For Better for Worse

by Penny Jordan

  ‘I suppose once I’m actually a wife I’ll start getting like you and feel totally unable to go to bed unless the kitchen’s spotless,’ Cressy told her drily. ‘But I’m not a wife yet, and Graham, thank God, is not one of these men who puts a premium on housewifely efficiency.’

  ‘Really?’ Fern teased her rounding her eyes in mock naïveté. ‘You do surprise me.’

  Laughing, they went upstairs together.

  But half an hour later, as she slipped between the cold linen sheets of her bed, Fern wasn’t laughing any longer.

  ‘Leave Nick,’ Cressy had advised her again later in the evening. ‘Otherwise, he will destroy you completely, Fern.’

  Leave Nick. As she closed her eyes, Fern could feel the unfamiliarly frantic panicky beating sensation deep within her chest. Not fear, she recognised, but the desire, the need, the overwhelmingly urgent and compelling ache to be free.

  Why had she never recognised it before… never realised… never seen…? Why had it taken someone else to show her Nick as he really was; to set her free from the intolerable burden of her own sense of failure and despair?

  And her guilt?

  She opened her eyes abruptly. No, Cressy had not done that. How could she? She did not, after all, know the whole truth. Did not know that Nick had not been the only one to break their marriage vows.

  But, even despite that, she could not stay with him now, she recognised.

  Their marriage was over. But would she have the strength to tell Nick that?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘WHAT’S wrong with you? You’ve been pushing that pasta round your plate without touching it for ages. I thought you loved Italian food.’

  Zoe smiled wanly at the mock accusatory tone of her friend’s voice.

  ‘I do—normally,’ she agreed. ‘It’s just that I’ve been feeling so off colour lately.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘Virtually everything I eat seems to make me feel and be sick, and sometimes…’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Ann interrupted with a grin. ‘You’re not trying to tell me that you’re pregnant, are you?’

  Pregnant! Zoe stared at her. ‘No… no, of course I’m not. It’s just the after-effects of this bout of food poisoning I had the other week.’

  She broke off, irritated by the wryly arch expression on her friend’s face.

  ‘Look, just because you couldn’t wait to produce,’ she began, and then stopped as she saw Ann’s archness give way to genuine concern.

  ‘Sorry,’ she apologised gruffly. ‘It’s just that feeling so rotten is beginning to get me down. What with that and Ben’s boss being so demanding and picky… I’ve hardly seen Ben for the last couple of weeks, he’s been working so hard.’

  ‘That’s the trouble with the restaurant trade,’ Ann sympathised. ‘What you could do with is setting up in business on your own.’

  Zoe said nothing. Normally that kind of comment from one of her oldest and closest friends would have immediately led to her aching to confide their plans, almost bursting with the effort of controlling her excitement and elation, but since their return from their foray into Wiltshire she had felt so sick and tired that she had not been able to raise any enthusiasm for anything. Not even for sex, as Ben had remarked only last night when she had withdrawn from his arms, irritably claiming that she was too tired and then immediately feeling so tearful and emotional that she had longed for him to take hold of her again; to wrap his arms round her and keep her safe.

  Safe from what? From the sudden unpredictability of her unfamiliar moods and emotions?

  Pregnant! She grimaced to herself as she left the restaurant and headed back to the flat.

  Ann was an old and close friend, but she had tended to become rather baby-orientated since the arrival of her first child six months previously.

  Normally Zoe, who was godmother to little William, enjoyed hearing about his exploits, even if when she was alone she sometimes secretly marvelled at the change in her old friend from madcap girl-about-town to environmentally aware and concerned mother, and felt relieved that she was not in her friend’s shoes, but today for some reason Ann’s conversation had jarred uncomfortably on her.

  It must be because of her anxiety about the house, and the fact that they could not go ahead and make any real firm plans until they had confirmation that planning permission would be granted, that she was feeling so on edge and out of sorts, Zoe reflected tiredly. She had always been inclined to be impatient of delays.

  Pregnant… That was a joke, and impossible, thank goodness. She never missed taking her Pill, wanting the responsibility of an unplanned pregnancy as little as Ben did. That was something they both shared: their awareness of how impossible it would be for them to have a child at this stage in their lives.

  Ben had made it more than clear that he never wanted children, and if she had ever doubted that he meant it she only had to think of his reaction to the news of his sister Sharon’s pregnancy.

  Her head was beginning to ache muzzily, the nausea she had experienced over lunch returning in a suddenly sharply urgent queasy wave. Oh, God, she wasn’t going to pass out here in the street, was she?

  She stopped walking, clutching dizzily at a nearby lamp-post, irritably aware of the curious looks passers-by were giving her, the careful way they were skirting round her, their expressions sharply in focus one minute and distantly blurred the next, strangers’ faces, some expressing disdain, some apprehension, others curiosity or uninterest.

  ‘Are you all right, dear?’

  Shakily Zoe focused on the old woman who was addressing her, rejecting her initial impression that the woman was one of the city’s growing army of bag ladies as her brain slowly registered the shopping in the tired-looking plastic bag and the fact that the woman’s clothes, although shabby, were scrupulously clean.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Zoe lied. ‘I just felt a bit sick…’

  The old woman nodded sympathetically. ‘I was like that with my first. Sick as a dog, I was, morning, noon and night. Course, it was different in them days…’

  Nauseously Zoe let her conversation wash over her, too busy fighting off the invasive clammy feeling of fear which was now beginning to permeate her nausea.

  Pregnant. She couldn’t be. Must not be!

  * * *

  She was still thinking the same thing two hours later as she stood in the bathroom shivering with shock and disbelief as she stared at the incontrovertible evidence of the home pregnancy test she had just done.

  Behind her on the floor lay the test she had done earlier. Like its fellow, it had shown the tell-tale evidence of what she had truly believed was impossible.

  Sickly she kneeled down to pick up the small piece of plastic. Such an innocuous, almost innocent thing and yet it had changed her whole life. Destroyed her whole life.

  Perhaps it was wrong, perhaps she had done the test incorrectly.

  Feverishly she hurried towards the door. She had to go out and buy another test, try again. She must have done something wrong… yes, that was definitely it. She was letting Ann with all her silly talk of pregnancy get to her… that was all it was.

  She was halfway across the room when she heard Ben’s key in the lock.

  Immediately panic hit her, and she rushed back into the bathroom frantically gathering up the box and the betraying test wands, wrapping them in a towel she grabbed off the rail, her stomach muscles clenching anxiously as she heard Ben calling her name.

  As she opened the bathroom door she knew that the moment he looked at her he would be able to tell something was wrong; a brief glimpse of her own reflection in the bathroom mirror had betrayed her over-bright eyes and flushed face, and with it the tension and the fear she could feel churning sickly through her. What was she panicking for? What was she trying to hide? She had done nothing wrong—it was not her fault. If she was pregnant then it was a joint problem, something they would share as they had shared everything else—thank God Ben was here. As she ran towards him, she recognised wi
th a small shock of surprise how vulnerable she felt, how uncharacteristically in need of his support, his strength; how dependent and afraid… how desperately in need of his love and comfort.

  As she ran towards him she was conscious of a sudden lightening of the pressure and tension tightening her body, a sudden lifting of the burden which had descended so heavily and unexpectedly on to her shoulders.

  ‘Ben…’

  ‘I’ve got to go to Manchester, Zoe.’

  He barely seemed even to look at her as he hurried past her and into the bedroom.

  ‘I had a phone call at work from Ma. Apparently Sharon’s been rushed into the hospital. Some complications with the baby…’

  ‘But Ben, I need…’

  She stopped as he emerged from the bedroom and she realised that he hadn’t heard her, wasn’t even listening to her, seemed in fact virtually oblivious to her presence, other than as a sounding-board to bounce off his own irritation and ire.

  ‘This is all I need,’ she heard him muttering angrily. ‘I’ve already got Aldo on my back about the time I’ve had off and now he’s started complaining that customers are getting bored with the menus. Whose fault is that? Not mine,’ Ben told her forcefully. ‘I’ve been pressing him for months now to let me change things, but would he? Not a chance in hell, but now suddenly, when things go wrong, it’s all my fault.

  ‘Any news from Clive?’ he asked her, focusing on her.

  Zoe held her breath. He must see now surely how upset she was; must realise that something was seriously wrong… Must know how desperately she needed him to reach out and help her to rescue her from the panic and fear which engulfed her.

  His gaze was sharpening now, a small frown appearing between his eyebrows as his eyes narrowed on her. She held her breath, her heart beating as relief poured through her. He must see now how upset she was.

  ‘Clive, Zoe,’ he repeated snappily, oblivious to her need. Zoe could hear the irritation in his voice quite plainly, but it was several seconds before first her body and then her emotions reacted to it, her muscles tensing, her throat clogging with unfamiliar and wholly unexpected tears.

  ‘Zoe, for God’s sake,’ Ben demanded exasperatedly. ‘What’s got into you? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she told him, turning away from him. It was too late for him to ask her that question now. He should have asked it before… should have seen… should have recognised…

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ she heard him saying. ‘I’ll give you a ring as soon as I know what’s happening… I might have to stay up there for a couple of days.

  ‘God, of all the times for this to happen…’ The irritation was back in his voice, but Zoe had distanced herself from it now.

  What was wrong with her, anyway? she asked herself numbly as she watched him flinging a change of clothes into an overnight bag, her emotions still deadened by the shock of his inability to recognise her need.

  She was always the one who had been the strong one, the one who had directed their relationship, who had supported him. And yet now, the first time she required help, what happened? He couldn’t even recognise her need, never mind respond to it… He didn’t even know, never mind care… All he was concerned about was whether or not they had heard from Clive.

  Didn’t he realise what was happening? She was pregnant! Pregnant with their child, the child that could ruin all their plans… all their hopes. The child who should never have been conceived. She needed him to share her fear with. She was so afraid, so filled with panic and shock, so in need of his support, of him; of being able to share her disbelief and fear with him, but he didn’t want to know… couldn’t see… Didn’t want to see.

  He was coming towards her, carrying his bag in one hand, his jacket in the other, his forehead still creased in that harsh rejecting frown.

  As he stopped beside her and bent his head, she turned her own face away so that his mouth touched her cheek and not her lips. She could feel the pain and fear burning through her body, tight with the tension of not vocally giving way to what she was feeling.

  ‘This is all we want right now, isn’t it?’ he muttered grimly as he straightened up. ‘Sharon and her damned baby…’

  As she heard the bitterness in his voice Zoe’s body trembled, her heartbeat a fierce kick of sensation slamming sickly against her ribs.

  A sensation of icy cold shock poured over her, thrilling her with the fearful realisation of the truth.

  Ben had not realised or recognised her need because subconsciously he did not want to recognise it. Just as he would not want to recognise her pregnancy, her child—her child—her problem, not theirs?

  For a long time after Ben had gone she stood in the middle of the small living-room simply staring emptily into space, and then, with a small shudder, she focused abruptly on the open door to the bedroom.

  What was the matter with her? She had always known that Ben did not want children and neither did she. They had both agreed on what they wanted from their lives, had both shared the same heady thrill of excitement in planning their immediate future.

  Zoe remembered how sorry she had felt for Ann when the latter had first told her she was pregnant, and how strongly supportive she herself had always been of a woman’s right to choose whether or not she decided to go ahead with a pregnancy accidentally started.

  There had never been the slightest shadow of doubt in her mind that, should she ever find herself in such a situation, she would be strong enough to make the only logical and appropriate decision.

  What need was there after all to discuss anything with Ben? She already knew what his views would be, already knew what action he would want her to take.

  She had always prided herself on her strength of mind, on her ability to make her own decisions and to stand by them. She was a modern, independent woman who did not need to cling helplessly and smotheringly to the man in her life.

  In fact, of the two of them, she had always thought of Ben as being the less self-assured and confident, the more ‘needy’ one in their relationship, and yet now… She shivered slightly, suddenly aware of feeling very cold and tired—and very alone.

  * * *

  So that was it, then. Her own diagnosis had been confirmed. She was most definitely pregnant.

  They had asked her at the clinic if she would like to talk with one of their counsellors, but she had shaken her head. After all, she knew exactly what course of action must be taken, didn’t she?

  Her earlier panic and fear had subsided now. She had had time to think logically and to plan, firmly pushing to the back of her mind the emotional reaction she now saw as a form of self-betrayal.

  What, after all, could Ben do for her that she couldn’t do for herself? She already knew what his reaction would be; why burden him with the responsibility of making the decision which she knew must be made?

  It had been silly of her to expect him to somehow know intuitively what had happened. He had enough problems of his own to contend with without her adding to them.

  She reminded herself of how she had always been the one to take the lead in their relationship, to direct and even in some way to control it. She had been the one to suggest they live together; she had been the one to urge him to give serious consideration to Clive’s offer, and she had also been the one to tell herself privately that she would never treat him as his mother and family did; that she would never place on his shoulders the burden of responsibility for her emotional or physical happiness.

  Just as, as a new lover, she had not expected him to know automatically how to arouse and satisfy her sexually, so she had prided herself on not expecting him to ‘know’ her emotional or mental requirements either.

  Now, calmly, she sat down to analyse her situation. Not that it needed a great deal of analysis. The facts were simple enough. She was pregnant with a child which was neither planned nor wanted—by either Ben or herself.

  She was not maternally inclined and never had been. The sight of ba
bies in prams, no matter how adorable, did not move her to do anything other than smile with relief that they were not her responsibility.

  It was just as well that Ben had been too preoccupied to guess that anything was wrong, she told herself firmly. Thank goodness she had come to her senses in time to stop herself from acting like some wimpy idiot.

  And what good would crying all over Ben have done, anyway? What could he do for her that she could not do for herself?

  It was her decision, her body… Her child?

  She got up, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, fiercely pushing away such a dangerously emotive thought. No. Her course of action was simple and clear, and the sooner she got the whole business over and done with, the better.

  She squared her shoulders, her chin tilting determinedly. She did not need to drag Ben into this. She was perfectly capable of dealing with it on her own. He already had enough to worry about. Remorsefully she remembered how tired and anxious he had looked as he left, how baffled by her behaviour. How irritated and angered by his mother’s plea for help.

  Guiltily Zoe wondered what was wrong with Sharon. She had been rushed into hospital, Ben had said tersely. Because her health was in danger, or because the baby…?

  With a start Zoe looked down at her own body, and the left hand was pressed hard against her still flat stomach, the fingers splayed protectively over the space her child would ultimately inhabit.

  Only there was not going to be a child.

  The phone rang, bringing a welcome interruption to her thoughts. She picked up the receiver, her spirits lifting when she heard Ben’s voice.

  ‘How’s Sharon?’ she asked him quickly, determined to make up for her earlier moodiness. To assure him that she was not like his sister, clinging, dependent, draining him and forcing him to accept responsibility for her. To assure him… or to assure herself?