Lost Dogs and Lonely Hearts (38 page)

‘George, I’m pregnant,’ she blurted out. ‘I know, it’s irresponsible and stupid. But you don’t have to do anything or say anything. I wanted to tell you, and if you don’t want it to get out, then I’m fine. Everyone will think it’s Oliver’s, anyway. If that’s what you’d prefer.’

Some dim part of Rachel’s brain registered that none of that had come out the way she’d meant it to but it was too late.

George’s hand froze but he calmly removed the pan from the heat, placing it on an iron trivet, and turned to face her. ‘What do you mean by that? I don’t have to do anything?’

‘I mean, you don’t have to offer to marry me or anything. I’ve decided that I’m going to have the baby though. It’s not a great time, and I know this isn’t what you’d have planned either, because it’s certainly not how I’d have chosen to do things, but please don’t try to talk me out of it. I can’t explain and it’s not rational, but I want to have it.’ Rachel wasn’t quite sure where these words were coming from; they certainly weren’t the ones she’d rehearsed. ‘Please,’ she added.

George wiped his hand over his face and left it there, while he thought. When he removed it, his expression was incredulous. ‘Let me just get this straight. You think I’m the sort of man who’d try to talk a woman into an abortion? Is that
honestly
what you think I’d do? I know we don’t know each other very well, but I hope you’d think more of me than that.’

‘I didn’t . . .’ Rachel began, and then realised she’d based her whole approach on what Oliver would have said. Not George. She’d basically accused him of wanting to wriggle away from her and the baby.

He carried on staring at her. ‘Anyway, aren’t we meant to start off with, “Darling I have some wonderful news”? For someone who wants to have a baby so much you don’t sound very happy about it yourself.’

‘I am! And it is wonderful news. It’s just that . . .’ Rachel’s insides prickled. This was so wrong. He wasn’t ranting like Oliver, but he seemed distant, and her defences rose instinctively.

‘Well, you’re right. I don’t really know much about you at all,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to assume. I didn’t want you to think I’d planned it. Hijacked your sperm like some mad woman.’

‘
Planned
it? How?’ Now he looked baffled as well as offended. ‘I mean, is that what some women do? You’ll have to forgive me here, Rachel, I’m just a hick from the sticks.’

Gem whimpered at the sound of raised voices and curled his head tighter.

Rachel sank onto the chair and put her head in her hands. Of course he wouldn’t think that. He didn’t read
Grazia
, or know many IVF-crazed women, or listen to the agonisings of career-driven mistresses. George was a decent, old-fashioned bachelor. Not that that made him easier to deal with than the slippery married man she was used to.

Just because he’d said he wasn’t really interested in a family didn’t mean that he wouldn’t insist on his paternal rights being respected. Maybe he would insist on marrying her. She hadn’t thought about that. She hadn’t thought about what
he
might want for his child. Or the mother of his child.

A chill swept over her stomach as the door clicked shut on her independence. A child she could take with her; but she couldn’t take the child from a father who wanted to be involved.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘This isn’t coming out right.’

‘No, it’s not.’ He raised the bottle to pour her a glass of wine.

‘No, George,’ Rachel reminded him. ‘I’m not allowed to drink from now on.’

‘Right.’ He looked at her, then filled up his own glass, nearly to the brim. After taking a long swig he sat down opposite her at the head of the table and looked more like his old self. ‘Well, congratulations,’ he said. There was a moment when she thought he was going to get up to hug her, but her body language must have put him off, because he didn’t.

Rachel stared longingly at the wine bottle. Just when you
really
needed a drink, she thought. ‘Thanks.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Bit sick. Bit fat.’ She pulled a face. ‘I’ve never been pregnant before. Maybe you should tell me what I should expect.’

George laughed, rather tensely. ‘That you should be ready to drop in nine weeks, and I’ll be on hand with my rubber gloves?’

‘Can I have a glass of water, please?’ asked Rachel.

He poured her a glass of water from the big jug on the table and she drank it gratefully. The jug had ice in it, and chopped up lemons. Suddenly the effort he’d gone to without wanting to show it – the good plates, silver cutlery, the tulips he’d obviously bought – made her feel like crying. From promising date to this, with just one sentence.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Rachel listened to the pots bubbling on the stove and the whoosh of the Aga re-firing itself. Noises that would have made her feel warm inside last week; warm and excited about a new relationship with a man who could cook and liked wine.

‘Look, it
is
my fault,’ said George, rubbing his face again. ‘I wasn’t as, um, timely with the condom as I could have been. I did tell you I was out of practice.’ He looked up at Rachel and she could see he was anxious.

Her heart melted.

‘It’s as much my fault,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have been so pissed I didn’t notice. I shouldn’t have been so pissed we ended up in bed at all, but we did. What’s done is done. I don’t think my dad’s going to come round and horsewhip you.’

‘Have you told your parents?’

She shook her head wryly. ‘No, I haven’t told anyone, except you. My mum’ll be driven mad by the chance of another grandchild on one hand, but by an irresponsible one-night-stand on the other. She had me down for the cat sanctuary, to go with Auntie Dot’s dogs’ home.’ Rachel swallowed, trying to keep her voice light. ‘Not the single parent with the baby daddy she barely knows.’

‘Don’t be flippant, this is serious,’ said George. ‘You can tell her you won’t be on your own. I’ll support the baby financially and . . . Well, with as much emotional support as you want me to offer.’

‘It’s a baby, George, not a tax inspection,’ said Rachel. She couldn’t work out whether she was niggled by his failure to sweep her into his arms and tell her everything would be OK – or whether, had he done that, she’d have been furious at the condescension.

‘I know.’ He chewed his lip. ‘I know. Sorry, I’m just trying to get my head around it. I’m going to be a father. And I don’t even know when
your
birthday is.’

‘Maybe we should just get our passports out?’ suggested Rachel. ‘You’ve got nine months for me to guess your amusing middle names, anyway.’

‘It’s not funny.’

‘I know.’ Rachel shut her eyes. Joking was her way of dealing with it, but she didn’t want George to get the wrong idea. That was the danger of only half-knowing someone.

‘I’m only going to ask you this once,’ said George, his voice low but gentle. ‘But I am going to ask – you’re really sure about having this baby?’

Rachel’s eyes snapped open. ‘Yes. I am.’

‘It’s just that . . .’ George seemed to be struggling to find the right words. ‘This isn’t going to come out right.’

‘It’s just that what? Go on, say it.’ Rachel stared at him. She could feel the force of a personality as stubborn as her own, and tumbled recklessly on, determined to push the worst out. ‘We’re not kids. We don’t have a marriage to break up.’

‘It’s just that not so long ago you were putting up a pretty good argument for not wanting children, now or ever. Your white carpets, your holidays. Remember?’ He looked at her, with his clear-eyed gaze. ‘Don’t tell me that’s just vanished overnight. The independent woman with her own life – I totally understand where you were coming from. What I’m saying is that I’m not going to get on your case if you decide not to go ahead with it. It’s your life.’

‘What?’ she countered, though she wasn’t quite sure what she was countering. ‘From the man who doesn’t miss the stress of pleasing other people? The man who enjoys keeping his own hours and ignores the phone?’

He held up his hands. ‘I’m just trying to work out what’s going on. It’s a big decision, and you’re probably very hormonal right now.’

Rachel recoiled.
Hormonal
? Like being pregnant stopped your brain working? This man clearly hadn’t had a woman in his life.

‘I
know
it’s a big decision,’ she snapped. ‘But I’m not the first woman to have a baby she wasn’t planning! Or to change her mind about her bloody carpets once it’s actually happening. Everything’s changed, just in the last few weeks.’

She gestured towards Gem, snoring in the basket. ‘I mean, look – white carpets are a thing of the past anyway. I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to go back to the life I had.’ She paused, recognising she meant it. ‘And I don’t want to. What I have now is real. It’s
mine
.’

George said nothing, and she realised he didn’t even know her well enough to understand what she meant.

‘You do
not
have to be part of this,’ Rachel hurried on. ‘I didn’t come here to insist that you, I don’t know, “stood by me”. I’m telling you because you have a right to know. And because . . .’ Her voice caught in her throat.

George seemed like Mr Rural Reliability now, but there had been a time when she’d thought Oliver was reliable too. Reliable and loving – and look how that had turned out. Wasn’t it better to start off on her own, and not be disappointed?

‘You make it sound like you don’t
want
me to be a part of this,’ observed George.

‘Well, what’s changed in
your
life? Nothing. You’ve still got the long hours, the anti-social job. You can’t even say you’ve met the right woman because you barely know me.’

‘What’s changed is that I might now be a father,’ he said, simply. ‘That changes everything.’

Rachel paused to let the lurch in her chest subside; it wasn’t hormones, it was a sudden longing for a man who seemed decent and strong. What kind of a mother was she going to be, after all? She had no idea. But they couldn’t pretend to have a bond they hadn’t had time to forge yet, and she hadn’t turned her back on her old life of lies to start a new life based on a different sort of deception, even if it was for the right reasons.

‘So where does this leave us?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to, just because you feel you should.’ Rachel pressed the tip of her tongue against her front teeth until it hurt. ‘In fact, it might be better if I just left. I’ve had a few days to think about this – it’s only fair to give you the same.’

‘Rachel, please . . .’

It felt odd, hearing him say her name. She pushed her chair back, aware that she was making it all worse. ‘I’m going to go. I’m sorry about dinner, it smells lovely. Gem?’

George was standing now too. ‘If that’s what you want . . .’ he began.

‘It is.’ It wasn’t. What she wanted was for him to sweep her into his arms and tell her it was all going to be fine, that they were meant to be together and that Dot had fated the whole thing, but she was too adult to believe that, and so was he.

Gem got up reluctantly from the basket, teetering onto his long legs and looking between the two of them with sleepy eyes, as if to say, why are we leaving so soon?

‘Come on,’ she said, reaching out her hand to the collie.

‘I’ll call you,’ said George. He shook his head. ‘I wish I knew what the right thing to say is. I’m just . . .’

‘I know,’ said Rachel, unhappily. The evening felt spoiled now. Curdled, like milk left out thoughtlessly. ‘Me too.’

‘I’ll see you out.’ George followed her to the door, and as she left, he leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, but Rachel didn’t see it coming, and moved away to nudge Gem away from a hedgehog curled by the front step.

By the time she realised what she’d done, the kiss had withered in the air and George raised an awkward hand to wave goodbye.

Proper morning sickness set in a few days later, along with extreme exhaustion and a desire to throw up at the mere sight of the dogs’ Butcher’s Tripe Mix.

Poor Megan was still convinced it was her flu bug that was making Rachel turn green, and wanted to let her off all kennel duties until she felt better.

‘Stay in bed,’ she pleaded, when Rachel dragged herself into the kitchen at eight, unwoken by the usual cup of tea. ‘Please! I feel bad enough already without making you do walking.’

‘I’m fine. Honestly.’ Rachel sorted through the post on the pine table. ‘There’s so much to do, I can’t let you . . . Oooh.’ She gripped the chair and sat down heavily as a wave of nausea swept through her. ‘’Scuse me. Did you have a bacon sandwich this morning?’

‘About an hour ago.’ Megan eyed her anxiously. ‘You’re sure you won’t go back to bed? Freda will be here any minute and the sixth-former volunteers are in today.’

‘I’m sure. I’ve got a lot I need to get through.’

‘Ooh, with Open Day stuff?’ Megan’s face brightened. She was even more enthusiastic about the Open Day than Rachel and Natalie, and was convinced the pair of them were hotshot business geniuses to have come up with it. ‘I had a brainwave – Freda can do a bacon sandwiches stall! We could sell them for two pounds, and then tell everyone they’re free when you volunteer for dog walking!’