Three in a Bed

Chapter 4

It was hard to pinpoint when the feeling began to grow that something wasn’t right. Busy weeks of work took up all her time and seemed to tire her out more than usual.

Her sense of smell seemed to sharpen and all kinds of smells she wouldn’t have noticed before became unpleasant.

Her enthusiasm for wine, fizz, gin and tonics and the occasional glass of whisky to keep Don company completely waned. Her cigarette consumption dropped without even trying. There was this constant taste of metal in her mouth.

Maybe it’s a virus…? One that’s lingering,she told herself. But then came the fateful morning when she made her breakfast shake with the scoop of greens as usual, drank it down and moments later found herself running to the toilet to throw it all back up again. WTF is wrong with me? she wondered as she rested her head on the shiny white lid of the toilet. The words ‘being sick’ and ‘in the morning’ swam around in her mind and suddenly the phrase ‘morning sickness’ popped up. Morning sickness… morning sickness? She was jolted upright. What? No… this couldn’t… she couldn’t possibly be. As she took her pills consecutively with no breaks, there was no missed period to track.

But then… some weeks ago now, she had changed prescription and did she now remember some advice from her GP about extra precautions for a short time. With a lurch of panic, she realised they had not taken those extra precautions. No, quite the opposite. They had made love with just as much intensity and abandon as ever before. Oh. My. God.

But no matter, for now, she would have to box all that up and get to work for a full-on day. Then she would leave on time, swing past the big, anonymous chemist beside the office and take a test when she got home. Just to check. Just to set her mind at rest… this was nothing. Honestly, the chances were miniscule. A virus… lingering… low-level… that’s all this was. Really, pull yourself together Bella.

After work, she bought The Test, feeling her heart thump hard in her chest as she tapped her card and stuffed the box into her handbag.

She rushed back home with that test burning a hole in her bag and by the time she finally made it through the flat’s front door, she was so desperate to get this over with that she went straight to the bathroom where she fished out the test packet to glance over the instructions.

OK, it wasn’t as if she’d never done one of these before. There had been the occasional near miss in the past. So, once the stick had been peed on, she wondered if she should sit watching it, or if should she turn it over and wait. She went with turning it over. She looked at her watch; no second hand, she would have to count.

Suddenly she felt unable to breathe, let alone count. She stood up, smoothed down her skirt and jacket and hung her coat up on the bathroom hook as calmly as she could.

Hell, it must be time by now.

As she put her fingers on the stick, she noticed that her hands were trembling. What do I want? She found herself wondering. What do I really want the result to be?

Not able to wait any longer, she flipped the test over and there it was, the second thin line that meant ‘yes’. Yes, she was pregnant.

She stared at it. Stared and stared, as if somehow it might change. As if somehow this test might be able to tell her how she actually felt.

One emotion she was certain of was shock – she was totally shocked. Every kind of shocked – surprised, stunned, gobsmacked, astounded. She felt herself falling backwards onto the toilet’s seat, where she sat with the result in her hands and stared at it some more.

Her mind felt as if it had gone blank.

The first thought to form was ‘Don and I are pregnant’. There it was. Not ‘I’m pregnant’ but ‘Don and I’. This was different. This was so different. She felt off-balance and almost unable to process the thought.

This wasn’t what they had planned. But they loved each other. They overwhelmed each other. A rush of love had carried them into marriage. Now, maybe that rush of love had other plans for them. Maybe it was going to carry them into this?

Finally, Bella got up, picked up her bags and her coat and put them into their usual places, then she went into the bedroom where she’d stuffed the test into its box and hid it in a drawer. She could hear her phone ringing now, so went back to her bag to answer.

‘Hello!’ she said, seeing Don’s name and trying to sound bright.

‘Hi, babe,’ came Don’s voice.

‘Hey, are you on your way back?’

‘Yeah. What shall we do for supper?’

‘Er… I haven’t thought about it.’

‘Anything in the fridge?’

‘I’ll look. How’s your day been anyway?’ she asked, heading for the kitchen.

‘Not too bad. You?’

‘Yeah, OK… Right…’ she somehow managed to look in the fridge and concentrate on the contents. ‘Chicken, some peppers, onions. I think we have noodles. Would that do?’

‘Perfect, see you soon.’

How soon?She wondered immediately. Was he going to be here in half an hour? Was she going to tell him now? Tonight? As soon as he walked in the door?

She had thought she would tell him… just blurt it out, just get it over with, find out as quickly as possible what he thought. Because maybe that would help her work out what she thought. What did she think? She seemed to keep asking herself this question every few minutes. I’m pregnant. What do I think? What do I want? Can this really be happening? What will Don say? What will we do?

But when she saw his face as he came in the door, all excited to see her, all desperate to kiss her, hold her, tell her about his day, she just couldn’t. So, then she thought she would tell him later… and when later came, she thought she would just like to hold this news to herself maybe overnight in the hope that the jumbled, tangled thoughts would smooth out a little.

‘Are you OK?’ Don kept asking her.

‘Just tired,’ she told him. But she seemed too fidgety and restless for a tired person. Finally, she said she was taking a bath and going to bed early, but she took her laptop with her into the bedroom.

Almost an hour later, Don came in to check on her. She was propped up in bed, staring at the screen.

‘What’s up?’ he asked gently. ‘Is it work?’

‘No, no,’ she looked up and wondered what to tell him, ‘I was just messaging Jenna… you know, my friend in New York? But I don’t know, it’s not flowing tonight.’ She gave a forced smile.

‘How is she?’ Don asked.

‘She’s good,’ Bella replied. ‘Great new job, moving to California and it looks as if her man might be moving with her, but she’s a bit scared by that, I suppose. She messaged the other day asking about you and marriage and how would she know if, you know, he was The One…’ Bella trailed off.

‘Ah ha, and you’re sitting there stuck for words about us?’ Don smiled at her. ‘Come on, move over, I’m the wordsmith.’

He sat down beside her. Their conversation had lasted just long enough for Bella to have quietly deleted all the internet searching she’d done on ‘early pregnancy’ and call up Jenna’s details and a blank message.

‘OK.’ Don pulled the computer into his lap and tapped in his rapid two-fingered typing:

How You Know If It’s Love?

as a heading, then underneath:

by Don McCarthy, chief correspondent

This made Bella laugh.

He began with the words:

It’s a well-worn cliché, but you do just know. Maybe at first sight, maybe not, but you’ll wake up one day and feel it somewhere between your breastbone and your stomach. No individual details matter – looks, height, hair colour, job description – but that person makes you happy, gives you a warm glow.

‘Oooh no,’ he said, hitting delete, ‘sounds like a porridge ad.’

Brings you joy and understanding,

he typed,

makes you laugh, makes love like it really matters. You’ll go way beyond the extra mile for them and you know they’ll do it for you.

‘Oh, that’s so sweet,’ Bella said reading over his shoulder.

‘Sweet?’ He was smiling at her. ‘I set out my philosophy of love and all you can say is sweet?’

‘Err—’

‘Bella, you’re embarrassed, aren’t you? Do you love me even half as much as I love you?’ He was still smiling but she detected an undertow of seriousness.

‘Of course I do, Don, of course.’

‘That’s OK then.’

She put her arms round him and kissed him on the mouth, and it should have been a good moment, but she couldn’t sum up the courage to tell him.

And one whole week later, she still hadn’t told him, which felt wrong.

But she was so anxious. She didn’t know what she wanted. How could she possibly know what he would want? And so far, the plan had been no children. So, his life was potentially about to take an entirely different turn on the route he had mapped out with her. As she lay in bed beside him, she wondered if she really knew him well enough to guess how he would react.

Almost exactly one year ago, they’d rushed into marriage at the Chelsea Register Office. It had been a cool wedding with not a shred of the white or traditional about it. Well, there hadn’t been time to arrange all that for a start. As soon as she’d said yes, Don had fixed up the first available date at the Registrars’ convinced there was a risk she might change her mind.

She’d worn a long, tight, wine-coloured lace dress with her hair up. Don was in slightly rumpled black linen and somehow ended up carrying the flowers.

There had been just a small crowd – closest friends and as few relatives as they could get away with, made easier by the fact her own parents didn’t come. Everyone had taxied to Claridge’s for a monumental lunch, then Don and Bella had sent the guests on their way so they could start their honeymoon.

In their wonderful room, they had filled the enormous bathtub to the brim with hot water and foam and moved in there for hours swigging gloriously expensive champagne out of the bottle, singing love songs and having giggly sex.

It had been so romantic. Lying in the dark now, Bella couldn’t help smiling as she cuddled up close to Don listening to him breathe. Everything about him coming into her life had been romantic, interesting and full of fun.

It was such a fluke they had even met. She had been in a crowded, noisy bar with workmates. A bar she’d never been in before and would never have gone back to. As she’d gone outside to spark up her one zillionth cigarette of the evening, her lighter had died.

She’d tugged at the sleeve of the nearest person to ask for a light. It was Don who’d turned around and glanced at her, then held the look with obvious interest.

She’d lifted her cigarette, raised her eyebrows and said, ‘Light?’

His reply, with just a hint of melting Scottish burr, ‘I knew one day I’d regret not being a smoker.’

She had smiled wide and warm and they had looked each other over approvingly.

‘Too bad,’ she’d said. ‘D’you want to buy me a drink instead?’

‘Yes, please,’ he’d answered. ‘And why didn’t I think of that first?’

She’d been unable to stop herself from adding archly, ‘It’s OK. Most girls don’t like a man who’s always first.’

They had stood at the bar and talked while the attraction between them built up to bonfire level.

He was clearly older, gorgeous, intelligent, very interested and ringless. His hand had been round her waist before they had finished their first drink together. She had immediately liked everything about him. He was tall, in a nice suit but he made it look casual with his unbuttoned shirt collar revealing a beaten-up white T-shirt. She’d also noticed his practical rubber-soled ankle boots and black plastic diving watch.

He seemed so relaxed and refreshingly individual – a journalist, not another financial clone. She could tell he was way more mature, in his forties, she’d guessed, but that made him even more interesting. She’d not been able to take her eyes from his face, so handsome, but comfortably worn in and full of character. His humour was dark and cynical but he seemed to like her upbeat optimism and she’d never met a man who could quote both Machiavelli and 30 Rock back at her.

They’d looked at each other, laughed and almost kissed right then, but both their mobile phones had gone off at once.

‘Whooo… synchronicity,’ Don had said before answering.

‘So, what do you do?’ she remembered him asking and when she’d answered, ‘Management consultancy’, he’d looked utterly appalled.

‘Good grief,’ he’d said. ‘You are quite the City girl, aren’t you? So, you get paid stacks of money by the big boys to go in and sack people?’

‘Hey!’ she’d rounded on him. ‘Just a minute. I’ve turned loads of companies around that would have gone under costing everyone their jobs. And anyway, I only work for medium-sized finance companies and I have a lot of principles, thank you. What about you? Mr Supposedly Free-Thinking Rebel, you work for Totally Evil Global News Inc!’ she teased. ‘And I bet you wear Levi’s and Nikes, and look, you’re drinking Budweiser and probably get Starbucks three times a day so, don’t lecture me about selling my soul to the big corporations.’

‘OK.’ He’d looked startled and had pulled a frightened face at her to make her laugh, but it didn’t work.

‘God,’ she’d continued angrily, ‘why do people get so upset about big businesses? They’re just made up of people, people with mortgages and families and ideas. And if you don’t get big companies to change and treat their employees well and not devastate the environment, where do you start?’

‘Sorry… I’m surprised you’ve given this so much thought,’ he’d said, only for her to answer, ‘I’m paid to give all of this a huge amount of thought.’

‘Look, I’m impressed… it’s OK. I’m very impressed. So, you don’t drink Starbucks?’ He’d tried to lighten the tone.

‘No. I make my own coffee!’

‘At work?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Wow, and you don’t wear trainers?’

‘No, well, unless they’re made sustainably – don’t laugh! The people who made these shoes,’ she’d held out her foot, showing off high-heeled mock snakeskin, ‘are entitled to sick pay, trade union membership, a year’s maternity leave…’

He was lovely.

After their final drink, she’d decided to throw to the wind all her advice to herself to stay off men for a while and had asked him, ‘So, Starbucks drinker, would you like to try my coffee? Very strong espresso, keeps you up all night.’

‘Yes, please,’ he’d said and steered her out of the bar.

They’d kissed for the first time on the pavement outside, then over and over in the back of the cab. She’d been so turned on, she’d found it difficult to unlock the door to her flat. When she’d finally got it open, they had rushed in and thrown coats, bags and jackets to the floor, so they could get on with kissing passionately in the hallway.

Then Don had slowed down to kiss her with surprising tenderness. Gently he had unbuttoned her blouse and slid her bra straps over her shoulders so he could kiss her nipples. They had made love for the first time standing up in the hall. And for a very first attempt at being together, it had gone almost too well.

For once she’d been in a skirt which wasn’t too tight to hitch up, and Don was wearing braces, so his trousers didn’t fall down round his ankles.

It could still make her pulse rise if she thought about how helpless, how loose kneed with lust she’d felt when they had made love for the first time.

It was his relaxed assuredness, his complete confidence in himself that she found the most incredible turn-on. He even had a condom on him which he had taken out of his wallet, murmuring ‘You must think I’m such a slut’ into her ear. And every hair from her earlobe to her shoulder blade had pricked up with pleasure.

‘Likewise,’ she’d whispered back, closing her eyes, leaning back, impatient to be kissed fiercely, pushed up hard against the wall by such a good-looking, virile man.

He’d lifted her just slightly onto her tiptoes to take him inside. And as he’d entered her for the first time, she’d let out a sigh of pleasure. For a moment she didn’t know what the sensation was, then she realised that he was a breathtakingly perfect fit.

He’d whispered, ‘God this feels so right. You’re incredible.’

Throughout that fantastic first time, in which they had come almost together, she had allowed herself to think the forbidden thought – that she had finally found her match.

Don had stayed with her for the rest of the weekend and had teased her relentlessly about her bare flat.

‘There is nothing here, have you just moved in?’ he’d asked, looking round on Saturday morning at the sitting room furnished only with a sofa, TV, side table, stack of pink FTs and business books.

It was a lovely flat though, two big rooms, large floor-to-ceiling windows, a galley kitchen, bathroom and a tiny roof terrace.

‘Well, five months ago. I’m not here much,’ she’d said defensively, knowing he was guessing at her astronomical rent.

‘Nope, you’re not.’ He’d opened her fridge. ‘Is that it?’ he’d asked, taking in two yoghurt pots and an orange.

‘I suppose I eat out lots or takeaway. I’m a complete workaholic, you should know that about me,’ she’d answered.

‘Should I?’ he’d said wrapping his arms around her and gathering her up in a sexy, protective way. ‘You mean, if we’re going to take this any further.’ He’d smiled at her.

‘How much further is there to go?’ she’d teased back.

He’d answered so seriously, ‘Oh, a lot. A lot further. I really like you.’ And she’d felt quite deliriously happy.

They spent the rest of the weekend talking and talking, in cafés, in bars, in the park, in bed – and both had felt an amazing connection.

It wasn’t that sort of cliché-d liking all the same things, but a fascination for how different they were. Grown-up, cynical rebel versus young, go-ahead, corporate girl. He wasn’t at all interested in money, which intrigued her because she aspired to being fantastically rich, which in turn intrigued him. He adored his mother, she— well, it was complicated. He’d left school at sixteen, she’d been steeped in over-education since the day she was born.

They were so interested in each other it had felt as if they couldn’t ever know enough. A lifetime of talking wouldn’t be enough. But when Sunday night finally arrived and Don said he would have to go back to his flat and get ready for the week, she’d had a flicker of doubt. Could this really happen? Would he call? Would they ever see each other again?

Just as she’d prepared to face the melancholy of a Sunday night alone after two unbelievable days like this, he’d said, ‘Why don’t you come with me? Pack your overnight bag and drive me there.’

She’d flung her work clothes into a holdall before he could change his mind.

Of course, he’d been uber-impressed with her car.

‘They don’t cost that much,’ she’d said defensively. ‘And I got quite a bit of money on my twenty-first.’ Aaargh. Too late.

‘You are driving around in your twenty-first birthday present?’ He’d sounded shocked. ‘Oh my God, you’re definitely too young to be dating me, way too young.’

Oh… oh yes… it was only day two and he distinctly said ‘dating’. Now it was her turn to be shocked.

‘Look, I’m twenty-seven,’ she’d reminded him. ‘Almost twenty-eight. I’m a grown-up. And cars are very important,’ she’d added, as they’d pulled out into the road.

‘Why?’

‘They’re like clothes – the outward expression of our inner desires and aspirations.’

‘And I thought they were quite a good way to get around.’

‘Yeah, right. And let me guess exactly which type of large, chunky off-roader you drive, my friend.’

He was really surprised now.

‘See! I’m always right. Some people can guess star signs. I can guess cars. I’m seeing large, dark colour, mega-horsepower, very thirsty jeep-type. I’ll go for the classic Cherokee.’

‘I must have told you that!’

‘You did not!’ she was mock indignant now.

Of course, his flat had turned out to be the opposite of hers: a low-ceilinged dark basement, crammed completely full. Every wall was lined with bookcases stuffed not just with piles of books but with old cameras, mini tape recorders, PC disks, candle ends, ornaments, light bulbs, mugs filled with pens, photos – framed and unframed – socks! Jesus, not even a cleaner could help him now, he needed a feng shui expert or maybe a skip.

But it wasn’t grubby, thankfully. Doing the guided tour, he’d showed her his room and she’d seen clean white sheets. In the contrastingly spartan bathroom there was evidence that someone was doing all the essential cleaning jobs regularly.

She admired his hardware – top of the range stereo, widescreen TV, two computers and a recent laptop.

He had made her tea in a patterned china teapot with loose leaves and it was good, even though she only ever drank coffee. Then he’d brought out a fine old bottle of whisky and they cuddled up on his shabby sofa, with a worn tartan rug flung over it, and got mellow-drunk together.

She’d sat up to light a cigarette and moved to face him, cross-legged, as she smoked it.

‘So, what are you really like? What do you like to do?’ he’d asked.

‘Hey, big scary journalist,’ she’d teased. ‘Is this your standard prospective girlfriend interview?’

‘Maybe.’ He’d smiled.

‘OK, let me think… I mainly work,’ she’d admitted. ‘I love my job. If I’m not working, then I’m either out eating and drinking with friends, networking, or smoking. To relax, I go to the gym, or to the shops. I used to spend a lot of my spare time having sex with unfamiliar people in unfamiliar places. But I’m trying to cure that habit and apart from the occasional relapse…’ they’d both laughed, ‘I now spend a lot more time reading: newspapers – but not yours – business books, even books from the cringeworthy “Mind, body, spirit” section. Oh boy… why am I telling you that?’ They’d laughed again.

‘I’m not going to pretend I go to the theatre or art shows,’ she added. ‘Who has time to do that in London?’

‘Why do people your age always make me feel so young?’ Don had asked with a grin. ‘You’re so grown-up and sensible. I bet you have investments.’

‘We didn’t all have the luxury of growing up in an economic boom, you know, when teenagers like you could just grow your hair and head off into the sunset in sandals,’ she’d said.

There was a pause and Bella changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on how much older he was. ‘How long have you owned this place?’

‘I’ve been here two years. I rent it from a friend.’ That had surprised her.

‘It’s a bit of a hole,’ he’d added. ‘Damp, which is bad for books, the odd mouse, not very warm in the winter. I think I’ll move in with you.’ This was meant as a joke but they’d looked at each other and just knew it was going to happen.

When she’d reached up to kiss him, he’d responded so passionately that within moments they’d been fumbling with each other’s clothes desperate to make love again.

‘Uh-oh, I’m in trouble,’ he’d whispered. ‘You know you’re in trouble when there’s a cheesy old Foreigner song playing in your head…’

‘Uh-oh… I won’t know it, but what’s the line that’s playing?’ she asked, winding her leg around his, desperate to have him again.

He whisper-sang the words to her about waiting for a girl like her to come into his life.

‘A girl like me?’ she smiled and kissed him yet again.

‘Exactly like you. You’re perfect.’

And the sex was so good, it was almost a disappointment when it was over and they were too played-out to do it again.

Later, she’d told him they should take two weeks to think it over. He’d said she was being wonderfully sensible and that was what he loved about her. The L-word within forty-eight hours – it was almost too much.

Two weeks later he’d moved in with all his books, but minus a lot of his other stuff. That had been her second condition.

As Bella lay in bed, remembering their first weekend together and their wedding, she knew Don loved her, would love her no matter what. She wondered why she had been so nervous of telling him about the pregnancy. It was time for him to know. She would tell him tomorrow, she decided, on their wedding anniversary. And they would work out what they were going to do – together.

The next evening, a Friday, they went out for dinner at the restaurant they’d been to on their first proper night out.

Bella decided to wait until she’d had at least a mouthful of wine before breaking the news. She took a breath, but then the starters arrived and her moment was interrupted. A little later, their first courses were finished, the waiter had cleared their plates, so she took another sip from her glass to steady her increasing nerves.

Again, she took a deep breath, but then found herself asking, ‘So, what do you think about the idea of us buying a home together?’

His face brightened. ‘I think it’s a great idea,’ he said, then reached over and took her hand. ‘Before you, I was always happy renting and I didn’t want the baggage of owning a place, but now I think it would be very nice. I’d like us to have our own home.’

‘Oh, that’s sweet,’ she said.

‘I know. Sickly.’ He smiled.

She could feel her eyes start to swim. She was on the verge, just about to do it, but again, the waiter interrupted the moment by arriving with their next round of food.

There was silence between them as they ate the first mouthfuls.

‘So delicious,’ said Bella.

‘Brilliant,’ Don agreed with his mouth full.

After another long pause, Don looked up at her and asked, ‘Is there a problem at work? You seem edgy tonight.’

‘Umm, no,’ she answered. ‘It’s something else.’

She looked up at him and tried to sound calm. ‘There’s something I’ve got to tell you. I’ve known for a few days… and I’ve not known how to tell you… I’m so worried about how you’re going to react.’

‘Bella, this is me… you can tell me. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out.’ He was smiling at her.

She was still silent.

‘You’ve reached the limit on your credit cards?’ he joked, still smiling. Then, when she didn’t laugh, he repeated, ‘This is me… whatever it is, I’m sure we can handle it.’

‘Well…’ This was it. She took a deep breath then blurted out, ‘Don… I’m pregnant.’

Her eyes were completely fixed to his face. Whatever he said next, whatever expression he made, it mattered so, so much.

For what felt like the longest time, there was nothing but completely expressionless silence from him.

‘We’re pregnant…’ she added to break this unbearable silence and because they were in this together. ‘It’s a complete shock.’

‘Total shock…’ Don said finally. ‘Oh my God, I didn’t expect that.’

‘No…’

For a moment he looked away and let a breath out, running a hand over his hair. Then he took hold of her hands across the table and looked right at her in that way he had of making her feel completely seen.

‘How are you?’ he asked.

‘I’m shocked… and I don’t even know what I think…’

‘Yes… this wasn’t in the plan.’

‘No… and we could still stick to the plan. If that’s what we want to do…’ and much as she tried to sound like her old, brisk, no-nonsense self, she could feel tears start to slip down her face.

‘Oh, Bella…’ Don whispered.

‘What are we going to do?’ she asked. ‘We’ve got to decide, and soon, and…’ she wiped at her face but the tears kept on coming, ‘the hormones have already got to me.’

‘Let’s get the bill and go home,’ Don said, and as she nodded her agreement, Don waved the waiter over.

Driving home, Bella felt as if her emotional storm had cleared a little. OK, so she had told him. And he was just as shocked and as numb as she had been. But now it wasn’t just her worrying herself half to death about what to do next, it was the two of them.

Her practical head seemed to return and she found herself putting forward calm and sensible reasons as to why they should put an end to this pregnancy and carry on just as they had planned. It was a mistake. They hadn’t meant it to happen. She hadn’t done any of the things you were supposed to do if you were baby-prepping – vitamins, giving up drinking, giving up smoking.

And then she found herself telling Don that her mother had suffered so many miscarriages that maybe that would be the outcome anyway. Maybe worrying about terminations or life with a baby was a waste of time, maybe this problem would resolve itself.

‘We need a few days,’ he told her as they got out of the car and began to head for their flat. ‘We need some time to think it through.’

‘Maybe… but I think we know what we want really,’ she told him, feeling so much less wobbly and uncertain than she had before. ‘We don’t want children. We want to go on building the life we had planned.’

Just as she was turning the key to the building’s front door, Don pulled back a little.

‘I think I’d like to go for a walk… is that OK?’

‘Of course…’ she said, but couldn’t help herself from adding, ‘You are coming back though?’

Don laughed at her, moved in to give her a reassuring hug and told her, ‘Please don’t say things like that.’

Once she was back in the flat, Bella felt exhausted and just wanted to get ready for bed. Despite everything whirling around her head, she fell asleep quickly and deeply, before Don had returned. When she woke up again, she was surprised to see from the light coming in from behind the curtains that it was late morning.

Looking over, Don wasn’t there, but his side of the bed was rumpled, his watch was lying on the bedside table and she could hear the shower.

She lay in bed remembering last night and the start of the conversation that was surely going to take up most of this weekend. The strange thing was, she felt calm, as if she had total faith that they were going to work it out and there wasn’t any use in worrying.

After she had tied on her dressing gown, she opened the bedroom door and for a moment, she couldn’t work out what had happened. The hallway was completely full of roses, absolutely packed with enormous bunches in every colour – red, white, yellow, pale pink, bright pink. The door to the living room was open and she could see even more flowers in there.

She walked through the flat and saw roses everywhere – crammed into vases, cups, mugs, even the kettle. Other pink and red flowers had been threaded onto string and hung across the walls of the living room.

The shower was now off, so she tapped on the bathroom door and went in to find Don still wet, with a towel round his waist.

As soon as he saw her, he said, ‘Hello, gorgeous girl, come here,’ and took her into his arms for a damp hug.

‘Thank you for the biggest bunch of flowers of all time,’ she began. ‘Where on earth did you get them all?’

‘I spent hours walking around, then my phone died and I got completely lost,’ Don admitted, letting go of her, so he could carry on with getting dried. ‘I met this guy setting up his flower stall and that’s when I had my big idea. I said I’d buy the lot if he took me and the flowers home. We are going to need more vases, though.’

She laughed at this, but didn’t say anything just yet, because she thought he looked as if he had more to say.

Into the pause he added, ‘I was walking all night thinking about you and us and… being pregnant.’ He moved to put his hands on her shoulder. ‘And I found myself wondering… about having a baby.’

‘Oh.’

‘Have you wondered about that… at all?’

‘Yeah… I have wondered,’ she admitted. ‘But we didn’t think we?—’

‘I didn’t think I’d get married either,’ he reminded her, ‘but a lot seems to be changing fast.’

‘But this… a baby… that is huge…’

‘Look, I still think of myself as young-ish, but let’s face it, the reality is, I’m going to be forty-two next year, I’m married to this incredible person, and maybe it’s time to think about being a father. Maybe it’s the right thing, even if it is a complete shock.’

‘I didn’t expect you to think that,’ Bella began.

‘This is all about you and what you want,’ Don added, watching her face closely, ‘but if you think you could want this, if you think we could be parents, then I… I think we will be fine, more than fine… if that is what you want too.’

‘Yeah,’ she whispered, ‘I think we would be more than fine.’

‘Oh my God,’ he said gently and pulled her in close once again, ‘take your time, think it over very carefully. If it’s what you want, then I will want it too, I promise.’

‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ she heard herself whispering into his shoulder. ‘This doesn’t seem real. Are we really going to do this? Don? Are we?’

‘Yes, amazing girl, sounds like we are!’