by Sara Wood
‘I won’t contest it,’ he croaked. And walked out. Unsteadily, but he managed it.
So he’d admitted it at last, she thought miserably. After all his protestations of innocence, his expressions of injured pride, he’d finally realised that he couldn’t deny his infidelity any longer.
Her heart felt as if it had been emptied of all emotion. Dan had lied and lied to her—perhaps he’d done so for a long time.
Had Dan latched on to her all those years ago purely for security? She knew how awful his upbringing had been. Perhaps he’d needed a comfort blanket. And also was physically in need of someone he could eventually possess as his convenient bed-partner. It had been sheer sexual need all the time. That and the safety of someone he knew.
All this time she’d imagined that he loved her deep down, and that he’d come back to her because they were meant for one another. It had all been in her head. She’d been the one in love, not Dan. She’d adored the ground he walked on, but he…he’d used her to fill a more basic need.
Someone he could trust. Someone he could have sex with.
Dan hadn’t ever wanted her as his wife and partner, someone to love. But he had needed to satisfy his lust. And he had needed a haven for his wounded soul.
She…she’d been someone safe and unthreatening. Good old Helen, fine for a roll in the hay but not good enough to love!
Well, rot him! She’d live very well without him! He wasn’t worth worrying about! He’d soon see that she didn’t need him, that she could function perfectly well on her own, with the twins.
They’d see him, but on her terms. Not with Celine, for instance. At the solicitors in the morning, she’d make darn sure of that.
Crawling out of bed late, she discovered that he’d left a note saying he’d be out till four p.m. and that she was to ring him if necessary. The note wasn’t even signed and the pencil strokes were hard and fierce, the writing erratic as if anger and hatred had driven every word.
She snorted. She’d only ring if the house was burning down around her and a horde of escaped murderers brandishing cutlasses were banging on the door.
And from then on, she made a point of keeping out of his way—while he seemed to be doing exactly the same thing. They were completely estranged, communicating only by phone or by note.
She felt bitter and badly used. And very unhappy that there was nothing that would bring back the man she’d thought she’d married.
CHAPTER TEN
ON THE morning of November the fifth, the rain eased at last. Helen went for a walk, though she felt a little woozy and soon made her way back, deciding to save her energy for the fun of the evening. Dan surprised her by calling in on his return, to say that he’d have the car outside at five-fifteen—apparently he was still intending to go to the Bonfire Night Parade. Amazing.
Conversation during the drive to Lewes was desultory. Neither of them referred to what had happened when they’d last been together and had made love. Helen could hardly believe it herself.
She heaved in a shuddering breath, remembering. He had spent hours just kissing and touching her. She’d never known that there was such an intensity of latent pleasure in her body. There had been something sweetly and painfully poignant about the way they’d explored one another…as if they’d never really known what their bodies were like.
And now every pore of him was emblazoned in her mind. The difference in muscle tones, the thinness of skin over bone, the tension that ripped through him when her teeth grazed gently at his flesh.
It would have been wonderful if only he had loved her, too, instead of seeing her as a convenience. What an idiot she’d been. Dan would never have stayed with her if he hadn’t been so wary of rejection from other women.
He’d kept up the relationship merely because the alternative was too unnerving for him. He got good sex—or he had done, until they’d both started working so hard—and he was relieved that he had a wife he felt comfortable with.
Huh. Helen glared. It wasn’t the basis for a good marriage. No wonder he’d strayed when Celine had joggled her bosom at him.
‘Here we are. You jump out, I’ll watch you in then go and park the car.’
‘Right,’ she said crossly, annoyed by his curtness.
This temporary ‘togetherness’ was a sham. She hated it. But they had to go through with it this evening. Already the divorce was under way. She winced.
‘Hurry up,’ he said irritably. ‘I’m holding up the traffic.’
‘I’m hugely pregnant, they’ll have to wait!’ She paused. ‘Dan…you’ll be nice for Kirsty and Tom, won’t you?’ she asked warily.
His profile hardened. ‘I won’t let you down.’
Relieved, she hurried to the flat door and rang the bell. Tom answered, apologised for the stairs she’d have to climb and guided her up to the first floor where she was hugged by Kirsty.
The living room was tiny but decorated with flair and imagination. There were photos of Kirsty and her husband Tom everywhere, and of her parents, brothers, sisters, his brothers and sisters and parents…not a surface seemed to be without a collection of lovingly arranged frames and smiling faces. Kirsty showed Helen around with pride and they chatted for a while before the doorbell rang and Dan was let in.
‘It’s very homely,’ he said quietly, after Kirsty had invited him to sit in one of the threadbare armchairs.
Kirsty made a face. ‘You mean it’s tatty,’ she teased.
‘No. I mean homely. Somewhere you’d want to come back to.’
‘Flatterer,’ said Kirsty, but she beamed with pleasure. ‘All done on a shoestring, I can assure you.’
Dan’s eyes were thoughtful. ‘What does Tom do?’
‘He’s a milkman.’ Kirsty’s face was soft and loving as she fondled a photo of Tom. ‘It’s lovely. He gets up when I’m fast asleep, works a full day and yet still comes home mid-afternoon.’
Helen gulped. She wanted that kind of affection very badly. For some reason, being here only made her situation harder to bear.
‘We’ve brought you a present. For the baby.’ Gruff and diffident, Dan pulled a small and beautifully wrapped packet from his pocket. Helen’s eyes widened. She didn’t know anything about this. How thoughtful. She met Dan’s eyes and her face softened in gratitude. ‘Just a token to say thanks for giving us a grandstand seat,’ he said.
‘Thank you! I wasn’t expecting…’ Kirsty’s voice trailed away as the wrapping paper fell away to reveal a cute white and navy spotted outfit. ‘It’s gorgeous!’ she cried, bending to kiss Helen and then Dan. ‘From Tot’s!’ she gasped, reading the label.
‘I hope you haven’t got one like it already,’ ventured Dan, warily.
‘Are you joking? Me, buy stuff from Tot’s? Junior will be in hand-me-downs or second-hand stuff. He won’t know what he’s wearing, after all. He’s sleeping in a drawer till he’s big enough for my sister’s cot. And she’s handing over her buggy any day now. We decided to co-ordinate our kids and take turns with equipment, you see!’
Dan chuckled, warmth suddenly relaxing his tense face.
‘Your baby is very lucky to have you and Tom as its parents,’ he said easily.
Kirsty batted her eyelashes at him. ‘A charmer as well as a hunk!’ she declared and whispered loudly, pseudo sotto voce, ‘I will seriously have to consider you for the father of my next child!’
They all laughed, the ice broken, though Helen’s laugh was hollow and forced. It pained her to think of the children he would father by another woman one day. Because whether he was wary of being hurt or not, he’d be snapped up pretty darn quick.
Upset, she fell silent, explaining away her reticence by saying she was feeling tired—which was true.
To be polite, Dan asked about Kirsty’s extended family and she happily explained the huge ramifications of her family tree while they munched on sandwiches and watched the crowds building up outside in the High Street.
Despite her preoccupation with he
r loverless future, Helen found herself enthralled when the procession started. Kirsty tried to point out Tom but the blazing torches were so bright that it was hard to identify him. Dan was nowhere to be seen. He’d stayed around for a while, behaving like an attentive husband should, and had then gone walkabout in the crowd.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Her back was aching a lot now. And the pain had moved around to the front. She began to feel worried. By ten o’clock the ache was stronger, and hitting her in more and more frequent waves. She was relieved when Dan returned and they could say their goodbyes.
‘Hold my arm,’ she said, a catch in her breath as they walked to where he’d parked the car.
‘You look very pale. Rather drawn. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?’ he asked, his eyes narrowed.
‘Yes. It is. I have a pain,’ she answered as calmly as she could.
He frowned warily, his gaze now piercing. ‘What sort of a pain?’ he demanded.
‘I think,’ she said, suddenly frightened, ‘that it’s the kind of pain that ought to be investigated.’
Dan swore under his breath, hooked an arm around her and guided her to the car.
‘It’ll be quicker if I drive to the hospital, rather than call an ambulance,’ he said tersely, feeding her into the passenger seat with great care. He raced around to the driver’s side and flung the car into gear. His hand briefly enclosed hers, big, warm and security itself. ‘Don’t be afraid. I’ll look after you. Now you ring the hospital and get them on stand-by. I’ve already programmed the number in, in case of any problem. It’s on the menu. Can you manage that?’
‘Yes.’
Surprised and oddly comforted that he’d thought so far ahead, she found the number and dialled. He was already forging a way around the back streets and heading out of the town for Brighton.
‘Well done,’ he said abruptly, when she’d made the call. ‘Tell me what the pain is like. And how you feel. No being brave, now. The truth.’
‘I thought it was just a backache. A kind of dull ache. It wasn’t painful but just sort of there, all the time. And then it started to come and go and it got worse this evening and now it’s here,’ she said, holding her tummy. ‘And it comes more strongly than before, then goes again. I’m frightened, Dan. I don’t want to lose the babies!’
His big hand grasped hers tightly and then let go. ‘You won’t. We’ll get you seen to. It’ll be a false alarm.’ He threw her a shaky grin, which she knew was false because it wavered. ‘Indigestion. Kirsty’s tuna sandwiches, perhaps.’
‘Yes. Course,’ she agreed.
But she knew it was more serious. And she felt more scared than she’d ever been in her whole life.
‘If it’s a urinary infection as they say,’ argued Dan more than an hour later, ‘they’ll get it under control easily. You know the babies are OK, we saw that on the ultrasound—’
‘But they said the infection could start off labour!’
Alone now with Dan in the dimly lit room, Helen felt cold and utterly terrified. She could see that Dan’s face was pale and he looked as harrowed as she felt. He was doing his best to cheer her up but she knew how strong the contractions were and the painkillers and antibiotics weren’t helping.
‘If that happens, then you’re in the best place,’ he reasoned.
She wanted a cuddle, not wisdom. But he sat rigidly a few feet away as if they were commuters on the train to London.
‘I’m twenty-eight weeks, Dan!’ she moaned. ‘I’m supposed to go to forty! And now they’ve pumped steroids into me to help if the babies come prematurely and I’m full of horrible drugs which I never, ever wanted, and I feel sick.’
‘What can I do to help? Tell me. Anything.’
‘Get the babies on your mobile. Say I’m not ready,’ she muttered, bringing a faint smile to his anxious face. ‘I’m sorry to whine, Dan. It’s just that this isn’t how I imagined it.’
‘Life never is,’ he said quietly, his eyes remote.
No. She’d learnt that in the past few months. ‘Help me off this wretched bed, will you, please? I need the loo.’
Dan left her to the ministrations of the midwife. It gave him a moment to gather himself together. He was confused by his feelings—unsure whether he was afraid for Helen’s sake, or for the safety of his children. His mind seemed to be having difficulty touching base. Terror had taken over. This wasn’t a time for deep thinking.
He looked up as Helen and the midwife returned a lot faster than they’d left, Helen’s expression one of sheer panic.
‘Oh, Dan! The babies might be coming!’ she cried shakily.
And he took her awkwardly in his arms. ‘If they do, they’ll be fine. Tough stock. Great parents,’ he murmured in her ear. And all the time his heart was screaming in despair. It was too early. How could they survive? And Helen… ‘Don’t worry,’ he forced out somehow, in a reasonably calm voice. ‘They’ve got everything in hand.’
People arrived from everywhere. Helen was examined, phone calls were made. Dan watched the activity with growing alarm.
‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded. ‘Why aren’t you moving her to the labour ward now?’
‘We can’t. We need two incubators in case, in case, I emphasise, the babies are born,’ the midwife said, her measured tones belying her harassed expression. ‘We’re just organising them.’
‘Upstairs?’ Dan said, suddenly reading more into the midwife’s words than he liked.
‘No. We don’t have any spare,’ she admitted.
Helen gasped. ‘My babies!’ she whimpered, holding her abdomen defensively.
‘It’s all right,’ the midwife said calmly. ‘We’re phoning round.’
‘Who? Where?’ Dan shot, ready to knock heads together if necessary.
‘The registrar’s sorting it now. There’s a national computer that shows available beds and incubators and we’ll know in two ticks. Now.’ The midwife turned to the terrified Helen. ‘Let’s put you on a drip and we’ll be all ready.’
‘For where?’ growled Dan, eyebrows glowering.
The midwife didn’t seem phased. Presumably this was a common occurrence. ‘Could be Scotland, Birmingham, or possibly Plymouth or the Isle of Wight.’
Helen’s mouth fell open. ‘What?!’ she shrieked.
‘No panic, I assure you. There’ll be plenty of time for you to get to your designated hospital,’ the midwife soothed.
‘But…all those places are miles away! We’d have to stay overnight!’ she cried, aghast. ‘Dan! You don’t even have a change of shirt—’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said gently, amused by her concern for him at a time like this. ‘It’s not important.’
And Helen stared at him in amazement. ‘Not…important?’
‘No. I know what is important now. And it’s certainly not a clean shirt.’
He smiled at her, his fingers briefly caressing her upturned face, and she persuaded her lips to wiggle a little in a pathetic attempt to smile back.
The midwife sat next to her and took her hand. Dan saw that it trembled and his heart went out to her.
‘Helen, if the babies are born prematurely, then they’ll be in hospital for quite a while. You and your husband will be able to stay—there are bedrooms put aside for such eventualities. Not Ritz standards, but adequate. Or does your husband have work commitments he can’t get out of—?’
‘No, I don’t,’ Dan said quickly, stroking Helen’s hair. She leaned into him and he felt her relax a little against his thumping heart. He’d stay a year if necessary. ‘I can put my work on hold for as long as it takes, wherever you send us.’
He didn’t care. His precious business could go hang if it meant that Helen and his babies were all right.
‘Good.’ The midwife smiled. ‘You’ll be a great comfort to your wife. Now, the babies might not be born now at all, of course, but if they are, then they’ll remain in the hospital till they’re fit enough to be transferred to a hospital
nearer to you. OK?’
‘How long might it be before they come back to Sussex?’ Helen asked tremulously.
‘I can’t say. It depends on their birth weight and how they progress. But it could be three months before they’re home with you.’
‘Three months!’ she gasped in horror.
Dan felt his stomach flip over. This was a nightmare.
‘Now,’ the midwife said breezily, ‘remember this is only if they are born. You might be sent home intact after a little while, with instructions to take it easy and come back in January.’
Dan choked back a groan and began to pace up and down, trying furiously to hide his fears. With every fibre of his being he hoped this was a false alarm. It was unbelievable that Helen could give birth safely, so early. The twins would have been small under normal circumstances, but now…
He felt tears filling his eyes and brutally held them back. Helen needed him. She must be going through all kinds of hell.
Appalled at the situation, he took her hand and managed to smile at her petrified face.
‘One thing I insist on,’ he said solemnly, somehow summoning up a twinkle in his eye. ‘On no account is any child of mine to be called Guy just because it’s Bonfire Night. Or Catherine Wheel. OK?’
‘OK.’ She produced a weak smile and squeezed his hand so hard that it hurt. ‘Scotland would be a nice place to be born,’ she said shakily. ‘Lovely scenery.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, going along with her attempt at levity. ‘Personally, I’m torn. The idea of the Isle of Wight appeals—though Birmingham’s good for shopping—’
Her mouth wobbled and he saw with dismay that she was close to tears. ‘Oh, Dan! Why can’t we stay here? Scotland’s so f-far away—’
‘Portsmouth!’ announced the registrar, poking her head around the door. ‘Now.’
A trolley. Being wheeled through Accident and Emergency at a smart lick to a waiting ambulance. A gale whipping Dan’s hair everywhere, blowing so hard that it seemed to be trying to stop him from climbing in after the trolley-stretcher. Torrential rain, making driving conditions treacherous.
