JOE WAS WORKING AGAIN.
Well, still working, really, but the pace seemed to have picked up again. He worked gruelling hours in the hospital as it was, never clocked off on time, and then would go home and work until he couldn’t see straight.
Not that he told her this, but she’d seen enough of the pattern, and so she left him to it because she realised how important it was to him that he should succeed. And not just for himself, but so that he could stay near Elizabeth for what time she had left.
If he was simply being driven by that urge to succeed, she would have found it harder to accept, but she knew he wasn’t, so she left him alone rather than unloading all her angst on him when he really, really didn’t need it.
This was between her and Isla, who still hadn’t said what their plans were. March came and went, then April, with the safe arrival of Johnnie and Kate’s baby boy, and then in the first week of May Isla phoned her in the middle of her shift to say she’d had a bleed—nothing drastic, but it had triggered more scans, further tests, and Iona knew they were worried something might be wrong and they might lose it. And they still hadn’t said what they wanted to do about her baby. They probably hadn’t given it any more thought, not yet, not when their own baby’s life seemed to hang in the balance.
And Iona found herself willing their little baby to stay safe, to be fine, because that would mean they wouldn’t want her baby. Which was silly. So silly, because how could she give her anything like the life that they would do? She’d be on her own—how could she ask Joe to help her? That wasn’t fair, not what he’d signed up for. And he’d made his attitude to relationships perfectly clear on many occasions.
‘Take care,’ she said gently. ‘And keep in touch, Isla. Let me know how you are. Love you.’
‘Love you, too. Iona? Pray for us.’
Pray for them? She hadn’t prayed in years, yet she found herself doing it over and over again, a kind of mantra.
Please let it be all right. Please don’t let them lose the baby. Please let it be—
‘Iona?’
She looked up, blinking away tears, and James steered her into his office and shut the door.
‘What’s up?’
So she told him, all of it except the bit about Joe, and he listened in silence and then shook his head slowly.
‘That’s a lot to deal with. Do you need time off?’
‘To do what? Sit at home and fret? No, absolutely not. I want to be busy. I don’t want to have time to think, because it’s pointless until I know what’s happening.’
‘If it all goes well and they don’t want it—’
‘Then I’ll keep it, which is unfair on the baby, and career suicide, but what else can I do? I can’t give her up for adoption, James—’
Her eyes welled, and she swiped the tears away angrily.
Don’t cry! Don’t give in!
‘No, of course you can’t, I can see that, but you’ll cope, Iona. Women have always coped with this, even chosen it. There are ways, and I’ll do everything I can to support you if it comes to that. Starting with you having a year off for maternity leave.’
‘But—that would leave you in the lurch, and what do I do then? After a year? What do I do, James? It’s not like I can take a staff grade, I’m not qualified.’
‘Go into general practice? At least you’d get regular hours and you’ve worked in all the right fields. Just bear it in mind, and in the meantime go and have a lunch break and come back when you’re ready.’
She wanted to hug him, but she made do with a wordless nod of thanks, and went to the Park Café, grabbing a decaf coffee and a sandwich and taking them out in the park.
She’d never thought of being a GP, but—could she? And keep her baby? She felt a leap of hope, and then squashed it, because she still hadn’t heard from Isla and it might all change again in an instant.
* * *
There was a boy, he couldn’t have been more than seven or eight, standing on the other side of the ditch staring at something in his garden. He was looking worried, and as Joe watched, the boy climbed over the fence and onto the rotten bridge that his uncle had made him nearly thirty years ago.
‘No, no, no, you’ll fall in the nettles,’ he muttered. He’d meant to cut them back—meant to do all sorts of things, but between work and the baby business he’d had no time for anything.
He shot his chair back and went outside, reaching the edge of the ditch at the same time as the boy.
He wobbled and would have fallen if Joe hadn’t caught him by his T-shirt and hauled him to safety off the rickety bridge.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked, and the boy nodded, looking worried and a bit scared.
‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I was just worried about the squirrel.’
‘Squirrel?’
‘Yes—it’s stuck in the bird feeder. I’ve been watching it for ages, and it can’t get out, so I was going to climb up the tree and help it.’
He shook his head. ‘No. They bite. Let’s have a look.’
They went round to the other side of the tree to the hugely expensive fat ball feeder that he’d restocked only that morning. Supposedly squirrel proof, only not, apparently, and most of the fat balls seemed to be inside the squirrel. It had worked its way half-out, but was stuck and struggling through a hole that seemed impossibly small.
‘Hello, squirrel,’ he said softly. ‘You’re in a bit of a mess, aren’t you? It’s a good job this young man spotted you. I’m Joe, by the way,’ he said, turning back to the boy.
‘I’m Oscar. Will you kill it?’
‘No, of course not. We’ll have to get it out, won’t we?’
It took thick gloves, a pair of pliers and some doing, but by the time he’d unhooked the feeder, taken the lid off and dodged the teeth of the hissing, terrified squirrel, it had managed to wriggle its way free and shot off across the lawn and up the oak tree.
He pulled off his gloves, turned to Oscar and gave him a high five. ‘Well, done, you. I’m glad you found him. Now I’d better get you home to your mother.’
‘She’s at work,’ he said glumly. ‘She works from home, but sometimes she has to go to the office but that’s OK, I can look after myself. I’ve got a key and she’s not out for long.’
‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’
He shook his head. ‘No. It’s a training day for the teachers.’
He nodded. His aunt had worked part time, too, but he’d gone with her to her surgery and played in the waiting room under the eye of the reception staff when he’d been young. Not everyone had that opportunity. ‘Have you got any brothers or sisters?’
‘No. Just me.’
And he was lonely, just as Joe had been lonely. He’d spent hours alone in the playground across the ditch, idly kicking a ball around or pretending to be an explorer, and he could see that loneliness in Oscar’s eyes. At least he knew his donor children all had siblings. That was one of the fears he’d nurtured needlessly all these years. Except his little daughter, safe inside Iona for now, but what would become of her? Would she go to Isla, or would Iona bring her up as an only child?
His heart squeezed, and he looked down at Oscar and smiled gently.
‘I tell you what, it’s lunchtime. Why don’t we make a sandwich and go and eat it in the playground? And maybe someone will come who you can play with. You can tell them all about the squirrel.’
* * *
He went back to work, but the look in Oscar’s eyes stayed with him for the rest of the day. Was that what was in store for Iona’s baby? To be the only child of a working mother? He couldn’t stand back and let that happen, and maybe it wasn’t necessary. Maybe—if he could just shelve his doubts and dare to trust himself not to let her down as he had Natalie, to love her and cherish her and care for her as she deserved—they could do this together?
Keep the baby, and maybe have another one further down the line?
Was that too much to hope for? Right then it seemed like an impossible dream, such an outside chance that even the most desperate gambler wouldn’t bet on it.
And he didn’t believe in miracles.
* * *
They wanted it.
Isla and Steve’s baby was all right, the bleed had been very minor and was nothing to worry about, just a slightly low placenta, but it was fine, she should go to term, and they’d made the decision to have Iona’s baby, too.
‘We’ll bring them up as twins,’ Isla said, her voice filled with enthusiasm. ‘It’ll be amazing. This baby was such an outside chance, and who knows if I’ll ever have another, so twins would be just perfect and we’d never have to worry about having another one or it being an only child. And neither of us wants that. Does that make sense to you? I can’t imagine growing up without you there by my side every step of the way, and our babies will have that. It’ll be perfect!’
Perfect? Iona waited for the flood of relief, but it didn’t come. Instead there was a wrenching feeling of loss, and she had to swallow hard.
‘Are you sure? It’s a lot to take on, two babies at the same time—and of course they won’t really be twins, not like we were. We knew each other long before we were born, and these two won’t. They won’t even share a birthday, yours will be born after mine.’
Mine? Could she still say that?
‘Only a little, just a few weeks, and they’ll share everything. He’ll soon catch up.’
He...
Her breath caught. ‘It’s a boy?’
‘Yes—yes, we didn’t want to find out, really, but they did a 4D scan, a video, and he was wiggling around and it was so clear—he’s gorgeous, Iona. It’s such a miracle.’
Iona shut her eyes, and a tear squeezed out and ran down her face. She swiped it away. ‘It is. It’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.’ Another tear, another wipe. ‘Look, I’m at work right now. Can I call you later?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ve sent you a picture. He’s the image of Steve.’
Oh, lord. She hung up, just as her phone pinged, and she opened the picture. Isla was right. Even as tiny as he was, she could see Steve in him.
Does my baby look like Joe?
‘It’s not my baby,’ she gritted under her breath, and then she heard Joe’s voice in the corridor and walked out of the locker room.
‘Can we talk?’ He searched her face and she avoided his eyes.
‘Here?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Yours, later?’
He nodded. ‘I’ll call when I’m finished.’
* * *
They wanted the baby, to bring them up as twins.
He waited for the flood of relief, and it didn’t come, its place taken by a hollow ache that took his breath away for a moment.
‘Are you OK with that?’ he asked gruffly, struggling with a lump in his throat.
She shrugged. ‘I have to be. What else can I do?’
‘Keep it?’
She shook her head. ‘No. It would be career suicide. I don’t want to be a GP, I want to work in hospital medicine and they’re not compatible, not at my level. I’m years from being able to do that.’
He nodded, knowing she was right, knowing it made sense as far as her career was concerned, and at least his fear about the baby being the only child of a working mother was put to bed, but she didn’t look convinced.
‘So what’s wrong, then?’ he asked, and she shrugged.
‘They won’t be twins like we were, she won’t be theirs, they won’t love her the same as him, they can’t...’
He pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. ‘They’ll nearly be twins, and you were twins. It’s better than her being an only child. She won’t be lonely.’ Like me. Like Oscar. But would she truly be loved? ‘It’ll be fine, Iona,’ he said firmly, as much to himself as to her, ‘and the baby will be part of you, so how could they fail to love her? Of course they will.’
But not as much as he and Iona would have done. How could they? But it wasn’t his business. He’d told himself that over and over again, and although he couldn’t have stood by and seen her struggle alone, that wasn’t going to happen now, so it was back to what he’d signed up to, giving her a baby for Isla and Steve. That job was done, and it wasn’t his job to worry about how they’d cope with two tiny babies at once.
Not my baby, and definitely not our baby.
But then the baby kicked him and he dropped his arms and stepped away. ‘Are you OK with pizza? I think it’s about the only thing left in the freezer—or we could go to the pub.’
Except they hadn’t been to the pub since she’d had a bump, and he didn’t want to have to explain their complicated arrangement to Maureen.
‘Pizza’s fine,’ she said, to his relief.
‘Are you staying over?’
She met his eyes then, for the first time in minutes, and he could see the wariness, the doubt in them.
‘Am I welcome?’
‘Of course you’re welcome,’ he said, although it wasn’t strictly true. He wasn’t sure he could cope with taking her to bed and making love to her, not with three of them in the bed. And the baby was really impossible to ignore now. But he’d missed her.
Missed her company, her sassiness, her warmth. Her body, but that wasn’t really his for the taking any longer. It was weeks since he’d touched her, but to touch her was to remind himself over and over of the baby whose fate had seemed so uncertain and insecure. It had been easier to ignore it, but he’d made it harder for Iona and that was wrong of him. She needed his support now more than ever, and he hadn’t given it to her.
‘Of course you’re welcome,’ he repeated, his voice softer now. ‘Come here.’ He held out his arms and she moved into them, resting her head on his chest with a ragged sigh.
‘I thought you didn’t want me anymore.’
She’d said it lightly, but he felt a stab of guilt and tightened his arms around her, dropping a kiss on her hair. ‘Of course I want you. I’ve just been buried in work. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to neglect you.’
She straightened up and smiled at him, her hand cradling his jaw, her fingers gentle. ‘Don’t apologise. Just talk to me from time to time, keep me in the loop. I do understand about your work.’
Even if she didn’t like it. She didn’t say that, but then she didn’t need to, and he realised that without the baby she wouldn’t have needed to contact him and he could have lost her, driven her away. And he didn’t want to lose her. Ever...
Where had that come from?
He sucked in a breath, took a step away from her and opened the freezer door.
* * *
Did he really want her? She didn’t know, but then after they’d eaten they sat out on the veranda, and he put his arm around her and she rested her head on his chest as they watched the sun set in a cloudless blue sky.
Summer was coming. She only had nine weeks now until her baby was due, and she felt a shiver of dread because that would be the end for her, the last act, the last time she’d have with her baby before she gave her to Isla.
She felt a little shudder go through her, and Joe must have picked it up because he looked down at her. ‘You’re cold. Let’s go to bed.’
It wasn’t late—positively early by his standards—but she wasn’t going to argue. Her feet ached, the ligaments in her pelvis were starting to soften and bed seemed like a fine idea.
Especially with Joe.
Would he make love to her?
Yes. She knew that as soon as he closed the bedroom door and reached for her, his hands gentle as he undressed her. He frowned slightly but it was touched with a smile, a sort of wonder. ‘Your body’s changed.’
‘Well, it will have done. I’m thirty one weeks now, Joe.’
The smile went, leaving just the frown. ‘So soon? Where did it go?’
She laughed at that. ‘Joe, you’ve buried yourself alive for the last few weeks. I’ve hardly even seen you at work.’
‘I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that, it just sort of happened.’
His hands traced her body, cupping her breasts gently, feeling the weight of them, his thumbs brushing her nipples lightly, making them peak. A tiny bead appeared at the tip of one, and his thumb brushed it away.
‘Wow.’
She swallowed. ‘I know. I’ll have to have drugs to dry up the milk.’
‘Oh, Iona.’ He drew her into his arms, his hug gentle, and then he let her go, threw back the covers and walked to the door. ‘Get into bed. I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Where are you going?’
He hesitated, and she suddenly realised what he was doing. Taking care of the need she could see in his eyes.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered, and patted the bed beside her. ‘Don’t do that. Stay. Make love to me.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
He swallowed, then closed the door again, pulled off his clothes and lay down, drawing the bedclothes over them. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You won’t hurt me. You’ve never hurt me.’
She shifted closer, reaching out her hand and cradling his jaw in her palm. She could feel the muscle there working, the clenching of his jaw, and she slid her hand behind his neck and drew his face down to hers, meeting his mouth with a tender kiss. ‘Touch me, Joe. I won’t break, and I need you. Make love to me.’
* * *
He lay awake long after she’d fallen asleep in his arms.
He’d been gentle, taken it slowly, but even so the passion, the need, had swamped him, culminating in a climax so intense that it had shaken him to his foundations.
Because he loved her.
He blinked away the tears that welled suddenly in his eyes. No. He couldn’t love her—and he certainly couldn’t tell her. Not now, now her baby was destined for another life that didn’t include him.
Or could he? Was it too late to stop her giving the baby away? Could they halt the whole process and keep it? Keep her, their tiny, precious daughter?
No. Not because of Isla, but because of Iona herself. She’d been worried for the child, of course, because that was who and what she was, but she’d said so many times that there was no place for a child in her life now, and not for years. He’d said the same, meant it just as much, but now, faced with this, he knew he’d been wrong.
He wanted this, wanted Iona. Wanted the baby, more than he’d ever known he could want anything, but he couldn’t have her. She wasn’t his to want or need, and in just a few short weeks she’d be out of his life for ever, barring the odd photograph or Christmas card. Out of Iona’s, too, and any dreams he might have cherished of them becoming a family had just gone out of the window.
I can’t lose both my girls...
He felt a wave of grief so intense he almost cried out. Maybe he did, because Iona stirred beside him, shifting her body slightly so that her leg lay over his, pinning him down and cutting off any hope of slipping out of bed and escaping to the study to immerse himself in something he could cope with, something he had a hope of influencing.
And so he lay there, and he held her in his arms and tried to imprint the memory on his heart, and eventually she rolled away and he made his escape.
* * *
‘Have you been here all night?’
He was sprawled on the sofa in the study, his laptop upside down on the floor where it must have landed, and he opened his eyes, blinked, and sat up, stretching stiffly.
‘Yeah—maybe. I don’t know, I can’t remember. Where’s my laptop?’
‘On the floor.’
He picked it up, swore softly and opened it, then sighed and closed it again.
‘It looks all right. It’s solid state, so dropping it shouldn’t have messed it up.’ He scrubbed a hand through his hair and looked at his wrist.
‘It’s six o’clock. I thought I should wake you. I’m going to go home and get ready for work and you probably need to do the same.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Will I see you later?’
His eyes met hers, and she could see a whole world of conflicting emotions in them.
‘Don’t worry. Just let me know.’
‘No. Come. Stay. I’ll do a food order.’
She smiled. ‘Well, that might be an idea if we aren’t going to starve to death. I’ve left you the last two bits of bread so you can have breakfast.’
She walked over to him and he stood up, put his arms round her and hugged her gently.
‘Thanks,’ he mumbled through her hair. ‘I’m sorry you felt abandoned. I should have realised. I won’t let it happen again.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’m fine. I’ll see you later.’ She eased away from him, pressed a kiss to his stubbled cheek and left him to it, wishing she could believe that guilty promise.
* * *
She found out she could believe it, and although he was still ridiculously busy, he made time for her whenever he could. They got into a pattern, then, of getting together when their shifts aligned, and the weeks ticked slowly by.
She was getting more awkward, finding work more tiring, but the closer she got to her due date, the less she wanted to stop because then she’d have nothing to do but think about what was to come.
And she didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about the time when the baby was gone and she couldn’t play happy families with Joe any longer. Couldn’t pretend to herself that she was going to bring her baby home to him, to the little room beside his bedroom that would make a perfect nursery.
Couldn’t pretend that she’d sit on the veranda rocking the baby to sleep in her pram, or take her for walks along the country lanes, or take her to the playground to explore the sand in the sandpit or crawl over the grass in the garden and discover the smell and the taste and the feel of it beneath her chubby fingers.
That was for Isla to do, Isla and Steve and their little miracle baby.
And she—she had her career to focus on, her future to plan, her life to map out. A life without Joe, without the baby. She could hardly bring herself to think about it, but she didn’t have to now.
Not yet. For now she had them both, and she was going to cherish every moment of it.
And then, when she was thirty nine weeks pregnant, everything changed.