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But perhaps that sacrifice would have been worth it in the long run if it helped him master the di
strust and fear that had nearly wrecked their marriage and tormented him so? Would she have the strength and determination a few years from now, even possibly a decade or more, to reach out for that career that was becoming more and more distant? Would it mean fighting him again, and this time with a family to consider?
The questions and answers, and counter-questions and answers went on all day, and by the time Zeke arrived home, just as an early dusk was turning the sky pink and gold, she was mentally and physically exhausted.
She had phoned the local surgery that afternoon and booked an appointment with the doctor, but by her own calculations she thought she was eleven weeks pregnant or thereabouts, although she wasn’t absolutely sure of her dates. Ten, eleven, twelve weeks—what did it matter? she asked herself wryly. She was well and truly pregnant, and a week or so was neither here or there.
‘What’s all this?’ She had met Zeke at the door and led him straight into the dining room, where she had set a romantic table with their best crystal and cutlery, two candles already lit and a bowl of fresh flowers perfuming the air. ‘I haven’t missed something, have I? It isn’t your birthday or our anniversary, and I know my birthday was in June.’ He grinned at her, his face open and warm, and she forced herself to smile back.
‘There’s some champagne on ice in the kitchen.’ She was prevaricating, she knew it, but now the moment was here she just didn’t seem able to get the words out. She felt elated and wildly excited on the one hand, and terrified on the other, and added to that distinctly light-headed. In all her agitation she had forgotten to eat lunch.
‘Champagne?’ His grey eyes had narrowed on her flushed face and now there was a touch of wariness in their smoky depths. ‘Do I take it this is a celebration? What have you done?’
‘Not me. Well, not just me,’ she said shakily, her love for him suddenly overwhelming her. He was going to be so pleased and that was all that mattered. He deserved a family; he deserved every bit of love he got after the misery of his childhood, she told herself vehemently. And whatever happened in the future, however difficult things got, she must remember that. And he would be a brilliant, fantastic father.
‘I’m all ears.’ He was still smiling but she sensed it was with some effort. ‘Fire away.’
‘I’m pregnant,’ she said simply.
‘What?’ The stunned amazement was absolute. ‘What did you say?’
‘You’re going to be a father. That time it snowed—’ She didn’t manage to get anything more out before he had reached her, swinging her up into his arms as he said, ‘Marianne. Oh, my love, my love,’ in between showering her face with kisses. She was astounded to see his eyes were wet.
And then she cried, and they held each other close, pressed together for a small eternity as he stroked her hair and kissed her and said beautiful things she knew she would treasure all her life.
The meal she had cooked was wonderful, and when, later that night, he made love to her, it was with an exquisite gentleness he had never shown before.
Everything was fine.
She lay enfolded in his arms as they drifted off to sleep and it was her last conscious thought. It was. Everything was fine. She didn’t question why she had to repeat it over and over again.
In the morning she was sick again, and Zeke wouldn’t be prised from her side, only leaving the house mid-morning when she was feeling herself once more. He had sat on the bed, insisting she have a cup of tea and a couple of dry biscuits before she attempted to get up, and they had talked about the baby, which room would be good for a nursery, how perfect the house was for children, the nearness of schools—everything but her degree.
It was the same that evening, and for the next few days, and as time went on Marianne’s apprehension grew. It was as though she had never proposed going to university, never wanted a career, she thought desperately. He saw her chained to the house now. Wife and mother, nothing more. They were back at the beginning.
Of course she could have brought the subject up herself, but something deep inside balked at that. If he went cold again, remote, she wouldn’t be able to stand it, besides which she didn’t want him to think she wasn’t as thrilled about their baby as he was. She was over the moon, ecstatic, but so fearful for him. For them.
On Friday morning she kept her appointment with the doctor, who turned out to be a small round barrel of a man with the gentlest brown eyes she had ever seen.
He asked her the normal, somewhat impersonal questions relating to her condition and examined her briefly, stating that the dates she mentioned matched the twelve-week-old foetus he could feel. And then he sat back in his seat, his kind gaze very direct as he said, ‘You seem troubled, Mrs Buchanan. Edgy. Are you worried about having this baby?’
‘No, not really, not the baby. At least…’ Her voice trailed away and she looked at him miserably over the big polished desk. Where did she start to explain? she asked herself silently.
‘Yes?’ he prompted gently. ‘What’s wrong, Mrs Buchanan?’
‘My husband and I only recently got back together after being separated for a few months,’ she said awkwardly, and then, as she caught his expression, added hastily, ‘But the baby is his; that’s not the issue. It’s just… Well, I’m not sure if we’re ready to have a child. Not that either of us would consider not having it; we’re both over the moon…’ She paused again. She wasn’t explaining this very well.
‘Have you told him how you feel?’ the doctor asked quietly.
‘No.’ She flushed a little. ‘It’s nothing, really. I’m probably being silly.’ She couldn’t explain the whole complicated mess to a stranger and suddenly she just wanted to leave.
He must have sensed how she felt, because he became very brisk and businesslike, but then, just as she was leaving, he said carefully, ‘This is a very important time for you, Mrs Buchanan, and you need all the support your husband is able to give you. Talk to him, eh?’
She swallowed, and then nodded slowly. She had got more and more keyed up as the week had progressed, and that couldn’t be good for the baby, could it? Zeke had buried his feelings for the first two years of their marriage and look what that lack of communication had resulted in. She needed to air her misgivings, or at least broach the subject if he didn’t intend to. It was the only way.
She drove home with her mind only half on the road and the traffic, and once in the house fixed herself a light lunch of cold meat and salad which she ate at the kitchen table.
Since their reunion Zeke had taken to arriving home early on a Friday afternoon, often before three, but by five there was still no sign of him and she found herself getting worried.
