Their Own Little Miracle

by Caroline Anderson

  He nodded, his eyes still looking a little bleary. ‘Yeah. I’m just exhausted. It was a long night at work on Friday, and it was quite tough being on my best behaviour all weekend. How are they?’

  ‘They love you. They think you’re amazing. So do I.’

  ‘So—are we going to do this? Subject to my test results coming back OK?’

  ‘It looks like it. When are you having them done?’

  ‘I did it on Friday. I thought I’d get ahead of the game, just make sure, you know? Since Natalie—well, I’ve been a bit phobic, so I had a sexual health screen straight away and another one six months later just to be sure nothing had been missed, but they were all clear, so I guess I got away lightly. And before you ask, no, I haven’t had sex with anyone, unprotected or otherwise, since then. It was the semen analysis I wanted to check to make sure all the little swimmers are up to speed, just so I don’t waste anybody’s time.’

  ‘So when will you know that?’

  ‘Couple of days? It shouldn’t be long. What about you? Have you had any screening ever?’

  She laughed a little unsteadily. ‘Oh, I got checked out eighteen months ago after I dumped Dan, and again before I started this process, just to be on the safe side. And, no, neither have I, before you ask,’ she added with a smile.

  He smiled back understandingly. ‘Good. So, if we get a definite yes from Isla and Steve, I guess we wait for you to ovulate—if you’re absolutely sure you want to do this?’

  ‘I’m sure. For what it’s worth, you might want to put Saturday week into your calendar,’ she said, feeling suddenly a little embarrassed and not quite meeting his eyes—which in the great scheme of things was ridiculous, as they’d just been talking about his little swimmers. She stood up and headed for the kitchen.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s any cake left? It’s a long time since we had brunch.’

  She heard the wicker sofa creak, and he followed her into the kitchen, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders. She turned into his arms and rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart under her ear, feeling the warmth seep through her. She wanted more, so much more, but he hadn’t ever suggested it, and now with this new relationship, it would be crazy to contemplate—

  ‘Stay for dinner,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve hardly seen you recently.’

  ‘You’ve been working.’

  ‘I’m always working. Stay anyway.’

  She lifted her head and looked up at him, noticing the slight stubble coming through, wondering how it would feel against her skin...

  ‘You just want me to cook for you,’ she said accusingly, trying not to smile, and she felt his chest vibrate slightly as he chuckled.

  ‘Rumbled. Why don’t we go to the pub? They do a great Sunday roast. And they clear up their own kitchen.’

  ‘Sold. And I’m buying.’

  * * *

  They said yes. An unequivocal, definite, gold-plated yes.

  His results were good—his sperm quality was excellent, apparently—and then came the wait, and she found it almost unbearable.

  Would it happen this time? Would she, in the next few weeks, find out that she was pregnant?

  She was due to ovulate on Saturday, a fortnight after Isla and Steve had left, but where and how they were going to do this hadn’t been decided. It wasn’t going to be made any easier to schedule it as she was supposed to be working on that Saturday, and yet again in the week before they were both busy and working conflicting shifts, so there didn’t seem to be a good time to meet and discuss it. And then, on the Thursday night before that weekend, she rang him.

  ‘Are you still OK for this weekend?’ she asked, and she heard a grunt of what could have been laughter.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I was thinking we should do it here. It’s easier than at your flat with Libby there. Much more privacy, and we’ll probably both be more relaxed. So—what time do you finish work on Saturday?’

  ‘I don’t know. Hopefully before seven.’

  ‘So how about straight afterwards? You could come here and I’ll cook us a meal and then afterwards when it’s done you can stay over. Unless you’ve got a better idea?’

  ‘No, that sounds fine. Are you sure about this? All of it?’ she asked again, and he said yes without hesitation.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes, Iona. I’m sure. You’re right, they’re great people, and I’m less worried about you than I was because you’re really close to them, so you’ll have lots of contact with the child and you’ll be able to see the huge difference it’ll make to their lives. They were adamant about that, about wanting you to be a big part of the child’s life, and that takes away a lot of my concerns. So, yes, I am sure, not only for you or me, but for the child, too. They’ll be the perfect family. I couldn’t ask for more than that. So stop worrying, and I’ll see you on Saturday evening.’

  * * *

  She was nervous.

  Nervous, awkward and a little embarrassed, for him as much as for herself. She packed a few things—including, for no good reason, a pretty raspberry pink silk nightie with shoestring straps and little lace inserts. She’d never worn it, but for some reason it seemed appropriate, and it would be the only touch of romance in a soulless clinical procedure, so she threw it into the bag, zipped it up and headed over to his.

  He opened the door before she was out of the car, and she met his eyes through the windscreen and felt a flicker of panic. Not doubt, it wasn’t that, she’d never doubted for a minute that this was the right thing to do, but getting through the next hour or two might be a bit of a challenge.

  She got out of the car, locked it and headed towards him, trying to smile. ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi,’ he said, his voice soft and low and slightly gravelly. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she lied. ‘Something smells good.’

  ‘I made lamb shanks. They’ve been in the slow cooker for hours, they’ll be ready soon. Do you want to put your bag upstairs and settle in? I’ve put you in the room you had before.’

  Her heart thumped a little, and she nodded. ‘Thanks. I’ll do that now.’

  She ran upstairs, opened the door and paused. He’d closed the curtains and turned on the bedside lights, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. He’d even changed the bedding, although she’d only slept in it for one night. She put her bag down, then sat on the edge of the bed and ran her hand absently over the soft cotton. So this was where it would happen, the thing that hopefully would change Isla and Steve’s lives and give them what they wanted more than anything in the world.

  Fingers crossed.

  She could hear music playing downstairs, soft and relaxing, and she went down again and found him in the kitchen. He turned and smiled at her.

  ‘Glass of wine?’

  ‘Oh—that would be lovely,’ she said, and he handed her a glass.

  ‘Try that. It’s a nice smooth Rioja. Or if you don’t like it, I’ve got others, but I thought it would go well with the lamb.’

  She sipped, nodded and smiled. ‘That’s really nice.’

  ‘Good. Come on, let’s go and sit down and chill for a minute before we eat. There’s no rush.’

  There were crisps in a bowl on the coffee table, and she scooped up a few, kicked off her shoes and settled into a corner of the sofa with her legs curled under her. ‘So are you going to give me the third degree again?’ she asked after a silence that stretched out too long for her comfort, and he laughed.

  ‘No, Iona, I’m not going to give you the third degree. I’ve told you I’m fine with it. This is your decision, you’ve obviously all thought it through carefully and sensibly, and I’m just here to provide the means.’

  ‘That’s a big “just”,’ she pointed out, and his eyes softened in another smile.

  ‘Let’s f
ace it, you’re the one who’s got the tough job. I’m just going to have a couple of minutes of fun.’

  She felt a faint brush of colour sweep over her face, and she dropped her eyes and twiddled her wine glass between her fingers for a moment. ‘It’s more than that—much more. I know you had huge reservations about doing this again—’

  ‘I’m over them. This is different, and I’m sure Isla and Steve will be amazing parents. I have no reservations about that at all. My only concern is you—’

  ‘Joe, I’m fine—’

  ‘Right now you are, but I want you to know that you can always talk to me about it, whenever you need to, day or night, and if you need any help while you’re pregnant, if it happens, then I’ll be here for you. You won’t be alone.’

  She felt her eyes fill, and swallowed. ‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper. Not because she felt she’d need help, but because he’d offered it unsolicited when he really hadn’t needed to.

  A beeping noise sounded from the kitchen, and he went through, telling her to stay where she was, but she was restless, so she uncurled herself and got to her feet, studying the books on the bookshelf, the CDs and DVDs in the rack, the photographs she’d never looked at before.

  His parents, she realised, seeing a man in a wheelchair with a woman leaning over the back of it and laughing down at him. They looked the picture of happiness, but she knew that that happiness was the bedrock of a marriage that had been tried to its limit.

  There was another photo, the woman looking strikingly similar to his father, and to Joe. His aunt? The man beside her was tall and gaunt and unsmiling, but his arm was curled protectively around her and she was leaning into him with a contented smile on her face.

  What a contrast his own marriage had been. It must have been such a shock to discover that not everyone was so happy, so committed, so much in love. She knew exactly how that felt...

  ‘Ready when you are,’ he said, sticking his head round the door, and then he saw what she was looking at and came over to her. ‘My parents, Bill and Mary, and my aunt and uncle, Elizabeth and Owen.’

  ‘I’d worked that out.’

  ‘Had you, Sherlock?’

  ‘I had. It took some deduction, but it was the strong family resemblance that gave me the clue.’ She smiled up at him, and he laughed softly and steered her out of the sitting room into the kitchen.

  * * *

  The food was delicious, the lamb meltingly tender, the rainbow of vegetables clean and fresh, a perfect foil for the rich sauce. He’d served it on a bed of crushed baby potatoes drizzled in olive oil, and she ate every bite.

  ‘That was amazing. You’re a really good cook—or else you got it from the pub and reheated it,’ she teased, and he laughed despairingly and rolled his eyes.

  ‘Oh, ye of little faith. I cooked it from scratch, I’ll have you know. I am housetrained. It’s Elizabeth’s recipe. She’s the one who taught me to cook.’

  ‘Your aunt, not your mother?’

  He nodded. ‘My mother was too busy looking after my father then, so I spent a lot of time here with my aunt and uncle while I was growing up, and it was a happy time. There’s a playground on the other side of the stream that runs down the side, and my uncle made a little makeshift bridge over it so I could go there. I spent hours there, either on my own or playing with the other children in the village.’

  ‘Is that why you took the job in Yoxburgh? So you could come back to the place where you’d been so happy?’

  He nodded again, thoughtfully this time. ‘Yes—I suppose it was. I wanted to be near for her anyway, but I have very fond memories of my time here, and it was a no-brainer when the job came up at the right time. And I might even get a consultancy if they expand the department.’

  ‘When will you finish all your exams?’

  ‘By next summer, and then I’ll be looking for a post, but fingers crossed I get one near enough so I can still see her regularly. If it wasn’t for her it wouldn’t matter where I went, but I think it comforts her to know I’m near so I don’t want to go far. My parents are younger and they’ve got each other, but since Owen died she’s been alone and I think she finds losing her independence difficult, too. And she likes the intellectual stimulation of discussing medical issues with me—says it keeps her brain on its toes. Whatever, she’s always pleased to see me.’

  ‘I’m sure she is. I’d love to meet her. She sounds a wonderful woman.’

  ‘She is. She was a GP before women doctors were the norm, and she had to fight hard to get where she did. But I’m not sure I’m going to introduce you. She knows way too much about me and I have no doubt she’d be more than happy to share. Pudding?’

  ‘You’ve got pudding? I’m stuffed!’ she said regretfully.

  ‘That’s a shame. I’ve made chocolate mousse, and I’ve picked the last fresh raspberries from the garden.’

  ‘Ooh. Well, in that case it would be rude not to...’

  * * *

  And then finally there was nothing else to talk about, nothing more to do but face the reason they were there together.

  He put his glass down on the table, met her eyes and smiled gently, as if he understood how she was feeling. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and have a nice hot shower and get ready?’ he said softly, and she nodded and went up, unpacked her bag and took out the little pot and the syringe she’d bought in readiness. Then she found her wash things and went into the bathroom.

  There was a clean towel on the side of the bath, and she locked the door—crazy, really, because there was no way he’d come in—then stripped off, twisted her hair up out of the way and stepped under the steaming water.

  For a long moment she just stood there letting it wash over her, and then slowly, as if she was preparing herself for some fertility ritual, she reached for the shower gel and lathered herself carefully, paying attention to every square inch of her body, readying herself for the momentous thing she was about to do.

  It seemed curiously important that she should do this right, should prepare herself, body and mind, as if it would make her body more receptive.

  She knew she was ovulating. She’d felt a tugging pain low down on the left earlier that day, so her body was ready.

  All she needed now was Joe...

  She stepped out of the shower onto the thick, fluffy bathmat and wrapped herself in the towel. Egyptian cotton? Probably. He liked the good things in life.

  Then she gathered up her things, went back to the bedroom and dried herself, then slipped on the hopelessly romantic silk nightie that she’d never worn before, stifling a pang of regret that he wouldn’t see her in it, that they wouldn’t do this thing the way her heart and her body were crying out to do it. There was a fluffy towelling robe on the back of the door and she put it on and belted it firmly over the nightie, took a steadying breath and opened the door.

  CHAPTER SIX

  HE’D SHOWERED DOWNSTAIRS, towel-dried his hair and pulled on clean lounge pants and a T-shirt, and now he was waiting.

  How was she feeling?

  Weird, probably. He certainly felt weird. This was so different to doing it anonymously in a clinic, but he’d just have to shut his mind to all the tumbling thoughts and do the job.

  He glanced down at his body. ‘You’d better co-operate,’ he told it, and then he heard her door open and her voice calling him.

  He took a deep breath, let it out slowly and walked out of his room.

  She was perched on the edge of the bed wrapped in the robe, but he could see a sliver of thigh at the hem and in the gaping neck he could make out a flimsy bit of dark pink silk and lace above a shadowed cleavage, and his body leapt to life. Well, that would make things easier, he thought wryly, but she wasn’t looking at him, just sitting there on the edge of the bed staring at the floor, and beside her on the bedside table was a
little pot and a syringe.

  He swallowed. ‘Are you OK?’

  She nodded, but she didn’t look up and he wondered if she was embarrassed. Or if she’d changed her mind about him?

  He dropped down onto his haunches in front of her and put his hands on her knees over the robe. ‘What’s wrong? Is it still making you shudder?’

  ‘No. No, it’s nothing. It just—it all seems a little soulless, that’s all. I know it’s stupid because it couldn’t possibly know, but—it just seems such a clinical and loveless way to make a baby...’

  She glanced at the pot, then away again, and he put a finger under her chin and lifted her head gently until he could see her eyes.

  They were soft and luminous in the light from the lamp, shimmering with unshed tears.

  ‘It isn’t loveless,’ he said softly. ‘You’re doing this out of love for your sister and your brother-in-law. Just think of that, of them.’

  She swallowed and nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, you’re right, I’m only being silly, but it just seems so cold—’

  She broke off, took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. ‘Go on, then. Go and do your stuff. I’ll be all right.’

  He picked up the pot and straightened up, then glanced back at her. She was hugging herself, her arms wrapped tightly round her waist as if she was holding herself together, and he replaced the pot, sat down beside her and put his arm round her.

  She was as taut as a bowstring, and he shook his head and dropped a kiss on her hair.

  ‘Hey, Iona, it’s OK. We don’t have to do this if you’re not sure.’

  ‘I am,’ she said, her voice small and clogged with tears. ‘I’m just being ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s not ridiculous, it’s a huge step. Or is it me? Am I the problem?’

  She looked up at him again, her eyes like windows. ‘No—no, it’s not you. Definitely not you.’ She sighed wistfully and looked away. ‘I always used to dream of falling in love and getting married and having babies, and I don’t ever seem to have got past the first one, and maybe there’s a bit of me that wants to do this for them because like you it might be my only chance to have a baby. And at least I won’t have to change nappies.’