Their Own Little Miracle

by Caroline Anderson

  But then the baby kicked him and he dropped his arms and stepped away. ‘Are you OK with pizza? I think it’s about the only thing left in the freezer—or we could go to the pub.’

  Except they hadn’t been to the pub since she’d had a bump, and he didn’t want to have to explain their complicated arrangement to Maureen.

  ‘Pizza’s fine,’ she said, to his relief.

  ‘Are you staying over?’

  She met his eyes then, for the first time in minutes, and he could see the wariness, the doubt in them.

  ‘Am I welcome?’

  ‘Of course you’re welcome,’ he said, although it wasn’t strictly true. He wasn’t sure he could cope with taking her to bed and making love to her, not with three of them in the bed. And the baby was really impossible to ignore now. But he’d missed her.

  Missed her company, her sassiness, her warmth. Her body, but that wasn’t really his for the taking any longer. It was weeks since he’d touched her, but to touch her was to remind himself over and over of the baby whose fate had seemed so uncertain and insecure. It had been easier to ignore it, but he’d made it harder for Iona and that was wrong of him. She needed his support now more than ever, and he hadn’t given it to her.

  ‘Of course you’re welcome,’ he repeated, his voice softer now. ‘Come here.’ He held out his arms and she moved into them, resting her head on his chest with a ragged sigh.

  ‘I thought you didn’t want me anymore.’

  She’d said it lightly, but he felt a stab of guilt and tightened his arms around her, dropping a kiss on her hair. ‘Of course I want you. I’ve just been buried in work. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to neglect you.’

  She straightened up and smiled at him, her hand cradling his jaw, her fingers gentle. ‘Don’t apologise. Just talk to me from time to time, keep me in the loop. I do understand about your work.’

  Even if she didn’t like it. She didn’t say that, but then she didn’t need to, and he realised that without the baby she wouldn’t have needed to contact him and he could have lost her, driven her away. And he didn’t want to lose her. Ever...

  Where had that come from?

  He sucked in a breath, took a step away from her and opened the freezer door.

  * * *

  Did he really want her? She didn’t know, but then after they’d eaten they sat out on the veranda, and he put his arm around her and she rested her head on his chest as they watched the sun set in a cloudless blue sky.

  Summer was coming. She only had nine weeks now until her baby was due, and she felt a shiver of dread because that would be the end for her, the last act, the last time she’d have with her baby before she gave her to Isla.

  She felt a little shudder go through her, and Joe must have picked it up because he looked down at her. ‘You’re cold. Let’s go to bed.’

  It wasn’t late—positively early by his standards—but she wasn’t going to argue. Her feet ached, the ligaments in her pelvis were starting to soften and bed seemed like a fine idea.

  Especially with Joe.

  Would he make love to her?

  Yes. She knew that as soon as he closed the bedroom door and reached for her, his hands gentle as he undressed her. He frowned slightly but it was touched with a smile, a sort of wonder. ‘Your body’s changed.’

  ‘Well, it will have done. I’m thirty one weeks now, Joe.’

  The smile went, leaving just the frown. ‘So soon? Where did it go?’

  She laughed at that. ‘Joe, you’ve buried yourself alive for the last few weeks. I’ve hardly even seen you at work.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, it just sort of happened.’

  His hands traced her body, cupping her breasts gently, feeling the weight of them, his thumbs brushing her nipples lightly, making them peak. A tiny bead appeared at the tip of one, and his thumb brushed it away.

  ‘Wow.’

  She swallowed. ‘I know. I’ll have to have drugs to dry up the milk.’

  ‘Oh, Iona.’ He drew her into his arms, his hug gentle, and then he let her go, threw back the covers and walked to the door. ‘Get into bed. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  He hesitated, and she suddenly realised what he was doing. Taking care of the need she could see in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t,’ she whispered, and patted the bed beside her. ‘Don’t do that. Stay. Make love to me.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  He swallowed, then closed the door again, pulled off his clothes and lay down, drawing the bedclothes over them. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’

  ‘You won’t hurt me. You’ve never hurt me.’

  She shifted closer, reaching out her hand and cradling his jaw in her palm. She could feel the muscle there working, the clenching of his jaw, and she slid her hand behind his neck and drew his face down to hers, meeting his mouth with a tender kiss. ‘Touch me, Joe. I won’t break, and I need you. Make love to me.’

  * * *

  He lay awake long after she’d fallen asleep in his arms.

  He’d been gentle, taken it slowly, but even so the passion, the need, had swamped him, culminating in a climax so intense that it had shaken him to his foundations.

  Because he loved her.

  He blinked away the tears that welled suddenly in his eyes. No. He couldn’t love her—and he certainly couldn’t tell her. Not now, now her baby was destined for another life that didn’t include him.

  Or could he? Was it too late to stop her giving the baby away? Could they halt the whole process and keep it? Keep her, their tiny, precious daughter?

  No. Not because of Isla, but because of Iona herself. She’d been worried for the child, of course, because that was who and what she was, but she’d said so many times that there was no place for a child in her life now, and not for years. He’d said the same, meant it just as much, but now, faced with this, he knew he’d been wrong.

  He wanted this, wanted Iona. Wanted the baby, more than he’d ever known he could want anything, but he couldn’t have her. She wasn’t his to want or need, and in just a few short weeks she’d be out of his life for ever, barring the odd photograph or Christmas card. Out of Iona’s, too, and any dreams he might have cherished of them becoming a family had just gone out of the window.

  I can’t lose both my girls...

  He felt a wave of grief so intense he almost cried out. Maybe he did, because Iona stirred beside him, shifting her body slightly so that her leg lay over his, pinning him down and cutting off any hope of slipping out of bed and escaping to the study to immerse himself in something he could cope with, something he had a hope of influencing.

  And so he lay there, and he held her in his arms and tried to imprint the memory on his heart, and eventually she rolled away and he made his escape.

  * * *

  ‘Have you been here all night?’

  He was sprawled on the sofa in the study, his laptop upside down on the floor where it must have landed, and he opened his eyes, blinked, and sat up, stretching stiffly.

  ‘Yeah—maybe. I don’t know, I can’t remember. Where’s my laptop?’

  ‘On the floor.’

  He picked it up, swore softly and opened it, then sighed and closed it again.

  ‘It looks all right. It’s solid state, so dropping it shouldn’t have messed it up.’ He scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked at his wrist.

  ‘It’s six o’clock. I thought I should wake you. I’m going to go home and get ready for work and you probably need to do the same.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Will I see you later?’

  His eyes met hers, and she could see a whole world of conflicting emotions in them.

  ‘Don’t worry. Just let me know.’

  ‘No. Come. Stay. I’ll do a fo
od order.’

  She smiled. ‘Well, that might be an idea if we aren’t going to starve to death. I’ve left you the last two bits of bread so you can have breakfast.’

  She walked over to him and he stood up, put his arms round her and hugged her gently.

  ‘Thanks,’ he mumbled through her hair. ‘I’m sorry you felt abandoned. I should have realised. I won’t let it happen again.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. I’m fine. I’ll see you later.’ She eased away from him, pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek and left him to it, wishing she could believe that guilty promise.

  * * *

  She found out she could believe it, and although he was still ridiculously busy, he made time for her whenever he could. They got into a pattern, then, of getting together when their shifts aligned, and the weeks ticked slowly by.

  She was getting more awkward, finding work more tiring, but the closer she got to her due date, the less she wanted to stop because then she’d have nothing to do but think about what was to come.

  And she didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about the time when the baby was gone and she couldn’t play happy families with Joe any longer. Couldn’t pretend to herself that she was going to bring her baby home to him, to the little room beside his bedroom that would make a perfect nursery.

  Couldn’t pretend that she’d sit on the veranda rocking the baby to sleep in her pram, or take her for walks along the country lanes, or take her to the playground to explore the sand in the sandpit or crawl over the grass in the garden and discover the smell and the taste and the feel of it beneath her chubby fingers.

  That was for Isla to do, Isla and Steve and their little miracle baby.

  And she—she had her career to focus on, her future to plan, her life to map out. A life without Joe, without the baby. She could hardly bring herself to think about it, but she didn’t have to now.

  Not yet. For now she had them both, and she was going to cherish every moment of it.

  And then, when she was thirty nine weeks pregnant, everything changed.

  CHAPTER TEN

  HE’D MISSED A call from Iona, but she’d left a voicemail.

  ‘I’ve had a show. Call me when you get this.’

  He felt his heart kick into overdrive and rang her instantly.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘At work, so I can’t talk for long. I’m fine, it wasn’t much, but I think I’m getting close. I’ve called Isla and Steve and warned them. They’re coming down. I thought they could stay at my flat and I could stay with you. Is that OK? Just until—you know.’

  He did know. He knew only too well, and it was all he’d been able to think about for weeks, but at least he’d got the last course out of the way, and he’d sat the final exam a week ago. Anything else could wait because there was no way he could abandon her now.

  ‘Yes, of course it’s OK,’ he said, although his head was screaming No! at the top of its voice, but that was just self-preservation and he ignored it. ‘Do you think you should go home now?’

  ‘No, I haven’t even had a twinge yet. It could be days. I’ve told James I’ll be on mat leave from the end of today, so I’ll finish my shift and go and sort the flat. They won’t be down here till this evening, Steve’s got a meeting with a client at three and then they’ll set off.’

  He swallowed. ‘OK. Well, ring me if anything changes. I’ll be home by six.’

  ‘Are you sure? That’s early for you.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ He’d make damn sure, because this wasn’t something that could wait. When Iona went into labour, she would have Isla with her and maybe Steve, but not now, while she was waiting. Not yet.

  For now, she’d only have him, and he’d have her. What happened after that only time would tell, but he was going to be here for her now if it was the last thing he did.

  He went and found his consultant and told him he needed a week off, starting now.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes—well, from six this evening. I’m sorry, I know it’s difficult, but—there’s something I have to do. Something personal. And it won’t happen again.’

  His boss searched his eyes, then nodded as if he’d found what he was looking for. ‘OK. Well, if you must.’

  ‘I must.’

  ‘Fine. Keep in touch.’

  ‘Of course.’

  * * *

  She wasn’t sure how she got through the rest of the day, but when she went off at the end of her shift, it felt surreal.

  How could she go off on maternity leave when she wasn’t going to be a mother? There should be another word...

  Isla and Steve arrived at six thirty, and she let them in, hugged them and gave them keys. ‘Libby’s away on holiday at the moment so you’ll have the place to yourselves and you can come and go whenever you like. There’s unrestricted parking on the street, and if you can’t find anything, just ring me and I can probably tell you where you might find it. And there’s milk and butter in the fridge, and some bread on the side there, and various other bits and pieces. Just help yourselves.’

  She hugged them again, kissed Isla goodbye and walked carefully down the stairs. Steve carried her bag down and put it in the car, and hugged her again.

  ‘We’re so excited,’ he said. ‘Our first baby. We can’t believe it’s actually happening.’

  ‘No, nor can I,’ she murmured, dredged up a smile, got awkwardly behind the wheel and drove away before she did something stupid like cry.

  Joe was home when she arrived, and she walked through the door and straight into his arms.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  She nodded, even though she wasn’t. ‘Mmm. They’re here, in my flat. I’ve told them to ring if they need me for anything.’

  ‘Where’s your bag?’

  ‘In the car.’

  ‘I’ll get it. Go and sit down and put your feet up. You look done in.’

  Did she? She didn’t feel it—didn’t feel much of anything, except edgy. But she did as he said, kicking off her shoes and settling down in the corner of the sofa with her feet up. The baby wriggled, settling herself into a better position, and she stroked her lovingly, feeling the curve of the baby’s spine, the little bump of her bottom, the jut of her heel.

  ‘It’s OK, baby,’ she murmured. ‘You stay there, you hear me? There’s no hurry. You take as long as you like.’

  ‘Cup of tea?’

  She looked up and saw Joe standing in the doorway, watching her with a strange expression on his face. And for the first time in ages she couldn’t read his eyes.

  ‘That would be lovely. Decaf, please.’

  He rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. She could see him through the double doors, pottering quietly. Emptying the dishwasher, finding mugs, putting shopping away. He must have done an internet order, she realised, or a lightning trolley-dash.

  ‘I ordered some food, things with longish dates so we don’t have to worry about shopping,’ he said, coming in with the tea and settling down at the other end of the sofa. ‘How are you feeling? Any change?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, not really. I don’t feel any different. I hope it’s not a false alarm and Isla and Steve aren’t hanging around indefinitely.’ Which was a lie, because the longer it was, the longer the baby would be with her, the longer she could pretend...

  He picked up his tea and rested his other hand over her feet, stroking them absently. ‘How’s Isla?’

  ‘Oh, OK, I think. She looks a bit thin. I think pregnancy’s been tough on her. She hasn’t felt great. It makes me realise I’ve come off lightly.’ Except of course at the end of it Isla would have two babies, and she’d have none...

  He was watching her thoughtfully, as if he could see straight through her, and she turned her attention to the tea. ‘So what’s for supper?’ she ask
ed, changing the subject.

  ‘Whatever you fancy. I got a fish pie and some sugar snap peas, or you could have pea and ham risotto, or—’

  ‘Fish pie sounds nice. Does it need long in the oven?’

  He shook his head and got to his feet. ‘I’ll put it in now. I might as well feed you up while you’re not in active labour.’

  That again. She felt the baby kick and her hand went instinctively to the bump, soothing her with gentle strokes.

  * * *

  Joe turned on the oven, took the fish pie back out of the fridge and glanced at Iona through the glass doors. She was stroking the baby, and her expression twisted something deep inside him. He’d seen it before, on the faces of women stoically tending their loved ones when all hope was gone. Grief—carefully masked, hidden from everyone except those who knew, every caress a tender farewell.

  He rested his hands on the edge of the worktop, dropped his head forward and took several long, slow deep breaths.

  He was dreading this. Dreading the moment when she’d tell him that she was in labour, dreading the moment of birth—dreading the moment their child ceased to be theirs, and became someone else’s daughter.

  Breathe...

  * * *

  He sent her to bed early before it was even dark, and she had a shower and washed and dried her hair, just in case. He followed her up shortly afterwards, and as he got into bed she turned to face him and snuggled up close, resting her top leg over his to ease the ache in her pelvis, her head on his chest, his heart beating steadily under her ear.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked, his voice a rumble in his chest.

  ‘Mmm. Just—you know.’

  Maybe he did, because his grip tightened and he held her closer. ‘Oh, sweetheart. Are you going to be OK?’

  She shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know how I’ll feel when I—you know. Hand her over...’

  Her voice cracked and she sucked in a breath, and his lips touched her forehead. ‘I’ll be there for you. You know that.’

  ‘I do. Thank you. I just wish...’

  ‘Wish?’

  ‘That I’d met you before.’

  ‘Before—?’