Their Own Little Miracle

by Caroline Anderson

  Her lip wobbled, and he smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s OK. Don’t worry, sweetheart. You just lie there for a minute, I’m not going to hurt you.’

  He turned her little hands over, checked the veins, moved down to her elbows, and smiled. ‘Got one,’ he said softly. ‘Right, Lily, I’m going to rub some lovely magic cream on your arm, and then I’m going to put a funny little tube in it to give your body a drink, OK?’

  Her lip wobbled again but her mother cuddled her and he smeared on a little local anaesthetic, chatted to them for a moment to give it time to work and then he put a soft tourniquet round her arm, gave the skin a little wipe to remove the cream and before Lily could protest, the line was in, taped down and ready to go.

  They left Jenny setting it up and went out into the corridor.

  ‘You’re quite good at this vein-finding thing, aren’t you?’ Iona said with a little twinge of envy.

  ‘You’re only jealous,’ he teased. ‘And, yes, I am good at it but then I need to be. In another world I probably would have been a water diviner,’ he added with a grin. ‘So how’s it going otherwise?’

  ‘OK. Busy. How’s the revision going?’

  ‘Oh, don’t. It’s a nightmare. I’ll never pass. There’s just so much to know and my head feels as if it’s going to burst, but hey. This time on Friday it’ll all be over.’

  ‘Are you back on Friday night?’ she asked hopefully, but he shook his head.

  ‘No, I won’t be home until Sunday, probably early afternoon? I promised my parents I’d go and see them. I’ve been neglecting them, but I’ll leave after breakfast. Stay the night on Sunday?’ he added, in a murmur, and she felt a little surge of happiness.

  ‘Yes, that’ll be nice.’

  ‘Nice?’

  She felt herself colour. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘I do. I’ll look forward to it,’ he said softly, and grinning that mischievous grin he sauntered off and she went back to little Lily, trying to suppress her smile.

  * * *

  She shouldn’t have done it.

  She should have waited until after the weekend, but she hadn’t been able to wait. And now there it was, the little white wand, saying ‘Not Pregnant’.

  Her period wasn’t even due yet, not until Saturday, but the tests were good these days and she’d so hoped—

  She bit her lips. She’d have to tell Joe, of course, when she saw him. She’d probably know by then for sure anyway, because her period would have started. And maybe he wouldn’t want to see her, if she was out of action? Not much fun for him, and he hadn’t had a lot of fun of any sort recently. And tomorrow was his exam.

  She’d sent him a text wishing him luck, but she hadn’t heard back. Too busy, probably.

  She threw the wand in the bin, washed her hands and went back to work, but she felt sick. Pregnant sick? No. Really sick.

  Little Lily’s bug? She’d had gastroenteritis really badly and would have been shedding viruses all over the place, including on her.

  She turned back to the cloakroom, lost her lunch and went home. No point in giving it to anyone else, she thought, but then after a few hours of slight stomach cramps, it all settled down again and she woke up on Friday morning still slightly queasy but feeling much better.

  And then, against her better judgement and because she’d bought a two-pack, she did another pregnancy test.

  Just in case.

  Not Pregnant.

  And still queasy. She phoned work, told them she still felt unwell and was advised to stay off for forty eight hours for staff and patient safety, so she tackled her laundry, tidied the flat—long overdue because it had been Libby’s turn—changed the sheets and then dug out her notes on the course she’d done the previous week and did some extra study.

  And then on Friday night she had a call from Joe.

  ‘Hi. I’m on my way home. My mother’s not feeling very well, she’s got a horrible cold apparently so they’ve told me not to come. Fancy coming over? I’ll be home in about an hour.’

  She closed her eyes, relief flooding her, because she really, really needed him. ‘That would be great.’

  ‘Good. Pack a bag, come for the weekend.’

  She opened her mouth to tell him, then changed her mind. ‘OK. Ring me when you’re back, I’ll come straight over.’

  * * *

  She arrived fifteen minutes after he called, and he let her in, took one look at her and frowned. She looked pale, and definitely not her usual bouncy self.

  ‘Hey, what’s up?’ he asked gently.

  ‘I think I’ve had a touch of Lily’s bug—that little girl? I was sick once and I’ve felt a bit queasy but nothing much.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been feeling queasy, too. I reckon we’ve both had a touch of it, but I’m not surprised, she was shedding viruses all over us. Come on, come and sit down and have something to drink. You’re probably dehydrated and that won’t help the nausea. Electrolyte replacement?’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s disgusting. Can I smell toast? Because I’m suddenly ravenous, and tea and toast would be just amazing.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m glad that’s what you fancy, because all there is in the house is the remains of a stale loaf and some out of date milk, but it passed the sniff test. That do you?’

  She chuckled. ‘Sounds fine to me.’

  He made them both tea while she buttered the toast, then they took it through to the sitting room and ate it on the sofa.

  ‘So how was your exam?’ she asked.

  ‘Gruelling and very, very hard. I’m sure I will have failed. Still, I can resit.’

  ‘You might have to have another go at getting me pregnant, as well,’ she said, and put the toast down, her face crumpling.

  Oh, no. He put his arm round her and hugged her gently against his side. ‘Oh, sweetheart. When did you find out?’

  ‘Today. I did a test. I know it’s stupid of me, but I did it and it was negative.’

  He frowned. ‘Isn’t it too early to tell?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Apparently not, and I’ve done it twice now. Joe, what if I can’t get pregnant? What if I’m like Isla? Then I’ll never be able to give her a baby—’

  Her face crumpled, and he drew her gently into his arms and cradled her against his chest while she cried. It was so like her that her first thought had been for her sister, not for herself, and his heart ached for her.

  ‘Hey,’ he murmured, rocking her gently. ‘Come on, it’ll be all right.’

  ‘But what if it isn’t, Joe? What if I can’t get pregnant? We’re identical twins, so I guess it’s possible we have the same body chemistry, if that’s the problem, or the same anatomical issues—although she didn’t have any, come to that, and—’

  ‘Your period isn’t due until tomorrow, is it?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘So don’t borrow trouble. Pregnancy tests can be wrong. Maybe it’s too early.’

  ‘Or maybe I hadn’t ovulated after all, maybe that happened later, too late. Or earlier. We only had one night.’

  He sighed. ‘I know, and that’s my fault—’

  ‘It’s not your fault, you were busy. And you were pretty dedicated to the task on the Saturday night,’ she added with a wobbly smile.

  He could have hugged her for that. Well, for that and a whole host of other reasons that he’d rather not analyse, so he stuck the mug back in her hand instead. ‘Here. Drink this and finish your toast, and then let’s go to bed. I’m shattered, and you look as if you could do with a good night’s sleep, too.’

  She nodded, drank the tea, finished the toast and then closed her eyes. ‘That’s better. Thank you.’

  ‘It’s OK. Come on, bed for you.’

  * * *

  She wasn’t going to argue.

  He took her upstairs, un
dressed her, sent her into the bathroom first and then tucked her into bed.

  ‘I’ll be two minutes,’ he said, and she snuggled down under his duvet, breathed in the scent of him on the sheets and sighed in disappointment. No scent of him. He must have changed the sheets.

  For her? She smiled slightly at her silliness. Why would he do that for her? He was probably just fastidious.

  Then he walked back in, stripped, turned off the light and got into bed beside her, folding her into his arms. ‘OK?’

  She breathed in the scent of him, rested her head on his chest and smiled. ‘I am now,’ she said softly, and drifted off to sleep in seconds.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SOMETHING WOKE HER.

  A noise? It was utterly silent, apart from the soft sound of Joe breathing by her side, but then it came again, a short, sharp bark, and he swore under his breath and she laughed.

  ‘It’s not funny. I’m going to kill it one of these nights,’ he growled, and she chuckled, knowing it was an empty threat.

  ‘I can’t see you as a hunter-gatherer type, somehow,’ she murmured, and he rolled towards her, his mouth finding hers in the dark. He was still smiling. She could feel it in the shape of his lips, the creases round his eye as she laid her hand against his face.

  But then the smile faded as his lips tasted hers, nibbling, tormenting, moving out along the line of her jaw to that ticklish place below her ear, his warm breath drifting over the skin and making her arch her neck to give him better access. She felt his tongue flick her earlobe, then the cooling as he blew softly on it and then moved on, down, over her throat, pausing in the little hollow where her pulse was beating, to do the same again.

  She felt his hands on her body, searching, smoothing, stroking, felt the soft sighs of his breath against her skin as he found something he liked—her hip, the curve of her bottom, the inside of her thigh.

  And then he moved on, up over her ribs, cradling her breast with a warm, dry palm, his fingers teasing her nipple. His mouth found the other one, his tongue flicking, and she moaned and arched against him.

  ‘Joe—’

  ‘I’m here.’

  ‘I know. I want...’

  ‘Shh. All in good time.’

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, her body writhing as he found endless ways to torment her with those wicked hands that seemed to understand her so well, the mouth that had no boundaries.

  She tried to touch him, to reach down between them but he stopped her, his hands taking hers and shackling them loosely above her head as his mouth claimed hers. His knee nudged her legs apart, his thigh moving rhythmically. She could feel the firm jut of his erection on her hip as he rocked against her, feel the pounding of his heart against her own, his breath faster now as he moved over her, freeing her hands at last to touch him as he sank into her and went still.

  ‘Don’t move,’ he groaned, his body taut, his breath brushing her face as he fought for control, but she couldn’t wait, couldn’t lie still when she knew all he’d do was torment her more, and she was done with that. She rocked against him, her hands moving urgently down his back, finding his taut, firm buttocks and urging him closer, deeper, beyond reason now.

  ‘Ah, dammit, Iona,’ he hissed, half laughing, and then he started to move, thrusting deep into her, all humour gone now, totally focused on wringing every last drop of sensation out of their bodies. She felt her body rising to meet his, the coiled need inside her spiralling tighter and tighter until it shattered and she sobbed his name and took him with her into oblivion...

  * * *

  They spent the weekend together doing nothing but eating, sleeping and making love, and he taught her more about her body than she’d ever known existed.

  They showered together, cooked together after his food order was delivered, played chess—he won, of course—and then went back to bed and did it all over again. And again.

  And then, early on Sunday afternoon, he sent her home.

  ‘I have to visit my aunt.’

  She searched his eyes. ‘Can I come?’

  She saw humour there, as well as alarm. ‘Absolutely not. Not after this weekend.’

  ‘What’s so special about this weekend? She won’t know if we don’t tell her.’

  He laughed. ‘You reckon? You’ve got stubble burn on your top lip, you look like the cat that got the cream and the woman’s not stupid, so, no. She knows more about me than anyone else on earth, but there are some things that I won’t tell even her, and this is one of them.’ He was serious now, his voice dropping. ‘I don’t want her to know—not about this, not about us. She’d only start matchmaking and she’s bad enough without encouragement, and neither of us are in this for the long haul, so—no. At least, not today, when a blind man could see what we’ve been doing. Maybe another time. Perhaps when you’re pregnant.’

  He kissed her again—to soften the blow? It wasn’t a blow, not really, and she could see where he was coming from, but the word ‘pregnant’ had stopped her thoughts in their tracks.

  ‘OK. You win,’ she said, and gathering her things up, she kissed him goodbye, got into the car and drove to the nearest supermarket, picked up another pregnancy test and went home.

  * * *

  ‘Hello, darling! You’re looking very chipper. What have you been up to?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he lied. ‘I’m just glad the exam’s over.’

  ‘You didn’t come yesterday.’

  He just stopped the laugh. If she only knew...

  ‘You weren’t expecting me because I was supposed to be with my parents, and—anyway, I had things to do, so I thought I’d stick to what we’d arranged.’

  ‘You’re an appalling liar. It’s Iona, isn’t it? You spent the weekend with her.’

  ‘No. I didn’t.’

  She just smiled. ‘Such a pedant. All right, she spent the weekend with you. I hope you didn’t set my house on fire.’

  He closed his eyes, groaned in despair and gave up the unequal struggle. ‘Look, it’s nothing. It’s not going to go anywhere, neither of us is looking for happy-ever-after, it’s just a bit of fun, so don’t get excited. It’s not good for your heart.’

  ‘On the contrary. Seeing you happily settled with a decent woman would be very good for my heart.’

  ‘Well, it’s not going to be Iona, and it’s probably not going to be anyone ever, so you need to find another way to entertain yourself apart from meddling in my love life.’

  ‘So it is love, then?’

  Why was she so quick to pick up on the minutiae?

  ‘It’s just a euphemism, Elizabeth. And my sex life is none of your business. I am, as you pointed out very recently, a grown man. I am allowed my privacy. And, no, we did not set your house on fire,’ he added wryly.

  She just smiled, patted his knee as if he was five and sat back with a smug expression on her face. ‘I knew it the moment I saw you. You look like the cat that got the cream. So how was the exam?’

  * * *

  His phone tinged as he got into the car, and he pulled it out of his pocket and opened the text.

  It was from Iona, just one word.

  Pregnant.

  He stared at it, his emotions in freefall. It was happening. She was going to have a baby, and give it to Isla and Steve.

  His baby.

  He swallowed, dropped his head back against the head restraint and closed his eyes. Not his baby. Not, not, not his baby. Not hers, either, but a gift for Isla. Better remember that.

  He started the car, drove home, walked into the house, shut himself in the study and worked until he couldn’t see straight. Then, a little after midnight, he ate some toast, went up to bed and found a tangled mess that still carried the scent of her body. He breathed it in, his body roared to life and he stripped the bed, changed the sheets, had a shower an
d tried again.

  Better—until he closed his eyes, and then the memories flooded back anyway. All the things he’d done to her, the things she’d done to him, the things they’d done together right here in his bed. And the shower. And the sitting room. The only room apart from two of the bedrooms that was free from memories was the study, but he’d spent enough time in there in the last two weeks to last him a lifetime, and he wasn’t going back there now.

  So he lay awake, in the bed where they’d—no. Not made love—had sex. Glorious, extensive, mind-blowing, all-consuming sex. Just as they’d done two weeks ago in the other room, the night he’d apparently made her pregnant.

  And he missed her. Missed her body, but also her warmth, her mischievous sense of humour, her gentleness, her kindness.

  He was not in love with her! And he wasn’t going to be.

  Ever.

  * * *

  He didn’t reply.

  Maybe he hadn’t got her text. The signal in the village was a bit patchy. Maybe he was in the study and his phone couldn’t pick up the signal there.

  Or he didn’t know what to say? Was she not meant to have told him?

  She phoned Isla, who burst into tears at the news and made her cry as well, then she put the phone on hands free and Steve joined in, and eventually they stopped sniffing and asked questions. When was it due? How was she feeling?

  ‘Early July—it’s really, really early days, and you know, it might not happen,’ she warned, trying not to let them build their hopes up, but she’d had to tell someone, and as Joe didn’t seem interested, she’d done the next best thing.

  They talked some more, and then Isla asked what Joe’s reaction had been.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to him yet,’ she said, not entirely untruthfully, and they seemed happy with that, which got her off the hook, but after she’d hung up she thought about work, about seeing him and maybe having to tell him there, in a public place.

  Not that there was any urgency. As she’d told Isla and Steve, it was very early days, but—she wished he’d ring her. Just so she knew he knew, and was OK with it. Too late if he wasn’t, but hey. He’d signed up for it, known exactly what he was doing because he’d done it before, for heaven’s sake!