The Art Of Deception E-Book

Peter Martin

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

For most women, a positive pregnancy test would bring joy. But for Angie, it marks the beginning of a nightmare that will bring heartbreak and despair.

All too aware of the dire consequences she faces, she knows she never should have gotten pregnant in the first place. Her husband doesn't know the family secret that killed her mother and overshadows his happiness at becoming a father - and Angie isn't going to be the one to tell him. 

As her marriage and her life begin to fall apart, can Angie overcome her demons and find peace... And is there something even she doesn't know?

Leseprobe

The Art of Deception

Peter Martin

Copyright (C) 2020 Peter Martin

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2020 by Next Chapter

Published 2020 by Next Chapter

Edited by Alison Birch

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

Part One

Chapter 1

Christmas is a time for celebration, for giving and receiving presents, for being with your loved ones. For the children it's about excitement and wonder, Santa Claus, the elves and lots of gifts. And happiness. But for adults, it's often a succession of nights out partying, overeating, being sick and getting drunk.

For John Greaves, that Friday a week before Christmas Day was the night of the annual Sachs Gordon ball at the Scott Arms. He looked forward to relaxing and chatting with his colleagues and their partners, and dancing the night away with his wife, Angie, until they were ready to drop.

At seven that evening, he stood in their bedroom wearing his best grey suit and a red tie. His tall lean figure was complemented by the cut of the suit, and the bright tie contrasted well with his short black hair and oak-brown eyes. He smiled to himself, thinking of the night to come. He turned around to admire Angie in her blue chiffon gown.

As she walked past him towards the bathroom, he noticed an anxious expression on her face.

'You all right?' he asked.

'Yes, a bit of a tummy ache – that's all.'

'Oh dear, are you sure you're all right to go?'

'Of course, wouldn't miss your Christmas do for the world. I'll take a couple of tablets just in case, but I'm sure it'll pass.'

'I hope so. It wouldn't be the same without you.'

She went to him, moving her slender figure close. He stroked her long ash-blonde hair and looked into those deep blue eyes that still sent shivers down his spine.

'That's nice to know,' she said.

The doorbell rang.

'Must be the taxi,' John said. 'Are you ready?'

'Yes, I'll just get my coat. Can you answer the door?'

Outside, the weather was cold, helped by a brisk wind. John and Angie got into the back of the taxi, shivering.

It took twenty minutes to get to the Scott Arms. John paid the driver, tipping him generously and asking him to collect them at midnight.

John and Angie hurried into the building to get out of the cold.

'How's your tummy ache now?' John whispered.

'Gone off.'

'That's good. Just be careful what you're eating and drinking, eh?'

'I will.'

There were already several of John's colleagues in the foyer, among them Sarah Benson, a fellow accountant, with her husband, Jack. Sarah was tall with short blonde hair, in her late twenties. Jack had black hair and a well-groomed beard, and was even taller. They both looked immaculate.

John waved and saw her face light up with a smile. Sarah and Jack walked over to them.

'Hiya Angie, hi John. Great to see you made it in this weather,' Sarah said.

'How you doing, Jack?' John said, shaking his hand. 'How's the football these days?'

'Yeah, not bad. Doing well after a bad start. We're in third, and the way we're playing I reckon we could soon be challenging for—'

'Hey, I hope you two aren't going to be talking football all night,' Angie said, giving John a knowing look.

'Don't worry, my sweet. I might talk shop with Sarah instead.' John winked at his colleague.

Angie shook her head and Sarah laughed.

'Angie, trust me, that's the last thing I'm going to be talking about tonight,' Sarah said.

The doors opened, allowing the crowd into the room the firm had booked for the night. John said hallo to a few of his colleagues, before everyone went to their allotted tables. John and Angie had been placed opposite Sarah and Jack.

The food, a set Christmas meal, came to them within fifteen minutes. John was pleased to see that it looked very appetising.

'So, what are you doing over Christmas, guys?' Sarah asked.

'Just the usual family gatherings. John's mum and dad are coming to us Christmas Day and then we'll visit my dad on Boxing Day. Yourselves?'

'Much the same, although we're travelling down south on Boxing Day – Jack's off to a football match, surprise surprise. And I'll scout around the shops for a few bargains in the sales.'

'Nice one, Jack. Fancy your chances, then?' John said.

'Yeah, don't see why not – after all, our opponents are only mid-table. We beat them 3-0 at our place in August, so there's no reason why we can't do the double over them.'

Angie rolled her eyes at Sarah and mimed a yawn. 'Hey, cut the footie talk down, you two.'

'Come on Angie, we've got to talk about something,' John said.

'This wine isn't bad,' Angie said.

'No – it's better than that horrible stuff they gave us last year!' Sarah said. 'And the food is good, too.'

'Going away in the new year?' Jack asked, draining his first pint of beer.

'Yeah, probably. We might go to Greece around Easter time, then Italy in the summer,' John said.

'Wow. I wouldn't mind going there,' Sarah said.

Jack tutted. 'What's wrong with this country? Wales has great scenery – and Scotland, too. That fortnight we had in Torquay last year was great, weather fantastic and at half the price of going abroad.'

'But we could still go abroad too. If you'd cut down on the football a little, we could afford it.'

'I'm not cutting down on the football, no way, so you can forget it,' Jack said.

'See what I mean – I've got no chance,' Sarah said. 'Don't know what he'd say if I ever got pregnant!'

John and Angie laughed, but Jack raised his eyebrows. 'Come on, you can't tell me you want to be tied down with a screaming sprog?'

'Don't be too sure,' Sarah said a little angrily. 'How about you, Angie? How come you've never taken the plunge?'

'Don't know, think we're too busy enjoying ourselves. Love the holidays, and the freedom to do what we want. Once you have a baby, all that changes. You're tied down, aren't you, and the baby has to become the centre of your life. I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet. And there's my career, too.'

'I'm sure it will happen at some stage,' John said. 'But to be honest we haven't really discussed it that much. Although I think deep down, we would both like kids. Maybe in a few years' time, when we're thirty or so, eh Angie?'

'Maybe. We'll have to see.'

The puddings were delicious, too. Angie seemed to be enjoying the wine as much as Jack enjoyed his beer. John, who had never been much of a drinker, only drank shandy; he hoped she didn't get sozzled.

After the meal, the disco started and Angie, bold as brass, dragged John up onto the dancefloor. Soon they were joined by Sarah and Jack. The four of them danced together for a time, with Angie seeming to have forgotten all about her earlier ailment. She giggled and made eyes at John, who laughed it off. It was Christmas, after all.

'We're going to sit down,' Sarah shouted in John's ear.

He nodded and told Angie. 'You want to sit down as well?' he asked.

She shook her head. 'Unless you haven't got the stamina.'

'No, no. I'm fine for the time being.'

So they carried on. Later, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Jack and Sarah, gesticulating towards each other. They looked to be having a few words.

'Think Jack and Sarah are having a row.'

Angie giggled. 'That's funny – I wonder what that's all about?'

'Don't know, maybe it's about them having a baby.'

'Cos she wants one and he doesn't?'

John nodded. 'Something like that.'

'Oh dear. That's a shame. He ought to let her have one, can't he see she's desperate for a child?'

'Best leave them alone for a bit, eh?'

'Sure.'

Angie was starting to look tired. 'Going to have to sit down, John, I'm whacked. I'm so unfit it's untrue.'

John could feel sweat trickling down his back and wasn't about to argue.

As they moved back towards their table, Sarah and Jack stood up.

'Hi, John, Angie, we're going now. I feel a bit off, so I'll see you Monday, John. Been great talking to you both again.'

'Good luck for Boxing Day.'

Jack laughed. 'Cheers mate, we're going to smash them.'

They left, leaving John and Angie on their own.

'Looks like you were right,' Angie said.

'Yeah, I thought so. Feel sorry for Sarah, though. But they'll have to sort it out themselves. Hope that never happens to us, when the time comes.'

Angie smiled. 'It won't.'

John looked at his watch: eleven-thirty. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, and sighed. 'We'll have to be going soon.'

'Time for another drink?'

'Angie, you sure you should? You've already had nearly a whole bottle of that wine, and you've had the giggles all night.'

'It feels good to let your hair down once in a while, don't you think? Lose your inhibitions.'

'Well, if you lose any more, you won't have any left.'

She laughed then whispered in his ear, 'If I have another drink, there's no telling what I might do to you when we get home.'

He laughed too. 'And what might that be?'

'You'll have to wait and see.'

'Oh, you spoilsport. So how about a liqueur coffee?'

'Yeah, that would be nice. I need warming up before we go out in the freezing cold.'

They'd only just started their drinks when he got a message to say the taxi he'd ordered was waiting outside.

'The taxi's arrived.'

'That's early,' she said.

'It's ten to twelve now. You want to let him wait?'

'No, no, don't want to be left stranded. But I'm not sure I can finish this drink, John.'

'Don't worry, leave it then.'

'Gone tired all of a sudden,' she said with a giggle.

'I told you not to have that last drink.'

'I know you did, darling. And I'm sorry if I've gone a bit overboard tonight.'

'Doesn't matter – it's only once a year. Come on then, I'll just say goodbye to everyone and then I'll get our coats.'

When he came back, she was in her seat, dozing.

He gave her a little nudge. 'Hey, Angie, you all right?'

'Oh, sorry. Yes, just a little woozy. Phew, what was in that coffee?'

'I couldn't tell you, except it probably contained whisky.'

He helped her up and with putting on her coat, then guided her out through the doors he'd pushed open. The taxi was right outside.

The driver got out and opened the door for them, and John followed Angie into the back seat, closing the door behind him.

She leaned against him, gently snoring away. He smiled; he had a feeling he might have to carry her out and upstairs, and so much for all the enticing promises she'd made earlier.

When they arrived at the house, he paid the driver and opened the car door. Effortlessly he picked her up and carried her to the house. Then with difficulty he opened the door, brought her in and laid her on the hall carpet.

He blamed himself for having suggested the liqueur coffee. But never mind – it was Christmas. She was entitled to one lapse.

After carrying her upstairs, he pulled off her coat and shoes and settled her on the bed. He worried about undressing her and getting her into bed. The dress came off easily, but the rest would be more difficult.

'What are you doing?' she mumbled as he tried to get her bra off.

'Trying to undress you,' he said.

She sniggered. 'Hey, I hope you're not trying to take advantage of me.'

'Would I ever?'

'Maybe, if you could get away with it.'

'No way – I'm not interested in self-gratification.'

She laughed. 'Self what?'

'Can you sit up?'

'I'll try,' she said.

He gave her a hand. Eventually together they got her nightie on, and she got back into bed unaided.

'Thank you, John. I don't know what I'd do without you.'

John smiled.

'So, what were you going to do to me tonight?'

She grinned again. 'You'll have to hurry back to find out, my darling.'

He rushed to the bathroom, undressed and washed, put on some deodorant and brushed his teeth. His heart beat faster as he got to the bedroom, but he found Angie spark out on the bed. He smiled to himself; he should have realised what would happen. Never mind – his time would come.

As he lay beside her, he thought about their earlier conversation. He felt so sorry for Sarah. He was determined never to be like Jack, if it ever came to it.

<><><>

On Sunday morning, John woke to find Angie gone. Perhaps she was in the bathroom. Then he heard a noise, as if someone was retching. He got up like a shot and walked to the door to see Angie bent over the sink, holding her stomach.

'What's wrong?'

She shook her head. She looked very pale, and he wondered if this had something to do with Friday night when she'd drunk and eaten too much. She'd been pretty out of sorts yesterday, come to think of it.

'This is the trouble at Christmas – everybody goes mad. Drinking and eating too much. And at some stage you have to pay for it.'

'I feel sick, and my stomach keeps heaving, but I haven't actually thrown up.'

'That might come later. It might have been something you ate that didn't agree with you.'

'No, John. It's not that. I know what it is. I shouldn't have been drinking at all on Friday, and God knows what damage I might have done.'

'Angie, you're talking in riddles. What are you on about?'

She suddenly pushed him out of the way and vomited violently into the toilet bowl. When she'd recovered, she wiped her eyes, took a deep breath and said, 'This was meant to be a surprise. I'm sorry, John – but I'm going to have a baby. I can't make it any plainer than that.'

John's eyes widened and for a moment he was lost for words. But he suddenly squeezed her tightly and yelped with joy.

'This is unbelievable! We were only talking about this other night with Sarah and Jack! Amazing! When did you find out?'

'Yesterday morning. So I was already pregnant on Friday when I drank all that wine, and that's why I'm so worried. And why I've waited until now to tell you.'

'Darling, don't be silly. OK, so you had too much to drink, but you weren't paralytic. I reckon there's only a very tiny chance of there being anything being wrong with the baby. But if you're worried, go and see the doctor.'

'I hope you're right.'

'I am. So what made you suspicious in the first place?'

'You know how irregular I am, but I'm almost three weeks late this time, so I thought I'd do a test to be on the safe side. I felt sick yesterday too, but today's the first time I've been sick.'

'Anyway, this is great news – the best Christmas present ever. At last our family will be complete!'

'I hope it will, although I'm not looking forward to the next few months, especially since it looks like I'll suffer with morning sickness.'

'You want this to be common knowledge yet?'

'No, not yet. Let's keep it to ourselves until we're sure everything's OK.'

'But we have to tell everyone! Our mums and dads first, of course, then friends and colleagues.'

'I'll hate that. Everybody congratulating me and asking me questions. Just the thought of it makes me cringe.'

'Well, that's only natural. You'll get used it, especially when the baby starts to show.'

'Tell me about it.'

'Still feel sick?'

'Yes, not so bad as earlier on, but my appetite's gone. Don't feel hungry at all.'

'I'm sure it will pass. They say the first three months are the worst.'

She pulled a face. 'The thought of the birth fills me with dread, too. In fact, the whole idea of being pregnant frightens me.'

He squeezed her hand. 'Listen, I'll be with you as much as I can. And any time you need to go to the clinic or the doctor's, I'll come with you. And remember at the end of it, we'll have our own beautiful baby.'

'Yeah, there's that I suppose.'

'You do want the baby, don't you?'

'Yes. Of course. This is just me being silly. It's just … Well, my mum was bad after she had me – she had postnatal depression. She suffered with it for a long time.'

'That's not to say you'll be the same. My mum had a bad case of morning sickness when she had me too. She felt sick through the whole pregnancy. You never can tell. And anyway, when it's all over you'll forget about it. There are other worries, like looking after our baby.'

'I know. That terrifies me, too. I've never even changed a nappy. How on earth am I going to look after a baby?'

'We'll manage, Angie. Other people do.'

<><><>

Later that night, as John snored alongside her, Angie remained wide awake, pondering over this wondrous thing that had happened to her. While she'd wanted kids, she had no idea what to do, or how she'd feel. She should have been happy, but all she felt was terror around everything to do with having a baby. But she had family and friends who would rally round her when needed. Surely she'd get through this with their help? And John would be her rock, she knew, there to give her encouragement. Sometimes she wondered what she'd do without him.

Chapter 2

She woke early the next morning, feeling sick. She tossed and turned in bed, trying to get rid of the churning in her stomach. John, although half-asleep, seemed aware of her restlessness.

'All right, darling?' he mumbled.

'Just sick.'

'Can I get you anything?'

'No, no, I'm fine. Go back to sleep. It's only four o'clock – you can sleep for another two hours yet if you want.'

Within seconds he was asleep again.

But Angie had to get up. Downstairs in the kitchen she made herself a drink: black tea, as she suddenly couldn't face the thought of drinking milk. She took it into the living room and switched on the TV, but her mind wandered. Her heart beat fast and she was short of breath. Panic wasn't something she'd suffered from before, but now she found herself shaking. God, this should be the happiest time of her life and she felt like this. She couldn't worry John with it, though, when he was so thrilled about the baby.

He came down a little later in his dressing gown, yawning as he saw her sitting in front of the TV.

'You're up early, Mummy,' he said, bending down to kiss her on the lips.

'Couldn't sleep,' she admitted.

'Why's that?'

'I don't know. Perhaps because we had an early night.'

'Can I get you anything? A drink, or I'll cook you some breakfast if you haven't already eaten?'

'Thanks, but I'm not sure what to have to eat. Can't say I'm very hungry.'

'Feeling sick again?'

'Yeah, as sick as a dog. But I haven't been sick – yet.'

'That's something, anyway.' He looked worried, and she didn't know how to put his mind at rest when her own was still in such turmoil.

'How about some dry toast? That's supposed to be light on your stomach.'

She shook her head. 'Later. Think I'll have a shower and get dressed.'

'All right. Give me a shout if you need your back scrubbing.'

'OK,' she said, trying not to smile.

As the shards of hot water hit her, she felt a little better. When she came out, though, she felt giddy and had to hold on to the side of the bath. As she dried herself, her stomach acquired a life of its own, causing her to suddenly retch over in the sink … and then again and again. As before, nothing much came up, but it was unpleasant and she ached. She had to sit on the toilet for a while before those sudden urges to throw up passed.

'Shit! Shit! Shit!' If this was what she had to put up with for the next eight months, she thought she might die.

She got dressed, wiped her face with a tissue and ventured downstairs, taking a deep breath and wondering how on earth to hide her feelings from John. And also, she had work today. She was an estate agent and had at least five appointments to show people around properties. What if she threw up while showing clients around? How embarrassing would that be?

She dressed smartly in a beige suit and applied her make-up with a shaky hand. As she came downstairs, she smelt bacon and eggs; John was making himself a fry-up. The smell made her want to puke.

'Ah, there you are,' he grinned. 'Want some bacon and egg? Got plenty here.'

She shook her head. 'Can't face anything right now. And I've got to go to work in fifteen minutes.'

'Well, at least eat something. You're supposed to be eating for two, you know.'

'Very funny. John, I'm not in the mood for your silly jokes, please keep them to yourself.'

He opened his palms towards her. 'OK. Sorry.'

'I'll just have another cup of tea, and then I'll be off.'

'All right, sit yourself down and I'll make you one.'

Sitting at the table, she took in a deep breath, puffed out her cheeks and breathed out. She shouldn't go in today, but she had to. There was only one other person in the office, and nobody would be available to cover her appointments. They couldn't afford to lose out on potential buyers.

She felt John's eyes on her as she drank her tea, and waited for his inevitable comment.

'You ought to phone in sick; you look as white as a sheet. I could always ring up for you, say you're ill, if you like.'

'No, I can't take a sickie already. Too busy. And who knows what time I'll need to take off in the next few months? I'll just have to grin and bear it, and hope for the best.'

'OK, it's your call.'

She got up and grabbed her coat and briefcase. They kissed, and for a moment she had tears in her eyes. But then she smiled, pulled herself together and went out. She got in her Corsa and drove to the office, where she checked out her appointments and then set off again for a house just outside Dexford. Fingers crossed she'd be all right.

She didn't feel her usual confident self as she made her way to 18 Chevel Avenue, a pre-war semi in a quiet cul-de-sac. Mr and Mrs Osborne were standing on the footpath, waiting for her.

The house was empty, so she had the keys to get in. She shook hands with the Osbornes and went inside. Hopefully they'd like it.

Her morning went well, with two possible sales, and one of the owners she did a valuation for looked likely to use Elliott's estate agents to sell their property. The last appointment was at a flat on the fifth floor of an exclusive block that usually sold very well at inflated prices.

Once inside, the thought of climbing the stairs made her feel faint, so she took the lift, but the movement made her stomach lurch. Glad to be out of the lift, she pressed the doorbell and Mrs Reynolds showed her through to the living room.

'Cup of tea?' she asked.

'Oh, yes please, no milk and no sugar,' Angie said, noticing a baby of about twelve months fast asleep in a baby bouncer in the corner. She grimaced.

Within five minutes, Mrs Reynolds returned with the tea. Angie would have liked to drink the lot in one go, but that would be rude, so she just had a mouthful.

'How old is he?'

'Fourteen months. That's the reason we need to move. We want a detached or a semi with a big garden, somewhere for him to run around.'

Angie measured each room carefully and took photos, then discussed fees and gave a valuation. She felt sick again. Drinking her tea, she hoped it would pass, but it didn't.

'Sorry, Mrs Reynolds, is it all right if I use your bathroom? That tea has gone right through me.'

'Yes, of course.'

Angie rushed off, embarrassed, and just made it to the bathroom before she vomited in the sink. Luckily there wasn't much, as she hadn't eaten anything. She rinsed it away and wiped it with some tissues, hoping Mrs Reynolds wouldn't notice. But a few minutes later she came out, red-faced, to find the woman standing in the hallway.

'Are you all right?'

'Yes, I'm OK. I'm sorry, but I was sick in your sink. I've cleaned it all up.'

'Perhaps you ought to go home.'

'Yes, maybe I will. I'm pregnant, you see – I've only just found out – and it looks like I'm going to get morning sickness. My mum had it really badly.'

'Oh, I am sorry. I went through the same with him. It was nine months of hell – although he's made up for it since. Congratulations, anyway. I hope you have a better time than me!'

'Thanks, I hope so, too. If you want us to sell your flat for you, please give me a bell, and I'll set it in motion. You'll find our rates are very competitive, and as we're the biggest agent in the area, you should get lots of viewings.'

'Thank you. I'll be in touch. And good luck.'

Angie was extremely glad to get out of there. How humiliating. She guessed Mrs Reynolds was bound to go elsewhere after what had happened. When she got in her car, she broke down. Having wanted a baby at first, suddenly she wished she wasn't pregnant. Her emotions were all over the place.

Somehow, she got through the rest of the day, mainly because she spent the afternoon in the office, catching up with her paperwork. But she had never been so glad to get out of there.

As she parked on the drive of their four-bed detached house, she wasn't sure she could face John. She didn't want him to see her like this. It would be Christmas in a few days, and she was having a baby. She should be over the moon.

John usually put the dinner on if he got home first, which he had this evening as his car was on the drive. The oven would be on, but what if she couldn't eat it, or was sick? He'd be mortified.

She heard him in the kitchen, singing to himself without a care in the world. When she came in, he turned and gave her a warm smile, like he did when they first went out as teenagers, eight years ago. A smile that used to send her weak at the knees. She put her arms around him and held him close, kissed him tenderly, hoping she could get through this for his sake as well as her own. A baby should bring them closer together, make their happiness complete. But why did she suddenly feel so unsure?

Chapter 3

'So, how was your day?' John asked as they parted.

'Oh, just run-of-the-mill stuff, really. Might have made two or three sales – we'll see. I'll just get changed, back in five minutes.'

'OK, smart. The dinner's done. I'll dish it out, shall I?'

'Yes,' she said, hoping he hadn't noticed her flushed cheeks.

The plates were on the table when she came back.

'There you are,' he smiled. 'Are you hungry now, after this morning?'

'Not really. But I suppose I'll have to try to eat.'

'You do, now you're having a baby.'

'Thought you might get that in.'

'You must eat for you as well. Please try. I got out early, spent ages cooking this – and let me tell you, even if I do say so myself, it's delicious.'

'I'm sure it is.'

He ate his casserole quickly, trying not to look at how she was getting on. 'Want to go out anywhere afterwards?'

'I think I'll pass on that. My stomach still feels like it's working overtime.'

'OK, no probs. Shall we just drive over to my folks? We could give them the good news.'

'Can't we keep it to ourselves for a while? I don't want everyone fussing over me.'

John felt hurt. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops. 'Sure, if that's what you want. Will you do the same with your dad?'

'Yes – just until I get used to the idea.'

'OK, Angie. Whatever you say.'

John finished his meal while Angie picked at hers, eating tiny mouthfuls very slowly.

'Hey, if you can't eat any more, it's no big deal. It won't hurt my feelings. I can see you're not feeling great.'

'Sorry. Normally I'd have asked for more.'

'Yeah, I know. Have you made your doctor's appointment yet? You need to start the ball rolling with midwives and stuff, don't you? And they'll probably prescribe you something for the morning sickness, too. Why don't you make an appointment tomorrow?'

'Think maybe I'll have to.' She swallowed hard. 'John …'

'Yeah?'

'I was sick today, in a client's flat.'

'Oh God. Was it bad?'

'Could have been worse. Luckily, I managed to get to the bathroom in time, but I can't tell you how embarrassed I was. At least it was a woman. John, what am I going to do? If this keeps happening, I won't be able to do my job.'

'Hey, calm down, Angie, you're panicking. It's very early days. It will pass. Talk to the doctor, get some tablets, then everything will get better.'

'I hope so. Mind if I don't come with you to see your parents? I still feel queasy, and I'm tired. It's been a long day. I'm going to lie down for an hour.'

'They'll wonder why you haven't come too. What shall I tell them? Although, second thoughts, why don't I not go at all? I'd rather spend the evening with you.'

She smiled at him, but he had the feeling she would prefer to be alone.

'No, you go,' she said. 'Say I've got a headache. I'll feel guilty if you didn't, after all you only see them once a week, and they are getting older. Anything might happen to them.'

'Mid-sixties isn't old! And they're still pretty fit for their age. OK – I'll go, but only for an hour. Be home in no time.'

'And not a word about the baby – promise?'

'I promise.'

John put on his coat, kissed her, and drove off to his parents' house, five miles away in the village of Gladbury.

They lived in a detached bungalow, having moved when they both retired five years ago. His dad, George, had worked as a solicitor, while his mum, Susan, had been a legal secretary in the same firm. He often wondered how they'd got on so well, living in each other's pockets like that.

Arriving outside, he saw the lights strung up all around their house, something his dad took pride in every Christmas.

John rang the bell, and the slight grey-haired figure of his dad appeared.

'Hallo, son, great to see you. Come on in. No Angie?'

'No, she says sorry, but she has a migraine.'

'Oh dear, my mum used to get those and by God, when you get one, it certainly knocks you off your feet,' George said as they went through to the spacious living room.

Susan, a plump woman with dyed brown hair, smiled at her son and got to her feet to give him a kiss and a hug. 'How are you?'

'Yeah, not bad, thanks, Mum. Yourselves?'

'We're off to the Bahamas in the new year.'

'Oh, to be retired,' John said, wondering whether they really ought to be going on two holidays abroad this year with Angie being pregnant.

'Don't wish your life away, son. It'll come around soon enough,' George said.

'Drink?' Susan asked.

'A squash please, this is only a flying visit.'

She gave him a drink, which he sipped hurriedly.

'Didn't know Angie was prone to migraines,' George said.

'Yes … well, she doesn't get them often … but when she does, it's a stinker. And I can't understand why.' John hated lying to his parents.

'How long do they last?'

'Could be all day. So, are you still coming to us for Christmas dinner?'

'Of course, if you'll have us.'

'Great. See your Christmas lights are up already.'

'Yeah, it took me a while, but it's worth the trouble when I switch them on at night. There's only a few more final touches needed. You'll see them for yourself when you come over Boxing Day evening.'

'Looking forward to it.'

'Shame we haven't any children in the family. Kids love the lights,' Susan said.

'Yeah, Christmas isn't the same without children, is it, love?' George said.

She smiled at John fondly. 'I remember when you and Sheryl were young, we had such fun, especially with the elves. It would be so nice to have those times again …'

His heart beat faster, but a little voice told him to hold fire with his news; Angie was too emotional right now. It would have been a great Christmas present for them too – especially as Sheryl, his sister, couldn't have children – but he'd promised her.

He was glad to leave.

<><><>

Angie lay on the bed and closed her eyes, hoping this sickness would leave her. She wanted to take something but didn't know what. If it affected the baby, she'd never forgive herself.

She tried to relax.

In fact, she did sleep, then woke with a start, sat up, rubbed her eyes and looked at her watch: two-fifteen. She'd been asleep for forty-five minutes but was still sick and frightened. Not wanting to worry John meant she had no alternative but to confide in her dad. He lived alone, a widower since her mum's death fifteen years ago at the early age of forty. He had never remarried.

She took out her phone and tapped his number. It rang and rang and she was almost ready to hang up when he answered.

'Dad?'

'Hallo, Angie. How are you? Great to hear from you.'

'I'm OK.' There was a pause. 'Actually, that's not quite true. I've got something to tell you.'

'Oh yes? What's that?'

'I'm pregnant.'

Silence. Had he heard what she said?

'Dad? You still there?'

'Yes, of course.' She heard him sigh. 'Pregnant, you say. Are you sure that's a good idea?'

'That's exactly it – I'm not sure it is. It was an accident, Dad – I've no idea how it happened.'

'So what are you going to do? You know what happened to your mum … Does John know yet?'

'Yes. I had to tell him, Dad. I've been sick a lot and he'd have noticed soon enough. And now he's obviously thrilled to bits, but I can't stop thinking about Mum, her bipolar and everything – what if I'm the same? What if the baby inherits it? I know I should think about getting rid of it. But I'm not sure I can.'

'You'll be taking a big risk if you don't.'

'Yes, but if the baby is normal, and I'm fine, then I'll have aborted it for my own selfish reasons.'

'But if there's a problem with you, that will be much worse. Don't get me wrong, Angie – no one wants a grandchild more than me. And if your mum was here, she'd be over the moon. But you remember what she went through. What if the same thing happened to you? That'd be horrible.'

'Oh, Dad, I don't know what to do. I worry over the baby too, that there might be something wrong, but surely the doctors could do tests or something. They might spot something in the womb.'

'I don't think so, love. You're clutching at straws there. But I'm not the one you should be discussing this with. John's your husband, and he has the right to know.'

'I can't, Dad – he'd be devastated. He wants a child so much, it'd destroy him to know what having a kid might do to me. And there may be no need.'

'OK. I'm not going to interfere, love, but don't say I didn't warn you.'

Angie was silent for a moment. The front door opened and John shouted, 'I'm back.'

'Dad, I must go. John's come home.'

'All right. Remember I'm always here if you need to talk. Love you.'

'Love you too.'

She got out of bed and ran to greet John with a warm kiss.

'Hey, what's that for? I think I'll go out more often if this is the reception I get!'

'I missed you.'

'I've only been away an hour. How are you?'

'Been lying down. I think I slept a little.'

'Are you feeling any better?'

'A little. Want a drink?'

'Sure, if you're OK.'

They sat on the sofa.

John sipped his coffee. 'Come with me the next time I go; I hate telling them lies. Mum even me gave me some tablets for you to take for that “migraine” of yours. And they kept dropping hints about the patter of tiny feet. I felt so guilty.'

'I'm sorry. I'll tell them in my own time, though, not by them seeing me throw up. Don't worry – it won't be long and everyone will know, I promise.'

'How about when they come over for Christmas Day? Wouldn't that be the perfect time?'

'Please don't put pressure on me.'

'Or New Year's Eve?'

'John, give it a rest.'

She got up and walked upstairs, where she lay on her stomach, crying her eyes out.

John came up a few minutes later, sat on the bed and took her hand. 'Look, I'm sorry if I keep going on. I always wanted kids and now you've made me the happiest man in the world. That's all.'

Angie looked up with tear-stained eyes. 'I'm sorry. It must be my hormones playing havoc with my brain. Once I've seen the doctor, I'll be better.'

'Let's hope so. Listen, will you be all right for Christmas Day? With Mum and Dad coming over for dinner, I mean. I can take over if you supervise me.'

'No, they'll know something's up if we do that. I'll get through it, but if I'm sick, we'll have to cancel.'

'Yeah, I suppose.'

'Look, I can't help how I feel. There's always next year – the baby will be a few months old then. Sure they'll enjoy that much more.'

He squeezed her arm. 'It will be a big change for all of us – and hard work, too. But well worth it. Still can't believe I'm going to be a father. Wow, the guys at work will pull my leg something rotten.'

'Yes, they will.' She smiled, but she wished he'd shut up. It got on her nerves. Please change the record, she thought.

Chapter 4

Angie sat in the waiting room that Wednesday morning, her nerves frayed, and she wanted to cry. She needed to pull herself together, to be in control when she faced the doctor.

They were already running late and didn't call her until nine twenty-five. She worried about missing her first house viewing appointment at ten.

Dr Brodie was an overweight man with sparse black hair, in his early forties, she guessed; she'd seen him before, but only for minor ailments.

'Hallo, Angela,' he said, eyes twinkling through half-rimmed glasses. 'And what can I do for you?'

She told him about the sickness.

'Quite common, I'm afraid. But it usually passes after a few weeks. There are over-the-counter tablets that help, but if the symptoms worsen, I can prescribe another medication. I suggest you avoid spicy foods, eat dry toast or plain biscuits and drink plenty of fluids. And get lots of rest. Make sure that husband of yours looks after you, eh?'

'OK. Thank you, doctor.'

By the time she arrived at her first appointment – she only just made it – she was feeling incredibly stressed, but the young couple looking to sell their semi were friendly enough. The wife was expecting herself, but looked four or five months gone. Angie didn't mention her own pregnancy; the last thing she needed was an excited mums-to-be discussion about prams and car seats. She wanted to stay away from that stuff for as long as she could. And the fewer people who knew, the better.

After work, she drove home. John was back early and Angie, relieved, slid easily into his arms and kissed him.

'Glad you're here.'

'Me too. Got out on time, and the traffic was light. Fish and chips waiting in the oven. You all right?'

'Yeah, not bad. Still sick even after taking one of the tablets the chemist gave me. But I've eaten better – at least that's something.'

'I hope you're making sure you eat enough. You must eat properly for the baby's sake, Angie – and for yourself.'

'Yes, I'm aware of that, thank you. Don't go on, John. I'm under enough pressure. I'm worried about work, too; if I can't show clients around properties, what will they say? And what if I'm sick in front of someone? It was a near thing last week. I'll be so embarrassed. And then there's Christmas dinner with your parents …' She sniffed back tears.

John lifted her chin and looked her straight in the eye. 'Darling, let's just take this one step at a time. Get through work for the rest of the week, and then it's Christmas on Friday, and the weekend. We can just relax for a few days.'

She nodded. 'Sorry. I'm getting in such a state, I know, but I don't want to let anyone down.'

'You're not. Once everyone knows you're pregnant, people will be understanding, I promise.'

'You're probably right.'

'Now, let me get changed and we'll eat, OK?'

<><><>

John climbed up the stairs to the bathroom, concerned at Angie's anxiety. She'd always been confident in everything she did, at home and at work, and yet suddenly she was going to pieces. He needed to be strong for her, support her as much as he could.

He returned downstairs in more comfortable clothes and sat at the kitchen table. He tucked into his food but noticed that Angie was only picking at the edges.

Finally, she put down her knife and fork and sat back. 'Sorry, John. I can't face any more. This food makes me want to throw up.'

'That's fine. No need to apologise. I didn't cook it, did I? And even if I had, I wouldn't have taken offence. It'll get better, I promise. Do you want anything else instead?'

'Don't know – a banana, maybe.'

'Yeah, why not? Nothing better than a banana when you're sick,' he smiled.

'Or a tin of fruit. I can't face dairy products.'

'Sure, coming up. No pun intended.'

As he watched her eat the fruit, John smiled. 'Just think, Angie. Next year there'll be three of us. Funny thought, isn't it?'

She slammed her spoon into the bowl. 'John, stop going on. All right, I'm having a baby, but can we please change the subject?'

John jumped at this uncharacteristic outburst of temper. Must be hormones again, he told himself. Better hold his own temper or else they'd have a row.

'OK, let's talk about something else. What are we doing about your dad over Christmas? I know he doesn't like a fuss, but we'll have to see him at some stage.'

'I'll see him on Christmas Eve to give him his present, and invite him to ours on Boxing Day. But I don't think he'll come. You know what he's like – just wants to be by himself.'

'Well, we can't force him to come.'

'No. I wish he'd make more of an effort, though. It's like he's never got over mum's death. All those photos of her everywhere.'

'I know. It's almost as though he blames himself for the accident.'

Angie suddenly started to cry.

John put his arm around her, frowning. 'Hey Angie, what's wrong? Have I upset you?'

She shook her head. 'What if I can't cope with a baby? What if I can't eat right, and it affects the baby – it'll be my fault! I'll never be able to live with myself.'

'Angie, stop it. We should be celebrating this, instead of contemplating doom and gloom.'

She gave him a sad smile. 'Sorry, I know you're right. But these last few days I'm getting down over the most trivial things. Never experienced anything like it.'

'Me neither,' John replied.

'Very funny. I can imagine what you'd do if you were in my shoes.'

'Yes, well I'll never be in your shoes. I've done my bit; the rest is up to you.'

'John, you're treading on very thin ice. I expect you to do more than your bit.'

'I intend to, I promise,' he said and got up. 'Hey, time for an early night. You need to conserve your energy.'

Chapter 5

Angie didn't sleep well. The sickly feelings returned, and she rushed off to the bathroom while John was asleep. Although she retched over the toilet, nothing came out. She needed to take another tablet, but the urge to vomit remained. Around five o'clock she got up and watched TV until she had to get ready for work.

She was in the kitchen eating a piece of toast when John joined her.

'Hey, you're up early,' he said.

'Couldn't sleep. I felt sick. Oh God, this is going to be a nightmare.'

'Well, if the tablets aren't helping, go back to the doctor.'

'I will, but it's only been a couple of days. Maybe I should give it a bit longer.'

'Better have my breakfast and get off. The sooner I'm in, the sooner I'm out. What are you up to today?'

'I only have a few appointments, so I'll be in the office for part of the day. We're supposed to be going for our Christmas meal at lunchtime; what if I throw up? How embarrassing would that be?'

'Tell them the truth.'

'Not yet.'

'You can't keep it a secret forever.'

'No need to go on, John. I'll do it when I'm ready.'

On the way to work, Angie kept thinking about lunchtime. Normally she revelled in these social occasions, but now she was almost tempted to ring in sick.