Page 2 of Love Is: Two Bodies One Soul

‘I absolutely can. It’s my body and I choose what happens to it.’

He swung around the chair and leaning over her desk, rammed his fist into her neatly stacked work – papers flew everywhere, her gold pen shot across the desk like a missile and the desk lamp toppled to the floor. The pain in his knuckles focused his mind. Margaret didn’t flinch. She didn’t even blink, apparently fascinated, maybe even a little excited by this unusual act of spontaneous violence.

He locked eyes with her and asked: ‘What do I need to do?’

‘Pay the bill.’

‘That’s not what I meant. What do I need to do to stop you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I mean it, Margaret ….’ He leaned forward. ‘I’m not having you kill my child. I’ll do anything … anything.’

‘That’s easy for you to say. It’s not your body that will be taken over by a parasite. You won’t have morning sickness, stretch marks, labour pains—’

‘I’ll do everything I can to help.’

She let out a harsh laugh, shook her head at him and swivelled her chair around to look out of the window at the darkening London skyline. ‘No, Owen. I’ve decided. Pregnancy, childbirth … it’s not for me and as for what comes after … ugh!’ She shuddered and waved a well-manicured hand. ‘All that mess. Absolutely not for me.’

Owen rushed around the desk and dropped to his knees in front of Margaret, grabbing her hands, trying to be gentle, thinking of the unborn child. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Move into Antrim Road with me.’ He spotted the slight gleam of acquisition in her eyes at the mention of his elegant home. Pushing on with this advantage, he added, ‘I’ll take care of you. You can go private for everything. I’ll pay. Best maternity hospital, top gynaecologist, water birth.’ She frowned. He changed tack. ‘Elective caesarean if it’s what you want. Everything and anything you want, so long as you have this baby.’ His eyes fell for a moment on her flat belly.

She shook her head. ‘It’s not only the pregnancy, Owen … there’s after.’ She glanced around her executive office, adding: ‘There’s my career.’

‘You can take maternity leave … you know you can. Beka will keep your place open, you know he will.’

‘No, Owen … it’s all very well for you to make promises now, but parenthood, like everything else in life, is easier for a man. I’d end up with all the childcare.’

‘No, you wouldn’t.’

‘I would – you’d be off on assignments, making documentaries about endangered people or places, covering an election or a war zone and I’d be left behind, trying to progress my career in between clearing up baby sick, changing nappies, and wiping goo off my Chanel suit.’

‘We’ll get a nanny.’

‘We’ll get?’ she echoed, her eyebrows lifting in outrage.

‘I mean, I’ll get one for you. I’ll pay.’

‘I don’t think you really understand what you are asking.’

‘I do, I do ….’ Owen let go her hands and springing up, he paced the space by the window, staring out at the street below, desperately seeking inspiration. There had to be something he could offer. He ran a hand through his always unruly dark curls, frantic to think of something that would change Margaret’s mind. He could not … would not let her kill his child.

He dropped in front of her again. She’d enjoy the supplication at least, he thought cynically, and then the proposal came … detail after detail. ‘Marry me,’ he said. ‘I’ll be the main carer for our child – I know what to do with a baby, I used to care for my little sister when I was a kid. I’ll work from home so that I can look after her full time—’

‘It’s a girl, is it?’ Margaret interrupted.

‘No … yes …. I don’t know! Whatever the baby is, I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll be a full-time househusband and parent.’

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