And Baby Makes Three

‘I thought you’d be long gone,’ she said, trying to sound indifferent.

He made a face. ‘Here today and gone tomorrow, that’s me. Most of the time anyway. But sometimes it’s nice to linger and talk about old times. It’s good to see you again. Look what I brought you.’

He held up a bottle of wine, the very same kind they had drunk that other night.

‘You said this was your favourite,’ he reminded her.

‘How did you ever remember that?’ she gasped, touched even against her will.

He grinned. ‘I guess I just-remembered.’

No man had the right to be so charming. It wasn’t fair. But she was on her guard.

‘There’s a bench over there by the pond,’ he said. ‘Let’s sit down. Give me your hand.’

She did so, but reluctantly. Touching him was dangerous.

By moonlight they made their way to the bench and he poured the wine.

‘Sorry they’re only plastic cups,’ he said.

‘Mmm. Delicious.’

‘Let me look at you,’ he said, twisting on the bench and turning her gently with his hands on her shoulders, so that they were facing each other. Leaving his hands there, he studied her, his head on one side, then on the other, smiling, as if to tell her not to be offended.

‘Hmm,’ he said at last. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Not sure I pass muster?’

‘No, I’m not sure it’s the girl I remember. You’re different.’

‘You don’t remember that girl at all,’ she said with cool irony. ‘You forgot her the next day.’

He made a face. ‘Some women linger longer than others. I recall somethings about her. She was a cheeky imp, always ready with a smart answer.’

‘Oh, that’s me. Definitely. As you’ll find out if you try to get clever.’

‘Ah! And “getting clever” means-?’

‘Anything I want it to mean. I’m like that. Awkward.’

‘Good. That’s how a woman should be. I don’t like the compliant, submissive kind.’

‘Oh, please! Who do you think you’re kidding? The compliant, submissive kind is all you have time for.’

‘No, no-that’s just the public image.’

‘Yeah, right!’

He grinned. ‘I’m not as bad as I’m painted, honestly.’

‘Don’t let your admirers suspect that,’ she said coolly. ‘They like to think you’re worse than you’re painted. If you start coming across as a decent fellow it could cost you a fortune in sponsorships.’

‘Ah, yes, macho is better.’ He struck his forehead. ‘I must try to remember how to do that. I’m sure I’ve got a book about it somewhere.’

‘You probably wrote it.’

‘You see too much,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid of you.’

‘That’s better.’ She struck an attitude, declaiming, ‘Fear is good. Fear is what I like. Fear is constructive.’

He edged away. ‘I’m getting more scared by the minute.’

She raised her plastic cup to him, sipped the wine, then rose and strolled slowly away. She needed to set a distance between them until she was more certain of her control.

She was shocked at herself. She’d meant to be so levelheaded-a responsible citizen and devoted mother, efficient, practical. Part of her was managing that, but the other part was like a dazzled teenager on her first date.

But in some ways he was her first date-then and now. Over the years she’d been out with other men, but nothing had come of it because no man could touch her heart.

Then this one man had had come bursting out of the shadows, reminding her of how easily he’d conquered that very heart once, and how fatal it would be to let him do it again.

She must play him cleverly; drawing him close for Mike’s sake, but protecting her inner self. An excitement was rising in her, but she beat it down. Control. Common sense.

Right! She had it now.

‘Stop just there,’ he called.

She did so, half turning to find him leaning back on the bench, enjoying the view.

‘You’re definitely not her,’ he said. ‘She was a skinny little thing, no curves. Now, you-’

‘The odd curve or two,’ she agreed. ‘I owe that to Mike. There’s nothing like having a baby to make you go in and out.’

Now, she thought, he would ask about Mike. Surely it must occur to him to wonder-especially about the name? But, if so, he was keeping it to himself.

‘Then I reckon I have to give in and admit that it’s really you,’ he said.

‘Disappointed?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he said softly, and suddenly the humour was gone from his voice, and from his eyes, leaving only intensity. Just one word, but the world had changed.

‘Come back,’ he said, taking her hand and leading her back to the bench. ‘No, wait-you’re cold.’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, although she was beginning to feel the breeze.

‘No, you’re not. Here.’ Removing his jacket, he slipped it around her shoulders and gave her a brief squeeze. ‘Shall we find somewhere indoors?’

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s nice out here. I come here sometimes to enjoy the peace.’

‘I expect Mike likes to play here with other kids.’

‘Not really. He enjoys noisy games, where he can shout at the top of his voice.’

‘Ah, yes. I remember that feeling.’

She thought of the clamour that had always been part of his life-not just engines, but people. He was a natural talker, and liked to surround himself with folk who had plenty to say. It was almost as though he feared the silence.

But now she saw him leaning back, his face raised to the sky, eyes closed, his expression suggesting deep satisfaction-like a man enjoying a rare pleasure.

He opened his eyes.

‘It’s beautiful,’ he said softly. ‘Usually I don’t get anything like this.’

‘Yes, your life has always been noisy.’

Did she only imagine that he gave a faint shudder?

‘Noise, noise, noise,’ he murmured. ‘Once I was fine with it. Now it seems to beat on me. I’ve even thought-sometimes-what am I doing? There’s got to be more to life.’