Cathy Kelly - Always and Forever

She yelled a cheery hello and Alex rushed from the bathroom, looking a bit pale. ‘Dodgy stomach,’ he said by way of greeting, then planted a speedy kiss on her cheek.

‘Is that all the welcome I’m getting?’ Daisy joked, following him into the bedroom where he began rapidly undressing, throwing his jacket and tie onto the silken caramel throw on their king-size bed. ‘Oh-oh, this is the welcome…’

Halfway through pulling off his shirt, Alex grimaced. ‘Honey, if you knew the weekend I’ve had…Those people wouldn’t spend Christmas. I am so shattered. And the hotel wasn’t as good as the last one.’

‘Poor love.’ She held out her arms to him, and for a minute he relaxed against her and laid his head on her shoulder.

Then, he moved away and finished undressing, before putting on jeans and a sweatshirt.

Daisy sat cross-legged on the end of the bed.

‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she began. ‘It’s OK,’ she laughed, seeing his eyes widen, ‘I haven’t been fired and I haven’t crashed the car! It’s about the baby, our baby. Oh, Alex, we’ve waited so long – let’s do something about it.’ She smiled, having saved the best till last. ‘I did some research today and phoned a couple of fertility clinics. With most of them, you’ve got to wait about a month for an appointment but the Avalon – I read about it in the paper and it’s brilliant, although it’s one of the more expensive – had literally just had a cancellation. They can see us on Friday three weeks at twelve fifteen.’ Her eyes shone with excitement. ‘Isn’t that fantastic? Please say you can make it.’

Alex, frozen with one black sock on and one off, stared at her.

‘We’ve been waiting for years, Alex. One before you got sick and two since.’

He flinched. She knew he hated being reminded about his illness.

‘We’ve got to do something before I run out of time. I need to know why I’m not getting pregnant. I want a baby.’ Even saying it made her feel emotional. ‘And I know you do too. It’s what we’ve wanted for so long, and now it’s the right time.’

She held out a hand to him and, his expression unreadable, he took it, sitting down on the bed beside her.

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘You don’t have to say anything,’ Daisy rushed in, terrified that he’d say that he didn’t want a baby that much after all. ‘Alex, I think that’s our problem: we think and plan and with some things in life, you can’t think and plan. They should just happen. We’ve been waiting for the right time to have a baby and it’s now.’ Please agree with me, she pleaded silently.

‘I don’t know,’ he repeated.

‘Please, Alex. It’s so important to me and I don’t think we should wait any longer,’ she added softly.

‘I can’t believe you’ve set up a meeting with a fertility clinic without asking me first, Daisy.’

Daisy breathed again. At least he hadn’t said no. It was a start. Shock she was prepared for. Men didn’t like asking for help with directions when they were driving: you’d need to multiply that behaviour by ten to recreate how most men would feel about having to produce sperm in a cup in some anonymous room to make their partner pregnant.

She tried again. ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s a big step and it can be hard on couples. I’ve read all the articles about fertility treatments.’ Going through the mill of fertility treatment had broken up many couples. But it wouldn’t do that to them, Daisy vowed. All she had to do was convince him. ‘We can do it, Alex. Please.’

There was doubt written all over Alex’s face. But he hadn’t said no.

‘All we have to do is go this one time and see what they say,’ she offered. ‘And if you hate the idea, well, we can talk some more…’ With this olive branch extended, he couldn’t say no. ‘OK, we’ll stop talking about it. You need to think.’

Yes, stop haranguing him. Let him think about it. She changed the subject.

‘Hey, want to tell me what else you were doing in London besides staying in a horrible hotel and ferrying rich, stingy people around?’ she teased, thinking of the Tiffany bag. ‘I can see you’ve been shopping. Anything you want to tell me?’

‘Daisy…’ he began and stopped.

‘Sorry, I ruined the surprise, did I?’ She was contrite. ‘But it’s not my birthday for ages. I thought it was some fun present, although nothing from Tiffany’s could be strictly classed as purely fun. Serious fun!’

He looked blank.

‘The Tiffany bag?’

Comprehension dawned.

‘Was it for something else?’ It couldn’t be an engagement ring? No, of course not. ‘Our anniversary’s not just yet,’ she said quickly.

Alex shook his head as he left the room. ‘No.’

He returned with the bag in question and put it in front of her without any fanfare. What did she want an engagement ring for anyway? Daisy thought as she opened the bag and took out the Tiffany box. ‘You buying this is a sign,’ she said happily, taking the white ribbon off. ‘A sign that this is a good time to change our lives.’

Inside the box was a silver necklace, not unlike the first present he’d bought her years ago, only this one was Tiffany silver and exquisitely pretty.

It was indeed a sign, Daisy realised. A sign that their love could endure no matter what. Alex needed time to think about fertility treatment and then he’d come round to her way of thinking. Having a family was the most natural thing in the world. It was a no-brainer, as Alex would say.

The first present he’d ever given her, a silvery necklace with a heart on it, was kept in her treasures box, along with the black satin trousers she’d been wearing the first time they’d met.

The necklace had tarnished black with age because it was only a cheap thing, but she loved it and wished she could still wear it, although it turned her neck an alarming shade of green. The matching bra and knickers she’d been wearing the first time they made love were there too. Daisy never told Alex she still had them; he’d have thought it was a bit silly, keeping such mementoes many years later.

The satin drainpipe trousers made her cringe now when she looked at them. In theory, satin trousers were sleek, narrow and made for people with hips like a greyhound’s. At the time, an unbelievable fourteen years ago, Daisy was definitely not a greyhound sort of girl.

The others on the fashion design course wore edgy, frayed black things they’d customised themselves, and were instantly recognisable as design students on the sprawling campus. Daisy alone never wore her own stuff. This was partly because she’d realised, with much misery, that she wasn’t much good at clothes designing. She lived for Vogue , understood bias cuts as if she’d learned at Schiaparelli’s knee, and could draw like an angel. But she couldn’t design for peanuts.

Besides, the sort of clothes she loved were garments made for tall, willowy brunettes with arrogant eyes and cheekbones like razor blades. Rounded girls with heavy legs and a bust straight out of the wench department in central casting looked better in all black, even black satin trousers topped with a long-line silk cardigan.

Of course, she hadn’t thought she’d looked bad then. She’d thought the black satin disguised the fat bits and elongated her shape so she looked quite good, although hardly supermodel material. And Alex had thought so too, unlike some of the guys in college.

It was amazing the way being a big girl made you invisible. It should have been the other way round – if you were big, there was more of you and people couldn’t avoid you. But they did. They averted their eyes like medieval peasants must have at the sight of lepers, yelling ‘unclean’.