Lucy Gordon - The Pregnancy Bond

Kelly suppressed her rage until he’d been collected by ambulance next morning for his hospital check-up, then stormed into action. By the time he returned his things were in her bedroom and she had moved into the little room. When he tried to protest she silenced him with a look.

He retaliated by doubling the rent he paid her, sending the cheque directly to her bank account and getting Emily to mail it, so that she knew nothing for several days. Since she’d been overdrawn at the time she had no choice but to accept.

Round Two to Jake.

There were arguments on these occasions, but that was OK. Arguments she could cope with. It was when the surface was smooth that she floundered.

Superficially they’d settled easily into their strange life. Their conversations were friendly, yet each one was an individual effort, as though the ground rules had to be renegotiated every time. And that was true because they’d somehow never discovered the right tone of voice to govern their life. Without it, they couldn’t relax.

Their row on the first day had got them off to a good start, breaking the ice. Yet they hadn’t managed to build on it. Kelly didn’t want to bicker with him lest she say something else that was unforgivable. Jake seemed to have forgiven and forgotten, but she still blamed herself. That left only cautious politeness, which was terrible.

The solution to this awkwardness turned out to be sexual fantasies. Wild, exotic, uninhibited, mind-blowing sexual fantasies: mental orgies of erotica.

Not Kelly’s. The fight to keep her stomach settled was becoming the centre of her life. Her fantasies concerned hot, sweet tea and dry biscuits. Sex was the last thing on her mind.

But for Jake’s female fans it was different. Ever since his handsome face, shaggy, wind-blown hair and hard, lean body had first appeared on screen he’d received a stream of letters from hot-blooded ladies containing explicit invitations. It was a phenomenon Kelly had heard of before, and she knew in her heart that it meant nothing. Yet as a young wife, haunted by her failure to produce a child and uncertain of her husband’s love, she’d hated it. Jake had tried to share the joke with her, and been baffled that she didn’t find it funny.

‘It’s not the real me,’ he’d tried to explain. ‘I’m a disembodied face and they project their imaginations on it. I don’t meet them and I don’t want to. Darling, you’re creating a storm in a teacup.’

‘I suppose I am,’ she’d said, anxious to not bore him by making a fuss.

He’d smiled and patted her on the shoulder, evidently relieved that she was starting to be reasonable. But then he’d been unwise enough to add, ‘Anyway, mine are pretty restrained. You should see some of the-’ He broke off belatedly realising that this wasn’t the cleverest thing to say.

‘So you all sit around swapping notes,’ she’d accused.

‘Don’t make a big deal of something that doesn’t matter.’ Trying to be funny, he’d managed to miss his footing again. ‘Look, why don’t you answer them for me? Tell them I’m not available because you keep me on a ball and chain.’

That little gem had sparked a row that lasted half the night. As he’d grown exasperated, she’d grown scared. At last he’d said, ‘I’d better go out for a while, because everything I say just seems to make it worse.’

They’d never discussed it again. She’d suppressed her feelings for fear of irritating him, as she’d done so often over the years.

Now he was passing the time trying to answer some of the correspondence that had flooded him ever since the shooting. Kelly sensed that it was causing him problems, but didn’t particularly think about it until one evening when Jake was in the kitchen and she happened to notice a black lace bra falling out of an envelope on the table.

There was no jolt of anguish, such as she would once have known. Instead she felt only intrigued as she held it up. That was when he appeared in the doorway.

‘She’s a big girl, isn’t she?’ she said, considering the size.

‘I suppose so.’ He was regarding her cautiously.

Kelly glanced over the letter. ‘She wants you to do what ?’ she asked, wide-eyed. ‘Oh, my, my! You are going to have a heavy schedule!’

‘Cut it out, will you? And who said you could read that?’

‘I just wondered why you were making such heavy weather of your fan mail. You’ve always taken fans in your stride. You smile and make jokes, and they go away thinking how charming and unspoilt you are.’

‘I’ll thank you to keep your sarcasm to yourself, ma’am. This kind of fan I couldn’t cope with.’

‘If you’ve made the tea why don’t you pour me a nice big cup while I get reading?’

‘No way! I remember the grief you used to give me about them.’

‘I used to make a fuss about a lot of silly things.’

He returned with two mugs of tea to find her sitting at the table, deep in pink scented pages. His sense of humour was reviving as it dawned on him that she wasn’t upset.

‘You’d hardly believe what turns that lady on,’ he said, indicating the pink letter.

‘Evidently you turn her on,’ Kelly mused.

‘But only in certain circumstances.’ He pointed to some lines on the page. ‘I don’t think we even have any peanut butter, do we?’

Kelly’s lips twitched. ‘She was probably planning to supply her own. Mind you, I’ll buy some straight away if it’ll help your recovery.’

‘Nothing these women want of me would help my recovery,’ he said, sounding harassed. ‘More likely to lay me flat on my back-’

‘Not “Passionate of Kensington,”’ she said, riveted by another letter. ‘The last place she wants you is on your back. In fact-’

‘Yes, I’ve read that one, thank you,’ he said, hastily snatching it from her. ‘She has a vivid imagination. I don’t think what she suggests is even physically possible.’

‘Not in your present condition, but after a few months’ weight training I should think you could accommodate her,’ Kelly said wickedly.

‘Get lost!’ He ran his hand distractedly through his hair. ‘It’s worse than last time.’

‘I suppose the fantasy is more exciting with a hero,’ she mused. ‘How do you answer them?’

‘With great difficulty,’ he growled.

‘Yes, I can see the problem. “Dear Madam, in reply to yours of the thirteenth inst. I have to report your suggestion impractical, owing to high price of peanut butter.”’

‘You’re finding this very funny, aren’t you?’ he said coldly.

‘I think it’s hilarious. You, a sex god!’

‘You won’t think it’s so funny when hundreds of rampaging women turn up here demanding my body.’

‘No problem. I’ll just tell them about your knock knees.’

‘I do not have knock knees.’

‘Ho, ho, ho!’

‘What do you mean, “ho, ho, ho!”? I do not have knock knees.’

‘They’re like a pair of castanets, your knees.’

‘May you be forgiven!’

This was better, she thought, remembering his silent despair when she’d first been to the hospital. Now he was glaring, animated, giving as good as he got. Another turn of the screw wouldn’t hurt.

‘All right,’ she said in a tone of concession. ‘I take it back. Your knees aren’t big.’

‘Thank you.’

‘It’s your legs that are skinny.’

‘There is nothing the matter with my legs.’

‘Oh, yeah? Why do you never appear on camera in shorts when you’re in a hot country? Because you know that the dreadful sight would reduce your fan club to one short-sighted little old lady. With or without fantasies. What does Olympia say?’

‘I do not discuss my knees with Olympia,’ he said through gritted teeth.