Page 96 of Love Thief

“What’s the matter, James?” I hold the man in my arms.

“You look sad, Mum. So fucking sad. I hate him for that.”

My tears finally start to fall. Strike over. I smile at him through them.

“I am sad that he’s not here to see everything, to hear them when that heart monitor goes on. But I can’t change that, it has to be him. I don’t think he’s strong enough yet. Maybe in a few weeks, when they would have a chance to survive even if they were born early. But who knows, maybe in eighteen years.”

My heart aches with the loss. But what can I do? I have to carry on.

“How can you be so nice about him. Those fucking pictures, especially with who’s in them. And have you seen their hair? Talk about scary stalkers. I told you they wanted your life.”

I look out the windows to the Thames. “They wanted him, but they haven’t got him. They’ve got a shell, a husk of what he is, and they are so welcome to that. If that turns up here, now, I wouldn’t have it. I’ve said it before, I want it all, everything or nothing at all.”

James wants to hear the heartbeats, I know we could do it at home, but he wants to get the ‘full experience’. So we troop down to the doctors’ and pay for an extra scan. Dr. Theodore must think we’re definitely insane.

James insists on seeing the babies’ faces as they sleep peacefully in my tummy. He’s struck dumb by the images, as the detail is so amazing. I think he and Jonno think if they get their faces up to the screen the babies will look back at them. James is talking to the screen, taking pictures on his phone, as if he’s having a conversation with them.

He turns away and wipes his tears. And as the doctor prints off the pictures, he tucks them away in his wallet.

He decides I need to measure my stomach against a wall. The same way we used to measure both Bucky’s and his height when they were little. We still have the wall showing the marks at Greystone house and farm. We decide to start afresh and start a new wall at my apartment at the Docklands. Old building, new life. But then he insists we need to start one at Cornhill as well. New babies, new starts, new memories to make.

We laugh as I strip my top off and stand side on, looking big, but compact. I’m carrying in front, and, other than my bump, don’t seem to be anywhere else. Jude and James faff about and take lots of pictures and put the measurements on so that when the babies are born they can see how big they were.

I have gone off tea, clearly some pregnancy foible. Jude is beside himself, and is stocking up on the flavoured water I seem to be hankering for, along with anything with pickle in it. I’ve stocked the apartment, and am back at work, my team rallying around me. And for the first time in a few weeks, I feel normal.

But, I still decide to head down to Devon. It may be easier to avoid people there, or only see who I want. I can move around the farms via the fields. Although that may be too uncomfortable as I’m getting very large, it’s still better than hiding out in my apartment and working.

The Purcell’s turn up in Devon the following week. Bug sits with me in the kitchen, whilst the kids are out with Orla at the stables.

“I’ve spoken to Marcus and told him we’ll be seeing you and will not be stopping. I’ve told him not to ask me to choose a side, he might not like the answer.” The big Irish man looks determined, and emotional, tears edging the corners of his eyes.

“You don’t have to do that. It’s not worth the risk to your home, your job. He hasn’t asked you to stop, has he?” Surely he hasn’t sunk that low. My heart rate picks up at the thoughts.

“No, far from it, seems totally oblivious. Was talking about the estate, never mentioned anything at all. Rowena’s being a pain, but nothing new there.” He’s rubbing his hands on my stomach, touching his cousin's sons.

“Yes, I’ve heard she’s jumped on the theory that they’re not his babies.” I smile and shake my head, typical Rowena behaviour. “What is wrong with people?

“Well, I won’t be doing any paternity tests, that’s for certain. I’ll just say they’re not his and he can carry on killing himself. In fact, I could let him off the hook and put out a statement to that effect. Maybe he’ll stop drugging himself up then.”

It still breaks my heart to know he’s not strong enough to support me, but I can’t stand to see his self-destruction in the name of denial.

Bug shakes his head. “He knows they’re his, he knows. I just don’t understand him. After everything he’s been through, now, at this point, why doesn’t he come?”

“Scared to hope, scared he won’t survive, he’s protecting himself in a weird way. I’m not a psychologist, and you’d have to ask him, but I’m not sure he could explain it either.” I shrug, understanding I’m in the same boat—scared to hope he’ll come, worried he really won’t.

“Aunty Kitten, where are you?” Eamonn comes in, holding the tape measure in his little hands, James on the phone, telling him what to do. “It’s time for your measuring.”

Bug gets me set and we’re outside in the sunshine, painting lines on the walls. Eamonn, who is more or less level with my boobs, bends slightly and kisses my stomach right where the babies are. They move and he squeals in delight.

“They’re telling me they love me,” he says, throwing his arms in the air in excitement.

He shouts to his brothers and we get photos of them kissing the babies. All three at once, me laughing at the camera.

“They’ll want to play with me, won’t they?” Eamonn asks later as he’s curled up with me. “I’ll be their favourite cousin, won’t I?” The boy is obsessed, and he sits with his hands on my tummy talking to them for hours.

“You sound like your Uncle Jonno,” I tell him.

“Good, I like Uncle Jonno,” he says, satisfied.

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