6. Iris
Iris
I looked at my body in the mirror, facing side on so I could try to see any gentle swell that had started to show in my belly, although it was too early yet. I was seven weeks, according to my calculations and I’d finally stopped doing a pregnancy test every other day, mainly because the slight wave of morning sickness that had started a week ago seemed to be a regular thing now.
At almost exactly seven fifty each morning, my stomach churned and I had to make a dash to the loo, whatever was left in my stomach stinging as it made its way up to hit the back of the bowl as quietly as I could so I didn’t summon Gully.
I knew he wouldn’t act concerned – morning sickness was a good sign, wasn’t it? – and he wouldn’t be horrified by my red eyes afterwards or the slight sheen of sweat that I ended up with on my face, but I didn’t want to force more on him than I already had done.
I’d always known he was a good guy. A bit of a fuckboy when he was younger, but since I’d known him, that hadn’t been a dominant trait. It was no surprise that women pretty much threw themselves at him; he was tall, broad shouldered, dark haired and dark eyed, with enough of a five o’clock shadow to make him look slightly dangerous, and a hint of an Irish accent when he really wanted to get his way.
I had never been immune.
My sister had phoned me the day she first met him and told me she’d found the man I was going to marry. I’d laughed down the phone at her, because I was twenty something and she was at a crime writers’ convention, full of herself because she’d had a number one bestseller and had been labelled as the future queen of crime. I wasn’t in the market for any man at the time; I was single and young and fresh out of art school, with a camera I barely knew what to do with and the world at my feet because I’d taken a really good shot that was mainly luck and a sliver of talent.
Ivy had loved Gully, but never in the way that would’ve grounded her. He wasn’t a bad enough boy. He was too single and too honest and she preferred her men to be villains that couldn’t be tamed, because if they could then she would have to tame herself.
I looked in the mirror again at my tiniest of bumps, my heart full. Morning sun flittered through the window of the bathroom, a bright yellow glean that caught the dust particles in the air.
I hadn’t been sick yet. It was too early, only just after half past seven. I knew Gully was already awake because he’d been getting up just before dawn to start writing, on a deadline with an ambition to get the next book done before the baby was born. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa last night watching some reality TV competition show, wrapped in the blankets sent from Ireland and Gully’s arms. It had been early but I’d been tired and Gully had been worried, so he’d ended up carrying me to bed and sitting next to me on the mattress reading a book until I’d drifted off.
I’d woken this morning wishing he was still there.
I ran my finger over the bump, memorising the slight curve. Today I was planning on taking a self-portrait, beginning to document the journey my body was going to take over the next few months, if all went well. This would possibly be my only chance to have a baby and be pregnant, and I was grateful for that, grateful to my sister for what she’d given me and grateful to Gully.
I sat down on the side of the bath, my stomach starting to do its usual thing, light-headedness beginning, the colours in the room seeming washy.
I got into position over the toilet and waited, the first wave of nausea coinciding with hands carefully holding back my hair.
I didn’t have the breath to say anything, vomiting hard and fast into the bowl. At least this would be over soon and then I’d feel fine for the rest of the day. Some women had it much worse, so I’d be grateful that it would only last twenty minutes.
“Put this under your knees.” Gully slid a towel across the floor, one of his hands still holding back my hair.
I rearranged myself just before the next wave started, panting afterwards because I’d always had an aversion to being sick. Gully’s free hand rubbed my back, the feeling comforting and warm.
Eventually I sat back, wiping my mouth attractively with the back of my hand.
“Sorry about that.” I didn’t look at him.
“Seriously? You’ve just apologised for being sick?” He stood up, the distance created sending a shiver down my back. “Is this the first time?”
“No,” I wasn’t going to lie. “Every day, at this time, for the last week.” I sat on the edge of the bath again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He looked hurt.
“You were writing.”
“The words can wait for half an hour. If you didn’t want me in the room, at least let me helicopter around and make you a cup of tea. Isn’t ginger meant to be good for morning sickness? It is morning sickness, isn’t it?” He was frowning, his forehead creased.
I nodded. “Ginger’s meant to be good. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it – you’ve already done so much and I knew you’d do even more.”
“Damn right.” He nodded, the confusion slipping away and leaving him looking just – well – cross.
He folded his arms, biceps popping through his sweater.
I gulped. I felt like I was about to be told off, only part of me was quite happy with this telling off. Any boyband good looks that Gully possessed had been eroded by the irritation etched on his face.
“I feel like I’m in trouble. Am I in trouble?”
He nodded. “Don’t try to protect me from the hard stuff because you feel grateful. I don’t need protecting, Iris. If you don’t want me with you for whatever part, I’ll respect that, but don’t hide shit from me. You knew when I agreed to this I didn’t just want to be a sperm donor.”
“I know.” He had made it very clear. The legal documents that had been drawn up between us made it very clear too.
“I can’t carry this baby. You’re the one growing them, keeping them safe. You’ll be the one who gives birth to our child. All I did was jerk off, so give me the dignity of looking after you while you look after our baby.” His eyes burned into me.
Heat was springing up everywhere.
Which was somewhat unexpected. Especially I wasn’t exactly fresh.
“I am capable of chucking my guts up on my own.”
He nodded, just once. “But do you want to be on your own?”
“No.” I didn’t. I felt vulnerable. I worried that I’d faint when I went lightheaded, and I really did like how he’d rubbed my back. I’d felt looked after.
“Then we have a standing date each morning.” He relaxed his arms. “What do you need now? Tea? I can go to Freya and Roe’s and get some ginger. She makes her own ginger teas.”
“Normal tea. I need a shower. I want to brush my teeth before you come any closer and I’d really like some thick bread toasted with butter. Maybe some jam or honey. Honey.” I was suddenly hungry, which was how it’d gone every day so far.
Gully closed the distance between us in two steps and pulled me into his arms. I pressed my head against his chest, feeling teary and warm and settled.
“You’re not an inconvenience and if you don’t think I’d drop everything in a millisecond to be there for you, you’re so far wrong.” His hand smoothed along my back.
“Thank you. You’re the best friend I could ask for.”
He stilled at my words, everything pausing, everything frozen.
“I’ll do your tea.” He moved away, leaving me wondering what the fuck had just happened.
Spring had started early this year. The storms that usually happened on the island, so I was told, seemed to have died out already, so on the anniversary of Ivy’s death, we had pretty pale sunshine and rows of dancing daffodils.
Whoever had lived in Gully’s house before had enjoyed gardening, something that was becoming more apparent every day, when yet another new shoot emerged from the ground. Crocuses, daffodils, snowdrops and bleeding-heart plants were coming through in the flower beds and even the lawn, the sunlight cool but strong enough to wake them from their winter slumber.
For the last few days, since Gully had discovered me vomiting, he’d kept more of a distance. In the evenings, he’d gotten me comfortable and then sat on the other sofa, typing away at his laptop, determined to get this book off to Clover so he could start the next. I was worried that speed would mean he lost out on quality, but he said he was just more focused and what he was writing was his usual ‘golden’ standard, so I left him to it, missing the physical closeness that’d been there over the last few weeks.
It had always been Gully who’d instigated it. Touch. It was so simple a sense, the feel of someone else pressing themselves onto you. Without being touched, I started to feel deprived, missing the comfort, the connection.
Like with any fixation, it translated into photographs, and so I began a study of skin, its texture and colour and the transposition of it in different settings. I took photos of myself my hands on different materials, different materials on me, especially over my bump. I took photos of Roe and Gully and Finn with the children, of Grayson carrying his daughter, Matilda, downstairs in their home with a towel draped over her because she’d almost flooded the bathroom. He was laughing; Matty had her hands on his face, laughing as well, and the photo was beautiful, but the close up of her hands on his face, his stubble evident, was what struck me.
So I had the perfect excuse of being outside in the garden with Gully and Finn when they decided to build the fence and gate to stop any chance of a baby or small children escaping down to the jetty and into the water.
I’d told Gully at least three times that it was premature; our baby would still be cooking for more than six months and it would be another twelve at least after that when we’d need to worry about them escaping.
He’d paid absolutely no heed, corralling Finn into helping him build a fence and a gate, and as it turned out, an archway, on an unseasonably warm day when almost everything reminded me of Ivy.
There was the sound of chopping wood, or the occasional drill and a curse every so often. Spades were discarded on the lawn, along with the thick shirts both Gully and Finn had been wearing, thrown on the ground because they were too hot.
I was also too hot, but for a completely different reason.
“This is more entertaining than a day at the spa.” Ruby sipped a glass of prosecco, sat on a wooden chair next to me. “I am worried that I might get pregnant again though. This is the sort of spectacle that can cause such things.”
I knew what she meant.
Finn’s and Gully’s jeans were torn and low on their hips, the waistband of Gully’s underwear visible at the top. They were wearing vests, although there wasn’t really much point. The material was only serving to work as a cloth to wipe the sweat off their foreheads.
“Contraception?”
Ruby nodded. “The first time was a lapse, granted. The second time we were using condoms and guess what? They’re only ninety percent effective and Elsie was the ten percent. Two children born within twelve months, without being twins.”
“You’re doing well.” She was. There was no question about that, but I wondered how often anyone told her that.
“It takes a village.” She gave me a sweet smile. “We didn’t plan for one at the time, let alone a very quick second. I think we’ve only just recovered from the shock. Sometimes I find Finn standing there staring at them when they’re asleep – them both being asleep at the same time is something to stare at though. It doesn’t happen often. Gully was amazing when Elsie was born.” Her look suggested she was assessing something. “Elsie had really bad croup and did not sleep. Elias was still a baby, not quite one and Finn and I were just surviving. Gully pretty much moved in and looked after Elias or Elsie so they had time with me or Finn and the other could sleep. He’s going to be an amazing dad. Your baby will be very lucky.”
I nodded, glad of the visual distraction right now, as Gully had finally lost his vest.
I picked up my camera and started to snap photos. Clutching at straws was probably the right phrase for saying any of this was connected to my project, but I was sticking with it as an excuse.
Gully was laughing as he held an saw, butchering wood into slim posts for the fence. Finn was working on more technical stuff, the finer detail, because he apparently did this as a hobby and had started making some furniture, such as toy boxes for his kids and a stool for Elias, although Elias rarely sat down.
It wasn’t Finn I was watching though. Our baby may not have been made the conventional way, but that wasn’t stopping the sorts of feelings I was having towards their father right now.
I hoped I wasn’t drooling.
That wouldn’t be fair. Gully was my friend . A friend who I’d slept with on one occasion, but we’d agreed to forget about that.
I’d tried to forget about that.
I hadn’t been successful, if I was honest.
The sex had been mind blowing. He’d known exactly what he was doing and maybe it was the setting and all the pheromones knocking about because it was Mardi Gras in New Orleans and our final night together, but I’d never had anything like that before.
Never had again.
Maybe for him sex was always like that. I couldn’t say it was for me. Maybe I’d put that night on a pedestal and it hadn’t been that good, I just had hazy memories, but those memories were staying. Maybe I was a fool.
He’d been the sort of man-boy my sister had warned me about, only I’d never seen evidence of that. Since we’d been friends, he’d only been on dates that had materialised into short term relationships, rather than strings of one-night stands, unless he hadn’t told me about those. But in Puffin Bay, apart from during the tourist season, one-night stands weren’t easy to come about. The population was small and steady, and mainly older.
His gaze flicked over to me, a grin curving over his face. He lifted the axe again and chopped the stump of a tree into pieces, probably for a fire at some point in the future when the wood had dried out.
Axe down, he walked over to me. “Enjoying the show?”
“I’m getting some good photos. Want to see?” I somehow had an answer for everything.
He stood just behind me, looking at the camera screen from over my shoulder. I could feel his body heat even though he wasn’t touching me; I could catch his scent, aftershave and fresh sweat, without trying to find it and the whole scene was doing things to me that shouldn’t be allowed.
I needed some time alone.
An orgasm was well overdue.
Something told me it wasn’t going to take me long to get there.
“That’s a good photo.” He interjected when I got to an action shot, the axe raised above his head, his expression determined, his muscles flexed. “I should put that on my social media.”
“No.” I turned off the camera. “You don’t have the photographer’s permission.” There was no way his hoard of fans was seeing that photo.
His grin was devilish. “It’s of me. Surely I have rights over it.”
“It isn’t for sale. Property of the artist.”
His brows were raised. “You sure about that?”
“Absolutely. I’ll be using that photo in an exhibition. About skin.”
“Skin?”
I nodded. “Touch, to be accurate.”
Finn and Ruby caught my attention at that point, mainly because she squealed as he picked her up, his attention only on her.
Quickly I switched on my camera and focused on them, aware of Gully’s attention on me while I worked, changing the focus, altering the exposure. I snapped quickly while they were unaware, her arms around him, his smile as wide as Gully’s could be, his hair flecked with silver while hers was blowing in the breeze. They looked utterly in love.
“That’s an amazing photo.” Gully’s words were quiet as I studied one of the photos. “They’ll be thrilled with that.”
I nodded, seeing exactly what he saw. Devotion. Love. Laughter.
Something that looked like forever.
“You’re so massively talented.”
I didn’t feel his touch, but I knew exactly how close he was to me. “Thank you.”
His fingers flickered across my neck, brushing away my hair that needed a trim. “Take a photo of me.”
“I’ve taken loads.” I half laughed at him. “Want the attention much?”
“Always.” He moved away from me, walking towards the jetty. “Come on!”
I followed, because why not? The Strait was calm, deceptively so, the swells underneath the surface deadly, but the scenery was not.
Gully stood at the end of the jetty, still shirtless, facing the sea. He turned around and looked at me over his shoulder, smouldering before giving me a grin that screamed sex and orgasms, or maybe that was just where my head was right now.
He pulled a few more poses, the camera adoring him, then he stopped. “Can you set it up on a timer? To get some of you and me together. I think our kid deserves to see photos from this day when their dad built a fence.” His eyes glittered when he said the word dad.
I took another photo, this one for me.
I wasn’t camera shy. I was happiest behind the lens, but I had no hang ups about being in front of it either, even though I could list all of my flaws. I liked my flaws though; I liked everyone’s imperfections – it was what made them interesting.
I kept it quiet, but I was a decent artist, particularly for portraits and people. I could’ve pursued a career in art, but I’d opted for photography because I liked the realness it brought, how it captured movement and time and the small parts that gave a sense of a depth of a person. Art was amazing, but it was more about the artist rather than the subject. For me, photos were for the person who was looking at them, a step inside a moment that may’ve belonged to someone else.
“Okay, over here though. The light’s coming through the branches and the blossoms just coming out.” I’d dragged my tripod down with me when Gully had called to have his photo taken, and I’d shot down here before, so I had a good idea of the angles.
He watched me as I set up, checking the view and tweaking it, directing him to stand in a certain spot and then getting him to move.
“Won’t Finn wonder where you are?”
He laughed and shook his head. “They’ll be making baby number three in the shed or something.”
“You think they’ll have more?”
He nodded. “Don’t believe what they say when they complain about the kids. They fucking adore them. Finn thinks Ruby walks on water and when she’s not around to hear it, he talks about how much Elsie’s like her mam.” His eyes were reading me. “I wonder who our baby will be like.”
“Themselves.” I finished positioning the camera. “They’ll be themselves and whatever they want to be.”
“With all the good looks and charisma of their parents, their parents being you and me. Promise me, we’ll never say that they remind us of their Uncle Roe. Even if they’re a tech genius and can hack into the White House, we’ll never compare them to Roe.”
I grinned, knowing what he was doing, believing him as well. “Promise. Now how do you want these photos to look?”
“Come here.” He beckoned me over. “Have you set it to time or something?”
“Constant – it’ll take a shot every five seconds. Are you still warm?” He was shirtless.
“I’m always hot.” His grin was too.
I shook my head, wanting to disapprove, not sure if I was hiding that I didn’t.
“Come here. I haven’t touched you for days.” His arms went round me, wrapping over my front and pulling my back to his chest. I felt his heart beating. I felt my heart beating back.
My temperature rose.
“Whose fault is that?”
“Mine. I wanted to prove I could stop touching you. I wanted you to notice that I wasn’t touching you anymore.” His voice was low, half hidden by the rustle of the breeze and the lapping of the water nearby. “I wanted to know if you noticed and you missed it.”
His hands rested against my stomach. I was wearing harem pants; comfy, lose cotton that felt smooth and soft against my skin. I had a feeling I’d be living in them for the next year or so and I was quite happy to. On my top, I wore a broderie Anglaise shirt, lose fitted and worn. Gully slid his hands underneath it.
The camera continued to take photos of those moments.
“I noticed.”
He kissed the side of my neck. When I would see the photos later, I’d notice him looking at the camera as he did so, his eyes dark, his expression serious.
I’d remember how warm I was everywhere, his touch burning in the prettiest of ways.
“Take off your top.”
I turned around as he pulled at the hem.
“What?”
“Trust me. Take off your top.” He pulled it up more.
I held up my arms and let him strip it from me. The air was warm still and I was too heated by the fire he’d planted inside me to feel any coolness anyway.
“Nice bra.” He threw my top to the ground, then placed his hands just underneath my breasts, almost cupping them.
I leaned back against him, moving my arms up around his neck, my back still against his bare chest. My bra was lacy and pretty, cream in colour, although most of it was lace.
“No one’s going to be seeing these photos.” I knew very little of my breasts were concealed.
“Good. Just us then.”
I burned hotter between my legs, molten heat pooling there. Gully’s hands moved higher, cupping my breasts, his fingers running over my nipples, which were hard already. Needy.
There was no point hiding that I was aroused. No point denying this. We’d never made any pact to keep our hands off each other or said any form of relationship was out of bounds.
“Is this too much?” His words were interspersed with kisses, light, feathery kisses designed to torment and tease.
“It’s not enough.”
“I saw you looking at me while I was making the fence like you wanted to eat me.”
I swallowed. I wasn’t going to deny it. “I did. Want to eat you.”
“Didn’t you notice that I look at you in the same way?” His fingers found the front fastener of my bra, pinching it open and pulling it away.
The sound that came from my throat was animalistic. “No. I didn’t think you did.”
“You need to be more observant then.” He cupped my breasts, rubbing his thumbs over my nipples, the camera capturing some of these moments.
He kissed my neck again, his hands moving freely over my skin, his touch keeping me burning, making the world shine brighter, the skies glimmer.
The outside, the air, the sound of the sea, his hands on my skin, my stomach, my breasts. Tender and gentle, then firmer and possessive as if he owned it all, even the jewels at the depths of the ocean.
“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this.” He nuzzled the sensitive spot between my shoulder and neck, pressing a kiss, a nip. I remembered how he’d touched me that one and only night, how his hands had worshipped my flesh, his lips claiming ownership, taking every moan I made as belonging to him.
They did.
They were right now.
“Why didn’t you?” It was a simple question.
“Because I didn’t know if you wanted me to.” He looked towards the camera, his hand concealing one breast, his arm covering most of the other. His other palm settled on my stomach. “But I can’t look at you, knowing you’re growing my baby – our baby – and not want you like this.”
“Is that why?” Part of me felt disappointed. Was it just that? He wanted me because I was pregnant with his child?
“It’s one of the reasons, and there are many.”
I looked towards the camera, one of my hands on top of his and I imagined how this same pose would look in a few months, my belly hopefully bigger and rounder, the trees in full leaf and the sun brighter.
“I want to know those reasons.”
“Maybe I’ll tell you.”
Ruby’s voice carried through the air, her laugh louder still. “I should get dressed.”
“Let me help.”
Gully bent down with me, picking up my bra with one hand, shielding me with the other. Between us I was decent in seconds, his arms around me once more, just as Ruby and Finn appeared, looking curious.
“Photoshoot,” Gully explained, making no attempt to let go of me. “One for the album.”
Ruby raised her eyes at me, then looked us up and down. “Okay. I’ll choose to believe that.”
“We need to finish off.” Finn frowned at Gully, but changed his expression to a smile for me. “The fence. Nothing else. We weren’t doing anything else.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Gully was shaking with laughter behind me.
“Baby number three on the way then?” He used me as a shield, his hips pressing closer against me.
There was another reason he was holding me here. The lovely flame between my legs wasn’t the only effect of our photo shoot.
Finn shook his head and walked off. “I’m getting that axe.”
Ruby followed him laughing. “If baby number three arrives before Elsie’s fifth birthday, you'll be having a special procedure done.”
“Not happening.” Their voices dulled as they moved away.
“Want to see the photos?” I broke free of his hold gently.
Gully nodded, folding his arms. “Are we going to pretend this never happened like we did with New Orleans?”
A flicker of realisation hit me. “Not this time. Definitely not this time.”