The Baby Question

by Caroline Anderson

‘Not yet, though. I’ve got some outstanding commitments I have to honour.’

  ‘Sure. In your own time,’ he said, then added, ‘Any chance you could get to it later this week?’

  She laughed. ‘You don’t give up, do you? I’ll see. Now I have to go, work to do. Take care.’

  ‘You, too.’

  She did get to it that week—not because she had time, but because she made time by staying up late and working on it when a sensible person would have been curled up in front of the television with a glass of wine or a mug of hot chocolate. Anyway, she was happy to work to take her mind off missing him. She rang him at home on Saturday night to discuss the company, and he answered the phone sounding slightly groggy.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

  He laughed a little tiredly. ‘Sort of. I’m just back from Hong Kong—the flight was delayed. I was grabbing a quick kip. How are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, feeling guilty. ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter, it’s nice to talk to you. How are the dogs?’

  ‘Fine. Missing you.’ I’m missing you, she wanted to add, but she didn’t. ‘I’ve had a look at that website. It’s truly dreadful, isn’t it?’

  He snorted. ‘Tell me about it. The stupid thing is, the company’s got so much to offer—so much life and energy and enthusiasm, so many good ideas. They’re just not making it because frankly their marketing strategy stinks. So, did you come up with anything?’

  She had, and she ran her ideas by him and wished she’d got a chance to show him, to discuss it face to face with the product there between them. She could zip the files and send him the information, but it wasn’t the same as sitting side by side as they’d done in the old days and wrangling through a problem.

  ‘It’s a shame you can’t come down,’ he said. ‘Meet them, see the set-up.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she said regretfully, wondering if she could put the dogs in kennels for a short while. Midas would be all right, he was used to it, but she wasn’t sure how Minstrel would take it. And anyway, she had too much to do. ‘I’ll email you and send you the web pages as an attachment. You can have a play and see what you think. Feel free to shred it.’

  He chuckled. ‘I’m not sure I’d dare.’

  ‘You’ve never hesitated in the past,’ she reminded him, and he laughed again.

  ‘OK. Send them. I’ll ring you or email you or something. Just give me five hours to sleep and I’ll be up and running.’

  She made a few more adjustments and sent the email, then did the curling up by the fire with hot chocolate thing. It didn’t occupy her mind, though, and she realised just how much she was missing him.

  She didn’t want this, she realised, but on the other hand she didn’t want to be imprisoned in his house, like a hamster in a cage, waiting vainly for him to take her out to play, and that’s what it would be like. He was so busy they could hardly find time to talk on the phone, never mind be together. Even the weekends were busy.

  If only she could get him to change his lifestyle, but she was more likely to succeed in teaching him to fly.

  The phone rang again, and Rob struggled to the surface, swung his legs over the side of the bed and scrubbed a hand through his hair before reaching for the handset. Why hadn’t he just unplugged the damn thing?

  ‘Rob Ferguson,’ he said shortly.

  ‘Rob, hi! It’s Andy. Is Laurie there?’

  He sighed. Andrea Davies was one of Laurie’s closest friends, and yet she obviously didn’t know Laurie was away. What did he tell her? He shrugged. Only the truth. ‘I’m sorry, Andy, she’s not. She’s in Scotland—having a little break. She’s rented a cottage and taken the dog. Can I give you her number?’

  ‘Oh—well, no, it doesn’t matter. I was going to ask you both for dinner, but if she’s away…’ She trailed off, then added brightly, ‘Not that that matters. Why don’t you come on your own? It would be nice to see you. You haven’t been round for ages.’

  He groaned inwardly. Andy’s parties were usually quite lively, and he didn’t feel up to lively at the moment.

  ‘It’s only quiet,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow night. Do come, it’ll do you good. Better than mouldering there on your own.’

  She was right, he was mouldering. He hated being in the house on his own; it drove him crazy. It might do him good to go round to old friends.

  ‘OK. Thanks. What time?’

  ‘Eight?’

  He thought of all he had to do on Monday, but he was in London at the start of the week and they only lived round the corner. Besides, he needn’t stay too late. ‘OK,’ he agreed. ‘Eight’s fine. I’ll look forward to it.’

  Rather stretching the truth, but that was all part of the social niceties they all indulged in. He contemplated going back to sleep, but then thought better of it. He’d go and check his email, see if there was any word from Laurie.

  There was—a quick note, disappointingly quick, and a collection of draught web pages and suggestions that were interesting and dynamic and thought-provoking.

  It was nearly ten o’clock, but he rang her, as much to talk to her as anything, and they discussed her ideas at length. ‘Are you at the machine?’ he asked her, meaning to discuss the finer points of one of the pages, but she said no.

  ‘I’m in the sitting room with the dogs. We were just watching the end of a programme and then I was going to bed. Do you want me to go over there and call you back?’

  ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘It doesn’t matter, it’ll keep. It’s nice just to chat.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’ she murmured, and he could picture her there, snuggled down in one corner of the settee, the dogs sprawled at the other end or the chair or on the hearthrug, snoring gently in front of the fire. Part of him ached to be there with her, but another, more sensible voice told him it was just a mirage, a moment out of time, like that ancient film of a Scottish village that disappeared and only came back for a day every year—or was it a hundred years?

  He couldn’t remember, but it was a fantasy world, not quite real.

  Like his time with Laurie in Little Gluich. It wasn’t real. They were just playing, and if she came back, she’d be unhappy again, because he couldn’t change his life. How could he? It wasn’t possible.

  They talked a little longer, and then he said goodnight and went back to bed. He was still exhausted, and he had a lot to do. There was a lot of catching up to do before he went into the office on Monday, and he’d agreed to go out to Andy’s.

  He’d forgotten to tell Laurie. Blast. He considered ringing her back, but thought better of it. She’d sounded tired. He’d leave her to sleep. He could ring her tomorrow when he got back and tell her all about it. There were bound to be people there that he knew.

  ‘Rob! Darling, come in.’

  Andy was wearing a lovely gown, long and slender and clinging in all the right places. Odd, how unmoved it left him.

  He could hear music in the distance, playing softly, but no voices, and there were no other cars on the drive.

  ‘Am I the first?’ he said lightly, wishing he’d stayed at home and finished reading that report.

  ‘The only,’ she said with an apologetic smile. ‘The others couldn’t make it in the end—they’ve just rung to let me down. Never mind, it’ll be nice and cosy. Come on through.’

  She led him into the sitting room, and he looked round warily. The stage was set with candlelight and soft music, and through the door he could see the table laid for two. Just rung? Somehow he didn’t think so. ‘Where’s Jonathan?’ he asked, and she pulled a face.

  ‘Away. He’s always away, Rob. He’s like you—never at home. I do most of my entertaining these days on my own. Still, that needn’t stop us having a good time, need it? After all, Laurie’s away too.’

  He looked into her eyes and his heart sank. There was an open invitation there written in letters ten feet high, and he just wanted to run.

  ‘I’m sor
ry, Andy, I don’t play games,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Games?’ she said, her voice light. ‘What do you mean? It’s just supper, Rob—old friends having supper together. What harm can there be in that?’

  Nothing, of course, unless one of them moved the goalposts. Still, it took two, and he wasn’t going to play ball, so she was on her own. Poor Andy.

  Poor Jonathan.

  Hell. Poor all of them. What was happening to them all?

  ‘It’s ready when you are. Shall we have a drink?’ she asked with artificial cheer.

  ‘I’m starving. I’d be quite happy to eat now, if I’m honest,’ Rob said, only too pleased to hurry the evening along and get home. Lonely, hungry women were a dangerous breed, and this one was like a circling shark.

  The food, predictably, was wonderful. Andy was a good cook and a superb hostess, and once she’d cottoned on that he really, genuinely wasn’t interested, she switched tactics and started to unburden herself about Jonathan.

  ‘He’s just never here. It’s awful, Rob. It wouldn’t be so bad if we’d had kids, but we haven’t, and it seems awfully lonely when he’s away.’

  ‘Maybe you need a job—like Laurie,’ he suggested. ‘She’s a website designer. She’s excellent.’

  Andy looked stunned. ‘Really? I thought she was just out of circulation—suffering from depression or something because of the baby.’ She leant forwards and put a comforting hand on his arm. ‘I’m sorry, Rob. I know how much you both want a baby, and I can truly understand that. Can’t you do IVF or something?’

  His personal fertility problems weren’t something Rob considered dinner party fare, and he was suddenly glad it was only him and not a roomful of people, because Andy was well down the second bottle of wine with only minimal help from him because he was driving, and he had the feeling she would have expressed an opinion no matter who was in the audience. Nor did he want to hear any more about her marriage.

  He removed his arm from under her hand and gave her a strained smile. ‘I think that might be jumping the gun a little,’ he said, and deftly changed the subject.

  Still, it gave him pause for thought later. Andy and Jonathan were at the end of their rope, judging by the sound of it, and Andy was bored and lonely and playing dangerous games with her friends’ husbands. He wondered if Jonathan knew, and decided he wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

  Still, it was a lesson he would do well to pay attention to, he thought on the way home. He was lucky—his wife had simply found herself something productive to do, whereas Andy was just killing time with other women’s husbands. Nevertheless, he’d lost Laurie, just as surely as Jonathan had lost Andy—or, at least, lost her fidelity.

  At least Laurie had been faithful, but then he’d always thought they’d got something really special.

  And now it might be gone, blown away in the wind due to neglect and his preoccupation with his business.

  Was he really going to be able to let her go, if it came to it? He didn’t see he had a choice. His schedule was hectic. That was the way it was, and if that meant he lost Laurie—well, then, he lost her. There was no way round it, and he’d just have to try and live with it.

  He rubbed at the ache in his chest, but it didn’t seem to want to go away. Indigestion, probably. Heartburn.

  Or heartache?

  He turned the music up and sang along, drowning out his suddenly very painful thoughts.

  CHAPTER NINE

  LAURIE was walking the dogs on Tuesday morning when she saw a woman feeding the sheep in the meadow above her cottage. She’d seen her before, but never to speak to. She went over to the gate and leant on it and smiled.

  ‘Morning,’ she said, and the woman looked assessingly at her and straightened up, acknowledging her with a nod.

  ‘Morning. You must be Laurie. I’m Anne McGregor. Welcome to the area. I’m sorry you’ve had such dismal weather the past week.’

  Laurie laughed. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. It was quite fun.’

  ‘Iain tells me you had a visitor.’

  Does he? Laurie thought, but didn’t rise. ‘Yes. We were very grateful for the logs, and the milk and the fruit cake.’

  ‘No problem.’ Minstrel had slipped through the gate and was sniffing Anne’s ankles, and she bent down and patted her. ‘Remember me, do you, lassie? She’s looking well, the wee dog. Yours seems to have taken to her.’

  ‘Oh, they’re the best of friends. I hope I’m not upsetting anyone by taking her in?’

  ‘Och, no! She’s a stray! No one cares about the wee lass, and our dog hates her. No, I’m glad to see she’s got a home. She’s a nice wee thing.’

  Anne leant on the gate and eyed Laurie up and down. ‘You don’t look like the country type,’ she said frankly, ‘so why here? Running away? That’s why people usually come to Little Gluich.’

  Laurie gave a slight smile. ‘Just reassessing my priorities,’ she said noncommittally. ‘Having a little bit of a break.’

  ‘Aye? Och, well, it must be nice to have the time. Are you busy later? You could drop by for a cup of tea, if you’ve a mind. I’m in all morning.’

  Laurie thanked her. ‘I might do that. I’ll take the dogs home first, as yours doesn’t like my little girl.’

  She nodded, and Laurie left her there leaning on the gate, watching. She was torn about going round for tea, but she thought she ought to get to know her neighbours, if only out of gratitude. Iain had been very kind to her when she’d first moved in. Before they’d even met he’d cleared the track, and then brought them the logs, refusing to take any payment for them—even if it had cost Rob most of a bottle of malt.

  She did one or two urgent jobs, sent a few emails and then put the dogs away before heading for the McGregors’s farm. The back door was slightly ajar, and she tapped on it and went in, in answer to the hail.

  Anne was up to her elbows in flour, and she jerked her head at the old range.

  ‘Put the kettle on, we’ll have a brew when I’ve finished this,’ she said. ‘Have a seat—just push the cat out of the way.’

  She did, earning a dirty look for her pains from a dog-eared tabby with attitude. There was another one on the back of the stove, on a pile of washing that was airing, and yet another in a laundry basket by the foot of the stove. Mousers, probably. The farmers couldn’t afford to carry passengers, and she guessed even the cats had to earn their keep.

  Anne tipped out a pile of dough onto the worktop and kneaded it vigorously till the kettle boiled, then dropped it back into the bowl and stood it on the back of the range beside the cat and the washing to prove.

  She made the tea—builders’ tea, Rob would have called it. Laurie didn’t call it anything. She just suppressed a shudder and asked for a little more milk.

  Anne pushed the mug towards her and sat down opposite, regarding her assessingly. ‘So, you’re here for a break, are you?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s right,’ Laurie replied, wondering why it suddenly felt like a job interview. ‘I’m just renting it for a while.’

  Anne nodded, then went on candidly, with no attempt at subtlety or social pleasantries, ‘Iain thinks you’ve run away from your husband—he said the fellow here at the weekend was very likely your fancy man. Well, that’s your business, of course. I was just going to give you a word of advice—we don’t care what folk get up to, but there’s some about here take offence. You might want to be careful how you go on.’

  Laurie stifled an astonished smile. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but he is my husband,’ she said, ‘and I haven’t left him. I’m just sorting out my life. I wanted a little peace and quiet. I’ve got a business—it’s a bit demanding, and Rob’s always working, often away—we hardly ever see each other. I just wanted time to think—reassess.’

  Anne snorted. ‘Sounds like you’ve got plenty of that. I know how it is. The lambing season starts soon, and I don’t see Iain from one day to the next, only to change his clothes and have a quick wash and a bite
to eat. Sometimes there isn’t even time for that. It goes on for weeks, and even when I do see him he’s too tired to do anything but sleep. Then there’s the grouse—he works as a gilly for one of the big estates, and from the twelfth onwards I don’t see him for weeks again.’

  ‘The twelfth?’ she said, aware that she was missing something here.

  Anne looked at her as if she was a bit dim. ‘The twelfth of August,’ she said patiently. ‘The first day of the grouse shooting season. They spend all year looking after them, then go and shoot them. It’s a business, just like yours, I guess, only probably bloodier.’ She shrugged. ‘You’re not alone in finding your husband missing most of the time. I think that’s just the way it is. No time for the important things. You just have to get on with it—and round here there’s always plenty to do so I don’t have time to get bored. As my grandmother would say, the devil makes work for idle hands.’

  ‘I didn’t have anything to do,’ Laurie told her. ‘That was the trouble. I was just at home being decorative. It wasn’t enough—that’s why I started my business.’

  Anne looked at her searchingly. ‘No children yet, then?’ she said, and Laurie thought of the struggle they’d had, the heartache, month after month, the unspoken recriminations, the disappointment, and looked away.

  ‘No,’ she said lightly. ‘Not yet.’

  A floury, work-roughened hand covered hers. ‘They’ll come, lass,’ Anne told her gently. ‘Don’t you fret. When the time’s right, they’ll come.’

  And what if it’s never right? Laurie thought sadly. What if it never is? What if I lose him?

  ‘I expect you’re right.’ She made a performance of looking at her watch. ‘Heavens, is that the time? I must go,’ she said abruptly. ‘I’ve just remembered I’ve got to make an important call to someone before they go into a meeting. Thank you so much for the tea, though. It was lovely to meet you.’

  She drank a little more of it, forcing it down, and stood up quickly. ‘Don’t move, I’ll see myself out. Thanks again for all your help.’

  ‘Any time. You take care, now, and call if you need anything.’