Caroline Anderson - Double Trouble - Pregnancy Surprise

‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ she said, almost giddy with relief, and, leading him into the utility room, she introduced him to the concept of home laundry.

THE babies were cute.

Sweet, messy, temperamental and cute. And boring .

Not when they were awake, but when they were asleep, and Jules was asleep, and the house was so quiet he wanted to scream.

And it struck him he was the one doing all the adjusting.

How fair was that? Not fair at all, he thought, simmering, and it hadn’t been his idea that he’d been cut out of their lives.

So far—thirty-odd hours in—he’d learned to run a bath the right temperature, how to put the washing machine on, how to aim food at a baby’s face, not always successfully, and how not to drink tea. That had been lesson one, and one he was unlikely ever to forget.

But now, at eleven o’clock at night, when he would usually be working on for at least another three hours, Julia had gone to bed, the babies were settled till the morning and there was nothing to do.

Nothing on the television, no way of keeping in touch with Yashimoto—who would by then have been back in the office, because he started early—and no way of contacting anyone in New York, where they’d all still be at work.

He paced around the kitchen, made tea, threw it down the sink, because he’d drunk gallons of the stuff during the day, and contemplated the wine he’d brought back the night before from the pub. He’d only had a couple of glasses, so there was nearly two bottles, but he didn’t drink alone. Dangerous.

Then he thought of the pub.

He stepped out of the back door to let Murphy out into the garden, and coincidentally see if the pub lights were on, and realised it was in darkness. Of course it was, he thought in disgust. It was a gastro-pub in the country—a restaurant, really, more than a pub—and they stopped serving at something ridiculous like nine, so he couldn’t even go there and drown his sorrows. And it was so damned quiet!

Except for that screaming he could hear in the background. He’d heard it a moment ago, and now he was standing outside the French doors he could hear it clearly, a truly blood-curdling noise, and it chilled him to the bone. Murphy’s hackles were up and he was growling softly, so Max called him back inside and shut the door, then went upstairs and knocked on Julia’s bedroom door. She opened it a moment later, wearing pyjamas with cats all over them and rumpled with sleep, and he had to force himself to stick to the point.

‘There’s a noise,’ he said without preamble, not letting himself look at the little cats running about all over her body. ‘Screaming. I think someone’s being attacked.’

She cocked her head on one side, listened, and then smiled. ‘It’s a badger,’ she said. ‘Or a fox. They both scream at night. I’m not sure which is which, but at this time of year I think it’s probably a badger. The foxes make more noise in the spring. Did it wake you?’

And then she looked at him and sighed. ‘Oh, Max—you haven’t been to bed yet, have you? You ought to sleep. You’re exhausted.’

‘I’m not exhausted. I’m never asleep at this time of night.’

‘Well, you should be,’ she scolded softly, then went back into her bedroom and emerged again, stuffing her arms into a fluffy robe that hid the cats, to his disappointment. ‘Tea?’

He didn’t want tea. The last thing he wanted was tea, but he would have drunk neat acid just then to have her company.

‘Tea sounds great,’ he said gruffly, and followed her downstairs.

It couldn’t be easy for him, to be lobbed in at the deep end, and it didn’t get much deeper than twins. He’d never been someone who needed much sleep, and, with nothing to do in the night but think, he must be turning this whole situation over and over in his mind.

Good, she told herself. Maybe he’d see the error of his ways.

Or maybe she’d just drive him away.

‘Is there any wood on the fire?’ She asked, and he shrugged.

‘I don’t know. There was. I put the guard up—does it stay alight all night?’

‘I don’t normally light it,’ she confessed. ‘The girls and I spend most of our time in the kitchen.’

‘So why did you ask?’

‘Because I thought—I’ve got DVDs of the girls, right from when they were born. Actually, from before. I’ve got a 4D-DVD of the scan. It’s amazing.’

‘4D?’

‘Mmm—3D and real time. They call it 4D. You can see them moving, and it’s amazingly real. And I’ve got lots of stuff of them when they were in special care, and all the things they do for you, like hand-and footprints and their tiny little name-bands and weight charts and stuff like that. I thought, if it was warm in there, we could watch them, but you’ll probably think it’s all really boring—’

‘No! No, I won’t. I—I’d like to see,’ he said gruffly, sounding curiously unlike Max, uncertain and hesitant. He was never hesitant, and she looked at him searchingly.

‘Good,’ she said softly. ‘Go and see if you can revive the fire, and I’ll bring us tea.’

And biscuits, some rather gorgeous chocolate biscuits that were more chocolate than biscuit, and some cheese and crackers, because she knew he’d be hungry and he frankly needed fattening up.

He was crouching by the fire when she went in, blowing on the embers and trying to breathe life into the glowing remains, and as she put the tray down the logs flickered to life and a lovely orange glow lit the hearth.

‘Oh, that’s super. Well done. Here, have some cheese and biscuits,’ she instructed, and rummaged in the cupboard next to the television for the DVDs.

‘Scan first?’ she suggested, and his brows pulled down slightly, as if he was troubled.

He nodded, and she slipped it into the slot and sat back against the front of the sofa by his legs, cradling her tea in her hands while the images of the unborn babies unrolled in front of them.

‘How pregnant were you when this was taken?’ he asked softly, a little edge in his voice that she’d never heard before, and she swivelled round and looked up at him, puzzled.

‘Twenty-six weeks.’

A shadow went over his face, and he pressed his lips together and stared at the screen as if his life depended on it. She turned back and watched it with him, but she was deeply conscious of a tension in him that she’d never felt before. When the DVD was finished and she took it out, she felt the tension leave him, and, as he leant back against the sofa to drink his tea, his hand shook a little.

Odd. Max’s hands never shook. Ever. Under any circumstances. And yet he’d always been so adamant that he didn’t want children, that their lives were complete without them. So why had the images of his children before they were born been so moving to him?

The fire was roaring away now, and Murphy heaved himself up from his position in front of it and came over, flopping down against Max’s legs. Max leant down and scratched the dog’s neck and pulled his ears, an absent expression on his face, and Murphy lifted his head and gazed adoringly at Max as if he’d just found his soulmate.