It grows dark. Mrs. Cole insists I stay for dinner, sitting me at the head of the table. Clearly this is a big deal, their first grandchild. Hayden’s sister “hasn’t been blessed,” says Mrs. Cole, who gives me extra helpings of everything.
The deaf son, Regan, has been hiding in his bedroom all afternoon. He stares at me through dinner, signing questions to his mother, who signs back. I get the impression they’re discussing me, which is unnerving. I’ve heard that people who lose a particular sense like their sight or hearing sometimes develop heightened abilities in other areas. What if Regan can read my mind?
The plates are cleared away and we return to the parlor, where Mr. Cole lights the gas fire and sits next to me on the sofa. I think he’s warming to me, or it could be the third sherry I saw him pouring when Mrs. Cole wasn’t watching.
“Where are you planning to have the baby?” he asks.
“My mother lives in Leeds.”
“You said she was dead to you.”
“Yes, but I’m going to make things right. Today—coming here—has been a big step for me, and you’ve been so nice and welcoming that I know I can patch things up with my mum.”
“So you’ll go up north?”
“Uh-huh. I did hope that Hayden would be with me . . .”
I leave the statement hanging. Mr. Cole pats me on the knee. “You did the right thing, coming to see us. Don’t you worry about our Hayden. I’ll see he does right by you.”
I wipe away another tear. They come so easily.
“I hate the idea that he thinks I’m having this baby to make him stay, or to make him love me. It’s not like I’m asking him to marry me.”
I take Mr. Cole’s hand and hold it against my belly. “Can you feel that?”
He nods uncertainly. “Does he move a lot?”
“All the time.”
Mrs. Cole joins us with more tea and lemon cake.
“Hayden still has some growing up to do,” she says, cutting me a slice. “But he’s a good boy. I’m sure that, once I’ve had a quiet word with him, he’ll be far more understanding. In the meantime, is there anything you need, Agatha?”
I shake my head tentatively.
“Are you sure?”
“Well, I’ve been quite sick and I’ve missed a lot of shifts at work. My rent is due, and . . .”
“How much do you owe?”
“You don’t have to, really.”
“How much?”
“A few hundred.”
“Is that enough?”
“If I had five hundred I could cover all my bills—the electricity and the gas.”
“I’m sure we can find it,” says Mr. Cole. “And don’t you worry about our Hayden. We’ll set him straight.”
*
Hayden calls me that night. I expect him to be angry with me for going behind his back, but he is sweet as can be. I act a little hurt and don’t accept his apology. The satellite image is clearer than last time. He keeps saying he’s sorry and he didn’t mean to hurt me. Slowly I soften my tone, but I wonder if he’s being nice to me under sufferance.
“I know you’re still getting used to the idea,” I say, “but you’re going to be a great dad.”
He flinches around his eyes. “Listen, Agatha—”
“Call me Aggy.”
“Right, Aggy.” He rocks forward. “I accept that I’m probably the father—”
“You are.”
“And I respect your decision to have the baby.”
“Thank you.”
“But I’m not going to marry you.”
“I didn’t ask you to marry me. I haven’t asked you for anything.”
“I know, I know. I talked to my folks. They made me realize that I’ve said all the wrong things. I mean, it came as a shock—the baby.”
“You’re telling me,” I reply, giggling nervously.
“I’ve had time to think and make some decisions.”
“I’m happy to raise this baby on my own, if that’s what you decide, but if you did want to play a part—I think you should have that right. I mean, how horrible would it be if you really wanted a baby and I didn’t tell you that you were a father?”
He nods in grim acceptance. The silence stretches out.
“Your mum and dad are nice,” I say.
“They don’t have any grandchildren.”
“I’m happy to let them help me. It’s not about the money, but I am going to struggle to pay the rent when the baby is born. Then there are expenses . . .”
“How much do you need?”
“If I tell the government, they’ll make you pay child support.”
“How much?”
“A hundred quid a week.”
His eyes squeeze shut. “Fine. So when are you due?”
“Early December, but it could be earlier.”
“I’m not home until Christmas.”
“That’s OK. My mother is going to be my birth partner.” I hold up an ultrasound picture. “Can you see it?” Hayden leans closer to the screen. “That’s his head and there are his little arms and legs. He’s all curled up.”
“Is it a boy?”
“Uh-huh. Hey! Do you want to see me?” I stand up and turn side-on to the webcam, holding my dress down and running my hands over my stomach. “Pretty big bump, huh? You should see my rock-star boobs.” I cup them and sit down again.
“Shame I’m not there to play with them,” says Hayden.
“Cheeky sod,” I say. My hands slide higher. “They are pretty big.”
“They were always pretty big.”
“Do you want to see them?”
He glances over his shoulder. “Someone might see.”
“A quick peek?”
I pull down the top of my dress and the cups of my bra. His eyes go wide.
“My nipples are extra sensitive. I can feel the fabric rubbing back and forth over them. Makes me horny.”
“You’d better cover up,” he says, his voice growing thicker.
I push my chair back from the screen and slide my dress a little higher, rocking my legs open and closed. Hayden looks ready to crawl through the screen.
“I’m not wearing knickers.”
His breath catches. He utters a groan. Poor boy. He’s been at sea for seven months. He adjusts something in his lap.
“Are you touching yourself?” I ask, grinning at him. “I wish I was there. I’d do it for you. I’ve been ever so lonely. If I were there, I’d run my fingers along your thighs, inching them closer and closer, bit by bit. Ooh, yes, would you like that?”
His breathing has grown ragged.
“Say it.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I’d like that.”
I slide my hands beneath my dress. “Ooh, I wish you were here right now. I’d let you fuck another baby into me.” I open my thighs wider. “I can feel you. I can feel you inside me. So big. So hard . . . oh, yes, yes, harder . . . I need you to touch me. Please, please, Hayden. Fill me up. Fuck me . . . yes . . . yes . . . Harder.”
I hear a different groan and the sound of a man dying a little death.
Hayden’s eyes are glazed and heavy-lidded. He looks at his lap, horrified.
“Let’s talk again soon, lover,” I say.
He doesn’t answer.
MEGHAN
* * *
I’m upstairs going through old baby clothes in the attic, wishing I had put labels on the boxes instead of just throwing everything inside.
I should put some of this stuff on eBay. I have the full DVD collections of Sex and the City and The West Wing, which may be worth something. Do people buy DVDs anymore? What about secondhand ski boots?