trust me with your life.”
“I know.” He finally wells up, catching his breath before he lets anything go.
“Get me some of that cake to go and we’ll head back.” I motion at the cake I want and pick up my panini, demolishing it while he waits in line for cake.
As he drives the car back to the chalet, I never once take my hand off his thigh or my eyes off his face.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It’s been a few weeks now since he started his new job. We’ve clung to one another, spending evenings chatting about our new experiences, people we’re working with, kids he’s impressed by. He’s not going to be fully up and running as a teacher until September so this is his interim period, a time when he can get to know the school, the framework and the ethos. He seems to be enjoying it. I’ve been enjoying the training part of my new job but I’m daunted by what lies ahead of me when I do go out on the case, so to speak.
We spend many evenings staring at each other across the dining table as we work, then we climb into the bath together, talk about anything, everything, and fall into bed wrapped up, totally entwined.
Tonight, as we sit across from one another at the table, me studying safeguarding and him swotting up on lesson plans, he looks up at me and I feel his eyes on me. I look up too, smiling.
“What?” I ask.
“Don’t you have periods?”
I giggle. “Yes, of course.”
“The Year Fives had a bit of sex ed today and thought it was hilarious. It got me thinking, though because since we’ve been together, you haven’t had a period. At least, I haven’t noticed you having one.” He narrows his eyes at me, letting me know exactly what he means.
It’s only been a couple of months, but he’s right. “I came off the pill.”
His eyes bug. “What?”
“A few months ago, I wasn’t having sex so I came off it. Couldn’t see the point. Less chemicals in me if I’m not on it. I haven’t had regular periods since then because my body is readjusting but it’ll get back to normal soon.”
“But we’ve been having unprotected sex?” He raises his voice.
“Like I said, I haven’t been having proper periods. I’m not worried. If I’m pregnant, I’ll be happy. If I’m not, I’ll be happy. Either way, I’m okay, I’m happy.”
He pushes his chair back from the table and stands there, aghast. “If you’d told me, I would have been wearing condoms.”
“You didn’t ask. Besides, I’m not worried.”
He storms across the room, grabs his jacket and leaves the house.
I’m left wondering what the hell.
Ten minutes later he’s back carrying a plastic bag and a huge bottle of water.
“Let’s find out for sure, shall we?” he says, in a sarcastic voice.
I shake my head, grab the test and shun his bottle of water. I do need a pee, as it happens, and I don’t need his help to pee.
I take the test. It’s not my first rodeo. A couple of times with Ian I took a test because of missed periods. It was probably just illness, stress and a combination of other struggles in life that caused me to miss a period. It could be anything really that’s stopping me regaining my periods in their proper order now. Like my depression last year after what happened between me and Paul. Or it could just be that I’ve been on the pill since fifteen years old and it probably takes time for the contraceptive to fully leave your system.
I leave the bathroom carrying the test and show him the result. “See, it’s negative. No worries.”
He holds the test in his hands and demands the leaflet to check. “No, it’s positive. You’re pregnant. Fucking hell, you’re pregnant.”
“No, there was one line.”
“Well, now there’s two. Look, two.” He hands me the test.
I never thought I would ever feel this joyous but I hold my tummy and mumble, “I’m pregnant?”
“You’re pregnant.”
“I’m having a baby. I’ve always wanted a baby. I never thought I could have a baby!” My chin wobbles and I cradle the tiny life inside me that I’ve always wanted. I’m twenty-six years old in May and I never thought I would wait this long. I thought I’d be married and pregnant before I was twenty-five at the latest. I guess I’m doing things the other way around, but hey.
Paul comes closer and puts his hand over mine. “I wish we could have planned this but I’m happy if you are.”
I nod slowly. “I honestly didn’t know if it would be possible because my periods aren’t great. I didn’t know but I’m happy. I’m so happy.”
I throw my arms around him and he hugs me tight. “We’ll have to get married. I won’t have a baby born out of wedlock. That’s just how it is with me, sorry.”
“If you like.”
A little baby? Something for me? And for Paul?
I pull away from Paul and push my nose to his. “I want this so much, Paul. I love you and I’ll love our baby more than you can imagine.”
“I love you, girl. I love you.” He holds me in his arms as he kisses me, then sweeps me up into him, carrying me to bed to celebrate this new life we’ve created.
***
A couple of weeks later, I get a text from Paul saying: Marriage license application submitted. X
The news excites me so much, I almost forget about the indigestion I’ve had all day. Working at my desk in the busy call room of West Yorkshire Police, I stare at the cucumber sandwich I made this morning and it looks no more appetising now than it did when I made it. I just took it out of the office fridge and it still looks disgusting. I can’t keep anything down at the moment and even simple things like a cucumber sandwich are not working, even when they always used to work in the past.
I stuff another ginger biscuit in my mouth and slurp some more tea – the only two things I can handle right now. Oh, and polo mints. I’m obsessed with polos.
A call comes in about a woman screaming inside her house and my phone flashes brightly as my supervisor loops me in. I pick up the receiver and listen as the woman’s neighbour tells us she has knocked on the door and got no answer and the woman keeps screaming. She doesn’t know what to do. The woman doesn’t have any history of mental illness or anti-social behaviour – I see on the screen in front of me as my supervisor searches the database for her info. There’s been no signs of a struggle or a burglary or anything like that. In the end, my boss decides the police should go straight away and if necessary, someone will be along to sedate the lady in question. It could just be that her cat died, or she could have woken up with paranoid delusions and is self-harming… who knows.
I feel a stabbing pain hit me deep in my stomach and breathe through it. Bloody hell, this indigestion is awful, and we’re meant to put up with this for how long?
I suffer it for a few minutes before deciding to take a walk to the bathroom.
When I get to the stall and sit down to pee, hoping that if I also try to do a poo that might help, I’m shocked to see a pool of blood sitting in my knickers.
“Oh, no.”
I arrive home late, having paid a visit to the hospital after I told my supervisor what I thought was happening. She was incredibly understanding and told me to take a few days if I need them.
Paul’s home already, at work at the dining table. He looks up with a bright smile and welcomes me, “Hey, you. How’s your day been?”
He quickly discovers I’m not okay when I don’t reply and I don’t smile or show him affection. I shut the door behind me, rest back against it, then slowly sink down the hard surface until falling to the flo
or, my head falling to my knees, sobbing my heart out.
It all falls out of me. I cry, I wail, I despair.
The physical pain is bad… the rest unbearable.
I have sudden empathy for all those people who suddenly find their worlds ripped out from underneath them – their sanity, their heart, their soul… all gone. All it takes is for one thing you’ve wanted for as long as you can remember to be taken from you, so cruelly, and nothing will ever seem the same again.
I’m carrying my work trousers in a bag which he takes from me and suddenly inside he sees the blood. At the hospital they gave me some leggings and maternity knickers… they must have seen all this before.
He wraps his arms around the whole of me and I wail into the vacuum of my pain, which he can’t share, nor can he ever know what it’s like to be me. I’m angry and I’m demolished. It feels like I waited so long for everything to come into alignment and now, this… ripped from me.
I must settle eventually because I hear him say, “Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe this wasn’t our baby. Mother nature knows best and all. I know nothing’s going to bring the baby back, but maybe it’s another thing that’s happened for a reason.”
I shake myself out of his arms and storm into the bathroom to wash off the stain of our love.
Because a stain it is.
It’s very late at night when I emerge from the bathroom. After showering I sat on the toilet and waited for the rest to leave me. My body shook and I almost vomited. The pain inside me was unbearable. A huge blob sank into the water and I knew that was it, all gone.
I’m wrapped in a towel as I leave the room, a wad of paper stuffed between my legs. I don’t see him. I don’t even want him but I still look for him, finding nobody in the house with me.
I clean myself up, stuff my knickers with sanitary pads and pull on my ugliest, thickest pyjamas. We hadn’t told anyone yet that I was pregnant and in fact, we were going to get married in secret. We’ve been living these past few weeks like hermits, blocking out the world, not letting anyone else in. Now I’m in a time of crisis, he’s nowhere to be found.
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