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‘I’ve spoken with my obstetrician, with the infectious diseases nurse, with Meg, and I’m using universal precautions. I’m being as sensible and as careful as possible, but dealing with sick people is part and parcel of nursing,’ she said calmly.
‘I don’t see that it can hurt to take a few more precautions,’ he muttered.
‘I can’t walk around in a spacesuit,’ Celeste said, ‘and neither can the nurses on the children’s or oncology wards, neither can the nurses or radiographers who don’t even know that they’re pregnant but might be...’ She could see his frown descending as the grad nurse gave the registrar a stern talking to. ‘And all we can be is sensible, all the time, not just when we’re visibly pregnant, so thank you for your concern and, no, I won’t be using this...’ she pushed back the bottle of alcohol scrub ‘...because I happen to be allergic to it.’
‘Fine!’ Ben snapped, more annoyed with himself than her. If her doctor was happy to let her keep working, and the hospital was still employing her, if Celeste wanted to keep working—well, it wasn’t his concern.
So why was he so worried about her?
It niggled at him all day and later into the evening when, confused, he stood at the supermarket, basket in hand, and chose organic steak, because it was better for the baby—which, again, wasn’t his concern, but he just stuffed it in his basket and added a carton of orange juice with added iron. He knew he was overreacting and he had every reason to. It was the anniversary of Jen’s death in a couple of days, so it was no wonder he was upset. But then he did what he always did—and chose not to think about it.
A very vague routine had developed—not every day, not even every other day but now and then. He’d wander down and ask if she fancied dinner, or he’d hear her watering the sunflowers at his front door and pop his head around and ask her if she wanted to watch a movie, or whatever.
It was company, that was all.
And she was so-o-o glad of it.
So glad not to have to be as bright and bubbly as she pretended to be when she was at work—so nice to chat and moan, or sit with her feet up on his coffee table and watch a movie.
And never, not once, did he lecture her, or question her decision to keep working.
Till at the end of thirty-three weeks, till that night, when, full from organic steak and salad washed down with orange juice with added iron, she heaved herself off the sofa, and Ben glanced at his watch.
‘It’s only eight-thirty.’
‘I just fancy an early night.’
‘You’re on a day off tomorrow.’ Ben frowned, reluctantly seeing her to the door. His own company was the last thing he wanted over these next few nights. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’ve got a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. I want to—’
‘Make sure that you look well rested, so you can fool him,’ Ben said, and then stopped, his jaw muscles clamping, because it was none of his damn business what she did.
‘I need to work for a few more weeks,’ Celeste said, and Ben said nothing. He just forced a smile, and opened the door, telling himself that she didn’t need a lecture, just a friend, but it was getting harder and harder to hold his tongue.
Then she burst into tears.
Celeste, who always smiled, always laughed, always came back with a quick retort, crumpled and gave in.
‘I can’t do it any more!’
All he felt was relief, relief that she’d seen it, relief that she wouldn’t be doing it any more, and he pulled her, sobbing, into his arms and let her weep.
‘Then don’t,’ he said gently.
‘I can’t afford not to,’ she argued, but with herself now. ‘Only I just can’t face going there again...’
‘I know.’
‘I’m so tired.’
‘I know.’
‘And I’m scared of the germs too.’
‘Come on.’ He led her back to his sofa, fetched some cold water from the fridge and then gently he spoke with her, just as he would a patient, and explored her options. She had everything in place, even had some savings, but it would only just cover the rent and not much else. There would be a bit more money once the baby came along, but undoubtedly things were impossibly tight for her financially.
‘The car’s about to give up,’ Celeste sobbed. ‘And I haven’t got a baby seat for it. I was going to get that with next month’s pay...’
‘My sister has had hundreds of car seats—the garage is full of them. She had twins...so that’s sorted, okay?’
It was just the tip of a very big iceberg, just another thing on her endless list, but it was a relief to tick it off, to share, to finally admit just how drained from it all she really was.
‘I need to work, but I really think that if I carry on, it will affect the baby.’ She was so glad that he didn’t jump in and confirm her fears. ‘I’ve got all this fluid...’
‘Look.’ Ben was supremely gentle. ‘You’ve done well to get this far.’
‘Some women work right to the end.’
‘And some women don’t,’ Ben said. ‘Some women can’t, and it looks as if you’re one of them.’
‘I’ll speak to the doctor tomorrow.’ She nodded. ‘I’ll be honest.’
‘Good,’ Ben said, then he paused. And dived in where he didn’t want to, got just a little bit more involved. ‘Have you thought of asking the father for help?’
‘Never.’ Celeste shook her head. ‘And please don’t give me a lecture saying that he’s responsible too, and that I’ve every right—’
‘No lecture,’ Ben interrupted. ‘What about your parents?’
‘I’ve written to them.’ He realised how hard that would have been for her—knew from their chats how outraged their response had been, how they had cut her off. The fact that she had written and asked them for help after they’d done that to her showed she was thinking about the baby.
‘Well done.’
It was the nicest thing he could have said. ‘I only posted it yesterday, so I haven’t heard. I’ve asked if I can move back, just for a few weeks...’
He’d miss her, Ben realised, but it was the right thing for her now. She needed family, needed someone to take care of her during these last difficult weeks—and it certainly wasn’t going to be him.
‘I’m going to speak to the doctor tomorrow.’ Her voice was firmer now. ‘And then I’ll tell Meg.’
‘Good.’
‘And now...’ again he pulled her up from the sofa as she went to stand ‘...I’m really going home to bed.’
He smiled at her as they reached the door. ‘You’ll get there,’ Ben said, ‘you really will.’
‘I know.’
She was so tired and so weary and lost, trying to be brave in the dark, that this time when he pulled her into his arms, it wasn’t because she was crying, it wasn’t because she was upset. He didn’t actually know why he’d done it, it just felt very right to hold her.
And for Celeste it felt so wonderful to be held for a moment.
A lovely, lovely moment to just stand and lean on him, to feel his words in her hair, his assurances that she had made the right choices, that she would be okay, and that she was doing well.
‘I’m scared.’
She had never, not once, admitted it to anyone.
Defiance had become her middle name, because if she stopped for just a second, if she questioned her wisdom to keep the baby, to go on working, to not publicly name the father, to admit, even to herself, that she was struggling, then surely, surely, all the balls she was juggling would come clattering down. It was easier to cope, to insist she was coping, to just get on and do, rather than stop and think.
Yet in his arms she stopped for a moment—admitted the truth and waited for the crash.
Waited for the balls to clatter to the floor, for everything to grind to a halt, for hopelessness to invade, yet as she stood there, held by him, all she did was pause, just this blink of a pause where she told her truth and, safe for a moment, regrouped.
‘Scared of what?’ After the longest time he asked her.
‘The baby deserves better.’
Ben closed his eyes in regret. Shameful regret because he had, at one time, thought the same too.
Two affluent parents, conceiving a baby that was planned, loved, wanted...
It had been his blueprint, his rage at the universe, because if he and Jen, with all they had, with all their plans and dreams, couldn’t get there, why should anyone else?
Only now he held Celeste and realised that, despite the circumstances, the woman in his arms met the last two on the list and, despite the odds, she’d make up for all the rest.
‘It’s got you.’ He stayed there, still holding her, and thought about it—thought how lucky that little baby was to have her, unplanned or whatever. It had Celeste—and he thought how she’d made him smile so many times, thought of the warmth of her affection and how lucky the recipient of that would be, and his neat blueprint faded from his mind.
