‘And give you something to get your knickers in a twist over?’ he jibes.
‘I wouldn’t have.’ I announce confidently, as we crunch our way across the gravel. ‘Shall I take my giant snowball?’
‘No, you’re coming with me.’ I’m directed into the passenger seat of the DBS, but I don’t say a word. I don’t want to drive the humongous thing.
He starts the engine and cruises sensibly down the driveway, and it’s not until I feel his hand rest over mine that I realise mine is laid flat on my stomach. I don’t need visual validation that he’s looking at me, so I continue to watch the trees slowly passing the passenger window as I feel his fingers lace through mine and squeeze gently.
I smile to myself. This is just so right.
Chapter 17
There’s that familiar whirring again as I come awake. I sit up and immediately feel gut wrenchingly sick. Flopping back to my pillow on an enormous groan, I soon appreciate my error when my stomach turns, indicating that I haven’t got time to lay here and determine just how crap I feel. I’m going to be sick.
I dive from the bed, straight into the bathroom, where I just about make it to the lovely toilet before I decorate it with last night’s dinner. ‘No,’ I whine to myself as I yank at the roll of toilet paper. It doesn’t feel so right now. My body is completely rejecting my contented thoughts. I hug the toilet for an age, my head resting on my arms as I fight off the sweats and moan under my breath to the empty space surrounding me. ‘Rubbish,’ I grumble. ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ I look down at my stomach. ‘You’re going to be challenging like your father, aren’t you?’
On a long, drawn out sigh, I pull myself up and go to the bedroom, tugging on the nearest thing I can find, which happens to be Jesse’s discarded shirt from last night. I don’t bother to try and make myself look better because I want him to see me suffering. I go downstairs and meet him as he rounds the corner from the gym, looking all spectacular in his running shorts with a towel draped across his naked shoulders and his hair a mess of damp locks all over his glistening head. It makes me feel sicker.
‘Oh baby,’ he mumbles sympathetically. ‘Crap?’
‘Terrible.’ I try to pout, but my exhausted body won’t allow it. I’m just standing in front of him lifelessly, my arms hanging limply by my sides. I’m feeling mighty sorry for myself.
He picks me up and carries me into the kitchen. ‘I was going to ask why you’re not naked.’
‘Don’t bother,’ I grumble. ‘I’ll throw up on you.’
He laughs and sits me on the worktop, brushing my wild mane from my pasty face. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Ward. I look like shit.’
‘Ava,’ he scorns me gently. I don’t apologise, mainly because I can barely muster up the energy to speak. ‘You need to eat.’
I retch at the very thought of trying to get food into my stomach and shake my head pleadingly. I know that I’m fighting a losing battle. He won’t leave me alone until I’ve had some breakfast.
I hear the front door open and close, and then the chirpy sounds of Cathy singing. All I have on is Jesse’s shirt, but I can’t even find the strength to be concerned by that, so I remain exactly where I am, unconcerned, unbothered and very unwell.
‘Morning!’ she sings at us as she places her huge carpet bag on the worktop. ‘Oh dear. Whatever is the matter?’
Jesse answers for me, which is a good job because I’m incapable of speech. ‘Ava’s not feeling too good.’
I scoff at his understatement and direct my forehead straight to his chest. I feel positively dull—dead, even.
‘Oh, the dreaded morning sickness? It’ll pass.’ Cathy declares, like I don’t look like I’m ready to keel over. She knows, too, then.
‘Will it?’ I garble into Jesse’s chest. ‘When?’ I feel his hand stroking my back and his mouth in my hair, kissing me dotingly, but he remains silent. It’s a good indication that he would love to know the answer, too.
‘It depends. Boy, girl, mum, dad.’ she says, and I hear her flick the kettle on. ‘Some women have a few weeks of it, some struggle throughout the whole of their pregnancy.’
‘Oh God.’ I howl. ‘Don’t say that.’
‘Shhh,’ Jesse hushes me and increases the rubs of my back. I’m not even being a baby. It really is that bad.
‘Ginger!’
That one random word drags my splattered face from Jesse’s wet torso. ‘What?’
‘Ginger!’ she repeats, rootling through her bag. I look at Jesse, but he looks as equally confused. ‘You need ginger, dear.’ She pulls out a pack of ginger biscuits. ‘I came prepared.’ She pushes Jesse from in front of me and opens the packet, presenting me with a biscuit. ‘Have one every morning when you wake up. Works wonders! Eat.’