Must Be Love (18 page)

‘It’s all right. I didn’t mean to insinuate … I’m just, well, surprised. I thought …’ Alex frowns. ‘You said you were on the Pill.’

‘I am on the Pill.’

He holds my limp hands up to his face.

‘I guess these things happen.’ He sighs, then forces a tiny smile. ‘It’s a bit of a shock, though – they don’t usually happen to me.’

‘It was in the New Year,’ I say lamely, my conscience pricked at the thought of misleading him. ‘I forgot to take it. I thought I’d be fine.’

‘You thought you’d get away with it?’

Does he believe me? Does he think I did it deliberately to trap him in some way? My heart thumps dully in the distance, somewhere outside of me, as I wait for him to go on.

‘That’s a relief anyway,’ he says at last.

‘Relief?’ I exclaim. ‘It’s a disaster.’

‘Hardly, Maz. I thought you might be about to dump me. Now I understand why you’ve been so tired and ratty with me recently.’ He stops my imminent outburst of denial with a hard stare, and then smiles.

‘Okay, I admit it.’ I allow him the smallest of smiles back. ‘I haven’t been in the best of moods recently. I suppose it’s the hormones,’ I go on in a small voice.

‘We’ll manage, you know, Maz. I guess we’d have had kids anyway, eventually …’ Alex talks over me, running ahead, way ahead, while I’m trying to butt in to explain that he’s got it wrong.

‘Alex, listen,’ I say in desperation, ‘this is all my fault.’

‘It’s fifty-fifty. That’s how it usually works.’ He’s beginning to look rather pleased with himself: Superstud. ‘I can’t wait to tell everyone: Lucie, Sebastian, the parents. Oh, Maz, this is the best news ever.’

‘Alex, I’m so sorry …’ I stammer, but he isn’t listening.

‘We’ll have to make a few changes,’ he goes on excitedly. ‘We’ll need a nursery, a nanny.’

I tug my hands away, disentangling my fingers from his.

‘No, Alex,’ I cut in.

‘We won’t be able to manage without a nanny if you want to go back to work.’

‘No, Alex. It isn’t going to be like that …’ I pause, taking a choking breath. ‘I’m not going to have it.’

He stares at me, uncomprehending, and I feel as if I’m falling out of the sky without a parachute. I’m not sure what’s worse, my distress at having to express my plan in words, to hear it aloud, or my disappointment that Alex seems to have no idea where I’m coming from. I thought we were soulmates.

‘I’m going to get rid of it,’ I say bluntly.

He gets it this time. His eyes grow liquid with pain, like a deer’s dying at the roadside, until I can’t look him in the face any longer, because knowing I’ve hurt him hurts me. I stare miserably at a loose thread on the cuff of my sweater, tears rolling hot down my cheeks, salt on my lips. I catch the end of the thread, pull it taut, snap it, and whisper, ‘I don’t want it. I don’t want a baby.’ The thread twists up on itself. I discard it, but can’t let go of my despair. What have I done?

There’s a long silence, heavy with unasked questions. Alex turns his face away. I think he’s crying too.

‘Alex, look at me. Please,’ I beg.

‘I don’t think I can bear to look at you,’ he says dully.

I’m angry now and resentful that he can’t, or won’t, even try to see the situation from my point of view. I raise my voice.

‘Alex, I tell you now I won’t be blackmailed into keeping this baby.’

‘What are you talking about?’ he snaps, and one of the children starts crying. ‘Look what you’ve done – you’ve gone and woken the kids up now.’

Alex gets up abruptly and goes upstairs, the devoted dad, and now I can see why he might not understand where I’m coming from. What did I expect, that he’d say, Yep, that’s cool with me, let’s carry on as if nothing’s happened …?

I hear his low murmur as he soothes one of them to sleep – Lucie, I think. I wait till he returns, listening for his light tread on the stairs, but when he comes back down, his footsteps are leaden. He’s a different man, his eyes dark and brooding, his soul shut off. He sits on the edge of the sofa, as far away from me as possible, and stares at the empty grate. I move towards him, holding out my hand to touch his arm, but he brushes me off like I’m some irritating horsefly.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ I ask. ‘I can put the kettle on.’

‘I don’t want anything.’

I don’t know what to say. I think from his reaction I’ve already said too much, but what was I supposed to do? Pretend? Go and have the abortion, then tell him, or go and have the abortion and not tell him anything at all? Men! I don’t understand them. Why is Alex being such a pig about it? I’m going through it too. It isn’t easy for me either, and all I want is a hug and for him to say that everything’s going to be all right. Slowly, I stand up, rubbing my palms against my thighs.

‘I’ll go home, then,’ I say, assuming he’ll say, No, don’t be silly, Maz, let’s talk this through. But the worst thing happens, something I wasn’t anticipating at all. A sob catches in my throat. He doesn’t try to stop me.

Chapter Ten

Dogs Aloud

‘Hi, Maz.’ Izzy bounds towards me like a puppy when she notices me crawl into Kennels to start work on Monday morning, having been unable to eat or sleep since I walked out on Alex the other night. On top of the morning sickness, I have a constant ache in my chest and stabbing pains behind my eyes from crying because Alex hasn’t answered my calls or texts, and I’m beginning to panic, imagining that I’ve upset him so badly that he’ll never get in touch with me again.

‘You’re looking a bit hacked off, Maz,’ Emma says brightly. She’s got a hedgehog rolled up in a tight ball on the prep bench.

‘Did you fall off?’ Izzy continues.

I hesitate, wondering what on earth she’s talking about, and then I remember.

I shake my head, and, seeing Izzy is hoping for a bit more detail, go on, ‘I’ve discovered muscles I didn’t know I had, but all in all, it was better than I was expecting.’ Expecting? Why does everything I say, do and think lead back to the subject of pregnancy?

‘It couldn’t have been any worse,’ Emma joins in, and I think, Why can’t she see I’m an emotional wreck when she’s always been the first to notice when something’s wrong? ‘We’ll see you riding in the Grand National soon.’

‘I don’t think I’ll be having another go.’

‘Alex’ll be disappointed, won’t he? Doesn’t he have visions of you two riding off into the sunset together?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I mutter, reining back tears as I picture Alex riding off into the sunset without me. I change the subject before I collapse into a blubbering wreck. ‘How about your weekends?’

‘I feel as if I’m getting somewhere with the wedding at last. I ordered a cake,’ Izzy says. ‘I was going to go for something modern, cupcakes on a glass stand, but I changed my mind and went for a traditional wedding cake, except the top two tiers will be fruit, and the bottom, chocolate.’

‘Sounds delicious,’ says Emma. ‘Can I have a piece of each?’

‘Of course.’ Izzy smiles, and I force a smile too, although the thought of wedding cake chokes me. ‘How’s the nursery?’ Izzy goes on.

‘Ah, that’s a sore point at the moment. I bought the paint so Ben couldn’t use no paint as an excuse to get out of the decorating, but I’d forgotten he was away this weekend. Some conference. A diabetes update for GPs. It sounded like a good excuse for a party to me, and I’ve told him he’d better make sure he’s around for the birth. Or else,’ Emma adds happily.

‘What’s up with the hedgehog?’ I ask in an attempt to distract myself from thoughts of how I’ll be able to live without Alex in my life if, as it seems, he’s decided to abandon me. At least his parents will be happy, I think bitterly. I expect they’ll throw a huge party up at the Manor to celebrate.

‘With Spike, you mean,’ says Izzy.

Every hedgehog that arrives at Otter House gets called Spike.

‘Someone found him on the way to work – they dropped him in this morning,’ Emma says.

‘Is he hurt?’

‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’ Emma strokes his back with a towel. ‘He isn’t being terribly cooperative.’ She picks him up, gently shuffling him and bouncing him in her gloved hands. ‘I don’t want to give him an anaesthetic to make him unroll.’

‘Let’s leave him on a heated pad in the dark for a while,’ Izzy suggests. ‘I’ll let one of you, or Drew, know when he unrolls.’

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ I say, grateful when Frances interrupts, calling me through to see Jack Pike.

‘Ed has turned up for his nine o’clock,’ she says. ‘Jack’s been up to his usual tricks.’

Jack is a working dog, a liver-and-white English springer spaniel. Ed Pike is a huntin’, shootin’, fishin’ kind of man, brown-eyed and rugged. He’s about forty-five and married with two kids. How do I know? Frances told me when he last came in with Jack, who’d snuffled a bead into his nostril. It was just before Christmas.

Ed struggles into the consulting room with a baby in a car seat, which he lowers onto the table. It’s an odd-looking baby with a round face and blue eyes, dressed in a pink all-in-one suit that is too big for it. I hope he’s not expecting me to give her – I’m assuming it’s a girl – a clinical examination.

‘As you can see, I’ve been left holding the baby today,’ Ed says. He’s wearing a skeet vest and tall brown shooting boots, but he seems to have left his gun behind. He looks around him. ‘Um, where’s the dog?’ He swears very quietly. ‘I’ve left him in the truck. Excuse me.’

Ed goes back outside, leaving me with the baby. I wish he hadn’t because she looks at me for a moment, screws her eyes shut, opens her mouth and screams.

‘Shh, baby,’ I say lightly as if she’s a nervous cat, but she only screams louder. ‘Hey, you’ll frighten the animals,’ I say, feeling slightly desperate and then utterly relieved when her father comes flying back in with Jack at his heels.

‘There, there, Peaches,’ he says, unfastening the clip on the car seat and picking the baby up. He holds her and she continues to sob and snuffle on and off while I examine Jack on the floor.

‘He’s got a runny nose again – he’s had it for a few days,’ Ed says, rocking from one foot to the other. ‘I thought we’d binned all the plastic jewellery in the house, but it seems I was wrong, although I suppose it could be something else.’

‘I’ll have him in again and take a look. Has he had any breakfast?’

‘I don’t think so. He might have eaten something the children dropped. I wouldn’t put it past him.’

I get Ed to sign the consent form, and admit Jack for the day.

‘I’ll call you later with an update,’ I say.

‘Thanks, Maz. Come on, Peaches.’ Ed tries to put the baby back into the car seat, but she isn’t having it, so he ends up with the baby in one arm and the car seat in the other. ‘The dog’s better trained than this little one.’ He smiles broadly, very much the proud father, which makes me think of Alex again and how he is with Lucie and Seb, and I’m swamped by a wave of guilt for denying him the chance to be a dad to our baby. It’s for the best, though, and if I keep telling myself that, I’ll be able to keep believing it, won’t I? ‘She drives me mad, but I wouldn’t be without her,’ Ed adds when he’s trying to get out through the door. Peaches is smiling now, having got her way, and the realisation that I’ll never see my baby smile hits me hard and unexpectedly. I touch my chest where my heart feels as if it’s being torn apart. I shut the door and lean back against it, taking a few minutes out.

My decision might not be as simple and straightforward as I thought.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s Frances. ‘Aurora’s on the phone. I said you were free for a quick word.’ She pauses. ‘Maz, have you got someone in there with you?’

‘Um, no,’ I say, although it isn’t strictly true. I’m feeling crowded by the presence of this baby that I don’t want and the voice of my conscience.

‘Thanks, Frances.’ I open the door and take the phone into the consulting room for some peace and quiet, wondering what Aurora wants. Has she changed her mind? Does she want me to get rid of the puppies after all? I imagine spaying Saba, lifting each puppy – warm, wet and wriggling – out of her womb to give them a fatal shot in the heart. I imagine Saba waking up, searching frantically for her babies, and with a quiver of anguish I realise I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not now. It wouldn’t be a kindness. It would be murder.

Instinctively, I touch my stomach, a protective gesture for my baby. So much for my determination to remain detached. So much for my ugly bravado. The tears are back, needles pricking at my eyes. How could I have been so stupid? So insensitive? I could no more get rid of my baby than I could Saba’s puppies, and what’s worse, I’ve gone and led Alex to believe that I could.

Swallowing hard, I take the call from Aurora, hoping I can make myself sound vaguely professional.

‘I’ve been looking on the internet,’ Aurora says, ‘and I was wondering if I should be giving Saba a folic acid supplement.’

‘Where did you get that from?’ I say, relieved her query isn’t what I imagined it was.

‘NHS Direct.’

‘Aurora, it doesn’t apply to bitches. As long as she has a balanced diet, Saba and her puppies will be fine.’

‘Thanks, Maz. If I think of anything else, I’ll give you a call.’

‘Anytime. Thank
you
, Aurora,’ I add when the phone cuts off. My heart lifts a little. The decision is made and I won’t go back on it this time. I will keep this baby. I have to. And then as I gaze around the consulting room, my domain, at the dusty paw marks Jack’s left behind him, at the stethoscope hanging from the hook on the wall, and the trays of hypodermic needles, colour-coded, green, orange and blue, my palms grow hot and sticky and my stomach fills with butterflies.

My life is going to change. I’m going to be responsible for a child, another human being, as well as my patients. How will I cope? I make a mental note to buy myself some folic acid, and take the opportunity to have a quick Google, finding pictures of a baby’s development from conception to term, its miraculous transformation from embryo to baby. Mine and Alex’s is still tiny, like a peanut in a shell with eyes, budding limbs and a visibly beating heart.