The Baby Question

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Here you are, dogs. Where do you want to sleep?’

  ‘Nowhere for a while,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Too busy sniffing round everything.’

  Well, Midas was. Minstrel was like a shadow at his side, worried by the changes, her eyes sliding sideways to check on Laurie.

  ‘It’s all right, sweetheart,’ she said softly. ‘It’s OK.’

  The dogs came to her, leaning in stereo against her legs so she could stroke them.

  ‘Time for bed,’ Rob said a little later. The dogs had been out and were settling down at last, and she could hardly keep her eyes open another minute. Where he got his reserves from, she wasn’t sure.

  He picked up both bags in one hand and helped her to her feet with the other.

  ‘Come on, upstairs. You look all in.’

  He practically had to carry her. In the end he did, dropping the bags on the stairs and scooping her up into his arms.

  ‘I can walk,’ she told him, not at all sure it was true, but he carried her anyway and she was quite contented. It felt good. Right, somehow—like being carried over the threshold.

  A new beginning.

  He set her gently down on the bed and went back for the bags. ‘You go first in the bathroom,’ he said. ‘I’ll unpack your case.’

  She nodded, took her washbag and nightshirt and wandered into the familiar-yet-unfamiliar en suite bathroom. Huge, again. Everything was huge. She washed quickly and went back to the bedroom, to find Rob putting the cases out onto the landing.

  ‘Go on, into bed,’ he said firmly, and a few moments later he joined her.

  For the first time in ages, he didn’t make love to her, just folded her close against his chest and sighed contentedly. ‘It’s so good to have you home,’ he said quietly.

  She wriggled closer. ‘It’s good to be home,’ she told him. ‘It feels odd—everything seems very big after Little Gluich, but I dare say I’ll get used to it again.’

  ‘Of course you will. And if you want to change anything, you know you can.’

  ‘Not now,’ she said drowsily. ‘Now I just want to sleep…’

  She drifted off, her voice fading, and as she slipped over the edge into oblivion, she heard him murmur, ‘I love you…’

  It was wonderful to have her back. She’d been in his arms all night. He’d had cramp in his shoulder at one point, but he hadn’t had the heart to move her, and after a while it had worn off. He’d have hellish pins and needles when she shifted her head, but it was worth it just to hold her. He’d had six long weeks without her, if he counted being away in New York before she’d gone to Scotland. Six weeks, with only the odd stolen weekend together to keep him sane.

  Pins and needles seemed a small price to pay to have her back.

  She moved, rolling away from him, flinging her arm out to the side. He eased his arm from beneath her and massaged it, wincing as the blood flow returned.

  He slipped out of bed and pulled on his dressing gown. The sun was shining on the curtains, and he ran down and let the dogs out, put the kettle on and laid a tray. She’d need a cup of tea before she got up, he thought. Nice, slow start to the day—or maybe she’d have a lie-in.

  He went back up and set the tray down on the bedside table, sat on the side of the bed and kissed her.

  ‘Wake up, sleepy-head. Time for tea.’

  She moaned and snuggled into his side, and he laughed and poured the tea, then went back round to his side of the bed with one of the mugs and got in beside her. ‘Come on, Mrs Ferguson. You can manage to open your eyes.’

  She rolled towards him, opened them a crack and then shut them again. ‘Tired,’ she mumbled, and so he drank his tea, then hers, and eventually left her there while he attended to the dogs. He fed them, then put them out again for a moment, then went back up.

  She was sitting on the edge of the bed looking pasty, and he frowned.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I will be,’ she said. ‘I’m just so tired. I think it’s all the emotion. I was so scared you wouldn’t want me back.’

  ‘Silly girl.’ He sat beside her and hugged her. ‘How about a nice soak in the jacuzzi?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Want company?’

  She smiled wanly. ‘I always want your company.’

  He ran the water, then went to fetch her. ‘Come on, your majesty. Your bath awaits,’ he said with a grin, and she let him peel her out of her nightshirt and lead her to the bathroom.

  It was one of those decadent tubs with two headrests, one at each end, so you lay head to toe and faced each other. He eyed her critically as she slid under the water. She seemed thinner, her ribs more prominent, making her breasts seem fuller somehow. She hadn’t been feeding herself properly, he thought. No meat. Silly girl.

  Well, if she wouldn’t eat it, he’d have to find something else to tempt her with.

  He turned the bubbles on, and she sighed contentedly and closed her eyes. ‘That’s gorgeous,’ she said, and he smiled. She’d always liked it. Perhaps it would help to relax her.

  She seemed a little tense about the house—not sure of it any more, as if she didn’t feel at home here. That worried him, but not unduly. If it was only the house, he could deal with it. Change the colours, change the furniture, move walls—move house, if necessary. Nothing was impossible.

  So long as she was happy with him…

  She felt dreadful. Tired—so tired she could hardly drag herself around, and shaky. She’d been silly and spent too long in the jacuzzi, she thought. Too many bubbles, too much hot water.

  She ate a slice of toast, but she only had fruit juice with it. Coffee had no appeal—not clean enough on the palate. Anyway, there wasn’t really time to linger, because the dogs were looking hopeful, so Rob got her boots out of the car and they went for a walk, introducing Minstrel to the garden.

  It was a glorious day, and she felt more at home outside, strolling down the paths and over the rolling lawns with Rob at her side and the dogs rushing hither and yon in search of new and more exciting smells.

  Minstrel didn’t go in the lake, and nor, with a little persuasion, did Midas. Good. She didn’t feel up to bathing them both, and there was some gorgeous black mud near the edge on one side that he just loved to bounce around in.

  ‘I think spring’s coming,’ Rob said, pointing out the buds on the trees. ‘The willows are opening—there are catkins, look.’

  There were, little yellow fluffy catkins like miniature bottlebrushes. She’d pick some for the house later, if she felt more energetic. The journey had taken it out of her—that and the strain of not knowing how he’d react.

  ‘About your business,’ he said carefully, and she turned her head so she could see his face.

  ‘What about it?’

  He shrugged. ‘I just wondered if you wanted a proper office, or if you liked it at home, if you need to convert the rest of the attic and have some help—I want you to know you can do whatever you think best.’

  She laughed wearily. ‘I don’t know what I think best. It seems awful, but I don’t think I want to do it any more. It just doesn’t interest me now—I’ve done it. I know I can. That’s enough.’

  ‘You could always come back to me, part-time, anyway. I know you won’t want to be tied full-time because of the dogs, but if you want, I’d love to have you back. It doesn’t seem the same without you.’

  She swayed slightly and his arm tightened round her, hugging her closer to his side.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Mmm. Just tired. I felt a bit dizzy.’

  He looked down at her, his eyes concerned, and suddenly they seemed to go out of focus and blur.

  ‘Rob?’ she murmured, puzzled, and then the light seemed to close in from the edges of her vision, until even the centre went black and she felt herself begin to fall…

  He caught her, scooping her into his arms and cradling her against his chest. Heavens, she weighed nothing. He hadn’t noticed last night, but today
she seemed unbelievably light and fragile.

  ‘Midas, Minstrel, come on,’ he called, and hurried back up the lawn to the house. She was coming round, moaning softly, clinging to him.

  ‘Rob?’

  ‘Laurie? Are you OK?’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know. You fainted.’ He kicked his boots off and hooked the kitchen door shut behind him, leaving the muddy dogs in there, and took her through to the drawing room. Her own boots were wet and a little muddy, and he eased them off and then lifted her feet up onto the arm, raising them above her head.

  ‘You stay there, I’m going to call the doctor.’

  ‘I’m fine, Rob,’ she protested weakly. ‘I’m just tired. It was the hot bath—’

  ‘I’m getting the doctor,’ he repeated, scanning her pale face. She looked like death warmed up, and panic started to leak in round the edges of his self-control. She’ll be fine, he told himself. She’s just tired. She’s right, it was the hot bath.

  He didn’t believe a word of it. He was suddenly, terribly afraid that there was something awful wrong with her, something incurable that would snatch her from him just as he’d got her back.

  He dialled the surgery with trembling fingers and then waited anxiously with her until the doctor came. It wasn’t their own doctor, but a duty doctor. Please God let him know what he was doing.

  ‘Rob, I’m all right,’ Laurie said again and again. All the time they were waiting she reassured him, but it was pointless. He could see her pallor, see the deep weariness inside her. Maybe this was why she’d never conceived—some terrible disease that only manifested itself when it was too late.

  The big C?

  Oh, lord, no. Not his Laurie.

  The dogs barked, and he went to the front door just as a slim young woman emerged from her car. Well, maybe not so young, he thought, looking at her, but slender and elegant and with an air of confidence about her that made him relax a fraction.

  ‘Dr Withers?’ he said, just to check, although the big black bag should have given her away.

  She smiled and held out her hand. ‘Hi, there. You must be Mr Ferguson. Where’s the patient?’

  ‘In the drawing room, lying down. She looks awful.’

  ‘OK. Let’s go and have a look at her.’

  She followed him into the drawing room, put her bag down on the floor by the settee and perched on the edge of it next to Laurie, taking her hand.

  ‘Hi, Mrs Ferguson. I’m Maureen Withers. Your husband tells me you’ve fainted.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m just tired. It was a long day yesterday—we drove back from Scotland.’

  ‘Lucky you. I love Scotland. Been on holiday?’

  ‘No—well, I rented a cottage to get away from it all for a bit.’

  ‘Mmm-hmm. On your own?’

  ‘I’ve been up a few times to see her, in between work commitments,’ Rob chipped in.

  ‘Uh-huh. It’s been a bit rough up there, I gather. Did you see any snow?’

  Rob gave a grunt of laughter. ‘Just a bit.’

  ‘I expect it was very pretty. I love snow, but it’s always so dirty round here.’

  She was taking her pulse as they spoke, but she didn’t seem to find anything untoward, because she stopped doing it without even consulting her watch. She rummaged in her bag and came out with a pen light, and shone it in Laurie’s eyes in turn.

  ‘Well, they’re fine. Banged your head at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Had breakfast?’

  ‘A slice of toast.’

  Rob snorted. ‘She ate half of it and gave the rest to the dogs.’

  Maureen Withers smiled. ‘OK. How about periods? Are they regular?’

  Laurie’s mouth pulled into a slight grimace. ‘As clockwork. We’ve been trying for ages to have a baby.’

  ‘And when was your last period?’

  Her eyes fell. ‘I don’t know the exact date—it was before I went to Scotland. Just before—it started on the Tuesday, and I went up on Thursday. It’s why I went—I couldn’t go through it all again.’

  ‘And that was how long ago?’

  ‘Five weeks,’ Rob said, his voice sounding strange to his ears. ‘All bar a couple of days. The lease on the cottage ran from the seventh of February. It’s the tenth of March today.’

  ‘So that’s the fifth of Feb we’re talking about—four weeks and five days?’ Maureen said thoughtfully. ‘OK. Any other symptoms apart from tiredness? Any breast tenderness or swelling? Peeing more often? Nausea? Off tea or coffee? Reacting to smells?’

  Laurie swallowed. ‘Well—a bit, perhaps.’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘Most of them, when I think about it,’ she said slowly.

  The doctor straightened up and smiled. ‘Well, I think that’s your answer. We’ll do a test just to be on the safe side, but I don’t think there’s any doubt in my mind.’

  Rob was stunned. ‘You mean—?’

  ‘I think your wife’s probably perfectly well, Mr Ferguson. I think you’re going to have a baby. Let’s just check.’

  The next few minutes were agonising. Please, let it be, he thought. Please, because if it’s a baby, it means it’s nothing else, and I couldn’t bear to lose her.

  ‘Well, I think that’s pretty conclusive,’ Maureen Withers said, coming out of the cloakroom with a smile. ‘Congratulations. You’re going to have a baby—round about the twelfth of November, I reckon. I’ll let your GP know. You’ll need to go along for antenatal checks periodically, but just rest, eat plenty and time will cure your symptoms.’

  Her smile swam out of focus. Rob closed his eyes and swallowed hard. When he opened them again Laurie was crying and laughing all at once, holding out her arms to him. He went into them, hugging her hard against his chest, fighting the urge to cry with her. She was all right. She was going to be all right. He wasn’t going to lose her.

  They heard the soft click of the door and looked up to find the doctor had gone.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked him, and he laughed a little shakily.

  ‘I should be asking you that.’

  She smiled, a deeply contented smile that he’d seen before on pregnant women but had feared he’d never see on Laurie.

  ‘Oh, I’m fine. Never better. And at least we know now what’s wrong with the house.’

  ‘The house?’

  ‘Mmm. I want to change things—I thought it was because I didn’t like it any more, but it isn’t. I’m just nesting.’ She grinned at him. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be too tired to trash the place very much.’

  Her grin changed, becoming more cheeky. ‘I don’t suppose you want to buy a company, do you? It’s a very good one—they design websites. Only the designer’s going to be taking maternity leave, apparently.’

  ‘I wonder which company that could be,’ he said drily, and smiled. It was hard not to. He had a lot to smile about. He tucked her under his arm, led her into the kitchen and sat her down. ‘First things first. Just as soon as you’re feeling well enough, we’re going out to buy you a comfy old sofa.’

  She sighed contentedly. ‘Sounds good to me.’

  The dogs looked from one to the other of them and whined, then went back to their beds and flopped down with a sigh.

  ‘Happy?’ he asked her, a little cautious, because she had said she wasn’t sure she wanted a baby not so very long ago.

  ‘Ecstatic,’ she said softly. ‘How about you?’

  ‘So long as you are.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Then I’m happy,’ he said, knowing it was true. ‘I’m more than happy. I’m the luckiest man alive.’

  She laughed. ‘Just remember that when the baby’s keeping you up all night,’ she said, but he just smiled and hugged her again.

  EPILOGUE

  HE LAY in bed, listening in contentment to the soft sounds of the baby suckling at Laurie’s breast.

  She was quiet at last—she’d had colic a little while ago, her ti
ny legs drawn up while she screamed, and he’d walked her up and down for an hour before she’d settled—and by then, of course, she’d been starving hungry.

  There was nothing he could do about that, so he’d handed her back to mum for a while and lay and watched them in the half-darkness. The baby’s eyes were shut, her rosebud lips fastened greedily to Laurie’s nipple, and Laurie was watching her as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

  Finally the rhythmic sucking ceased, and Laurie turned her head and smiled at him.

  ‘I don’t suppose the luckiest man alive wants to do a nappy, does he?’

  Rob chuckled. ‘I expect he can manage it.’

  He rolled over and swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching gloriously before going round to take the baby from her mother.

  ‘Hello again, my precious,’ he said softly. ‘Mummy tells me you need a new nappy. Can this be true? Again?’

  She burped on his bare shoulder, and he closed his eyes with a chuckle and wiped up the little mouthful of warm milk with a tissue Laurie handed him.

  ‘Still lucky?’

  ‘Still lucky,’ he said firmly, and went into the little nursery they’d made out of their dressing room. It only took moments to change the nappy, then he tucked her back into her cot on her side, covered her lightly with the blanket and stood looking down at her.

  Their little miracle, he thought, although she probably wasn’t a miracle. When he really considered it, it was no wonder Laurie hadn’t conceived. They’d been so busy, he’d been away so much, the opportunities had hardly been there. That had changed. In the past year he’d hardly been away at all, and they were both much happier for it.

  Laurie had attacked the house with enthusiasm, bringing warmth and light and colour into it, and the kitchen was now the hub of the house. He loved it, and so did she, and the dogs were more than happy to have their company.

  He turned down the light, blew the baby a kiss and went back to Laurie.

  ‘OK?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Fine. How about you?’

  ‘The luckiest woman alive,’ she said, snuggling contentedly up to his side.