Chapter 11 - part ii

[girlyswot]

‘Showers.  Before anything,’ Patrick said decidedly.  ‘You go first.  There should be a clean towel in the airing-cupboard.’

Damp and warm, Nicola wrapped herself in the towel and padded through to the bedroom.  Patrick had pushed the bed against the wall and squeezed in another small chest of drawers.  She opened the wardrobe to see his things carefully pushed to one side, leaving room for hers.  She opened a case at random and quickly found clean jeans and jumper.

 

Downstairs, she put the kettle on and found things to make tea.  Mrs Cartmell was waving.  Nicola went to say hello.

‘Oh Spade!  You silly, gorgeous animal.  Yes, hello.  Yes, Patrick’s here but you’re going to have to wait.  He’s in the shower.’  This last was addressed to an indulgent looking Mrs Cartmell.

‘You look brown.  Did you have a good time?’

‘Oh yes.’  Nicola smiled involuntarily.

‘I brought you a few things.  I thought you might not have any food in.’

‘Oh, how kind.  I was just trying to make tea and realising we haven’t any milk.’

‘Well, there’s milk and bread and I’ve put in a cake and one or two bits and pieces.’

‘Thank you so much.’  Nicola took the box and carried it into the kitchen.  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘No, dear, I won’t stay.  But perhaps you and Patrick would come round for supper later?’

‘Yes, we’d love to.  What time?’

‘About seven?  It’ll just be pot luck, nothing smart.’

 

When Patrick came down a few minutes later he was besieged by a wildly excited Spade, unable to make up his mind whether to bark his enthusiasm, or to lick Patrick’s face to show him he hadn’t forgotten, or to sniff in the familiar smell, or to run in circles out of sheer delight.

‘Yes, alright, it’s nice to see you again too, you daft animal.  Did you have all this, Nick?’

‘Well, not quite…  Tea?’

‘Mmm, yes please.’

‘Cake?’

‘Yes!  Where did that come from?’

‘Mrs Cartmell.  She’s brought us a box of goodies and invited us to supper tonight.’

‘Oh.’

‘I said we’d be there at seven.  We don’t have to stay late.  I just thought it would save cooking.  And they’ve been so kind.’

‘Yes, I know.  Fine.’  He smiled.  ‘Shall we have a great orgy of present unwrapping first?’

She grimaced.  ‘Have you seen the living room?  Can’t we leave it till later?’

‘Not if we want to sit on the sofa ever again.  Come on, I think we could make a start.’

 

Giles had sent the most marvellous pair of binoculars as a wedding gift.  He apologised that it was not a telescope but hazarded the suggestion that they might find the glasses a touch more useful.  There was a private note for Nick slipped inside their card. 

'Alright?'  Patrick eyed her curiously.

'Yes,' she said decisively.  'Patrick, I think…  I mean, I hope…  I… Oh, honestly…'

He stood, patiently waiting for her to conclude.

'We're going to have a baby, Patrick.'

'Truly, Nick?' he breathed.

She nodded, suddenly finding her eyes filled with tears.

'Oh, darling.'  He held her hands, looking into her smiling eyes.  'Come here.'  He held her close, stroking her hair.

'I can't believe it.  Our baby.  Are you sure?'

'Well, I haven't been to the doctor yet.  But I think so.  I've been feeling pretty sick the last week or so, like before.  Oh, Patrick, what if…?'

'Shh.  You said yourself, there's no reason why it should happen again.  And this time we'll make sure you do all the right things, and see the doctor and…'  He kissed her.

Some minutes later, he asked, 'Nick?  What on earth was in Giles' letter that made you realise you were pregnant?'

She laughed.  'He just reminded me that taking risks is more fun.'

 

Patrick was tired.  He swung the gate shut behind him, hearing its squeak and determinedly ignoring it.  Opening the door of the little cottage which led straight into the kitchen, he stamped the mud off his boots and yawned.

‘How long till dinner?’

‘Twenty minutes, I should think.’  Patrick watched Nicola’s back as she stirred something on the gas hob and decided his bath could wait.  He went over and leaned and slid his hands round her waist and leant his head on her shoulder.

‘You’re cold.  And you smell.’  But at least her voice was smiling now.

‘Mmm.  Everything okay, Nick?’  She sighed and leaned back against him.

‘Yes.  I s’pose so.  Look why don’t you go and wash and supper’ll be ready when you come down.’

‘Sure.’  He bent his head to kiss her and paused for a moment, examining her face intently.

 

They munched their chops and cauliflower cheese, talking of Mackintosh and Regan and Mr Cartmell’s views on keeping hawks through the winter.  Nicola eventually got up to put the kettle on for coffee.

‘There’s ginger cake in the tin, if you want.’

‘I’ll get it.  Look, Nick, leave the washing-up.  I’ll do it later.  D’you fancy a glass of port?’  He took down two glasses and filled them both without waiting for an answer.  He reached for her hand and sat down, pulling her onto his lap.  She smiled but he thought it looked like an effort.

‘What is it darling?  Tell me.’  She tried to slide out of his grasp but he held her more tightly.  ‘Are you unhappy?’

She tried to shake her head but found herself nodding and a hateful tear escaping.  Patrick carefully wiped it away with his thumb and waited.

Eventually, she composed herself and worked out where to begin.

‘Pat, how do you think I spend my days when you’re out working?’

He looked surprised but tried to take her question seriously.

‘Well housework, I suppose.  Washing and ironing, cleaning, cooking.  Um, shopping.’  She kept looking.  ‘Reading?  Coffeehousing?  It doesn’t sound much fun.  Is that it, Nick?  You’re bored?’

‘Bored, lonely, jealous…’

‘Jealous?’

‘Of you.  Haring off every day with the horses and the hawks and the dog, leaving me here on my own.’

‘Oh.  I’m so sorry, Nick.  I should’ve thought about it before.  It must be pretty miz.’

‘Not always.’  She tried to reassure him.  ‘I mean, you mustn’t think the last few months have all been awful.  And besides,’ her hands went automatically to her stomach.  ‘When the baby comes…’

‘… it’ll all be different.  But that’s no good now.  Look, why don’t you come and help out a bit on the estate?’

Nicola’s eyes lit up.  ‘Could I really?’

‘Don’t see why not.  Only you haven’t a horse at the moment.  Maybe we should get you one.’

‘What with?’

‘Mmm.’  He acknowledged the difficulty.  ‘Didn’t we still have some wedding money?’

‘I thought we were going to save that for the baby.’

‘We could sell up when the baby comes.’

Nicola considered this.  ‘I don’t know, Pat.  I mean, I probably won’t be able to ride for much longer anyway.’

‘Oh.  Well p’raps you could borrow Mrs Cartmell’s mare?’

‘I thought you didn’t approve of horses being lent around.’

‘No, I don’t really.  Well, I don’t know, Nick.  What do you think we should do?’

‘Wish I knew.’  But she put her arms round her husband’s neck and snuggled into his Aran jumper in a most contented way.

‘Pat?’ she murmured.

‘Mmm?’

‘The gate needs oiling.’

‘I know,’ he sighed.

‘D’you want me to do it?’

‘Can you?’

‘Prob.  I’ll have a go tomorrow.’

 

Even on Christmas Day, the hawks needed care and attention.  Patrick slipped out of bed at 5am without disturbing Nicola’s sleeping form.  But within a few moments of hearing the front door shut, she dragged herself out and began to make her preparations.

 

A red tablecloth had been laid and candle flames danced.  Plates were piled high with drop scones, crispy bacon, sausages, mushrooms and tomatoes.  She’d put out wine glasses and made up a jug of Bucks Fizz.  At one end of the table a small pile of presents waited intriguingly.  On the radio choirboys were singing carols, their voices soaring effortlessly above the world.

 

Patrick walked in as if to a dream.  Nicola turned to smile at him.  ‘Happy Christmas!’

He grinned.  ‘I’ll say.  Mmm.  Happy Christmas.’  He kissed her long and hard.

She pulled away.  ‘Breakfast’s getting cold.  D’you want an egg?’

‘Yes, please.  Food first, presents after?’

‘That’s what I thought.  Shall we make it a tradition?’

‘I could certainly get used to a breakfast like this.’  He tucked in, offering a sausage to the politely waiting Spade.

 

Patrick washed up while Nicola tidied away.

‘Nick?’

‘Mm?’

‘Will you sing something?’

‘Now?’  She sounded surprised but not as unwilling as he had expected.

‘Yes, go on.  Sing a carol or something.’

She thought, then remembered a carol she had sung years earlier, in Wade Minster.  Hairs rose on the back of Patrick’s neck as her voice lifted, clear and true, singing the music of the heavens.

‘A day, a day of glory…’