The Baby Question
Ready for a baby . . .When Laurie married the love of her life, Rob, she knew her dreams had come true! But there’s just one more dream left to fulfil… becoming a mother. After several years of waiting, Laurie realises that her marriage is perhaps not-so-perfect after all – Rob is working so hard, she wonders if he’s even ready for a baby. Desperate for some time to think, she travels to Scotland alone. Yet, within a day Rob is by her side, begging her for an explanation. It’s now or never – and so, Laurie is forced to pose ‘the baby question’… and put their love for one other to the test!
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LAURIE felt the first twinges of failure with dismay.
Not again, she thought despairingly. We canât have failed again. I canât 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, sheâd get through it. She always did. Month after month she braved his disappointmentâand the same old arguments. Heâd had a test, which proved he was fine. Why didnât she have a test? At least then theyâd know what they were dealing with, and there was so much they could do these days. Why not give it a try?
Because she didnât want to know it was her fault. She didnât want to go down the route of IVF and all that palaver. She was only twenty-six, and they hadnât been trying that long. There was plenty of time.
Wasnât there?
But she couldnât spend it like this. She couldnât 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. Sheâd look on the Internet. Maybe that would offer some suggestionsâand, 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 didnât laugh at her or tease her or patronise her. She wasnât sure it would workâwasnât sure she could do it, although she couldnât be worse than some. But how? And where? She couldnât use his computer, heâd notice sheâd 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 â¦
Then she remembered the attic.
LAURIE felt the first twinges of failure with dismay.
Not again, she thought despairingly. We canât have failed again. I canât 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 couldnât tell him again. She couldnât go through that same old ritualâare you all right? Do you want me to come home? Iâll 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.
âHow are you?â he asked without preamble. Pregnant yet?
âFine. How are you?â she asked, ignoring the unspoken question. âHowâs New York?â
âCold and tedious. Iâm stuck here for another week or twoâproblems. Can you manage?â
She almost laughed aloud. âI expect so,â she said drily. God knows she was getting enough practice these days; he was hardly ever at home.
âIâll come back for the weekend if you like.â
âWhy bother? Just press on and get home when you can,â she said, trying not to sound too unwelcoming. âIâll be fine. Iâve got the dog for company.â
A man with less ego would have been offended, she thought, but Rob just chuckled. âIâll speak to you tomorrow. You take care, now.â
Take care, just in case she might be pregnant.
Well, she wasnâtâagain.
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 returnedâwell, 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 heâd think sheâd 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 theyâd drifted away. That was fine. She didnât need time for anything except this, the challenge sheâd created for herself. The other challenge, the one she kept failing to meet, was harder because it was out of her control. Out of Robâs, too, and for the first time in his life heâd discovered something that money couldnât buy.
