Mine To Lose (13 page)

Driving home was hell.

I had to fight off the urge to throw up almost all day long.

‘Don’t know why they call it
morning sickness
. I should be so bloody lucky!’ I ranted behind the wheel, having no concerns about being seen talking to myself by other motorists, because it was raining. It had become really tedious for me to maintain my pose and get my work done while constantly having to hold in what my body wanted to expel.

I had worked an extra two hours with a PTSD case worker who needed some assistance. I didn’t mind though. The longer I stayed out of my apartment, the better I felt. The showers came unexpectedly – one of those regular instances where the weather people were grossly mistaken. Traffic was horrendous, more than usual.

‘Move!’ I bellowed in my car. In front of me, a chain of slowly moving cars were inexplicably mesmerised by the green light, insisting on sticking around to enjoy the pretty colour in the grey rain or something. ‘It’s a green light, for Christ’s sake!’

Finally, the cars began to move, and I was worried that the light would switch back to red before I could cross, but fortunately the light stayed green as we crossed. Suddenly, the taillights of the vehicle in front of me lit up brightly just as I started turning right into the road. I slammed on the brakes, regretting it even as I did. I knew full well not to brake hard on a wet road, but it all happened so fast.

My car slammed hard into the vehicle in front of me, whiplashing my neck as my body jolted forward from the sudden stop. In the backlash, I hit the back of my head hard against the seat.

‘Oh, my God!’ I exclaimed with my hand over my mouth. ‘Just what I need now! Just I what I bloody well need!’

Fortunately, the car behind me was moving slow enough to apply her brakes in time – unlike me, the pregnant idiot who kept cocking things up. I was furious, afraid and sad as the other driver pulled off the road. Even though we both knew it was just a fender bender, it was still an accident that would have considerable repair costs. What I really did not need was a hostile arsehole coming out to tell me how stupid I was or how I sucked at driving. I was really not in the mood for confrontation. God knows I had been having enough of that!

I pulled off behind the Mercedes I maimed, dreading the ice cold rain that was about to drench me. From the slightly knackered car, a tall man emerged, tucking in his scarf under the hood and collar of his raincoat.

‘Here we go,’ I said and rolled down my window. But as the cold air hit my face, I felt the nausea rip through me. Violently, I opened the door and leaned out to vomit. The man stopped in his tracks, courteously waiting for me to finish my humiliating purge. My hair was soaked, my eyes red and watery, and all I wanted to do was burst out in tears, but I held in the tears. I did not need to feed my guilty image by looking like a hysterical bint with no control.

‘I am so sorry,’ I forced. His deep set blue eyes stared at me from under his heavy brow.

‘For what? Damaging my car or puking on me shoes?’ he asked in a light tone.

Unable to tell whether he was being snide or humorous, I went with the apologetic gesture.

‘For not being able to brake on time,’ I replied, feeling mortified and terrible, physically and emotionally. ‘Well, I did brake on time, actually. I just ... skid ... skidded ... into your car’s backside ... I suppose.’

‘Just shut up,’
I reprimanded myself.
‘You’re just making yourself sound more stupid than you really are. Idiot.’

But I ignored my own advice. ‘And about ... your ... shoes?’ I frowned. As far as I could recall, he had been nowhere near the range of my expulsion. The man laughed in a hoarse voice.

‘Open your passenger door, please. We need to exchange details, and I can’t write in this downpour. Do you mind?’ he suggested.

I was still working out how he could’ve been amused by me being sick on his shoes. Jordan would have been furious. I leaned over and opened the passenger door. He ran around the side and slid in; tucking in his head to fit his tall frame, the man climbed in my car and closed the door.

‘Your front bumper and grill have a bit of a scratch and dent,’ he assessed as he pulled a notepad from his coat’s inner pocket. ‘But your right headlight is gone.’

I planted my face in my hands, leaning my elbows on my steering wheel. The rain was so loud that it drowned out the sounds of traffic outside. Now I could hear his voice properly. The hoarseness was still there, but he sounded a lot more jovial now that I could hear him properly.

‘Oh, man,’ I sighed into my hands.

‘You alright?’ he asked. I could hear him writing with a ballpoint on the notepad. ‘I have never seen anyone this nervous about a bump, that they had to throw up.’ He chuckled and looked at me, ‘You don’t have a licence, do you?’

‘I most certainly do!’ I said in surprise and proceeded to fumble through my purse to prove it too. ‘And I threw up because I’m pregnant,’ I said boastfully, not sure if I was proud of the fact that I was pregnant or the fact that I proved him wrong. ‘Been puking my guts out for days, in fact.’

I shoved my licence card into his hand. ‘See?’ I smiled a little.

He perused it and copied down the details. When he returned my licence, he smiled again. ‘So ... Katie, do you know if it is a boy or a girl yet?’

I was taken aback at his cordial way, but I wasn’t about to question a pleasant person.

‘I have no idea yet. Too early, but I don’t think I want to know until my baby is born. Some mystery is a good thing these days, I think,’ I replied, bemoaning my chattiness as I rambled.

‘My sister’s daughter is due in two months. She’s having a boy.’ He grinned proudly.

‘That’s wonderful,’ I smiled. ‘Congratulations!’

Please tell me I won’t have to claim from my insurance after all. Got to make it to my no claim bonus! Please, please, please? Come on, the Pregnant Fairy discount, come on!
my inner voice screamed like a cheerleader.

He passed me the piece of paper he ripped away from my particulars on the pad. ‘There you go,’ he announced. ‘Here are my details, Miss Katie. Be in touch.’

He opened the passenger door and let in another sickening gust of frigid wet wind and looked back one more time, ‘And for crying out loud, watch your bloody driving, would you? That little sprog needs his mummy alive and well.’

I could only smile as my attempt at a goodbye withered away in the noise of the rain and cars when the man shut the door and jogged back to his Mercedes.

‘Crap,’ I lamented. ‘What a nice arsehole.’ I folded the paper with his details and shoved it in my bag before resuming my toil to get home without vomiting or killing someone.

When I finally pulled into the car park, I saw Jordan’s car. My heart skipped a beat from a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. When I opened the front door, I was still soaked from the puking in the rain experience. I saw Jordan sitting on the kitchen counter with a beer, looking positively upset at me.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ he said. The disrespect in his tone set me off immediately.

‘Excuse me?’ I frowned, tossing my bag on the lobby table. ‘Where have
I
been? After you fucked off into oblivion, you have the gall to third-degree me?’

Instantly Jordan realised what was about to break loose, and he set down his beer to slide off the counter.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound harsh,’ he said with the sincerity of the snake in the garden of Eden. ‘I’ve have been worried sick. Your phone is on voicemail, and you’re almost three hours late on a rainy night. My nerves just got the better of me.’

To my astonishment, he gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He dashed to the bathroom and came back with a towel and draped it over my head. ‘Jesus! Look how drenched you are, Katie! You will catch your death. Why are you so late?’

‘Had a rough day – phone broke, worked late with Meryl from Bassets Association and then I had a bit of an accident on the road back,’ I summed up for him as he dried my hair.

‘What? Where is your car? Were you injured?’ he asked with apparent concern, examining me briskly.

‘The car’s fine. I’m fine, just a bit of a neck pain from the whiplash,’ I reported as I pulled the towel off my head. ‘Just a shitty day, in keeping with my nights.’

I was elated that he was nicer, and it was good to feel his touch again, so I let my fingers linger on his body when I gave him back the towel.

‘Any chance you could make me a hot chocolate while I take a shower?’ I asked mildly, trying to bring things to our usual pace.

‘Um, of course. Tonight will not be as bad as your day ... or your previous night, I promise,’ he said.

‘If you only knew,’ I mumbled as I headed for the bathroom.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Nothing! Won’t be a tick!’ I called to him.

I wondered if I should tell Jordan about the phone call from James the night before. During the ecstasy of the strong warm water on my weary skin, I mulled it over. I couldn’t wait to brush my teeth to get rid of the awful aftertaste of my roadside vomit adventure, but first, I was going to relax under the shower head for a few minutes.

I decided against telling Jordan about the phone call. There was enough tension between us already, and if I dropped another bomb on him now, it could jeopardize the shaky recovery we were both working on at the moment. Jordan didn’t have to know about yet another new razor at the rope of our marriage, at least, not for now.

The thunder rumbled over our roof, but I felt oddly at peace even in its ominous warning. Jordan handed me a cup of hot chocolate as I fell onto the couch next to him.

‘Better?’ he asked.

‘Much,’ I replied serenely. ‘Thank you.’

The warm beverage washed over my insides like a blanket, covering my body in heat after the gruelling cold trip home. My legs buzzed from relief after the therapy of the shower alleviated the pain in my knees and ankles.

I noticed that Jordan was very quiet, but things were better than I had expected so I did not push for small talk. For now, I was content that we were at least talking, although I could still feel his alienation for me. He sat on the other side of the couch, whereas he used to pull my legs over his lap when we watched the TV. It hurt a little to see him so distant, so removed from me even in close proximity, but I had to persist in my hopes that he would come around and find me again.

Two months later, things had still not warmed up, but Jordan and I had not engaged in an argument or discussed my relationship with his mother. At work, things went well. New reports showed James at Gatwick, and I assumed that would be the last we saw of him because I didn’t receive another call from him. 

Many times, I wished I could just rush things along so that Jordan could feel his baby kick already. I wanted to fast forward to the birth so James could see how amazing our child was, but I knew I had to be patient with him. Considering that he had been seeing Martha more than usual, I supposed her toxic influence wasn’t
as
effective as I dreaded in the beginning.

For one thing, it was a welcome change not to have to hear about her social accomplishments and how right she was about things. But the best part was that I didn’t see her again. Not even once since that day in the hospital. She had decided to ignore me completely, and of course, I couldn’t say it out loud, but the new arrangement suited me just fine.

I had to get through every day with the relentless nausea. Once or twice, when I was throwing up at home, Jordan would bring me some black coffee afterwards. But soon he abandoned the practice altogether, keeping at whatever he was doing when I jumped and scarpered for the toilet. Eventually, he got so used to it that he didn’t even bother with the usual ‘Are you okay?’ anymore. He had accepted that this was what it was like to live with a pregnant woman.

At night, he held me when I snuggled up to him, but he turned a cold shoulder when I tried to initiate sex, using my condition as an excuse for abstaining. It bothered me for many reasons, but most of all because I knew Jordan couldn’t do without sex for more than a week.

‘So do you think he’s jerking off to porn?’ Pam asked sceptically while we were having lunch at a pub in London, a day trip we decided to go on at the last minute. ‘I don’t buy it that he’s doing nothing. Men are horny bastards. He’d better not be cheating on you!’ she said in her most menacing voice while biting down on a chip.

‘He’s not the cheating type, Pam,’ I said. ‘He’s just pissed at me for being so damn rebellious and pregnant.’

‘Ha! They’re all the type! Trust me. But I do hope you’re right, you know,’ she admitted. ‘I mean, he
has
always been seriously into his gorgeous wifey, so maybe you’re right.’

‘It’s just good not to be forced to go with him when he visits Martha.’ I laughed. ‘Christ, if I had to watch her throw herself at one more wealthy senior citizen, I think I would have burst! But of course, Jordan is still loyal, attending all her to-do’s.’

Pam nodded, her mouth too full to talk.

‘In fact, I bet his phone is on fire with the amount of calls he must have received from her while he’s away for a seminar in Glasgow this week.’ I chuckled, playing with my salad.

‘When’s he back?’ she asked.

‘Sunday night. So I’m alone till then,’ I told her.

‘Ooh, I don’t like this alone stuff of yours. You should stay with me until he gets back,’ she said when she was done chewing.

‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s nothing personal, but I prefer to vomit in my own company.’

‘I totally get you,’ she said. ‘I was exactly the same. So how long are you going to put up with this no sex rule?’

‘Until he comes round. I just don’t want to ruffle his feathers until this baby arrives. Then he’ll have his child to bond with, so that he can see what it is like to be a dad, see?’ I explained.

‘I get it,’ she said. ‘But you shouldn’t have to be deprived in the meantime. Contrary to belief, it’s not only men that are randy sods. Get what I’m saying?’

‘Unfortunately, I do.’ I sighed. ‘He just needs some time, that’s all.’ I grunted playfully so that she wouldn’t worry about my state of mind. My problems shouldn’t be the worry of my friends, I reckoned, and I would deal with them as they came at me.

‘Oh ... my ... God!’ she marvelled suddenly, looking past me. I was turning to see, but she grabbed me, ‘Don’t look! Don’t look now.’

‘What?’ I asked. ‘What are you on about?’ I had to know, but she looked dumbstruck. ‘Pam!’

‘Shut it!’ she whispered loudly. ‘Do you want him to see you?’

‘I don’t know,’ I answered, blinking profusely in my patronizing sarcasm toward her. ‘You won’t let me see who
he
is.’

For a moment she sat and watched, appearing to take up what was going on. Then she looked me in the eye. ‘Your husband is sitting two tables from us ... with his mother.’

I was absolutely bowled over but did not want to look out of control. Not that Pam would have thought anything of it. Still, I had to play it very coolly now.

‘And?’ I whispered urgently.

Her gaze stayed frozen on them, looking right past me, but her hands reached for mine. I was dying to turn around, but I did not want to reveal my presence to them. ‘He lied to me,’ I said to myself, and that was the first time Pam turned her attention to me.

‘Listen, love, you don’t know what is going here. For all we know, it is not what it looks like. After all, he could be here planning a surprise for you or something. Don’t judge a book and all that, you know?’ She winked to make me feel better. Trivializing my husband’s deceit would not lighten the blow, however, and before I could help it, I was in tears.

‘Oh, God, no. Sweetheart? Hey,’ she said under her breath, looking very concerned for me, ‘you should not upset yourself, especially over something you don’t know the details of.’

I could not help it. The way in which we had been drifting apart lately just hurt too much. I loved Jordan so much, and it was hell to secretly hope he would stop hating me for being pregnant. Now this. Not only did he slowly push me away, but he had been living his life without me. I knew this, but not until I saw proof that he could function without me with ease did I realise how much it stung. My eyes burned, and my runny nose would soon force me to get up, and then they would see me.

I heard Jordan’s phone ringing. We were close enough to hear their conversation, but thankfully not close enough to be seen. Martha’s croak said something to the effect of, ‘Who is that?’ and Jordan said something like ‘Leslie again’. I knew Leslie was one of the script supervisors on Jordan’s BBC team, so he was dodging work as well, it appeared.

‘Katie?’ I heard Pam’s voice, but I didn’t answer her. My heart was sore. I swear I could feel it aching as if it were a physical injury. For some unknown reason, I rested my hand on my tummy for reassurance. Maybe I yearned for the part of Jordan that still loved me.

‘Excuse me, I have to ...’ I sobbed, trying to hide my face behind my hair.

‘No, no. You stay right here, love. If you get up, they will see you,’ Pam coaxed, but I persisted with my need to rise. She clamped her manicured fingers firmly over my wrists and insisted, ‘Do you want Martha to enjoy seeing you cry?’

That did it.

I abandoned my struggle to get up and took a deep breath. A lady at the table next to us discreetly handed me a Kleenex and gave me a sympathetic nod.

‘Thank you,’ I said and wiped my nose.

‘Take a deep breath and relax,’ Pam said. ‘You know they are. I bet she just applied some of her emotional blackmail to have him meeting her here. We both know he cannot say no to his mum.’

‘Bitch,’ I huffed from under the hankie as I cleaned my nose. ‘Maybe I should call his boss.’

‘No,’ Pam replied plainly. ‘That’s juvenile, desperate and unnecessary. Don’t sink to their level.’

‘I am their level!’ I snapped.

‘No, you’re
not
! They are not nearly as compassionate!’ she reiterated her point. ‘They would not even understand that what you’re doing is right. To Jordan and Martha, there is only what is right ... for
them
. Don’t let them douse your sparkle.’

She was right about many things. I did not know why they were really there, why I was excluded from most of my husband’s life lately or if they even cared enough to notice that they were hurting me.

‘What are you looking at?’ Pam asked me quietly after she ordered two more drinks.

I motioned with my head, ‘Found the wall of mirrors behind the bar. Now I can see them without moving.’

‘Cool,’ she said, rubbing my hand reassuringly. ‘When we get home, I’m going to buy you a pair of Bronxes to die for.’

‘You don’t have to buy me stuff, Pam.’ I smiled through my awfully red, wet face.

‘No, I don’t. But I want to.’

I noticed something that unsettled me more than perhaps it should have. ‘Pam, he’s wearing a shirt I have never seen before.’

‘So? He could have bought it here yesterday or today ...’ she tried to comfort me. But I shook my head. My gut told me that something was wrong; I just did not know in which way.

‘I personally packed his shirts not more than three days ago, Pam. That is not one of them. And why would he need more than six shirts, hey?’ I presented. Pam gave it some thought. ‘And don’t make up some plausible scenario to cover for him,’ I added.

She leaned forward on the table, using her disdainful little girl voice, ‘Maybe Mummy dearest bought him a shirt that did not come from her wicked, disrespectful daughter-in-law.’

I liked that excuse. And it was delivered in the right way too.