18. Jack
Chapter 18
Jack
M olly’s back. When Jack gets in from work on Friday evening, she’s already there, in the flat, unpacking her case in the bedroom.
‘Mol, why didn’t you tell me you were coming home? I could have met you at the station.’
‘No need. I managed to find my way back on the Tube. And I’m sure you were probably much too busy anyway. Like you’ve obviously been too busy to call me or answer my messages.’
‘There’s no need to be like…’
‘Oh, yes, there is. There’s every need. I’m your wife, Jack, the mother of your future child. I deserve better.’ She turns away from him, still standing in the bedroom doorway, and bends to remove the last of her things from her luggage, using her one good hand, struggling to slip what looks like a new dress onto a hanger before hooking it over the wardrobe door handle.
‘You’ve been treating yourself.’
‘Mum bought it for me. And new clothes – maternity clothes – are hardly a treat, more of a necessity, I would have thought.’
‘Oh. You’ve told her then? Your mum? And your dad too, I guess?’ He’s not sure why, but he wishes she hadn’t. It just makes the whole thing more real, no longer something they can stop. Molly nods, and he knows, deep down, that it’s far too late to stop it now anyway.
‘I had to, Jack. I was sick a couple of times, and not feeling great, and they couldn’t figure out why you’d gone and I hadn’t. I could only use the excuse of a broken wrist for so long. They were asking questions.’
He takes a few steps into the room and fingers the dress. It’s soft and loose, a nice shade of blue. ‘Do you actually need maternity clothes already?’
‘What did you think, Jack? That I’d still be squeezing into a size twelve right up to the day I deliver? Babies grow. Mothers grow. Not that you’d know that as I haven’t seen you for getting on a fortnight. Did you know our baby is the size of a lemon now? That’s how they do it these days, by fruit sizes. Helps you to picture it in a real way, I suppose. The last time I saw you, it was only a fig. Not that you probably have any idea how big a fig is. It’s hardly your normal diet, is it?’
‘Okay, I get it, all right? The baby is getting bigger every day and it’s not going to go away. I know that. I just have to get my head round it, that’s all. Because it’s not actually a lemon, is it? Or a pineapple or a watermelon or whatever it’s going to expand into over the next few months. It’s a proper little person. With arms and legs, and all that puke and poo and all the rest of it to look forward to.’
Molly slumps down onto the edge of the bed and he risks sitting down next to her, although he’s not quite brave enough to touch her just yet.
‘Look, don’t bite my head off, okay? What do I know about babies? They’re noisy and messy and cost a fortune, everyone knows that much. I want to be positive about it, to feel excited about it, but it’s not easy. We didn’t plan any of this, did we? And I’m assuming it’s been as big a shock to you as it has to me.’
‘Of course it has. Why wouldn’t it?’
‘I just need to know how this happened, that’s all. You’re taking the pill, right? Or you were anyway. So, how come…?’
‘You know I was. Oh, Jack, don’t tell me you think I did this on purpose. Stopped taking it to trick you? Surely you know me better than that by now.’
‘I thought I did.’
He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her looking so hurt.
‘Just to be absolutely clear, and I won’t be saying this again, I did no such thing. I don’t know why the pill let us down. Stress, moving house, that tummy bug I had a while back, just bad bloody luck… I have no idea. I don’t suppose any method of birth control is one hundred per cent foolproof, except abstinence, and I can’t see you agreeing to that. But what’s done is done, okay? He or she is real. Look.’ She lifts her T-shirt and grabs for his hand, flattening his palm against her bare skin. He’s surprised to see how rounded her belly is already, that her tummy button seems to have changed shape or angle or something. Her body looks different.
‘What does it feel like, Mol? Knowing there’s someone in there?’
‘Odd, good, exciting, frightening… So many things. But I’ve had time now to get used to it, to be happy about it. There’s no way I’m getting rid of it.’
He is shocked. ‘Who said anything about getting rid of it?’
‘Well, it’s very clear you don’t want it. Or that you’re still not sure anyway. But I do want it. With or without you, Jack, I’m keeping this baby.’ She stands up and leaves the room, and soon he hears the water running in the bath. At least she didn’t slam the door behind her. She’s not angry, just upset. But there is a new determination about her that he doesn’t recognise.
He changes out of his work suit and into a pair of old jeans and a rugby shirt. One of those with a Guinness toucan on it, a present from his brother, and probably only passed on because for Richard, all muscle and bulging biceps, it was way too small. Not that Jack’s ever been a Guinness drinker, but he would down one now if he had one. Or anything alcoholic, to be honest.
He walks out to the kitchen and checks the fridge. There’s one can of lager and an unopened bottle of white wine. He drinks the lager first, quickly, not bothering to pour it into a glass, then twists open the cap on the wine. Well, Molly won’t be drinking now, will she? She can hardly complain if he knocks it all back by himself. Then he rummages in the kitchen drawer for the takeaway menus. He can’t imagine either of them is going to feel much like cooking tonight. There’s a lot to talk about, a lot to think about, and he can’t put it off any longer.
‘I’m going to order some food. Chinese or Indian?’ he calls, but Molly has turned the radio on, very loud, and he’s not sure whether she can’t hear him or has decided to ignore him, because she doesn’t answer. It’s only the rhythmic sound of vigorous sloshing that reassures him she is okay, and that she’s washing, not drowning. He wonders how she’s managing, with the plaster cast, and if he should go in and offer to help, but she’s coped without him these last two weeks, so he’s probably best to leave her to it, and hope that the warm water and a bit of alone time will help to calm her down.
They sit at opposite sides of the small table later, the food spread out in front of them. Somehow, he had expected her to pick at it, to say something about not being hungry or feeling sick, to slope off alone to bed, but he’s wrong. She is eating like a demon.
She looks up, realises he’s watching and stares back at him, defiantly. ‘What?’ she says. ‘Never seen a woman eat before? It was a long journey home, and it’s not easy lugging a case and a handbag and a couple of shopping bags with only one working hand. I could hardly manage to carry a packed lunch as well. Not that Mum didn’t try. And, besides, I’m eating for two now, aren’t I? Not so important to work at keeping my weight down anymore.’
‘I didn’t say a word!’
‘You didn’t need to.’
‘Look, Mol. Can we start again? Try and put all this animosity behind us? I have no problem with you eating. And I have never for one moment thought you had to worry about watching your weight, before or since you got yourself pregnant.’
‘Got myself pregnant?’
He holds his hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry, sorry, bad choice of words! I know I had a hand in it too. Well, more than a hand.’
They look at each other in silence, and then Molly laughs. She puts her fork down and reaches for his hand across the table, her face suddenly serious again. ‘Can you love this baby, do you think?’
‘I won’t know until I try, will I?’
‘And you’re willing to do that? To try?’
‘If it pops out looking like you, I won’t be able to help myself, will I?’
‘If it’s a girl, fine, but a boy that looks like me? Let’s hope not.’
‘With long blonde hair and boobs to die for? Maybe not!’
She stands up and fetches her handbag, digging into a side pocket and pulling out the little black-and-white picture they gave her at the hospital, the one taken from the scan. ‘I can’t actually see any hair or boobs just yet, but do you want to meet our baby?’ She sits back down, smiles encouragingly and hands him the picture. He stares at it for a long time. No, he can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl, who it looks like, even which bit is supposed to be which. But this is their child, and it’s real. Just as real as the last time. More so. Because there was no picture then, no guessing the sex, no plans to be made. Except to be rid of it as soon as humanly possible.
This time will be different. It has to be.
They lie side by side in bed later, and he runs his fingers over her skin, tracing little circles over her breasts and her belly. Already, her body feels different, as if it’s getting tighter, before stretching to accommodate what’s going on inside. She gives a little moan and he takes his hand lower.
‘Jack…’ she says, wriggling into position, closer, trying to slither underneath him.
‘Should we?’ He wants to. Of course he does, but something is holding him back. He has never made love to a pregnant woman before. Not knowingly anyway. ‘What if it hurts the baby? You know, the pressure, the movement, the weight of me…’
‘Just be gentle then. Or I can go on top. We don’t have to go into full-on heavy bonking mode, do we? We can take it slowly. But it’s been a long time, Jack, and I’ve missed you, missed this.’ She slides her good hand around him and guides him towards her. His hand is still between her legs, and she is soft, damp, eager.
‘Something about it doesn’t feel right. I can’t explain it.’ He pulls away. It’s dark in the bedroom and he can’t see her face very well, but he hears her sigh.
‘You don’t want to? That’s a first. What’s wrong, Jack? Don’t fancy me now that I’m pregnant? What is it? My size? My shape? Or is it still about there being a baby at all? That you can’t forgive me for being pregnant in the first place? You said you were willing to try to love the baby. I hadn’t realised whether or not you loved me was in question too.’
‘It’s not. I do. You know I do. But it feels odd, weird, I don’t know, poking about inside you when there’s someone else in there.’
‘Poking about? Oh, Jack, you are such an idiot.’ She laughs, but he can tell she’s not really amused, just exasperated. She edges away, her head close to his on the pillow, but her body distant again. ‘Yes, there’s someone else in there, but we put her there. Or him. This baby is part of us. What do you think’s going to happen? That the baby is going to be disgusted with us, be traumatised for life because her parents had sex?’
‘Well, no, not when you put it like that.’
They lie silently for a while and then he feels her hand slide back onto him and start to move, rhythmically, up and down.
‘Is this okay? Less dangerous? Less weird? Or is this banned too?’
A great swell of need rises up in him. What the hell is going on in his head? He has no idea, but he knows what’s going on in his body.
‘This is very okay.’
He snuggles closer and touches her, in all the places he knows she likes to be touched, until her body shudders in that old familiar way that makes him feel wanted, needed, that he’s finally doing something right. And then he lets her do the same to him. Touch, pull, caress, release. No penetration, no knocking his penis against some unseen fig or lemon or whatever fruit it’s supposed to be by now, this growing thing that is going to one day be his child.
And, for now, as he lies there on his back in the dampness of the sheets, waiting for his breathing to recover its normal rhythm, with his wife beside him, his life feels a little more normal too.
‘Do you have any preference?’ she says, sleepily, pulling the duvet up around their necks, her warm feet slipping between his own as he rolls to face her. ‘For a boy or a girl?’
‘I hadn’t thought really.’ And he hasn’t, because he hasn’t wanted to, hasn’t dared to. ‘Just the old cliché, I suppose. Not minding, so long as it’s healthy.’ He runs his fingers through her tousled hair. He can smell her on his hands. ‘You?’
‘Same. Mum’s convinced it’s a boy though. One of her feelings!’
‘Yeah, like when she was totally sure the village kids’ football team were going to win that cup, remember? And what happened? They lost five–nil, and young Donny scored an own goal, the poor lad. No, I don’t think we should rely too much on her little prophecies and go too heavily on buying blue. Which reminds me, we still have to tell my parents too, don’t we? About the baby, I mean. Before the village rumour mill does it for us. You do know we won’t get a moment’s peace once they know? Once everybody knows?’
‘We’ll do it tomorrow.’ She lifts his other hand, the one not looped through her hair, and lays it on her belly. ‘Tonight, let’s just go to sleep. Together. And enjoy it being just the three of us.’