Must Be Love

by Cathy Woodman

  Alex unties Jumbo and leads him into the middle of the yard alongside Lucie’s pony. He gives me a leg up, then alters my stirrup leathers to the right length. If I wasn’t in such a delicate condition, I believe I might have just found something about horse riding to enjoy, I muse, as he slips one hand between the saddle flap and my inner thigh to get to the buckle.

  ‘There you go.’ Alex slides my foot into the stirrup just as Sophia comes marching towards us in a coat, skirt and muck boots. My heart sinks. I’m not sure I’m in the right frame of mind to tolerate her animosity without biting back.

  ‘Humpy!’ yells Lucie. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’ She stops and stares at me.

  ‘Relax, Maz,’ Alex whispers. He shows me how to hold the reins, thumbs on top. ‘There’s no need to grip with your knees.’

  ‘I’m not gripping with my knees. I’m hanging on with everything I’ve got.’

  ‘When you want to go forwards, squeeze with your calves, but not too hard. Jumbo’s pretty responsive,’ he goes on.

  ‘What do I do when I want to stop?’ That seems more important to me.

  ‘Don’t worry about that now.’ Alex leaves me to grab a lead rope, which he attaches to the bridle of Seb’s pony before he springs up onto his horse, Liberty. ‘We’re off!’ he yells, but instead of the Charge of the Light Brigade, which I was expecting, it’s all very sedate. Seb’s pony, Mr Pickles, jogs alongside Liberty. Lucie follows on the bay, Tinky Winky, and I take up the rear with Jumbo.

  ‘Toes up, heels down, Madge. You’re like a sack of potatoes. You’ll never make a rider – you haven’t the right conformation for it.’ Sophia schleps along with us as far as the end of the drive. ‘Of course, all the Fox-Giffords learn to ride before they can walk, and my husband was as good as born in the saddle. His mother was out hunting with the Cotleigh’ – she pronounces it Coat-leigh – ‘when she went into labour. She got orf and dropped him out under a hedge.’

  I’m not sure whether to believe her or not.

  I hang on to the front of the saddle as Jumbo lengthens his stride to catch up with the others, and I wish I could be so casual about being pregnant that I too could drop this baby under a hedge somewhere, and leave it there to be adopted by some caring passerby. And then I imagine a baby, naked in the mud, bawling its eyes out, as a load of people on their posh hunters mill around it, keeping the hounds at bay. I suppose it’s little wonder Old Fox-Gifford turned out as he did.

  We head along a bridleway through fields, then up the ridge of East Hill to Talyford. When we pass the Old Forge I find myself wondering how Penny and Sally are. In fact, I sense that if I wasn’t worrying about how I’m going to tell Alex I’m pregnant, I might actually be enjoying the ride.

  Later, we turn back along the valley, then cross the flood-prevention channel to reach the meandering river Taly where the sun glances across the water and the Devon hills cast long shadows along our path. Jumbo is far more enthusiastic on the way home, striding out in front, but once we reach the old railway line where I first met Alex, Alex trots Liberty past me, towing Seb’s pony alongside him.

  ‘We’ll let the horses stretch their legs here. Hold on tight, Maz.’

  ‘No!’ I squeal as Jumbo takes off with the others, hooves clattering and throwing up old clinker from the cinder track. I’m not sure what’s most exhilarating, the fear, the complete loss of control or the speed … Jumbo is no longer lumbering. He’s a racehorse.

  I can hear Alex’s voice over the wind whistling in my ears.

  ‘Sit up! Sit up!’

  I haul on the reins and discover I have no brakes. I pull and Jumbo pulls back, racing along like a train. All I can do is hang on, until Jumbo decides he’s had enough and comes to a sudden stop, planting his front feet and dropping his head into the bushes to the side of the railway track to graze.

  ‘Let the reins slip through your fingers!’ calls Lucie, but I’ve already worked that one out. If I hadn’t, I’d have been off over the top of Jumbo’s head.

  ‘Did you enjoy that, Maz?’ Alex calls.

  ‘I could have been killed,’ I say weakly.

  ‘No way,’ Alex says. ‘The horses know exactly where to stop.’

  I wish I’d known where to stop on that fateful night, then I wouldn’t be going through all this hassle now.

  We return safely to the Manor. At least, we’re all in one piece until we reach the yard, where Mr Pickles, perhaps overexcited at the thought of being home, gives a sneaky buck, at which Seb flies out what Lucie euphemistically calls the side door, landing on his bottom.

  To my amazement, he doesn’t cry.

  ‘I falled off.’ He beams from ear to ear. ‘I falled off, but I didn’t get dead.’

  ‘Humpy says you have to fall orf seven times before you can say you’re a rider,’ says Lucie. ‘I’ve fallen orf nine times now, so I’m a very good rider. That’s what Humpy says. Now give him a slap on the bum, Maz. Harder.’

  ‘All right, that’s enough, bossyboots,’ Alex butts in. He jumps down and ties Liberty and the pony up outside the stables, before coming to help me dismount.

  ‘How was it for you?’ he murmurs, as I slide down to the ground into his arms. I try to push him away, my palms pressed against his chest, but he won’t let me go until our silks nudge, peak to peak, and he’s given me a lingering kiss.

  ‘They’re only kissing, Sebby,’ I hear Lucie say, ‘not having sex.’

  ‘Who’d have kids?’ Alex whispers as he releases me.

  My gut tightens. Little does he know …

  Once we’ve untacked the horses and turned them out for a good roll, we get together in the Barn where Alex makes tea: cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off, fruit cake, jelly and ice cream. After we’ve eaten, the children have baths and get ready for bed, but as before they won’t settle and I wonder how many more weekends we’re going to spend like this.

  What makes it more frustrating tonight is that I have to talk to Alex in private. The last thing I need is Lucie overhearing and telling the world and his wife. This is between me and Alex, no one else.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Alex says wearily, when they’re still up and about at nine. ‘I’d love an excuse to be in bed by eight.’

  Seb is running about in pyjama bottoms and no top. Lucie, wearing a purple nightie, sits astride the arm of the sofa. She looks younger, more vulnerable than she was when she was astride her pony. Sucking on her thumb and stroking her nose, she holds a scruffy piece of blanket up to her face.

  ‘I thirsty,’ wails Seb.

  ‘He wants some of that milkshake Mummy won’t let us have,’ says Lucie on her brother’s behalf. ‘The strawberry one.’

  ‘It’s the sugar in it,’ Alex says, aiming this at me. ‘It keeps them awake.’

  Which seems a very good reason not to let them have any. I sit back in one of the armchairs, listening to Alex negotiate. I bet he doesn’t pander to his clients in quite the same way, I think, when Lucie and Seb are sitting on the sofa with cups of milkshake a few minutes later.

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ Alex says, after I’ve flicked through every channel on the digibox, and read Horse & Hound’s Stallion Special from cover to cover. To be honest, I skimmed it, looking at the photos of all those gleaming thoroughbreds, images of perfect masculinity, and wondering how on earth I’m going to broach the subject of our reproductive accident. Do I break the news gently, or come straight out with it? I close the magazine. My hands are trembling.

  ‘They’ve gone to sleep at last,’ Alex goes on.

  ‘You’re too soft,’ I tell him, wondering if it’s a reaction to the way his parents brought him up.

  ‘Who says, Supernanny?’ Alex picks up a cushion from the sofa and bats me softly about the head. I draw up my feet, my knees under my chin. He drops the cushion and, laughing, leans over the chair, his face close to mine. I grab the collar of his polo shirt, pull him to me and kiss h
im.

  ‘We have to talk,’ I murmur.

  ‘Oh, not right now,’ Alex whispers, his voice hoarse and seductive.

  ‘Alex …’ As I slide my palms flat against his chest, he backs off a little.

  ‘Sounds serious.’ He raises one eyebrow, his expression quizzical. ‘Is it?’

  I nod, and Alex sinks to his knees, holding my hands in his.

  ‘Fire away.’

  I gaze at his face, my heart balled tight with nerves, my fingers trembling. It would be so easy to push everything aside and say, It’s nothing, let’s go to bed. But I can’t. It isn’t going to go away. I take a deep breath.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ I blurt out, and then I sit there waiting for his response.

  ‘You’re having our baby?’ Alex says eventually.

  ‘Of course it’s our baby. It wasn’t the immaculate conception.’ Then it dawns on me that he’s thinking the worst. ‘You don’t think I’ve been sleeping around? Of course, I have every opportunity,’ I go on sarcastically, and to my ears my voice sounds cold and indifferent, when inside I’m hot and hurt and upset.

  ‘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 som
ewhere 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.