The house was huge – much too big for just the two of them – but when they had bought it, they had assumed that they would be filling it with their children. Sons and daughters that they could love, cherish. They had meticulously planned for the big family they had both wanted. They had picked out names for the children-to-be, even chosen schools. They had never once allowed for the fact that she might miscarry each of those children, one after the other, with shocking frequency.
But she had done just that, lost every one in a blaze of blood and pain. It was so unfair. She had seen every doctor available, they had spent thousands of pounds, and they were still childless. Josephine was unable to keep a child alive in her womb for any length of time.
Now she was pregnant once more and this time she wasn’t telling anyone – especially not her husband. This time, when the child they had created was expelled from her womb, she would carry the burden alone. She couldn’t bear to look at his face again, first seeing the hope for her pregnancy then, eventually, witnessing his disappointment when it ended prematurely, seeing his pity for her, because she couldn’t do the one thing that came naturally to every other woman in the world. It was the pity in his eyes that she found the hardest to endure.
No, she would carry this baby alone, with no doctors, no family involvement whatsoever. She would just wait and see, and accept the outcome alone. The days of crying for hours on end were gone and she was not going to let Michael be hurt any more. She would shoulder this all herself. It was the least she could do. She couldn’t get his hopes up again. It was cruel enough for her – she would protect him from it this time.
Chapter Thirty
Patrick Costello had been up half the night fighting with Carmel, and he was tired out. These days he was really feeling his age. His Carmel could keep a row going for fucking hours – she relished every second of it. Years ago he had too – the passionate fighting, followed by the even more passionate making up. Then it had been about making love for hours on end, picnics together in bed, champagne cocktails he would make for them, followed by more sexual gymnastics, and protestations of their undying love for one another. It was another lifetime.
Nowadays, as he tried to explain to his wife, he could only manage one or the other – the fucking or the fighting. Unfortunately for him, his Carmel was a born arguer, and she loved nothing more than a knock-down, drag-out fight on a regular basis. It had been nearly three in the morning before she had finally let him sleep and, the worst thing was, he still didn’t know what the fuck they had been arguing about. He had to smile though, she was a game old bird, there was no doubting that. She never ceased to surprise him. She could pick a row with a deaf mute if the fancy took her. That had been what had attracted him to her deep down. Sure, she was a smashing-looking bird and good in the kip, but the fact she had never been in awe of him had stood her in good stead once upon a time. He had respected her for that. Now, he hated that she needed to have a tear-up on a regular basis; to prove that he still loved her he had to fight with her. He loved her as much as he was capable of loving anyone, but that didn’t stop her getting on his nerves. Her constant need for attention was wearing thin – the dramatics that had once been so exciting were draining him.
As the mother of his children, Carmel would always have a hold on his affection. His daughters were not exactly kids to be proud of, though. They were such a disappointment to him, even though he loved them dearly. They were both lazy, lacking in intelligence, and unable to understand the concept of hard work, let alone the importance of actually getting a job. He had trusted her with the girls, and couldn’t help feeling she had failed them.
He sighed, deciding not to think about any of that now – it already took up too much time, and it was a pointless exercise.