Bride on the Children's Ward / Marriage Reunited: Baby on the Way (31 page)

The line of men held their ‘babies’ up. The nappies of all the first-time fathers promptly dropped to the table.

Except Jack’s.

His was snug and tidy.

Perfect.

And unbelievably threatening.

‘Oh, dear. Look at Pete’s disaster,’ groaned one of the other mothers-to-be. ‘Perhaps Jack could come over and give him some lessons.’

Liz managed a smile, hoping it didn’t look as sickly as it felt.

Jack was better at this than she was. He must have done even more for his little sister than he’d led her to believe. Would she feel better if he was as ham-fisted as some of the other new fathers? Surely she couldn’t be that small-minded and competitive. Could she?

But
why
wasn’t she pleased? Intellectually, she could see that she should be ecstatic, but somewhere deep in her psyche it all felt wrong.

Wrong that he was so competent.

Wrong that she was so disturbed about it.

Was she worried he would watch her handling their newborn and find her wanting? After all, he’d judged his mother harshly.

Liz sighed. She wasn’t being fair. Janet had deserved to be judged and if anyone had a right to do it, that person was her own child. The son she’d ultimately deserted because her habit had been stronger than her love.

‘You’re very quiet,’ said Jack on the drive home.

‘Am I?’ She roused herself from her troubled thoughts and glanced at him briefly. ‘I’m tired.’

‘That’s all?’

‘Yes.’

‘We’re nearly home.’

‘You starred in the class tonight.’ She winced at the accusing tone. Trying to lighten the mood, she added, ‘Perhaps you need to give me some lessons. On nappies. And, um, babies.’

That sounded worse.

She shifted uncomfortably. ‘Um. So your, um, expertise, is that because of your little sister?’

‘Yeah. I was Emma’s live-in babysitter.’

‘Janet was lucky to have you, wasn’t she?’

Jack didn’t bother to answer her and in the lengthening silence Liz knew she’d been unreasonable.

‘I—I’m sorry, Jack. That wasn’t very nice,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’m cranky and I don’t really understand why. But that’s no reason to take it out on you.’

‘Don’t worry about it, darlin’, I’ve got broad shoulders.’ His hand covered hers, the hard palm warm against her cold fingers.

‘Well, don’t be too nice to me or I’ll be crying all over them.’ Tears flooded her eyes. With the back of her hand, she wiped the droplets that spilled onto her cheeks.

‘You’re just tired. I know you haven’t been sleeping very well. Only four weeks to go now.’

‘
Only
? Twenty-eight
whole
days.’ It was a relief to let the words explode out of her, sweeping away the need to cry. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to do it, Jack. I feel ready to burst now.’

‘My poor darling.’

‘You’re being nice to me again.’ She sniffed. ‘I know most women say they feel the same way at this stage.’

‘But it’s different when it’s you?’

‘Yes, it is. Damn it.’ She chuckled softly. ‘I want to cringe when I think of all the words of wisdom I’ve imparted to my pregnant patients over the years. What did I know?’

Later that night, Jack lay listening to Liz’s soft, steady breathing. She’d dropped off to sleep quickly, but he knew the chances were she’d be awake again in a few hours.

Tonight’s antenatal class had been interesting. He was surprised and pleased how easily his old knowledge had come back to him. It’d been fun—though he’d had to endure the good-natured teasing of the other men.

What hadn’t been so good was Liz’s reaction to his expertise. He’d seen her face as he’d held up his diapered dummy and she’d looked…stricken was the best word he could think of. He’d expected her to be pleased, felt hurt that she wasn’t.

She’d managed to dredge up a smile when Pete McGill’s wife had leaned over to speak to her, but he could tell it had been an effort.

And he definitely hadn’t imagined it. Her snippy comments on the way home confirmed that. So what was wrong?

He’d thought their problems had been sorted out when he’d come round to the idea of fatherhood. But peeling away that issue seemed to have exposed something he was at a loss to explain. And Liz didn’t seem inclined to even try, passing her comments off as pregnancy crankiness. And this was the first time she’d really complained about the way she felt so perhaps that’s all it was.

He worried about her, the pace at which she drove herself. He loved her independence, but sometimes it would be nice if she would lean on him. Just a little.

She rolled towards him, her hand sliding across his stomach and hooking around his waist. He sucked in a breath sharply as he felt his body react to her touch. At least they seemed to have ironed out the problems in
this
area of their relationship. Even if he did have to set a much more restrained pace than his natural inclination. He was close to her, sleeping with her. Loving her. They could sort everything else out as they went along. For now, this was a start.

He caught her hand as it strayed lower and she murmured a protest in her sleep. Letting out a long, slow lungful of air, he held her hand flat to his chest and took firm rein on his lust.

She needed sleep. She needed sleep.

He grinned wryly.

And
he
deserved a damned medal.

‘I
THOUGHT
you had the day off today.’ Jack stopped in the bedroom doorway, surprised to see Liz up and dressed.

‘I have, but I wanted to get around to visit a few people.’ She sounded distracted as she bent to pull up the bedspread. ‘Sort of tidy up loose ends.’

‘I’ve got this.’ He twitched the heavy cover out of her hands and flung it up the bed. ‘Like who? Can’t it wait?’

‘No, it can’t wait. Look, if you’re going to make the bed, you need to do it properly.’

‘Liz.’ He reached out and stopped her from straightening the bedclothes. ‘I’ll do that in a minute. I know you didn’t sleep well again last night. You should take the opportunity to rest today. Where are you going that’s so all fired important?’

‘Oh, I try not to disturb you when I get up.’ She looked at him guiltily. ‘I’m sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve heard you a couple of times, that’s all. Where are you going today?’

‘I want to see how Uncle Ron’s doing.’

‘Hell, Liz. The McLeods live miles out of town.’ He scowled down at her, seeing the bluish shadows beneath her eyes, the pale cheeks. The blooming good health she usually projected seemed to have faded overnight. ‘Why can’t I take you out there next weekend?’

‘I haven’t been out there for a couple of weeks. Besides, it’s not that far. And it’s not just them. I—I thought I might pop in and see Mum. If I have time.’ Her eyes slid away from his, making him wonder what she wasn’t telling him.

‘There’s no reason why I can’t take you
there
next weekend, too,’ he said, hard pressed to keep his tone neutral. Visiting Patrice…Not something he’d look forward to. Unfortunately, the only thing Liz’s mother and he agreed on was their mutual dislike for each other. Patrice believed her daughter had married beneath her station.

Liz’s face lit up with a cheeky grin, her hazel eyes twinkling at him. ‘Hmm, you must love me. Thank you, darling. I appreciate your offer, but I won’t do it to you.’ She sobered. ‘I—I haven’t arranged anything with Mum.’

‘You’re just going to drop in? On Patrice? Feeling masochistic, sweetheart?’

‘I didn’t want her making a big fuss.’ She braced her lower back and arched slightly. ‘I thought if I just called in that we could just have an informal chat about…some things.’

‘Why would you think that? It’s never worked in the past.’ He swallowed his frustration, not wanting to badger her.

‘I know. I thought…hoped today might be different.’ She looked so forlorn he couldn’t bring himself to say any more on the matter. But his instinct to protect was on high alert. If Patrice gave Liz a hard time, she’d answer to him.

‘Sure.’ He held out his arms. ‘Come here and let me do that for you.’

Liz came so willingly to him that his heart swelled with love.

He gripped her hips, digging his thumbs into the muscles at the top of her buttocks. She moaned softly.

‘Too hard?’

‘No. Too good.’ She sighed and rested her forehead on his shoulder.

He smiled and laid his cheek on her hair as he continued the rhythmic kneading. His petite wife was a real trouper, suffering the discomforts of her pregnancy with quiet dignity. Mostly her lack of complaint was because of the type of person she was. But he was sure part of it was because of his initial resistance to starting a family. She didn’t want to bother him. Although he’d done his best to reassure her since he’d come home from the States, he had the feeling she wasn’t entirely convinced he was going to stay.

How she could doubt him was a mystery. Didn’t she realise she was part of him? He’d be lost without her in his life. She’d rescued him from his superficial, love-’em-and-leave-’em roundabout, given him a richness he couldn’t begin to put a value on.

Hopefully, time would take care of her uncertainty. In the meantime, he would have to take care of her. As much as she’d let him.

Liz wasn’t absolutely sure why she hadn’t forewarned her mother of her intention to visit. She’d told Jack she wanted it to be informal, which was true. But as she drove through town, she wondered if she might be hoping the short notice would surprise a genuine response from her buttoned-up parent.

Twenty minutes later, Liz pulled up in her mother’s driveway and turned off the ignition. Doubts crowded in now that she was here. Was she really prepared for this confrontation? The problem with surprising people was that you didn’t always get the results you expected…or wanted.

She sat for long moments, examining the clean lines of her mother’s formal garden. Beautiful but untouchable. Tiny hedges perfectly trimmed into geometric patterns, plants chosen for size and colour. And tractability. They were
yes
plants.

Her mother had tried to trim and prune her offspring into shape with secateurs of carefully meted-out doses of affection and approval.

But children weren’t passive botanical specimens. She and her younger brother had burst out in unexpected directions. Mark, the heir destined to carry the Dustin name, refused to grow up, refused to marry, instead regularly throwing himself into the path of danger with his extreme sports.

Liz’s own rebellion had been more subtle, starting with her career and then her marriage to Jack with his working-class Scottish background. But choosing him hadn’t been a deliberate act of mutiny. She’d laid eyes on him and wanted him immediately. Still did. She was lucky—he’d wanted her right back.

But while that seemed to be a reasonable basis for a relationship, did it work for a marriage? Even more important, was it a good foundation to be parents?

They’d both had examples of what not to do, especially Jack with his drug-addicted mother. Janet’s behaviour had been patently flawed.

But Liz was beginning to wonder if her own family issues were more insidious. On the surface, she’d had a stable upbringing with both parents. But her father had provided the necessities—no more. Her mother, on the other hand, had done all the
right
things and had been seen to do them.

It dawned on her that her parents had never been a team. Never united through any of the domestic crises. Never made any spontaneous gestures of affection or support toward each other.

Perhaps that’s what she’d reacted to as a child, what she’d missed in her family. And why she’d craved acknowledgment from her parents, especially her father. He’d never said he loved her, that he was proud of her. She’d have done anything to wring some emotion from him other than indifference.

Was her drive to make Jack prove he’d be a caring father a result of the separateness she’d sensed in her parents’ marriage?

She needed to understand the emotional core of her family. But how did she find the right questions to ask? All she knew was some instinct had driven her here today to make the effort. If she didn’t, she might be doomed to repeating the patterns with her own children. And that was unacceptable.

Liz rubbed her hand over her stomach. She mustn’t make the same mistakes. Love had to be unconditional. Her own behaviour had to change. She’d begun to realise how conditional she’d made her love for Jack. First on having children, then by trying to dictate the type of father he’d be.

Gathering her bag, she pushed open the door. She had to deal with one thing at a time. Right now, she’d find out about her family.

She stood for a moment beside the car, rubbing her lower back. The beneficial effects of Jack’s massage had worn off and the muscles felt tired and achy.

‘Elizabeth.’

‘Hello, Mum.’ Liz turned to face the owner of the cool voice.

‘This is a surprise.’ A small, unsmiling silence that spoke volumes.

Liz could feel herself wanting to retreat, wishing she hadn’t come. Bracing herself, she kept her smile blandly pleasant. ‘I was passing so I thought I’d drop in.’

‘I saw you sitting in the car. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come in.’

Liz wondered how long her mother had been watching. Had she been hoping her daughter would just drive away?

‘You’re lucky you caught me home.’ Patrice stripped off her gardening gloves, plucking each finger forcefully.

‘Are you on your way out, Mum?’

‘No. But I might have been and then you’d have had a wasted trip. You’d better come in.’

Her mother led the way through to the back of the house. Liz followed slowly, walking past the familiar rooms with an odd sense of detachment. Everything was formal, spotless, rigidly tidy and decorated in pale colours that showed every mark from tiny grubby fingers. Even the carpet had pile designed to show every scuff from small running feet. Nothing had been changed for years. Hard to believe two children had grown up in this house.

Liz realised her arm had curled protectively over her pregnant stomach.

‘Would you like something to drink?’

The discouraging tone nearly made Liz smile.

‘Don’t make anything especially.’ She propped herself on the stool by the bench to give her tired legs a quick rest. Today was obviously going to be a physically difficult one. ‘I’m on my way out to the McLeods’ place.’ Liz could have bitten her tongue.

‘I see.’ Her mother washed and dried her hands before asking, ‘And how are Ronald and Margaret?’

‘Aunty Peg’s a Trojan. And Uncle Ron’s as well as can be expected.’

‘I don’t know why you’re so familiar with them, Elizabeth,’ the older woman said with distaste. ‘It’s not as if they’re really your family.’

‘They’re Jack’s family, Mum, therefore they are mine. And they treat me as part of their family so that’s what counts.’ Standing firm felt good, right.

‘Hmph. Well, I suppose you’ll do as you see fit.’ She sniffed. ‘I can’t imagine what’s possessed Margaret to let Ronald stay at home at this stage of his illness. And it’s dragging on dreadfully.’

‘Being at home has perked Uncle Ron up. He’s decided he wants to stay around a bit longer. There was nothing more that we could do for him in the hospital,’ said Liz, feeling obliged to defend his decision.

‘Yes, but he could have stayed there with the nurses to look after him rather than expecting his wife to do it.’

‘But she wants to. And they have their daughter staying as well. She’s a qualified nurse. It’s what he wanted, Mum.’ Though she didn’t want to continue the discussion, Liz had a feeling of sick inevitability that it would lead to the questions she did want to ask. ‘That’s important, don’t you think?’

‘It hardly matters what I think, does it?’

‘You’d have done the same for Dad, wouldn’t you?’ Liz wondered if she really believed that. Or did she just want it to be true?

‘Heavens! The questions you ask, Elizabeth.’ With the kettle plugged in, the older woman set out two mugs before arranging biscuits in a perfect fan around the edge of a plate. ‘It’s a moot point since your father died the way he did.’

‘Yes.’ Her father had had the good sense to die quickly from a massive heart attack. Tidily, barely disrupting his wife’s garden club schedule. Liz pushed the treacherous thought away.

Her mother had never been a warm, affectionate woman. Liz wanted desperately to be different with her own children. But did she know how? All those years she’d studied to be a doctor, but could she learn how to nurture her daughter’s spirit? Teach her to be whole and happy and independent?

Put to the test, Liz wondered if she would prove to be just as cold as her parents.

‘Did Dad want children?’

‘Want them? What’s that got to do with anything? The Dustins were a very influential family in the area.’

‘Yes, I know.’ She fought to keep any hint of censure out of her voice. The family’s social position had been imprinted on her throughout her childhood. But bringing it into the conversation didn’t tell her what she wanted to know about her father. ‘I just wondered because I don’t remember him ever playing with us when we were kids. Not even with Mark.’

Or hugging us, or coming to school plays, or sports days, or even kissing us goodnight.

‘Your father was a busy man.’

The answer was unsatisfactory and yet maybe it was all there was to be gleaned here. In the silence that followed, Liz swallowed her disappointment.

‘I’m your mother, Elizabeth. I didn’t need him to be involved. Raising you was
my
job.’ The older woman looked surprised at the information she’d volunteered. She shook her head and adjusted the position of the teapot with small jerky movements.

In a moment of cold clarity, Liz suddenly understood her instinct to block Jack’s involvement with their baby. If she continued, she’d ruin a potentially beautiful and loving relationship between Jack and his daughter. She’d begun to suspect her own behaviour, but to have it presented to her like this was a shock.

‘No, Mum, I guess you didn’t.’

But what about me?
She wanted to rail against the isolation she’d felt from her father. If things had been different, would he have wanted to be involved with his children?

‘Was your marriage to Dad a happy one?’ Liz knew how it had looked from her point of view, but now she wanted to know how it had been from her mother’s side. If her parents had believed they were happy then what did it matter how it seemed to someone else?

‘Happy?’ Her mother looked startled, as though the concept was completely alien.

The kettle screamed.

‘Yes. Did Dad make you happy?’ Even to her own ears there was a desperate quality to the question. ‘You must have been in love when you got married.’

The silence stretched as Patrice spooned tea leaves into the pot and added boiling water. She kept her eyes focussed on the cups on the bench then reached out to align the handles of the cups.

Was she hoping the question would go away? Liz wondered with grim amusement.

‘Mum?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Her mother gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Perhaps it’s time you knew. What I was when I got married, Elizabeth, was pregnant.’

‘Yes, I know, but—’

‘How do you know?’ Her mother’s face flushed and then went chalky white. ‘I never told you. Your father certainly wouldn’t have told you.’

‘Simple arithmetic. I worked it out in high school. But surely…that’s not why you got married?’