by Hilary Boyd
‘Pain free?’ They both laughed. ‘I’m a coward, I’m afraid. I know I should be doing the NCT thing, but I want drugs – loads of them – and epidurals. The lot.’
‘Yeah, what you really want is for the baby to appear by your side like the Angel Gabriel.’
Flora smiled, then suddenly shivered. ‘God, it’s scary. Not just the giving birth – that’s bad enough – but then there’s the whole responsibility thing.’ She held her hand against her belly, gently stroking the growing bulge.
Simon watched her, chewing the corner of his index finger absentmindedly. ‘I suppose Fin will come down for the birth? But if … if he isn’t there for any reason, and you want someone to hold your hand …’ He shot her a quick glance.
‘He says he will … but thank you. Thank you, Simon. That’s very kind.’ She was more than touched by his offer, guiltily pushing away the hope that he might be there with her instead of Fin.
After another awkward silence, they began to talk about a film Simon had seen the previous week.
*
Flora stood next to the paint tins in the sitting room and sighed a big sigh. The room looked suddenly much bigger than she thought, and she was tired. The flat seemed to be taking ages to finish. All she wanted was to sit on the sofa in the pale green sitting room and relax. It was such a beautiful spring evening.
The bell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and decided not to answer it. She couldn’t face a visitor right now. But it rang again, and she gave in, cursing under her breath.
‘Bad time?’ Simon Kent gave her a keen glance. ‘You look exhausted.’
She smiled. ‘I do feel a bit tired. I think it was seeing the vast expanse of wall I have to paint.’
‘Want some help?’
‘I wouldn’t mind your opinion about the paint I’ve bought. Bel thinks it’s “creepy”.’
Simon chuckled as he knelt on the floor to check the side of the tin. ‘Hmm, Sea Urchin 6 … interesting.’ He prised off the lid with a paint-stained chisel belonging to the porter, and peered at the contents. ‘She could have a point, your niece. Looks a bit subterranean.’
Flora frowned.
‘You don’t like it? I thought I couldn’t have plain white in the sitting room, it’d be too cold. And this is very pale … more a greeny blue.’
Simon put his head on one side. ‘Sort of reminds me a bit of an operating theatre.’ He grinned up at her.
Flora frowned. ‘Stop it!’
‘Listen, it’s your flat.’ He stood up. ‘If you like it, that’s all that matters. My opinion doesn’t count.’
She nodded, but it wasn’t quite true. She knew she wanted him to be happy in it too. ‘Yes,’ she said now, ‘but I don’t want a clinical atmosphere. I want it to be warm and cosy.’
‘Well, it might be. Come on, let’s do a wall. See how it looks.’
The French windows were wide open, letting the warm spring breeze into the empty room; the radio played quietly in the background as they stood side by side, each with a roller, smoothing the operating-theatre green over the stripped and sanded surface. Glancing sideways at the doctor in his jeans and grey T-shirt, a smear of paint on his forearm, Flora couldn’t help smiling. She was actually happy – really happy – for the first time in months, maybe years. Simon must have sensed her look, because he turned to her and smiled back.
‘Not looking too bad so far. You’re right, it’s not as green as I thought.’
‘So it doesn’t summon swabs and scalpels to mind?’
‘Not at first.’
They worked on until the wall was finished, then stood back to examine their handiwork.
‘Not sure I’m convinced,’ Flora said.
‘It’s not dry yet. Might end up lighter?’
‘Maybe. I’ll make some tea while we wait.’ It was beginning to get dark outside, and she turned on the small lamp plugged into the socket nearest the door.
When she came back with the mugs, Simon had brought two wooden kitchen chairs – Dorothea’s – in from the hall and placed them alongside each other, facing the just-painted wall but at a distance from it.
‘Looks like we’re about to watch a movie,’ she said, handing him his tea.
‘We’re going to sit and watch the wall, absorb the atmosphere, imagine it’s a normal evening and we’re here, talking about the day, with a glass of wine …’ He stopped, looking suddenly embarrassed by the intimate scenario he had outlined. ‘Just to try and see if it’s a colour you can live with,’ he added quickly.
They lapsed into silence and began staring at the wall. Then, from the radio came John Denver’s lilting voice: ‘You fill up my senses …’ and Flora was vividly reminded of Simon humming the song as he waltzed with her that night, all those months ago, in this very room.
‘They’re playing our song,’ Simon said, with a small smile, holding his hand out to her. ‘Flora Bancroft, would you honour me with this dance?’
He pulled her to her feet, and they took off around the empty room, their socked feet swishing on the polished boards as he gently guided her, his steps flowing and confident, their bodies close. The words rang in her brain … ‘come, let me love you …’ It was a song that spoke of a man completely inhabited by his love for a woman.
The music finished, but they went on waltzing for a few more turns of the floor. When they finally stopped, they still stood together, Flora’s hand resting on Simon’s shoulder, his arm around her waist, their other hands clasped. She glanced up at him in the soft glow from the single lamp, and saw his eyes so full of emotion as he looked at her that it took her breath away. Her heart began to race.
‘Flora …’ he whispered, hesitating for only a moment before bending to kiss her softly, tentatively on the lips. And she felt in that moment, as his mouth met her own, that she never wanted the kiss to end, never wanted to leave his embrace again. For a long time they just stood there, holding each other, not speaking.
‘I’ve wanted to do that for what seems like a lifetime to me … but I hope you don’t think …’ He glanced down at her swelling figure. ‘I mean, it’s probably not the right time.’
In answer, she reached up and kissed him again.
*
Flora woke the next morning to find herself smiling with happiness. She and Simon had stayed up late – camped on the sofa in the hall – talking and laughing together, sometimes holding hands, a bowl of hummus and pitta bread between them, until he had finally taken himself off home across the road. She didn’t quite believe – after all this time as colleagues, then friends – what magical thing had happened to them both last night, but she felt as if a dam had burst, all the pent-up embarrassment and constraint between them swept away by his kiss.
She got out of bed, examining her belly in the bathroom mirror as she did every morning. At around seven months it was still quite neat and compact, but it seemed vast to her as she stroked the smooth curve. She was aware of the strange flutter of movement often now, and the image of the tiny body growing safely inside her made her quietly happy.
As she was getting dressed, the doorbell rang. Simon, she thought, running to answer it. But it was Fin’s voice that greeted her over the intercom.
‘Fin! What are you doing here?’ Shocked, she stood back to let him into her flat. He was deeply tanned, his hair bleached gold, and was pounds lighter than when she’d seen him last. His light eyes smiled down at her.
‘Wow! Get you. You look gorgeous.’ Before she had time to stop him, he had swept her into his arms, planting kisses on her neck and her face. ‘Pregnancy certainly suits you,’ he added, releasing her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she repeated. ‘You should have rung.’
Fin shrugged. ‘I thought I’d surprise you.’ He looked around the flat. ‘This is great.’
‘It’s not finished yet.’ She didn’t know what to say to this man. Obsessed with him for over a decade, she found he was almost a stranger to her now.
‘
So … I had to come down to sort out the visa and stuff for Nepal, and I thought I’d spend a few days with you.’ He gazed at her. ‘I’ve really missed you, Flo.’
‘You can’t stay here.’ Her voice sounded sharp with panic.
Fin looked taken aback. ‘Oh … can’t I? Why not?’
‘Because … because we aren’t together any more.’
‘Yeah … but that doesn’t mean we can’t spend time with each other. That’s my baby you’ve got in there.’ He grinned, reached to touch her belly, but she moved back.
‘Flo? What’s the matter?’ Then his brow darkened. ‘Have you got someone else here?’
‘No.’
‘Well, what’s the problem then?’ He went over to the sofa and flung himself down on it, patting the cushion. ‘Still the same old couch. What memories this has, eh?’ His suggestive glance was one Flora was entirely familiar with. But whereas in the past it might have triggered her own desire, now it made her feel uneasy.
‘Shall I make some coffee?’
‘That’d be good.’ He got up and followed Flora into the kitchen. As she stood at the sink filling the kettle, he came up behind her and leant against her, putting his arms round her body.
She shook him off. ‘Please …’
‘Whoa, what’s the matter? OK, I should have called and warned you, but you used to like me surprising you.’
She poured coffee grounds into the cafetière. ‘That was in the past, Fin.’
‘Fair enough. But you don’t seem very pleased to see me. I was hoping we could make plans for the birth and stuff. It’s not so long now. I’ll come down the week it’s due and stay till it’s born if you like. Then we could see how it goes. Obviously I’ll have to take off early September for this Nepal trip. But we could have a few weeks together, let me get to know my daughter. If it is a girl, of course.’
Flora looked away, not wanting him to see the alarm in her eyes. She knew, of course, that Fin would have to have some involvement as a father, but she hadn’t really thought through how it would work in practice. She’d just assumed his lack of commitment would make him no more than a vague presence in their child’s life. Yet here he was, suggesting he stay with her; be with her for the birth – and for weeks after?
‘You said you’d be useless with a small baby. That was your excuse for going to Nepal.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ve had a chance to think since then. It wasn’t a good time for me before, Flo. I wasn’t myself.’ He paused. ‘I was thinking … you and me. Perhaps we should give it another go? With the baby coming …’
She pushed the plunger down on the grains, wondering what she should say.
‘You’re not still angry with me about the Prue thing are you?’ he was asking.
The ‘Prue thing’, as he put it, was still a thorn in Flora’s side. As Bel said, she and Prue hadn’t spoken in months. Flora had decided she didn’t have the extra strength to try to rebuild her relationship with her sister right now – and Prue obviously felt the same – but it was an ongoing sadness that Prue wasn’t involved at all in her preparations for her baby’s birth. And she hated what the family furore was doing to poor Bel. But as far as Fin was concerned, she tried not to dwell on what had happened any more.
‘So have you got the baby’s room ready?’ Fin was asking. He seemed relaxed and at home, as if his visit were an everyday occurrence. The renewed confidence he’d got in his physical strength had brought such a change from the depressive, growling malcontent she’d lived with. And Fin was a wanderer by nature; he put roots down more quickly than most. Flora shook her head.
‘Will you show me?’
‘It’s still in boxes. We only finished painting yesterday.’
‘We?’
‘Yes. Keith and Bel … Simon Kent, Dorothea’s GP … have been helping me.’
Fin was staring at her. ‘Keith? That porter guy who works in the block?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK … well that’s very convenient.’
‘It is. He comes up and helps after work sometimes, or weekends. He’s been great,’ she said, ignoring the innuendo.
‘I’m sure he has.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Oh, come on, Flo. You can’t hide it from me. I know you too well.’
Flora gave a short laugh. ‘You don’t know anything about me any more.’
But he was suddenly up close, his light eyes full of suspicion. ‘So you and this Keith guy have been getting it on over the Crown Emulsion, eh? Very cosy.’ He reached for her, pulling her close, stroking the hair back from her face. And suddenly he was bending down, his mouth on hers, his tongue forcing its way between her teeth. She tried to pull away, but he was powerful in his jealousy, his grasp on her arms painful.
‘Hey, Flo.’ His voice softened. ‘Come on, don’t fight it. You know what we’ve got together.’ He drew back, but kept a tight hold on her. ‘Our bodies are meant for each other. I bet this Keith guy doesn’t come close.’
She finally wrenched herself free. ‘I wouldn’t know, we aren’t in a relationship.’ She was shaking.
Fin raised his eyebrows. ‘Hmm … but you’d like to be, right?’
They were interrupted by the doorbell. Flora didn’t move.
‘Do you want me to get it?’ Fin turned towards the door, but Flora got there before him. It was Simon.
She opened the door. ‘Hi. Fin’s here.’
Simon looked at her and then at Fin. She was flustered, knowing the doctor couldn’t help but notice the sexual energy between them, even though it was negative.
‘Simon Kent.’ He slowly held his hand out, suddenly the professional doctor she remembered from when Dorothea was alive. Fin reluctantly shook it, casting an inquisitive glance at him. ‘Umm … perhaps I’ll come back later,’ Simon muttered.
Flora looked at him pleadingly, the pleasure of the night before playing over in her mind. Please, please don’t think what I know you’re thinking, she implored silently. But she could see the devastation on his face.
‘I’ll ring you,’ she said, but he left without another word.
As soon as the door was shut, she turned to Fin. The fury building in her chest was like no other Flora had ever experienced. Nothing that had happened between them in the past came anywhere close.
‘Leave. Just go, get out.’
His face registered astonishment. ‘Hey, what have I done?’
‘You don’t even know, do you? Christ, Fin, your life is just one endless, self-centred roller-coaster of indulgence. You come, you go, you help yourself to whatever you want whenever you want it, and you don’t give a flying fuck who you hurt along the way.’ She was trembling with rage. ‘How dare you force yourself on me like that. How dare you even touch me any more. Just get out. GET OUT.’
He continued to look at her as if she had lost her senses. And indeed she felt as if she had.
‘GO!’
He held his hands up. ‘OK, OK … keep your wig on. God, I’ve heard pregnant women can be over-emotional, but this is a bit extreme, Flo.’ He picked up his daypack. ‘I’ll talk to you later, when you’ve calmed down.’
She couldn’t speak, tears were choking her, but she wasn’t going to let him see it. She opened the door and, with another baffled shrug, Fin McCrea walked out of her life.
When she’d had time to calm down, she phoned Simon. He didn’t pick up but she left a message. ‘Please call. He’s gone.’
Then she waited, but he didn’t ring back.
She sat miserably through that Sunday afternoon, trying the doctor’s mobile every hour or so, unable to concentrate on anything. But there was no response. Please ring, she repeated over and over, checking her phone obsessively in case she’d missed his call.
She was shaken by her outburst with Fin. But she knew it had not been just about the kiss, or about jeopardising her relationship with Simon. It was cumulative, a pent-up force of anger for all his betrayals, his selfishness, which until now she had
never properly vented.
It was nearly six when Simon rang the bell.
He looked tense and subdued.
‘I won’t stay.’
She saw him take a deep breath as they stood together in the cluttered hall. Looking her directly in the eye, he said, ‘Listen, I think we should cool it for now. Not see each other. I quite understand if you still have feelings for Fin … he’s the baby’s father, for God’s sake. But my own feelings for you … as I’m sure you’ve worked out by now, are so strong that I can’t deal with it. I’d like to be your friend, Flora, but I just don’t think I can do that.’ His words sounded almost rehearsed.
Flora held her breath. ‘Fin and I are totally finished, Simon. There’s nothing unresolved. What you saw was real and I know how it must have looked. He got jealous about Keith of all people, when I said you’d all helped me paint the baby’s bedroom, and he came on to me, forced a kiss on me without my consent, just before you arrived….’
Simon didn’t reply. His handsome face was twisting with anxiety.
‘The thing is, I spent months trying to put you out of my mind after Dorothea died, knowing you were with Fin. That’s why I was so weird with you in the park café. I knew that it would churn up all those old feelings again.’
‘Simon, please. You’ve got to believe me. It’s over.’
He sighed heavily.
‘I’ve been so insanely jealous myself … all day. I haven’t known what to do. It’s been pure hell. If you still have even an iota of feeling for that man, please … please tell me now.’
Before she had time to repeat her assurances, he’d rushed on.
‘It would be perfectly reasonable if you weren’t sure if you still loved him. I’d understand. I just need to know.’
‘Simon, stop! Please, look at me. I – do – not – love Fin McCrea.’ And hearing her own words, she knew it was completely true, that she was finally free of her decade of obsession. She reached for his hand and held it lightly. ‘I literally couldn’t bear it if you walked away from me now,’ she added, in no more than a whisper.
He stared at her. ‘Maybe you need some time, though. It’s not so long since you split up. And perhaps your feelings will change when you have the baby together.’
