Page 86 of The Last Train Home
‘I’m happy about this. We’re having a baby.’
‘We’re having a baby,’ I repeat.
He exhales loudly again, kisses me. His hand is still on my stomach. He rubs it up and down and looks down at the place where his hand rests. ‘There’s a baby in there.’
‘There is,’ I say, trying not to laugh.
‘You know I’m going to keep saying “Wow” all afternoon, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ I smile.
‘And most of tomorrow,’ he says. ‘And possibly for a while after.’
‘And then, when my stomach really starts to show …’
‘That’s going to be really weird,’ he says. He’s looking at my stomach still. ‘I’m going to be touching your stomach all the time now. I hope you’re ready for that.’
Oh, thank God, it’s not as I feared. He’s coming round now. ‘I am more than ready for that.’
‘And I’m going to protect you, and this little … thing.’
‘Thing?’
‘Baby,’ he clarifies. ‘I’m going to do everything in my power to protect you and this baby. My baby. Our baby.’ And then he says, ‘Wow’ again and I laugh.
I put the pregnancy test on the dining table and allow him to envelop me in his arms as he mutters, ‘Wow’ a few more times into my hair.
And then he looks at the pregnancy test, resting on the dining table, and frowns. ‘Didn’t you pee on that?’ he asks.
I pick it up again, fetch a disinfectant wipe and clean the table, just in case. I’m not ready to put the stick in the bin, though. I want to keep looking at it. Inside me there’s a little life growing.
Chapter 55
Abbie
December 2009
I stroke my stomach as we exit Heathrow Airport, out into the cold. Sean’s lugging our suitcases, his flight pillow draped around his neck. Holy hell, it’s cold. We were last here, waving goodbye to our London lives, more than two and a half years ago and I’d forgotten how cold it gets in England in the depths of midwinter. I love it. I feel all snug in one of my latest M&S coat purchases.
It’s dark and it’s only 4 p.m. I’d forgotten how dark it gets here, too, this time of year. I can’t wait to have my first mulled wine in for ever. My mum’s bought some non-alcoholic stuff from the food section in IKEA. It’s the best. I’m going to eat and drink all those stodgy things I can’t possibly face in the humidity of Asia. And if I don’t get one of those so-bad-they’re-good steak-and-kidney pies from the chippy at least once, I’m going to return to Singapore very unhappy.
I can’t believe it’s taken so long to get Sean to come home. But finally we’re returning to see my parents and spend Christmas with our loved ones. I am so excited. I’ve told my mum and dad we’re pregnant, even though it’s only the earlystages, but I’ve not told Natasha yet. We’ve spoken quite a lot recently and I can’t wait to hug her and tell her our good news.
I’ve contacted all my friends who I really want to see and my diary has a smattering of breakfast, lunch and dinner dates. It’s funny how so few friends are actually still in London these days, some scattered to the Home Counties, married, getting ready to have babies. But there are plans to commute in and meet up in all our favourite old haunts. A shame I can’t drink now.
Sean and I talked about throwing a wedding party, but it never got any further than just talking about it. And now we’re actually here, and it’s a bit late to organise anything. Plus it’s Christmas and everyone’s diaries are full enough already.
I think of my old office Christmas parties and how I miss out on all of that, now I’m a freelancer. But life changes. People change. I stroke my stomach again as we wait for my dad to pull up and collect us – yes, I’ve become one of those women who strokes their baby bump, although mine is barely showing at only a few weeks.
When I’d scrolled through my phonebook to organise meet-ups with friends, my finger had paused on Tom’s name. I’d stared at it for ages, deciding what to do. What good would have come from tapping on his name, firing a message, organising to meet? We’re completely different people now; we have different lives, in different continents. Would seeing him merely slice open a wound that had nearly healed? I don’t even know if we’d still get on. I’d have to tell Sean I was seeing Tom. And he’d want to come too, to keep an eye on things. No. Seeing Tom is a bad idea. It ended so badly last time. Again.
So I’m home for Christmas and I’m not seeing him. My dad told me he’d made an excuse not to meet Tom for golf in the end, because it had clearly upset me. I feel awful about that. What if Tom had needed a friend in my dad? What if I had taken that away from him? I’m overthinking it, I’m sure. I’m sure Tom’s been fine.
But I do wonder if we’ll ever speak again. That thought shocks me as we stand in the cold, dark airport pick-up point and I see my dad’s car turn the corner towards us. I wish I could stop this feeling every time I think of Tom – the strange knot that presents itself in my stomach. He’s still there deep down, in my heart, in my head, and being back home reminds me of that. That night, in his kitchen. My words to him; his words to me.I love you. I love you.
Natasha and I have been chatting for an hour. We’ve covered life, love, everything in between. All the good TV that I’ve missed because I can’t get certain channels in Singapore. We’ve covered Christmas, the baby andher engagement. She was waiting to see me, so I could be one of the first to know. I spotted the ring before she’d even said hello, and I wouldn’t let her talk about anything else until she’d dished all the details.
‘I didn’t even put it on Facebook,’ she says. ‘I was waiting to tell you. I’ve written the post on a note in my phone and am ready to hook it up to a picture of Will and me, smiling, on the London Eye.’
