The Innocent's Shock Pregnancy

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘No.’

  ‘Because I want him to...’

  ‘Dad.’ Dad. Not Jobe. He looked straight at his father. ‘I’m not here to speak about work.’

  He didn’t know how to say any more than that. How to fill the silence that followed. Because work was really all he had.

  It was Merida who filled it. ‘Did my obstetrician ever come and see you?’ she checked, because Jobe had made no mention of it, and though the doctor had assured her that he had, she wondered if Jobe had perhaps been medicated at the time and forgotten.

  ‘He did.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I told him there was no need to tell me what you’re having because I intend on sticking around to find out.’

  Ethan wasn’t so sure. ‘I’m coming in to see you again tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve got the first-of-the-month board meeting, and...’

  Ethan held back the hiss in his teeth and wished his father goodnight.

  The theatre was packed but, rather than a box, they went straight to the house seats four rows from the front.

  It was so close that Merida felt as if she could very possibly reach out and touch the stage.

  ‘How does it feel to be back?’ Ethan asked.

  ‘Fine.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing it.’

  But she wasn’t. Merida was dreading it, in fact.

  It was no longer her picture in the programme. And there was a full cast tonight—no announcements, it was all as it said on the programme.

  Merida sat there as the lights dimmed and the curtain lifted and watched the birds flutter home to roost and the night descend on the beautiful forest.

  As it had on her career.

  She glanced over to Ethan and saw he was lost to the show, utterly oblivious to the agony in her.

  He wasn’t.

  Ethan felt her scramble for a tissue but he made no move. For, just as he needed to face things with his father—and he would tomorrow—Merida needed to do this.

  The production was beautiful, stunning, breathtaking. And she had every right to mourn her absence on this stage. Yet not once had she thrown it back at him, Ethan thought.

  Ethan’s hand closed over hers, and for a moment Merida clung to his strength and this rare warmth outside of the bedroom.

  Ah, but that was right—they were on show now, Merida thought, and pulled her hand away.

  But then he pressed a handkerchief into her hand, just as Jobe had done on their wedding day, and he took her hand and held it. As if he would never let it go.

  When Belladonna came out and sang her solo, Merida rested her head on his shoulder.

  ‘You’ll be back,’ he told her quietly.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I know so.’

  Ethan did know so—for after the production they would speak. Tomorrow he would speak with his father, but tonight was just for them.

  It had to be, for her friend would arrive in the morning and in a couple of weeks the baby would be here.

  And so, thinking he was being cruel to be kind, he had brought her here, to reduce her to tears, so he could pick her up and hopefully they could start over again.

  But now she was pulling away.

  Merida felt a tightening in her stomach and shifted in her seat. She was more than used to them, but unlike the others this seemed to move round to her back.

  And then, just as the lights came up for the interval, Merida felt another one.

  ‘You miss it, don’t you?’ Ethan said, but his voice seemed to be coming from a million miles away.

  ‘Merida?’ Ethan said. ‘I know that you must miss it, but—’

  ‘My private thoughts are not a part of our contract,’ Merida hissed, and her words were far harsher than she had intended, though she did not really know why. ‘Even you, with all your millions, can’t afford to know how I feel.’

  ‘I don’t get what you’re saying.’

  ‘You can’t have it all, Ethan. You can’t have every part of me. Because I need something to be left when our time is over...’

  She couldn’t do this here. They were out in public and starting to row. The façade was slipping, the mask falling down, and she sat there on a red velvet seat and scrambled to find the Merida she had created. The tough persona, the perfect wife...

  She felt adrift on turbulent waters, with nothing to cling to.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Merida said suddenly, and she looked at his black eyes, narrowed in concern.

  But her back was really hurting, and she couldn’t stand to sit through the second half. She just wanted to be alone.

  Merida just wanted to be away from here.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said.

  She wasn’t going to the restroom, although naturally that was what Ethan assumed. Instead she walked past the chattering, laughing people and then squeezed through the thick throng of patrons who were all heading back in as she made her way outside.

  It was as light as if it was daytime, and she stood there for a moment, unsure as to how she even felt, let alone what she should do.

  ‘Merida...’

  She turned to the sound of his voice.

  ‘Just go back in,’ she sobbed, and now she was really starting to cry.

  ‘Merida,’ He was as calm and as unruffled as only he could be. ‘Are you in labour?’

  ‘I can’t be!’ she cried. ‘I don’t want the baby to come now.’

  ‘I don’t think you get to decide,’ Ethan said calmly. ‘Why not now?’

  ‘Because we’re not ready.’

  He could have been facetious and said they had a nanny arriving tomorrow, a driver waiting and the renovations were almost done, but there were times when he had to be serious.

  ‘We will be,’ Ethan said, and he took her in his arms and steadied her. ‘I promise you that.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  IT WAS THE strangest feeling to have a father in one part of the hospital, close to the end of his life. And a future life in another.

  ‘We’re not ready,’ Merida kept saying.

  ‘Well, according to your obstetrician, we’ve got ages,’ Ethan said, but it probably wasn’t the time to be making jokes about the fact that she was only three centimetres dilated.

  It was suggested that Merida try and have a sleep before the hard work of pushing began.

  ‘Merida,’ Ethan said. ‘We are ready. I’ve been doing an awful lot of thinking and—’

  ‘I can’t do this now,’ Merida said.

  She knew she was close to the edge, and that any minute now she would break down and confess just how much she loved him. Worse. Confess that he was, despite all things written and said, a nice man.

  Merida wouldn’t love him so much otherwise.

  She didn’t doubt that seeing his wife, in labour, pleading for love and for this marriage to survive, would manipulate him into agreeing.

  He might even mean it for a while.

  But he did not love her the way she loved him, with this all-consuming, burning love, and she did not want to be placated with crumbs.

  ‘Go,’ Merida said. ‘Let me get some sleep.’

  ‘I’m not going home.’

  ‘Then go and spend some time with your father.’

  ‘It’s midnight.’

  ‘I doubt he cares about the time when it might be his last night on earth.’ And then she begged him. ‘Go.’

  And he had no choice but to leave. ‘I’ll be back at six—unless there are any changes.’

  Ethan spoke to the nurse and checked she had his direct number, but then, instead of going to see his father, he headed over to the freezing park.

  He had had so many plans for tonight.

  But Merida was right. They weren’t ready for t
he baby yet.

  He looked up at the cold grey sky and the endless fall of snow and knew that time was close to running out for his father.

  It was the middle of the night, and no doubt he was doped up to the eyeballs, sleeping. But what Merida had said about it possibly being Jobe’s last night on earth made him brave enough to try.

  He sent a text.

  Hey, Merida has been admitted. Nothing expected till tomorrow.

  Good news! How she?

  He’d missed out the ‘is’, but the fact that he could be so doped up and still text had Ethan in awe.

  Asleep. Do you want some company?

  Ethan hit ‘send’ and held his breath as he awaited the reply.

  Sounds good.

  Ethan entered his father’s suite. There was no mistaking it was a hospital room now, but Jobe was sitting up in bed.

  ‘How is she?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s very early days, apparently. She’s asleep—they told her to rest.’ He took a seat by his father’s bed.

  ‘Her friend gets here tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘Naomi.’ Ethan nodded. ‘I’ll send a driver to the airport. I’d better be here for the main show!’

  Jobe gave a small laugh.

  ‘Were you there when we were born?’

  ‘I was.’ Jobe nodded. ‘But not so much after.’ He turned and looked at his youngest son. ‘I regret that.’

  ‘You love work...’ Ethan said.

  ‘Oh, I do love work—it’s not the time spent there I regret.’

  ‘You can’t have both,’ Ethan quipped, and then he stopped trying to halt his father. ‘What do you regret?’

  Jobe said nothing.

  So finally Ethan did.

  ‘I know that things must have been difficult with Mom.’ He looked at his father’s fading dark eyes and wished he could be here for longer. ‘I don’t blame you for what happened with you and Meghan...’ He swallowed back tears. ‘I did when I was younger, because I missed Meghan, and I blew it up in my head that it was all your fault, but I...’

  ‘There was no affair.’

  The world seemed to stop spinning and then Jobe spoke on.

  ‘Meghan came and told me that she couldn’t stand back any longer—that she had no choice but to leave.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of how your mother treated you boys.’

  The world had still ceased spinning.

  ‘She left you on the sofa once—face-down. She left Abe alone in the bath... Meghan simply couldn’t do it any more.’

  He stared at his father and remembered being hauled out of the car and into the shower, and he knew then that he had almost died.

  ‘So why did you let the world think there was an affair?’

  ‘That was your mother’s doing at first. But then came the accident, and it was easier to let you think she was perfect.’

  ‘She wasn’t, though.’

  ‘No.’

  To Elizabeth Devereux her babies had been mere toys. Decoys. Dragged out to smile for the cameras and then ignored the moment they weren’t around.

  But, like all true narcissists, she had loved her place in the sun and any threat to it had been quickly eliminated.

  Like Meghan.

  She had let the world think the nanny a cheat. And when Jobe had wanted a divorce, and threatened to expose the truth about they way she treated his children, she had simply run towards the sun with no thought of the chaos she’d left behind her.

  Ethan had lost two mothers in one month—the mother who’d given birth to him but also, worse, the woman who had truly cared for him.

  ‘I said to Merida that I would go to my grave not telling you...’

  ‘Merida already knows?’

  ‘Of course she does.’

  ‘So why hasn’t she said anything?’

  ‘The same reason as me,’ Jobe said. ‘You don’t want to hurt those you love. And I do love you, son.’

  ‘I love you too.’

  ‘Now, go and be with your wife.’

  He wanted to be with Merida, but he wanted to be here too, and Jobe must have seen indecision dart in his eyes.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere yet,’ he said.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I want to know what you have.’

  ‘A grandchild,’ Ethan said. ‘And you’ll be a grandfather. Do you know what we’re having?’

  ‘No.’ Jobe shook his head.

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘I don’t.’ He nodded, as if gesturing to something. ‘Open that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The drawer.’

  Ethan did so, and there was an envelope.

  ‘I had Merida’s OB write it down, just in case...’

  Ethan wiped away tears and smiled. The world had gone back to spinning, and yet it felt different now. Precious and valuable, and vital and time-poor—as the world was when you were in love.

  ‘It’s not a sham, Dad. I want you to know that. I love her...’

  ‘I know you do. I knew the night I saw her.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘You took her to the bridge. You were looking out for her even in the contract...’ He gave his son a smile. ‘Lots of things. But really the fact that you married her, Ethan.’

  ‘I’m going to be there for Merida and the baby,’ Ethan told him.

  ‘And Abe,’ Jobe said. ‘I worry about him.’

  ‘Abe’s fine.’

  ‘No.’ Jobe shook his head. ‘I shan’t live to see him sorted, I know that, but tell me you’ll look out for him?’

  ‘I doubt he’ll appreciate it,’ Ethan said, but then he was serious. ‘Always.’

  ‘Does Merida know that you love her yet?’

  ‘Once the baby is here...’

  ‘No,’ Jobe said. ‘Tell her now.’

  ‘She needs to sleep.’

  ‘Why would anyone want to sleep lonely when they could be finding out they’re loved? I’m damned glad you woke me. Now, go.’ He waved him away. ‘I need my sleep. I’ve got my grandchild to meet.’

  * * *

  Merida stirred as Ethan came in.

  Ethan had been crying.

  The artist had had little colour in his palette when he’d created this masterpiece, but apart from the deep red of his lips this morning crimson rimmed his eyes. And she rather knew that it was private and that he might not want her to see.

  ‘How’s your father?’ Merida asked, filled with dread, because she did not want her baby born on the day Jobe died.

  More than that, she did not want Jobe to die!

  ‘Hanging in there,’ Ethan said. ‘He sends his best wishes.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘What’s happening?’ He looked at all the machines, rather than look at her, because he was trying to summon up the courage for the rather important thing he had to say.

  ‘I’m being examined at six.’

  Ethan nodded and then put his hand into the deep pocket of his coat. ‘Here.’

  He dropped a black pouch on the bed and she stared at it for a time.

  ‘I was going to give you this...’ He was about to say when the baby was here, or perhaps lie and say he had been going to give her this last night, but the truth was he didn’t know when the time was right to admit to love. ‘I’ve been carrying it around for some time.’

  She opened the pouch and into her palm slid a huge red-gold egg.

  ‘I had Khalid source it.’

  Merida swallowed.

  ‘It took a while—amber is rare in Al-Zahan.’

  It was magnificent. There were wide streaks of gold and a dragonfly, deep within.

  ‘It’s the colour of your hair,’ Ethan said. ‘One of my favourite things.�
�

  Their amulet.

  ‘I knew we didn’t need help with the fertility part, but...’ And then he hesitated, because maybe they didn’t need help with the other thing either. ‘I know that I love you.’

  ‘Please don’t just say that.’

  ‘I’m not.’ Ethan shook his head. ‘In fact, I didn’t want to love you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because then you’d leave.’ He finally admitted the truth. The gnawing of fear he’d grown up with. ‘But I’ve loved you for a very long time.’

  ‘When?’ Merida asked. ‘When did you know that you did?’

  ‘The morning I first left you in the coffee shop.’

  She looked at him. There was anger sweeping over her, for all the pain they’d been through, and yet it was doused by the utter relief that truth brought.

  ‘And I knew again on that opening night, when the curtains parted on the stage and you weren’t there.’

  ‘So why couldn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It was easier to pretend to myself you were a gold-digger. And you did a pretty convincing act for a while.’ He met her eyes. ‘I’m putting you back to work as soon as the baby’s old enough, Ms Merida Cartwright! You’re an actress indeed.’

  ‘Do you blame me for pretending to hate you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You spoke over and over about when we were through.’

  ‘Because I believed that we would be.’

  He’d simply believed that one day he’d wake up and she’d be gone. Like his mother. Like Meghan.

  ‘I’m like my father,’ Ethan said. ‘And it used to terrify me, but now I could not be prouder of him. I know why he broke up with Chantelle—because I’m the same. I didn’t want to give you the hard times that I knew were about to come.’

  ‘But I want to be here,’ Merida said. ‘I want to be with your dad. I want all of you, Ethan.’

  The whole thing. The good and the bad and the precious bits in between, when the world just bumped along with love at their side.

  * * *

  She held on to their amulet as she was examined and told that it was time to push. She was ready—more than ready—for their baby to be here.

  It was intense work, but Ethan brought energy to her, and although she could have done it alone, Merida didn’t have to.