by Kate Hardy
‘That’s blackmail.’
‘Yeah. And it’d get me Brownie points,’ he said with a grin. ‘Shoo.’
He curled up on the sofa with her for the rest of the evening—just chilling out, listening to music and holding her close.
If they spent time together like this, Jane thought, then soon he’d start to open up. Talk to her about the baby. Share. She was sure of it.
And then it was time for bed. After a shower, she climbed in, feeling odd. She was used to her narrow single bed. The king-sized mattress felt huge.
‘OK?’ he asked, climbing in next to her.
‘Yes. I’m just not used to so much space. And it’s…well, it’s a strange bed.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m used to it. Different motel each night, when I’m in Tornado Alley. Some are better than others.’ He settled back against the pillows and picked up what looked like a scientific manuscript and a red pen.
‘You’re working?’
‘Huh?’ He looked at her. ‘Oh. Sorry. Is the light disturbing you?’
‘No. I just…’ Hadn’t expected him to start working. The nights she’d spent with him before, he’d cuddled her to sleep.
Were things going to be different now that they’d actually moved in together?
When she’d turned her pillow over and shifted position for the tenth time, Mitch put down his paper. ‘OK. I get the message.’
‘I wasn’t doing it on purpose,’ she protested. ‘I just…’ She rubbed the small of her back, trying to do it surreptitiously so he wouldn’t see.
But he saw anyway. ‘You can’t get comfortable. OK. Face the other way and I’ll rub your back,’ he said.
‘That wasn’t a hint,’ she protested.
‘Your back’s clearly aching. And it’s easier for me to do it than for you to struggle and try to do it yourself. Turn round.’
The touch of his hands was bliss. He knew just the right spot to rub, with the right pressure.
But she remembered the last time he’d given her a massage. It had led to lovemaking. And right now she was just too damned tired and aching. Despite what she’d promised the girls, she’d overdone it a bit today. She had an archivist’s need to put everything in its right place.
‘Relax, will you?’ He kissed her shoulder.
‘Last time you gave me a massage…’
‘That was last time,’ he said. ‘Tonight, you’re tired.’ He nuzzled the sensitive spot at the curve of her neck. ‘I know I said it’d be nice to christen the flat tonight, but there’s always tomorrow morning. Sunday. When we don’t have to rush.’ Another kiss. ‘And when it’s going to be a whole lot better.’
He lived up to his promise. Jane spent the whole of Sunday with a smile on her face. And she was relaxing on the sofa that evening with a book and the stereo on when he came into the living room to collect a file.
‘Are you working?’ she asked. ‘I’ll turn the music down.’
‘It’s OK. I’ll do this on the plane.’
‘Plane?’ She put her book down and followed him into the bedroom.
He was packing.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked.
‘Back to my job. I told you I was only here for a week.’
But…he’d got the flat for them. Hadn’t that meant he was going to stay a bit longer?
The question must have been written over her face, because he said, ‘I won’t be away that long. I’ll try and get back as soon as I can.’
‘When’s your flight?’
‘Eleven tomorrow.’
When she’d be at work. And they were short-staffed, so it wouldn’t be fair to ring Stella and ask for extra leave. Throwing a sickie was absolutely out of the question. So she wasn’t even going to get to wave him off. ‘Right.’
‘Jane, don’t make an issue out of this,’ he warned. ‘You knew it was going to be like this.’
Maybe she had. But by Wednesday she was starting to feel lonely. Even though Mitch called her every day. Even though he sent her emails and pictures. It wasn’t the same as actually sharing her space with him. And if her parents hadn’t put her in boarding-school and her mother had stayed at home while her father went from dig to dig, this was exactly what life would’ve been like when she was growing up. Seeing her mother put a brave face on it but missing her husband all the while.
And even Jane’s job didn’t distract her. She was planning an exhibition, choosing the documents they were going to highlight; in the evenings, she worked on the copy to give to the design agency for the backdrops, but the second she switched off her laptop she was aware of the space around her. The silence. The loneliness.
‘What’s up?’ Hannah asked when she came with Jane to the next antenatal appointment.
‘Nothing.’ Jane gave her a brilliant smile.
‘I’ve known you long enough to tell,’ Hannah said. ‘And if you’re upset about something, it won’t be good for the baby. So what’s really wrong?’
Jane sighed. ‘I feel like a selfish cow.’
Hannah scoffed. ‘Since when?’
‘Mitch sorted the flat out for us.’
‘And you’re not happy there? Horrible neighbours?’ Hannah guessed.
‘No, they’re fine.’ Jane sighed again. ‘But I’m used to you lot being around. Mitch has been away for two weeks and I’ve no idea when he’s coming back or how long he’ll stay, next time round.’ She bit her lip. ‘This is stupid. But I’m lonely,’ she admitted.
‘Oh, honey.’ Hannah gave her a hug. ‘Look, you know we’re always pleased to see you. And we’ll keep coming round to yours, too.’ She paused. ‘But that’s treating the symptom, not the cause of the problem.’
Jane nodded. ‘It’s always going to be like this. He’ll be back for a week and it’ll be brilliant, and then he’ll be gone for however long. I don’t want this for me. And I definitely don’t want this for my baby.’
‘You need to talk to him about it,’ Hannah advised gently.
‘When he gets back,’ Jane agreed. ‘I need to do this in person.’
But another week dragged by, and even though the girls insisted on her going over to their place for dinner, or brought a film and a huge bag of popcorn over to her flat, when it was back to being just her and the bump, the place just seemed to echo.
And she hated it.
The following week, Jane was working on the exhibition materials when she heard the sound of a key in the lock. Then the door closed, and she heard a deep voice call, ‘Anyone home?’
‘In here.’
There was a thud—which she assumed was his suitcase in the hall—and then he came into the living room.
Her heart missed a beat. She’d forgotten just how gorgeous he was. Especially when he smiled like that. A warm, sexy smile that promised pure pleasure.
She stood up, and he slid his arms round her. Kissed her. Though what started out soft and gentle turned rapidly into hot and needy, and he carried her straight to bed. All thoughts of discussing the situation went straight out of her head as he touched her, kissed her, stroked her from arousal to white heat.
‘Mmm. That was a nice welcome home,’ he said afterwards, when her head was resting on his shoulder and her arm was slung round his waist.
‘You didn’t even say hello.’
‘Yes, I did. Just not in words.’ His voice was filled with laughter. ‘And not in the same way I’d greet anyone else.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Though it hadn’t occurred to her before. Mitch travelled around a lot. He must meet women all the time. Women who didn’t have an enormous bump. Women who’d see just how attractive he was and want to get to know him better.
And despite the fact that her bump had really grown since he’d last seen her, he hadn’t said a word about that, either.
‘Don’t tense up on me. What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. You didn’t say you were coming back.’
‘I wanted to surprise you. Except the flowers
at the airport were—well—I’ll buy you some tomorrow.’
She didn’t want flowers. She wanted him.
‘Which reminds me. I brought you something. Hang on.’ He climbed out of bed, pulled on his boxer shorts and padded barefoot from the room.
Things had definitely changed around here, Mitch thought. He’d left a flat that was comfortable and functional. But while he’d been away Jane had bought plants. Hung prints on the walls. There were postcards on a pinboard in the kitchen and what looked like several pots of herbs on the window sill. Cushions on the sofa. A vase of flowers on the window sill. Candles on the mantelpiece.
For a moment, panic clenched his gut. It felt like home. And he wasn’t used to this—he lived out of short-let flats here and motels when he was in the States. He was never in one place too long, whereas this was a six-month let with an option to renew.
It felt like putting down roots.
Just as he’d done before.
Natalie’s style had been very different—Jane, despite her teasing about hot pink, had kept things to neutral colours and sunny yellows, and there were prints of old maps on the walls instead of the modern art he’d shared with Natalie. But the flat held the same warm feeling as the little terraced house in Cambridge he’d bought with Natalie—the house he couldn’t quite bring himself to sell, but he’d not been able to live there either, so he’d rented it out.
He was going to have to tell Jane about what had happened, he knew. But the longer he left it, the harder it got. And the baby was showing now. Really showing. How could he tell Jane something that would worry her and give her nightmares?
On the other hand, how could he not?
Ah, hell. One day at a time. Keep things in the here and now, on an even keel, he reminded himself, and fished for the little box in his suitcase.
The box he held out with a smile was much too big to hold a ring. And it was stupid of her to even entertain the idea, Jane told herself crossly. He didn’t know her ring size, and he wasn’t going to ask her to marry him. That would mean commitment, and she’d begun to realise just how scared Mitch was of commitment. The fact he’d rented this flat for them was more than she could have expected. To hope for any more would be foolish in the extreme.
‘Thank you,’ she said, accepting the box and opening it. Inside was a strange shape. ‘Sorry to show my ignorance. What is it?’
‘A fulgurite.’
‘I’m still none the wiser.’
‘Fossilised lightning.’
‘I thought lightning was an electrical force. And it comes from the atmosphere. So how can it be fossilised?’
He sat on the edge of the bed. ‘A lightning bolt contains around a gigajoule of energy—that’s enough to power a home for a week. When a force like that hits the sand, the heat’s incredible; it melts the minerals in the sand and fuses them. And that’s what a fulgurite is—a hollow tube of melted sand, made by a lightning strike. I thought you’d like it.’
‘I do. Thank you.’ She looked at it again, intrigued. ‘Did you find this yourself?’
‘No. But I did discover a little shop that sells them. By the way, it’s very, very fragile, so it’s probably best kept in its box.’
‘It’s beautiful. How do people find them?’
‘Excavation. Similar to the methods archaeologists use.’
He knew what her parents did. Was this his way of asking if she’d told her parents? Was he prepared to talk to his, now? She decided to test the waters. Carefully. ‘Dad would be fascinated by this.’
And this was where he said that of course, now he remembered: her parents were archaeologists. How were they and how had they taken the news that they’d be grandparents?
But nothing. He seemed perfectly happy to keep the conversation on non-emotional matters. About fulgurites—where they were found, and what effect the soil structure had on them. It was all interesting stuff, and normally she would’ve enjoyed talking about it. But right now it was yet another barrier between them. An excuse not to focus on the fact that she was getting on for nearly halfway through her pregnancy and nothing was really settled.
If she let it, this week could be just like the last one. Going out, doing things together, falling asleep in his arms, making love with him until her whole body felt fluid. Then he’d leave, and she’d realise that yet again they hadn’t discussed the situation.
So maybe she’d better do this up front. ‘How long are you back for?’
He climbed back into bed. ‘A week or so.’
She sighed. ‘And then you’re leaving me on my own again.’
‘You’re not on your own. You’ve got the girls just round the corner,’ he pointed out.
‘It’s not the same.’ She kept her gaze fixed on his. ‘Do you know, this is the first time I’ve ever lived on my own?’
He blinked. ‘And the problem is?’
‘I’m used to people being around me. I went to boarding-school, I lived in halls of residence at university, and when I started work I house-shared with the girls. So I’m not used to being on my own all the time—where there’s nobody to have a coffee with or chat to, nobody else making a noise in the house.’
‘I still don’t see the problem.’
‘Because you’re used to moving around. Being on your own. I’m not.’ She felt her mouth thin into a line. ‘And I’m not being a wimp, before you say it. I know I’m perfectly capable of coping on my own. But I’m used to being around people and I’m lonely, Mitch. I’m seventeen weeks pregnant, and I don’t want to be on my own. Just in case something happens.’
His face shuttered. ‘Nothing’s going to happen. Everything’s going to be fine.’
She really didn’t understand why he was so stubborn about this. Why he refused to discuss it. Unless something had happened in his past—but if that was the case, why hadn’t he told her?
She really, really didn’t understand what went on in Mitch Holland’s head.
‘I need a coffee. I’ll get you a drink,’ he said, and left the room. Jane didn’t have the energy to follow him. When he brought the drink back to her, he was all smiles again—and he switched the subject away from his absences and the baby. And somehow she couldn’t get the conversation to turn back to what was really important.
During the week, she noticed that he didn’t even pick up one of the pregnancy magazines she’d stacked on the coffee-table. And although he was as affectionate and warm towards her as she could have asked him to be—and she was particularly glad he didn’t stop touching her because of the bump—she was aware that he was evading the subject of the baby. Here and now was fine; laughter and lovemaking were fine. But he wouldn’t make plans for the future and it drove her crazy. She didn’t want to leave everything until the last minute.
‘This is the time we ought to be planning,’ she said, later that evening.
‘What?’
‘While I’m in the second trimester. When it’s easier to do things and I feel great. When I’m not spending half my time with my head down the toilet, and while I’m not waddling everywhere or too tired to do anything.’
‘Planning what?’
Was he being deliberately dense? ‘For the baby. Nursery furniture.’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘There’s plenty of time.’
‘Mitch, we need to get things ordered. A pram. Car seats. All that sort of stuff.’
‘There’s plenty of time. And it’s tempting fate to plan too early.’
Something about his tone alerted her. ‘You’re the one who said I was being silly, worrying about being on my own when I’m pregnant. So are you saying you think something might happen?’
‘No, just that it’s not the right time.’ Though she noticed he didn’t meet her eyes.
‘So when is the right time?’
‘Jane. I’m jet-lagged.’
No way. He’d been back for four days.
‘Can we have this conversation when I’ve caught up on my sleep?’
On Friday, she cooked them a special meal. And when he seemed relaxed and in a good mood, she brought up the subject again. ‘Mitch. We really need to talk. This flat…’
‘What’s wrong with the flat?’
‘Nothing. But…look, when the baby comes, we’re going to need things for him.’
‘Him?’ He blinked. ‘The baby’s a boy?’
‘I don’t know, but I’m not calling our baby “it”.’
He was silent. Then he shrugged. ‘If you’re not happy with the flat, find something you do like. We’ll move.’
‘To another rented flat?’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Mitch, I’m having a baby. Our baby,’ she clarified. ‘I want to be settled.’
‘We are settled. The lease here is renewable. And unless you suddenly become the neighbour from hell by playing music full blast at three in the morning, slamming doors and throwing rubbish into the neighbours’ gardens, there won’t be a problem renewing it.’
‘Renting feels temporary.’
‘You want to buy somewhere?’
At the shock on his face, she backtracked slightly. ‘I just want to feel settled.’
‘You are settled.’
You, she noticed. Not we. ‘But you’re never here.’
‘My job means travelling. You know that.’
‘And when you are here you won’t discuss things.’
‘What things?’
‘There’s so much we’ve left unsorted. Have you told your parents about the baby, yet?’
He shook his head.
‘Why not? Aren’t you close to them?’
‘Close enough.’
More prevarication. It was enough to make her snap. ‘You never talk about your family. I know nothing about them other than that your mum teaches domestic science and you have a sister who loves shopping. I’ve never even seen their photographs, for pity’s sake!’
‘Look, it’s fine. I’ll talk to them soon.’
