“Of course, not a problem at all.” The guy’s gaze slides to me, and I get to my feet, smoothing down the sweater over my bump nervously. “You must be Abby,” the guy says, coming forward to greet me. “I’m Brock King—Noah’s uncle.”
“Hal’s dad,” I confirm. “I met him the other day.”
“That’s right.” We shake hands. He’s smiling, but his eyes are sharp, appraising. He’s carrying a large black box. “This is my wife, Erin,” he says, turning to introduce her.
She comes forward and takes my hand, then places her other one on top of it. “Hello,” she says. “It’s lovely to meet you. How are you doing?”
“I’m okay,” I say, a little awkwardly. I’m thirty-two, but suddenly I feel like a sixteen-year-old.
“Coffee, anyone?” Noah asks, going into the kitchen.
“Please,” they both say.
“Another cup of tea, Abby?” he asks me.
“Yes, please.”
“Good girl,” Brock says. “Keep the fluids up.” He glances at Noah. “Okay to take her into your room for an exam?”
“Of course.”
Brock smiles. “Come with me.”
I follow him through to Noah’s bedroom, where he’d held me and comforted me while I slept. It’s obvious we’ve been sitting on the bed as the duvet is rumpled, but Brock doesn’t say anything; he gestures for me to get on, so I do, and I turn and lie back on the pillows.
He sits beside me. “Okay, so I don’t know what Noah’s told you about me. I work part-time as a GP up in the bay, but occasionally I still do some work back in Auckland at the children’s hospital. I specialize in respiratory illnesses, and I’ve worked closely with obstetrics. I’m just going to do a few routine checks and we’ll see how you’re doing, okay?”
I nod, reassured by his gentle manner.
“Let’s get a few details first,” he says. He takes out a form and asks me my full name, date of birth, and address. I give the house address, but tell him I don’t think I’ll be going back there. He just nods and doesn’t comment. Instead, he asks about the pregnancy, how far along I think I am, what scans I’ve had done, how I’m feeling.
Then he opens his black case. He takes my blood pressure, which he says is good considering I’m obviously a bit stressed at the moment. He takes my temperature, listens to my heart and lungs, then listens to the baby’s heartbeat. “Strong and regular,” he says with a smile, making my throat tighten. “Okay, I have a portable ultrasound here. Let’s take a look at baby, shall we?”
I raise my sweater, and he puts on some gel, props up the screen so we can both see it, and places the receiver on my tummy. He moves it around a little until he finds the spot he’s looking for. And then there’s Peanut. I can see the nose, the round forehead, the ears, the arms up by the head. It’s amazing. Tears pour down my face.
Brock just smiles. “Do you know the sex?”
I shake my head.
“Do you want to?”
I hesitate. Then I nod.
“It’s a boy,” he says.
I press my fingers to my lips. “Oh my God.” I’m having a baby boy.
The revelation was just what I needed to make this real. Up until now, Peanut had been a kind of mysterious alien inside me, and it has been difficult for me to picture it as a living, breathing baby. But suddenly I realize that in less than two weeks, I’ll be holding him in my arms. A baby boy.
Chapter Thirteen
Noah
I’m sitting talking to Erin when Brock comes back into the living room.
“How is she?” I ask.
“She’s fine. She’ll be out in a minute.” He comes and sits next to his wife on the sofa. Erin’s fussing Willow, who has her head on Erin’s knee. “Both her and the baby are well,” Brock tells me.
I lean back in the armchair, letting the tension go from my shoulders. I hadn’t realized until that moment how nervous I was there was something wrong.
Their expressions soften at my obvious relief. “So the baby hasn’t suffered because she hasn’t been eating well?” I ask.
“Malnourishment can affect an unborn baby’s growth, but I don’t think it’s gone that far. Babies have an amazing knack of stealing what they need from their mom, and it’s the mom’s health that often suffers. She could do with a good steak, there’s no doubt about that. I’ve given her some vitamin tablets. But there’s no sign of preeclampsia, and the baby’s heartbeat is strong. It’s the right way up, and there aren’t any obvious complications.”
I stand and walk over to the window, looking out across the garden to the sea. The rain has eased a little, but the Pacific is still a stormy gray.
She’s going to be all right. The baby’s going to be all right. My emotions feel as if they’re out on the waves, being tossed around in the wind. I blow out a long breath, waiting for them to settle.
“Is the father in the picture?” Brock asks.
I turn and slide my hands into my pockets. “He’s around, but he doesn’t want the baby. She doesn’t want to go back to him.”
Erin and Brock exchange a glance.
“Those are her words,” I say softly. “Not mine. If that was what she wanted, I’d encourage it. Of course I would. But he’s been abusive. I don’t think he’s hit her, but he’s come close to it. And he’s a gambler. She walked away because he spent her last two weeks’ rent money, on the same day that he lost five thousand dollars they don’t have.”
Both of them look shocked. “Jesus,” Brock says.
“This isn’t about me and Abby,” I tell them.
“It’s none of our business,” Erin says.
“I don’t care, I want you to know. She’s my housekeeper. A good friend. We’re not romantically involved.”
“Not yet,” Erin says. I give her a wry smile.
“What are you going to do?” Brock asks.
“I have a few ideas.” I turn my smile to Abby then as she comes out. She looks happier and calmer, reassured, no doubt, by Brock giving the green light to the baby.
“I hear everything’s fine,” Erin says to her. “I’m so pleased for you.”
“Yes.” Abby lowers herself into one of the armchairs. “It’s a big relief. I’ve not been good in going to my checks, and I have to admit I was worried things weren’t quite right.” She looks at me then and gives me a shy smile. “It’s a boy.”
“Oh.” Warmth spreads through me, and I feel myself grinning in return. “That’s fantastic.”
“Well, we’d better get going,” Brock says, touching his wife on the knee. “I’m going to be up in the bay for a few weeks, though, so if you want anything, you only have to call.”
“Do you deliver babies?” Abby asks.
“I’ve been present at quite a few births,” Brock admits. “But I’m no expert. I know several midwives, though. I’ll be happy to recommend one if you’d like that.”
Abby looks down, and Brock glances at me. “Thanks,” I say softly. “We’ll be in touch.”
“Okay.” The two of them give Abby a kiss and me a hug, and I see them to the door.
When they’re gone, I come back in with the dogs, and go down into the living room. Abby’s moved back to the sofa, and she’s curled up with the blanket over her legs.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask her.
She’s holding her tea, and she just smiles. “No, thanks.”
I sit back in the chair. “I’m glad everything’s okay.”
“Me too. I was worried I’d somehow hurt the baby.” She looks sad.
“Oh, I think he’s very well protected in there. So… you’re having a son.”
She laughs at that. “Yes! It made it all seem much more real.”
“Boys are cool. Much easier than girls.”
She grins. “I can believe that.”
We sit in the quiet for a while, sipping our drinks. Willow sighs and flops onto her side in front of the fire. Spike sits by me, leaning against my leg, and I stroke
his head.
“So…” I say eventually. “Where were we?”
“You had very kindly offered to pay for a motel room for me,” she says.
“Mm.” I don’t like the idea, but I felt I had to offer. “Another option is that I ask around the girls at the Ark and see if any of them has a spare room.” I’m sure Izzy or Nix would offer to put Abby up if I told them her story, but both of them have only just entered into new relationships, and I know the last thing they’d want would be a stranger in the house and a crying newborn keeping them up.
“There is a third option,” I say. Abby turns her wide, unsuspecting eyes on me. “Stay here with me,” I tell her. She blinks a few times. “I have four spare bedrooms,” I say. “Several spare bathrooms. You could even use the library as a living room, if you wanted your own space.”
“Oh, Noah,” she whispers.
“I know it’s not perfect. I know it goes against the grain for you to accept help. I do understand that. And I do understand that you’re a woman on your own, and it might make you uncomfortable to think you live in my house. But we have to think of the baby. Better that it’s born here, in peace and quiet and with friends to help you, than some cramped motel room surrounded by strangers. We could get Brock to recommend a midwife and have her on standby. You could have the baby at hospital, or you could have it here, if you wish.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Have a home birth?”
“I don’t see why not. Brock said there aren’t any obvious complications.”
Her mouth has formed an O, and she looks flummoxed. “I don’t know what to say…”
“Bear with me. I do have one further idea that might help you make up your mind.”
Her lips curve up. “You’re full of ideas today.”
“It’s what I do. I want to help you get back on your feet. I’m sure that’s what you want more than anything. So I was thinking… I have an amazing kitchen. I could apply for the license you need to run a business here. Eventually you could start up The Mad Batter again, when you feel able to work, and you could run it from here until you feel in a position to find yourself your own premises. And I had some other ideas. We’ve been talking at the Ark about sourcing some organic dog treats. That could be something you could look into making—healthy treats for dogs and other animals. Another idea I had is making videos of yourself preparing different cakes. Showing people how to ice them and make pictures. Putting them on YouTube. That would bring in some income if you did it regularly. And you’d be able to sell the cakes.”
I’m talking too much—she looks completely shell-shocked. “Or whatever,” I finish lamely. “They’re just some ideas. I’m sure it’s a bit too much for you to think about right now with the baby coming, but when you feel—”
“You’d do that for me?” she interrupts.
“Of course. You’re my friend, Abby.”
“Are you for real? What… what do you want in return?”
I’m confused. “I don’t want anything.”
“You’re willing to let me stay here, in your house, have my baby here, put up with a screaming newborn, let me work in your kitchen… and all for nothing?”
“Abby, you’ve been treated abysmally. Your partner has all but abandoned you, left you on your own all weekend when you’re close to having your baby. Spent all your money to the point where you can’t pay your rent and can’t even afford food. He forced himself on you—don’t tell me he didn’t, because I won’t believe you—and then he doesn’t want the product of his lust. He disgusts me. I’m ashamed to be a man when I hear about guys like that. Every single one of the men in my family, the men I know, would do whatever they could to help you.”
She studies her hands in her lap. “It’s not all his fault. I can’t call myself a modern woman, a feminist, and then weep and wail when the man in my life doesn’t perform the way I want him to.”
“This has nothing to do with gender, Abby. When you agree to be in a relationship with another person, you’re telling that person you’re going to be there for them, that you’ll support them, stand by their side, be their number-one fan. That you’ll be strong for them when they need you, and that when you need them, you expect them to step up for you. Relationships are a two-way track. And yours appears to have been entirely one-way. He’s sucked you dry, and I’m absolutely stunned you stayed with him so long. I’m stunned at your loyalty, and how much you’ve given to try to make the relationship work. Plenty of people would have walked at the first sign of trouble. You think that’s weak? I think it shows immeasurable strength and compassion. You tried to help him through his problems. The fact that you couldn’t doesn’t mean you’re a failure; it means he’s in too much pain and too deep in to be pulled out by anyone less than a professional. He needs proper medical help and therapy. I can help with that, if he’ll accept it. But he’s not your problem anymore. Now you have to think about yourself and the baby, and that’s all. On bringing your child into the world in a safe, secure way. If you feel happy, content, and safe, your son will pick that up from you. That’s all that matters right now.”
I’ve said far too much, and I stop as she puts her hand over her mouth and starts crying again. Holy shit. How many times can I make this girl cry today? I’m supposed to be making things better.
I get up and go over to the sofa and sit beside her. Without me saying a thing, she leans against me, and I put an arm around her.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you,” she whispers through her snuffles.
I sigh. “You make me sound like a saint. I’m really not. For a start, I’m so screwed up I can barely set a foot out of the house. I know my desire to help others is born out of a pathetic hope that somehow I can stop everyone else going through what I went through. I want to take away the world’s pain, and I’m not stupid, I know that’s impossible. But I’ve got to try.”
“You cherish your solitude, though. I know you do. I can’t see how having a screaming baby around the house—especially one that isn’t yours—is going to help you when you’re working or having meetings.”
“Okay, well, I’m no expert, but from what I understand most babies don’t scream twenty-four-seven. They cry when they want something, and it’s our job to figure out what it is. If you’re worried about it, you can have the bedroom at the end of the house, right next to the library.”
I rub her arm. Despite her big bump, she feels small and slender in my arms. “Also, this isn’t completely altruistic. There are several levels to my selfishness.”
She gives a small laugh and blows her nose. “I don’t believe that.”
“Oh, it’s true. Level one is that even though I cherish my solitude, as you delightfully put it, I am lonely. When you’re here, I like listening to you sing as you work. I like the idea of having you here, and of seeing your baby and watching it grow. All those firsts others talk about—first smile, first time the baby crawls or walks—I missed out on it all. I’m not saying you have to stay here that long, just that I hope whatever happens, we get to remain friends so I can see your son grow up.”
She rests her cheek on my shoulder. I look down at her hair and rest my lips on it for a moment. “And level two… I like you, Abby. I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say I’m looking forward to getting to know you better. But I don’t know where that would lead. I’m pretty screwed up, and I’m sure that’s the last thing you’re interested in tackling. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time, and I don’t know how it would affect me.” I still miss Lisa, and I haven’t yet thought about how I might feel being with another woman.
I sigh. “And that’s just my side. I don’t want you to think I would pressure you into anything you didn’t want. And I’m also sensible enough to know that now isn’t the best time to start a relationship. You’re about to have a baby—any woman in your position would be vulnerable and emotional. Those emotions will cloud other feelings, and it’s important to wait until the dust settles. An
d I don’t expect anything. I know you don’t believe that, but the last thing I’d want is for you to feel that you owe me for this. If, after a week or a month or a year or whatever it turns out to be, you tell me it’s time for you to move on, that’s fine. I’ll be happy. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’s important that you do if this is going to work.”
She lifts her head to look at me and nods.
“Tell me you understand.”
Her lips curve up. “I understand, Noah.”
“Okay. Now, I’m famished. I’m going to make myself something to eat—what can I get you?”
She gives me a wry look. “Is this what I can expect? You trying to fatten me up at every opportunity?”
“Absolutely. So let’s have something, and then we can talk about where we go from here.”
Chapter Fourteen
Abigail
In the end, Noah suggests I stay for a few nights to let the dust settle and to see how I feel about everything. “Stay,” he says, “and try to put everything out of your mind and just concentrate on relaxing and feeling better.”
Of course, it’s impossible to do that. I agree to his offer because I can’t think of any alternative. I chew over the decision almost constantly over the next two days.
Wondering if Tom is concerned about me, not wanting him to ring the police, I finally text him to let him know I’m okay. After about two hours, I finally admit to myself he’s not even going to bother to reply.
It’s the final death knell for the relationship. I know, now, that I can’t go back to him—I just can’t. It’ll be bad for both me and the baby. Whether it was brave or foolhardy, I’ve made the break. I need to find a way to exist without him.
What other options do I have? I can’t afford to fly back to England, and even if I could, I wouldn’t want to return to my parents. Briefly, I consider contacting one of the friends I left behind in Hamilton, but most of them have kids, and even though I’m sure they’d help if they could, I can’t imagine any of them having the space or inclination to keep me and a newborn.
My Lonely Billionaire (The Billionaire Kings Book 4) Page 10