The Way We Were_ A Novel - Marcia Willett [70]
It was funny how certain she felt that she was pregnant. Lots of women said they knew at once – some deep maternal instinct, perhaps – and she knew now what they meant. This relaxed feeling of wellbeing was exhilarating.
‘Don't get your hopes too high,’ Chris had warned her.
‘But I feel so different,’ she'd argued. ‘It must be to do with some physical change. I feel great.’
‘Perhaps it's all the extra sex,’ he'd said, almost bitterly.
She'd been hurt and even slightly angry ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you've been too tired for it for the last few months, or you've had a migraine, but now we've decided we want a baby and suddenly we're at it like rabbits. It seems a bit mechanical, that's all.’
She'd laughed then. ‘Wounded pride,’ she said. ‘Typical male. Just be grateful for it.’
Just for a moment he'd stared at her as if he disliked her.
Remembering, Val shrugged. He'd be the first to be doing the proud father bit when the time came. She had a satisfying little vision: she was holding the shawled and sleeping baby, looking down at it, and Chris was standing beside her, watching both of them with a tender, proud expression. She was pierced with a desperate longing. She could hardly wait; she wanted this baby more than she'd ever wanted anything. She simply longed to go into the café and tell them all that she was pregnant… but supposing she wasn't?
Val drew in a sharp breath. Chris was right, she mustn't get too complacent, but there was a lot to think about, to plan for and organize. She went upstairs to make the bed and to look again at the small bedroom in its beguiling new light as a nursery.
Liv was preoccupied: thinking about Matt and The Place. She'd just had a good session with the girl whose pretty silver jewellery they had for sale, and had put in a new order; she'd completely rearranged the display of silk scarves and had made a note of how many cards were selling and which of the local scenes were the most popular. The café was busy this morning but she'd managed to grab a cup of coffee in between helping Debs in the kitchen and serving out front.
‘Going great, isn't it?’ Debs had said. ‘Even Val looks happy these days but Chris was a bit grumpy yesterday. Can you get the scones out of the oven? Thanks. Was that the bell?’
As she went to and fro, Liv was distracted from her thoughts of Matt and brooded instead on Debs’ remark: she'd noticed it herself. As Val's spirits soared so Chris's seemed to descend. It was clear that there was something on his mind but when she'd asked him if he had a problem he'd shaken his head, said he was fine. She couldn't help worrying about him; just recently they'd lost that sense of intimacy, of being in the same boat, of acknowledging the need to encourage Val and keep things going. She'd found that she couldn't get him out of her mind and the moment that she had nothing to do she'd be back on the same mental track, wondering what was wrong. It was during one of these periods of reflection that she'd remembered what Aunt Em had said about the danger of early relationships.
At the time she hadn't connected: she'd been too shocked by the story about Angela and Dad, too shaken by the thought that her own secure childhood had come so close to being threatened. It was much later that she saw the connection: that Aunt Em was implying that she might well be a threat to Val because of her closeness to Chris.
‘It can be dangerous.’ Those had been her mother's words – and now she, Liv, could understand why she'd said them: she'd been thinking about Angela. If Val and Chris had serious problems they might never be resolved if he always had someone else to whom he might turn for consolation. Had she and Chris, in the easy familiarity of their old intimacy, been edging Val out into the cold? Liv consoled herself that it certainly didn't look like that at present: on the contrary, Val was on top form and it was Chris who now seemed rather depressed.
It had been bizarre, going to Trescairn a few days ago, and seeing her parents in