Although now as you can see I am having my own child.
Crazy huh?
I never thought it would happen like this. I always thought that when I had children I would be married and that we would have our own house, (preferably on the beach). I pictured myself with a handsome, wonderful man who…..
Oh who am I kidding? I pictured myself with Walt.
Always have.
A part of me hoped he would wait for me, and I figured that somehow I could make it up to him and we could put what happened behind us and pick up where we left off.
But he doesn’t want to know me. Seems to hate me in fact.
It’s the most horrible I’ve felt since you died.
But I can’t let myself wallow, after all, I’m a grown up now. For if having a baby doesn’t make you a grown up then I don’t know what does.
But before I stop writing this and depressing both myself and you, allow me one more complaint – I miss you more than ever. I can’t believe that you won’t be here to be a part of this baby’s life. You should be here to help me with this. I’m terrified, especially of giving birth alone without you here to support me. And I have no idea what to do with a newborn! I know I’ll learn but still, it’s not fair that this baby has been deprived of a beloved aunt and grandmother.
Love you both so much,
Ivy x
Chapter twenty five
A few weeks after her return Ivy got bored with wandering around the house. She had a month and a half to go on her pregnancy and she felt caged in, something she wasn’t used to, but she was afraid to leave the house in case she ran into Walt. She needed to figure out what she could say to him that would make up for what she had done, but not now. After the baby was born, she told herself. When things were a little less crazy, although deep inside she knew that once the baby came things would most likely get more hectic rather than less.
Coward, she told herself. Still.
Together with her grandfather she had found herself a nice, local midwife. A scan had been done and the baby was happy and growing as it should be. Her grandfather had cried when he saw the grainy black and white image on the screen.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen” he wept.
Together they held hands and thought of Pat and June and how much they would have loved this.
Leo wanted her to sit and relax but when she tried her thoughts inevitably went to Walt, and she couldn’t stand the feelings that conjured up so determined to keep herself, and her thoughts, busy instead. She gave the house a good scrub as her grandfather, bless him, hadn’t been a stickler for house cleaning over the years, merely doing the basics like running a vacuum cleaner and mop over the floors every now and then when they felt sticky underfoot.
She cleaned the house literally from top to bottom; the walls, skirting boards, windows, cupboards – the whole lot. It took her two days until she was finally satisfied with the result and when she was finished the house gleamed and sparkled and smelt like a happy mixture of pine and citrus. Her grandfather was worried about her exerting herself but she took it easy, besides, as she told him, ‘nesting is a perfectly normal side effect of being pregnant’. His eyes glazed over and he recalled how when her grandmother had been pregnant with Pat she went through a phase where he was barely allowed to eat indoors in case he dropped crumbs that the baby might pick up off the floor and choke on.
With the house clean, Ivy turned her mind to what else she could do to occupy her time. She briefly looked for a part time job but nobody wanted to hire her knowing it was only until the baby arrived. Besides, she didn’t need the money. She still had most of her mother’s life insurance left, minus the small amount she’d used on her travels. By working in the states and the UK she’d barely needed to touch the money. Her grandfather had made sure it was well invested and she now had a tidy little nest egg.
But still, she was not used to doing nothing with her time and after a few days where she followed her grandfather incessantly and drove him crazy with her questions he suggested she perhaps get back into the art she’d loved so much as a teenager.
“All your paints and things are still in the cupboard under the stairs,” he told her.
However with the passage of time they had crusted and dried into unusable tubes of powder, so a trip into the village to restock was called for. The afternoon was beautifully sunny and clear, although crisp. She took her time on the walk, admiring gardens and how things had grown over the years. In the village she headed for the craft supply shop. She’d always loved going there with her mother, who’d been on the hunt for beautiful ribbons and the like to be used in her florist shop. The place had a comforting cottage feel about it. Shelves were crammed as full as possible and every nook and cranny had been used to store stock. Rolls of colourful fabric, drawers stuffed with buttons and sequins. Walls plastered with decorative wall décor stickers and tables of stamps, cloth dolls, sewing patterns and gorgeous pads of patterned scrapbooking paper.
It was a craft lover’s paradise and she took her time, checking everything out and imagining the things she could create if she were artfully inclined. In the end she decided to stick with painting for now and purchased herself a new set of acrylics, some brushes and a couple of small canvases. Then it was such a beautiful afternoon outside that she thought she might start right then, and with her purchases she made her way to the beachfront reserve near the estuary.
The mouth of the estuary was a little wider than she remembered it, eroded by the water over the years. The old playground had been bulldozed and a new, much nicer and safer one had been erected in its place. She admired the bright, jaunty yellow slides and green swing sets. Some children were playing, squealing and challenging each other to go higher and faster. Two mothers watched indulgently from wooden seats at the edge, sharing a thermos of some sort of steaming hot beverage. Ivy watched them and fantasised about how she would be able to bring her own child here soon enough. She put the bag carrying her supplies down and cradled her belly, imagining the life growing inside.
Her own little family.
She would spend her life protecting this baby and making it happy.
She already felt a fierce protectiveness and love like nothing she’d ever felt before.
She heard the screech of a gull and turned to the beach, trudging carefully through the very spot that so many years before people had said their farewells to her mother and sister. Thinking about what had happened afterwards she felt her cheeks burn. God, Walt must have thought she was losing the plot. She guessed that in a way she had been, it certainly wasn’t normal, rational behaviour. But then it was far from a normal, rational time.
At the top of the dunes she stopped to inhale the sea air, and the salt hit it provided instantly rejuvenated her. Ah yes, how could she have lived away from the beach for so long? The UK and its majority of grey days felt like a million years ago now. This was where she belonged, and the only place she could imagine raising her baby.
She walked along the beach until she found the perfect spot where she sat and kicked off her shoes, letting her toes burrow into the sand and enjoyed the feel of the grains between her toes. She’d been on other beaches around the world, but only this sand felt like home. She instantly felt grounded, connected to the place again. This was the sand she had grown up on. Now she would raise her child here. It was the perfect circle.
She was on to her second canvas, trying to match the colour of the waves by mixing greens and blues on her mixing board when a shadow fell over her. She looked up questioningly and even though she could only see the outline of the person against the bright sun she knew who it was instantly, would recognise that silhouette anywhere.
“I thought it was you,” Walt said, his tone guarded.
“We meet again” she said, eyes back on the canvas in front of her although they were watering now so she blinked a few times to try and clear them. She tried to sound flippant but, she highly suspected, fa
iled. Even to her the wobble in her voice was obvious.
“What brings you to the beach on this fine day?” she asked.
“I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he answered, crouching down onto his haunches beside her.
She looked up at him in surprise, “Of course I’m not –” then she stopped, seeing the smile lurking behind the words. “Oh you’re joking,” she said, and smiled back at him. She had missed his brand of humour.
His eyes traced her face for a moment and then his smile disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, as if he regretted letting himself be so light-hearted with her. It felt as if the world had been plunged into shade, and she shivered.
“So?” she asked.
“What?”
“What are you doing here on the beach? It’s hardly the weather for a swim or a spot of sunbathing.”
He picked up a sun bleached shell from the sand in front of him, ran his fingers over the smooth surface. She watched him do it and remembered the feel of his hands.
“I walk here every afternoon,” he said. “I work from home. The walls start to feel as if they’re closing in after awhile so I come here to clear my head, shake off the cobwebs.”
“You’re an architect?”
He nodded. “Worked for a big firm in the city for a few years then started my own business working from home. It was a slow start but business has been good the last few years.”
He didn’t tell her that he’d graduated top of his class with honours, that every prestigious firm in the country had tried to hire him and he’d had his pick of the best.
“Congratulations,” she smiled at him. “I knew you’d do well.”
He looked out at the horizon. “Yeah, well, it could have gone either way after you left but I chose to throw myself into my studies. The distraction helped. A little anyway.”
She cringed when he mentioned the past. Hadn’t expected he wouldn’t bring it up quite so easily.
“About that,” she said, “I owe you an explanation –”
He stood abruptly.
“Its fine,” he said, and his tone left no room for arguments. “You don’t owe me anything.”
She struggled to her feet beside him. “Please,” she said, “I really want to try and apologise, explain to you why I left like I did.”
Then she noticed his eyes on her stomach, and the expression on his face went from quizzical to dawning understanding to stony within a few seconds.
“You’re pregnant,” he stated.
“Well, yes,” she placed a hand on her stomach. “Didn’t you notice the other day?”
“No,” His eyes had been too busy absorbing the delicious sight of her face but he didn’t say that.
“Oh.” She couldn’t understand the expression on his face. Any trace of friendliness was gone, replaced by indifference, as if she were nothing but a stranger.
“I’d better get back to work,” he said.
“Can we meet up one day soon? For coffee and a chance to talk?” she asked.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please,” she tried again, “I have things I need to say.”
He looked at her stomach again then back at her eyes, his expression unreadable.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but I don’t need to hear it.” And then he turned and walked away from her, briskly so before she could catch her voice again he was already a rapidly receding figure in the distance.
Tears sprung to her eyes. She knew she had hurt him, but she hadn’t expected him to hate her so much. It appeared he did though and she was devastated. She knew she had to make it up to him, but how?
She’d lost all enthusiasm for painting then so she packed up her things and headed home, the path blurry from her tears.
Chapter twenty six
Walt was in a furiously dark, stormy mood for days after their chance meeting on the beach. She was pregnant.
It shouldn’t affect him. Should have nothing to do with him. At least that’s what he told himself. But still, the air around him zapped with angry sparks.
He was furious.
Why did she have to come back here? To rub his face in her happiness, with her lover and her baby?
These were ridiculous thoughts as he knew she didn’t have a malicious bone in her body, but still, he was angry with himself that he let her return upset him as much as it clearly did. He had almost convinced over the years that he had moved on. He’d even had a couple of long term girlfriends. One of them he came very close to proposing to, but he’d got cold feet. Upset when the expected proposal failed to materialise she left him, marrying someone else barely six months later. He was bothered only by how little the news bothered him, and he sent them a card and a gift basket wishing them well.
He wasn’t an idiot; he knew his unwillingness to commit could be traced back to what had happened with Ivy. But it wasn’t just that she had hurt him beyond belief when she left without a word and never contacted him. That had hurt, yes, sometimes so much he thought he might never get over it. The reason he couldn’t commit himself wholly to anyone else was because he had never stopped loving Ivy. Not for a second. He’d never stopped hoping that one day she would come back to him, with some kind of explanation that made her leaving total sense, and they would pick up where they left off and everything would be wonderful again and forever after. He’d fantasised about it so often over the years he truly believed that it was only a matter of time.
And now here she was, back in the village. But not alone, with someone else in tow and a baby on the way. This was not what he had fantasised about at all.
Nina observed his dark mood with pursed lips. She knew exactly what the cause of this sudden black mood was; the pregnant woman. Things had been going swimmingly until that day in the supermarket. Until then she was sure he was on the verge of asking her to move in with him. Now, her very presence in his house seemed to annoy him. She felt like she had to tip toe around while he smouldered like a blackened heap in the corner. Well enough was enough. She determined to find out what the deal was with Walt and the woman in the supermarket and she was surprised with how little time and digging it took.
Everyone, it seemed, knew about the story behind the young lovers. Small villages’ have long memories, and the death of Ivy’s mother, sister and the rest of June’s bridal party was, after all, the worst tragedy that had ever hit their little village. Everyone shared a soft spot for the sole survivor and they all wished fervently for her happiness. When the others died they all wept for her and alongside of her, and they were all devastated when she up and left abruptly, without even so much as a goodbye. They ached for her and for the broken man she had left behind.
Now that she was back in the village, a single mother, they were collectively holding their breaths; would fate intervene?
Nina knew that a relationship without a proper ending was a little like kicking someone out and leaving the door ajar; they would always be there, lurking, and could find their way back in at the most inopportune times. The door to Walt and Ivy needed to be kicked firmly shut, and a deadbolt slid across. A couple of boards nailed across wouldn’t go amiss either, as far as she was concerned.
Chapter twenty seven
She didn’t give up on the painting altogether, luckily for the rest of the world. After a few more days where she cried and stewed over the way Walt had talked to her, she took her paints and canvases back to the beach at sunrise, and she painted what she saw with such accuracy that early morning walkers were stunned when they chanced upon her easel. She had three offers to purchase the painting right there and then, which surprised and humbled her. She didn’t sell it though, she took it home to show her grandfather who was so proud he took it along to bingo to show everyone. By chance the owner of an art gallery in the city was there, dropping his elderly mother and her friends off. His mother, who normally drove them all, had sprained an ankle tripping over her small dog while fetching t
he mail from the letterbox. He was stuck staying with her while the injury healed, because out of all his six siblings he had drawn the short straw.
The man, James, was enchanted with the painting; and stood arms crossed and head tilted to the side, examining it for some time. Occasionally he would move a step to the left, then to the right, then a step backwards studying the picture from all available angles.
“It’s wonderful” he declared. “I must have it for my gallery. Who painted this delightful piece of art and are there any more to be had?”
And so it was that Leo took James home to meet Ivy. Over tea and cake she showed him a few more of her paintings and at the conclusion of the night they shook hands on a deal where he would sell her art on behalf and take a 20% commission, which Leo had beaten him down to from 30. The fact that she was pregnant, and the fact that James found her simply charming, helped.
“You’re so worldly my dear,” he told her, “how can you bear to be stuck in this place?”
She laughed. “It’s not that bad.”
“But the smell,” he shuddered, “How can you stand it?”
“I grew up here,” she reminded him, “it blends into the background. I don’t even notice it anymore.”
“The first thing I plan on doing when I get back to the city is get a proper wash and dry for my hair,” he ran his fingers through it, “although I fear they may need industrial strength shampoo to get the stench of this place out.”
He saw Leo’s frown and reached forward to tap him on the hand, “I’m joking, it’s a sweet little village.”
After James had left, with three paintings and a promise from Ivy to get more to him as soon as she could, Ivy could sense that Leo had something on his mind. While they tidied up the cups and plates she waited for him to say it and although he seemed to start several times he always stopped. Finally she asked him,
When Stars Collide Page 13
