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“I want to. It’s the least I can do.” I go into the bathroom and set the bath running, and pour some bath foam into it. We clean up in the kitchen, and by the time we come back, the bath is ready, full of bubbles.
“Come on,” I tell her. “I’ll help you in.”
“Saxon! I’m not going to fall over.”
“Not with me holding you. You just told me you felt a bit shaky. Get your kit off.”
“This is just your excuse to have a good ogle,” she grumbles, taking off the track pants, underwear, then the sweater before dropping it to the floor. Finally, keeping her eyes on mine, she peels the tee up her body and over her head.
Holding up the towel, I look up at the ceiling as I count to ten.
“Mr. Chevalier,” she scolds, “are you blushing?”
I roll my eyes, then lower her down into the bubbles carefully. “I’ve got a couple of phone calls to make. Want me to put some music on for you?”
“Yes, please.”
“What do you want?”
“Surprise me.”
I go out, relieved not to be faced with all that wet silky skin. I choose Oasis’(What’s the Story) Morning Gloryalbum, set it playing, wait until I hear her singing along, then smile and go outside, taking my phone with me.
Blowing out a breath, I bring up Mathew Clinton’s number. I know he starts work in his clinic at eight on Saturday. I call him, and he answers within a few rings.
“Saxon,” he says, obviously seeing my name on his screen. “How are you doing?”
“Hey Mat, yeah good thanks. Are you all right to talk?”
“Yeah I’m good. Just catching up on paperwork. How’s Catie?”
“She’s okay. She got a bit overwhelmed yesterday.”
He sighs. “I thought so, she went very quiet. Ah, I’m really sorry about that. I should have taken it more slowly.”
“It’s all right, it’s not your fault. I should probably have done this before, but I thought I’d give you a bit of her background.” As briefly as I can, I explain how we met, how she’s had hardly any support growing up, and the fact that she knows very little about pregnancy and childbirth.
“Jesus, yeah, that would have been good to know going in.”
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault. Lack of communication all round.”
“Look, I thought I might book her in with you again, and I’ll come in this time. She needs to get more confident with asking questions if she doesn’t understand, but it’s not easy to do when you feel embarrassed. If she sees that I don’t know fuck all either, it might help.”
“You hardly know fuck all,” he says, amused, “but I get your point. Yeah, what about Wednesday? Two p.m.?”
“Sounds great.”
“Is she feeling okay?” he asks, fingers clicking on his keyboard as he books us in.
“She was a bit shaken up yesterday for a variety of reasons. I wasn’t sure whether to call you. She insisted she was okay, so I just fed her and put her to bed. I hope I did the right thing.”
“She hasn’t had any pains or bleeding?”
“No. And she looks better today.”
“Then I’m sure she’s fine. If you’re worried at all though, you call me, okay?”
