The Little House. Philippa Gregory
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instructions and put the test pack away behind the toilet cleaner again. She was supposed to retest within a week, but she knew she would not bother to do it. She had known this yesterday morning, when the woman in the ladies’ room had asked her if she was up the spout. She had recognized the information as soon as it was spoken. She was pregnant. Patrick and his parents had got what they wanted.
She did not tell Patrick of her pregnancy until Boxing Day morning, when he was hungover from his father’s best Armagnac, which they had drunk on Christmas afternoon, and liverish with the richness of his mother’s Christmas cooking. Some resilient piece of spite made her withhold the information from the assembled family on Christmas Day. She knew that they would have fallen on her with delight; she knew they would have said it was the best Christmas present they had ever had. Ruth did not want them unwrapping her feelings. She did not want them counting on their fingers and predicting the birth. She did not want her own small disaster of an unplanned pregnancy being joyously engulfed by the whole Christmas myth of baby Jesus and the speech by the Queen, who was not her queen, and carols, which were not her carols.
Spitefully, Ruth kept the precious news to herself, refused to spread exuberant delight. Throughout Christmas lunch, when they had skirted around the subject of the cottage and the proposed sale of the flat now that Ruth had nothing to keep her in Bristol, she refused to give them the gilt on the gingerbread of their plans. She ate only a little and drank only one glass of champagne. When the men drank Armagnac and snoozed before the television in the afternoon, Ruth defiantly walked in the cold countryside on her own.
‘Pop down and see the cottage,’ Elizabeth recommended. ‘Get a feel for it without the men breathing down your neck. It’s you that needs to fall in love with it, not them.’
Ruth nodded distantly at Elizabeth’s conspiratorial whisper. She knew that she could tell Elizabeth that she was pregnant and be rewarded with absolute discreet delight. Elizabeth would tell no one until Ruth gave permission. Elizabeth was always ready to bond with Ruth in an alliance of women against men, but Ruth would not join in. She hugged the small embryo to herself as she hugged the secret. She would not crown their day. The baby was a mistake, but it was her private mistake. She would not have it converted into a Cleary celebration.
Patrick emerged blearily from under the bedcovers. ‘God, I feel dreadful,’ he said. He sat up in bed, his eyes half closed. ‘Could you get me an Alka-Seltzer?’ he asked. ‘Too much brandy and too much cake.’
Ruth went down to the kitchen and fetched him a glass of water and two tablets. As they foamed she waited. Only at the exact nauseating moment of his first sip did she say, ‘I’m pregnant.’
There was a silence. ‘What?’ Patrick said, turning towards her.
‘I’m pregnant,’ Ruth repeated.
He reached forward but then recoiled as his head thudded. ‘Oh! Damn! Ruth, what a time to tell me! Darling!’
She sat out of arm’s reach on the window seat.
‘Come here!’ he said.
She went, slowly, to the bed. Patrick drew her down and wrapped his arms around her. ‘That’s wonderful news,’ he said. ‘D’you know you couldn’t have given me a better Christmas present! When did you know?’
‘Three weeks ago,’ Ruth said unhelpfully. ‘Then I went to the doctor to make sure. It’s true. I’m due in the middle of August.’
‘I must phone Mother,’ Patrick said. ‘Oh, I wish you’d told me yesterday. We could have had a real party.’
Ruth disengaged herself from the embrace, which was starting to feel heavy. ‘I didn’t want a real party,’ she said.
He tried to twinkle at her. ‘Are you feeling shy, darling?’
‘No.’
‘Then…?’
‘I didn’t particularly want a baby,’ she said. ‘I didn’t plan to get pregnant. It’s an accident. So I don’t feel like celebrating.’
Patrick’s indulgent gleam died and was instantly replaced by an expression of tenderness and concern. Gingerly he got out of bed and put his arm around her shoulders, turning her face in to the warmth of his chest. ‘Don’t,’ he said softly, his breath sour on her cheek. ‘Don’t talk like that, darling. It just happened, that’s all. It just happened because that’s how it was meant to be. Everything has come right for us, and when you get used to the idea I know you’ll be really, really happy. I’m really happy,’ he said emphatically, as if all she needed to do was to imitate him. ‘I’m just delighted, darling. Don’t upset yourself.’
Ruth felt a sudden bitterness at the ease with which Patrick greeted the news. Of course he would be happy – it would not be Patrick whose life would totally change. It would not be Patrick who would leave the work he loved, and who would now never travel, and never see his childhood home. For a moment she felt filled with anger, but his arms came around her and his hands stroked her back. Ruth’s face was pressed into the warm, soft skin of his chest and held like a little girl’s. She could feel herself starting to cry, wetly, emotionally, weakly.
‘There!’ Patrick said, his voice warm with love and triumph. ‘You’re bound to feel all jumbled up, my darling. It’s well known. It’s your hormones. Of course you don’t know how you feel yet. There! There!’
‘She’s very wound up at the moment,’ he whispered to his mother on the telephone. Ruth was taking an afternoon nap after a celebration lunch in the pub. ‘I didn’t dare call you earlier. She didn’t want you to know.’
Elizabeth’s face was radiant. She nodded confirmation to Frederick as he registered the news and stood close to Elizabeth to overhear their conversation. ‘Wait a moment,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Your father wants a word.’
‘Do I hear right? A happy event?’ Frederick exclaimed.
Patrick chuckled. ‘I have to whisper!’ he said. ‘She’s asleep and she swore me to secrecy.’
‘Wonderful!’ Frederick said. ‘Clever girl! And congratulations, old man!’
There was a brief satisfied silence.
‘Bring her over,’ Frederick said. ‘We’ll crack a bottle on the baby’s head. Can’t celebrate over the phone.’
‘I can’t,’ Patrick said again. ‘I tell you, I am sworn to utter secrecy. She doesn’t want anyone to know yet. She’s all of a state. A bit weepy, a bit unsure. I don’t want to rush her.’
‘Oh, don’t talk to me about weepy!’ Frederick said comfortably. ‘Your mother cried every day for nine months. I thought she was miserable, but then she told me she was crying for happiness.’ He gave a slow, rich, satisfied chuckle. ‘Women!’ he said.
Patrick beamed into the phone. He very much wanted to be with his father. ‘I’ll come to see you this evening,’ he said. ‘I’ll make some excuse. I won’t bring her, we’ll have our celebration drink, and next time we come she can tell you herself, and you can both be absolutely amazed.’
‘I’ll put a bottle on ice,’ his father said.
‘Patrick?’ his mother asked as she came back on the phone. ‘Ruth is quite all right is she?’
‘It’s all a bit much for her, that’s all,’ Patrick said. ‘And you know how much her job meant to her. It’s a big shock.’
‘But she does want the baby?’ Elizabeth confirmed. ‘She is happy about it?’
‘She’s over the moon,’ Patrick said firmly. ‘She’s happier than she knows.’
As Ruth’s pregnancy progressed, she found that Patrick’s determination to move from the flat was too powerful to resist. In any case, the flat