The Baby Question. Caroline Anderson
Читать онлайн книгу.
de27-1cec-570a-9f45-95cce8d34adc">
The Baby Question
Caroline Anderson
Table of Contents
LAURIE felt the first twinges of failure with dismay.
Not again, she thought despairingly. We can’t have failed again. I can’t have failed again.
An hour later she was curled up on the sofa with the dog at her side, a low, gnawing ache eating at her, waiting for the phone to ring, for Rob to ask how she was.
Meaning that, of course.
Oh, well, she’d get through it. She always did. Month after month she braved his disappointment—and the same old arguments. He’d had a test, which proved he was fine. Why didn’t she have a test? At least then they’d know what they were dealing with, and there was so much they could do these days. Why not give it a try?
Because she didn’t want to know it was her fault. She didn’t want to go down the route of IVF and all that palaver. She was only twenty-six, and they hadn’t been trying that long. There was plenty of time.
Wasn’t there?
But she couldn’t spend it like this. She couldn’t spend yet another month waiting with bated breath for failure to strike.
There must be something else she could do with her life. Something more productive, less soul-destroying than sitting around being serviced fruitlessly like a barren cow.
She scrubbed the tears from her cheeks with the back of an angry hand, and stood up, unravelling her long legs and wandering through to the study with the dog at her heels. She’d look on the Internet. Maybe that would offer some suggestions—and, if not, fiddling on the computer would at least pass the time.
She found a website address that looked interesting, and clicked on it, but it was boring and badly put together. The material was interesting enough, but the presentation was rubbish.
She found another, and another, and they were all the same. Then she found a brilliant one, easy to use, obvious, interesting.
And an idea dawned, edging over the horizon of her consciousness and flooding her with enthusiasm. But how?
She wanted it to be a secret, wanted to keep this to herself, so he didn’t laugh at her or tease her or patronise her. She wasn’t sure it would work—wasn’t sure she could do it, although she couldn’t be worse than some. But how? And where? She couldn’t use his computer, he’d notice she’d been at his desk and want to know why.
No, she needed her own machine, but where? An office somewhere? Too expensive and, anyway, there was the dog to consider. She needed her own study here. If only there was a room she could use that Rob never went into …
Then she remembered the attic.
LAURIE felt the first twinges of failure with dismay.
Not again, she thought despairingly. We can’t have failed again. I can’t have failed again.
An hour later she was curled up on the sofa with the dog at her side, a low, gnawing ache eating at her, waiting for the phone to ring, for Rob to ask how she was.
Meaning that, of course.
She couldn’t tell him again. She couldn’t go through that same old ritual—are you all right? Do you want me to come home? I’ll take you out for dinner tonight.
Why? To celebrate another wasted month?
She gave a humourless little laugh, just as the phone rang right on cue. She answered it on the second ring, injecting sparkle into her voice.
‘How are you?’ he asked without preamble. Pregnant yet?
‘Fine. How are you?’ she asked, ignoring the unspoken question. ‘How’s New York?’
‘Cold and tedious. I’m stuck here for another week or two—problems. Can you manage?’
She almost laughed aloud. ‘I expect so,’ she said drily. God knows she was getting enough practice these days; he was hardly ever at home.
‘I’ll come back for the weekend if you like.’
‘Why bother? Just press on and get home when you can,’ she said, trying not to sound too unwelcoming. ‘I’ll be fine. I’ve got the dog for company.’
A man with less ego would have been offended, she thought, but Rob just chuckled. ‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow. You take care, now.’
Take care, just in case she might be pregnant.
Well, she wasn’t—again.
She sighed and went up to the attic. Work called. She was over-run, too much to do, too little time. In the last year her secret business as a web designer had gone from nothing to an astonishing success. She worked from the moment Rob left the house to the moment he returned—well, a few moments before, if she could manage it, so she could slip into something elegant and create a little havoc in the kitchen so he’d think she’d been cooking all afternoon. It was amazing how many things she could produce now in less than half an hour.
She had no time to herself any longer, no time at all. Her friends had all but given up on her, because she kept fobbing them off with excuses, and one by one they’d drifted away. That was fine. She didn’t need time for anything except this, the challenge she’d created for herself. The other challenge, the one she kept failing to meet, was harder because