Chapter 30
As the coffee machine begins rasping and spitting, Jake kicks Marie in the stomach.
She rubs her hand gently over her belly and whispers shush to him, but it doesn’t do any good. Quite the opposite. It feels like the little scamp starts doing cartwheels in there.
The image makes her smile.
In the first few months of the pregnancy, it had been difficult to believe there was the beginning of somebody inside her.
Certainly, she hadn’t been able to imagine how it would feel at thirty-four weeks: that it would be impossible not to imagine it, this new life inside her that was now only weeks away from being an actual baby.
Through her twenties, when she’d very adamantly not wanted children, it had been this aspect she’d always found the most terrifying to contemplate.
The sensation of something growing inside her.
It had made her shudder. There was childbirth itself to fear, of course, but the idea of becoming an incubator had always seemed far more alien.
So it had surprised her how quickly she adjusted – how much, in fact, she’d come to like it.
And although there is still the birth itself to be afraid of, she’s almost come to terms with that as well.
A part of her is even looking forward to it.
As she rubs her stomach, smiling at Jake’s movements, she thinks: I can’t wait to meet you.
He’s so active. It feels like he’s full of joy, doing pirouettes in there out of sheer excitement.
When she dreams about him, he’s one big smile.
The aches and pains of pregnancy are uncomfortable, but she pictures her body as already holding him – embracing him, just as it will when he arrives – and it feels like she can put up with the discomfort forever if needs be.
Fortunately not.
Not long now. It’s easy to imagine he can understand her thoughts. You get yourself ready, little man, because you’re going to love this world.
As the machine dribbles out the last few trickles of coffee, she senses Tony enter the kitchen behind her. He is busy, as always, rushing to get ready for work. Hair damp from the shower, shirt slightly untucked, still doing the tie he doesn’t really need for the work but wears anyway.
‘Hey sweetie,’ she says over her shoulder.
‘Hiya. Coffee – thanks. You’re a star.’
‘Well, if you haven’t time for breakfast, you’ve got to have something.’
‘Tell me about it.’
She pours him a cup. There’s enough for a second in there; she might treat herself when he’s gone. At first she scrupulously avoided everything she was supposed to, but she’s relaxed a little as time has gone on. An occasional cup won’t hurt. The advice seems to change every few weeks anyway.
‘Did I keep you awake last night?’ she says.
‘Not that I’d ever tell you. How’s Jake?’
‘Active this morning. It’s the smell of coffee. I told you.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’
Freshly brewed coffee is her favourite smell, and while it’s probably her imagination, she’s noticed Jake respond to it a few times too.
Confirmation bias, Tony has told her, meaning she was looking too hard for patterns and remembering the times he started jumping inside her more readily than the times he didn’t.
Her husband is far too sensible, but she loves him for that almost as much as for the sense of physical security he gives her.
As if on cue, he embraces her from behind, rubbing his hands gently over her bump.
This close, she can smell drifts of his aftershave and, beneath that, him.
He has always been manly without ever seeming to try.
Big and solid. The kind of man who can carry anything you set down in front of him, do any job you give him.
Jake kicks against his hand.
‘Feel that?’ she says.
‘Yeah.’
‘Going to be a footballer, I reckon.’
‘Either that or a right little thug.’
She pats his hand gently, and he moves away, reaching around her to get his coffee.
‘Well, I hope you and Jake are going to look after each other today.’
Marie smiles again. ‘I’m sure we will.’
‘Got anything planned?’
‘Just pottering.’
‘Good.’ He looks troubled. ‘Don’t overdo it.’
‘We won’t.’
She’s pleased by his use of the baby’s name.
The pregnancy wasn’t planned, and it took them both a little time to come round to the idea – Tony more than her.
To begin with he always referred to it as ‘the baby’, and even after the scan showed it was a boy, and they’d discussed and agreed upon a name, he still seemed to find it hard to get his head around the idea of Jake.
It was easier for her because she could feel him in ways Tony couldn’t.
A few weeks ago she’d had a brainwave and invested in a home ultrasound device – just a cheap, simple thing, but using it seemed to have made a huge difference.
Tony had heard his son’s heartbeat properly, and after that, it was rarely ‘the baby’ anymore and always Jake.
Tony drains his coffee almost in one.
‘Don’t burn yourself, sweetie.’
‘I won’t. Asbestos mouth.’
He kisses her on the forehead. She tilts her head back and he kisses her more fully on the mouth. As they embrace, Jake continues his activities.
Tony says, ‘My unborn son is already kicking me in the wallet.’
‘Get used to it.’
‘Yeah.’
It’s a sore point, probably, as she knows that’s his chief worry. But he stays in the embrace for a reassuring moment longer before moving away, grabbing his coat.
‘Okay. I’ve got to run or I’ll be late. You look after yourself, okay?’ He frowns. ‘I’m serious.’
‘Me too – don’t worry. I’ll be good.’
‘No need for that. Just be careful.’
Marie sticks her tongue out at him.
‘Love you,’ he says.
‘Love you too.’
And then he’s out of the door, closing it behind him. She hears him running down the path and the gate clattering.
A part of Marie breathes a sigh of relief.
She loves Tony’s company, of course, but she could certainly get used to this being alone in the house with Jake business.
It feels like her territory now. Her maternity leave has only just begun, and it feels good.
No more random hours. The house is hers.
Within a couple of weeks, she thinks, you’ll probably be going stir crazy.
But in a couple of weeks there won’t be time to do anything much other than care for Jake. And she can’t wait.
Marie potters around for a while, putting away the dishes she washed the night before, washing the ones she used for her breakfast. Then she picks up the pot and pours herself a coffee, using Tony’s cup.
She’ll have one after all – it can’t hurt, can it.
That’s when the front door opens and the man in the balaclava comes in.