Single All the Way: An unputdownable and uplifting Christmas romance Page 4

  ‘Olly, I’m almost thirty-five. If we wait much longer, I might not be able to have children,’ she pointed out. ‘I know it’s a bit scary to take the step, I’m a little nervous about it too, but we can do it. We’d make great parents. I know we would.’ She reached out her hand and tenderly stroked his cheek. ‘Just think, a little OllyMeg. How cute would that be?’ She imagined planning for the baby, decorating the spare room, buying baby clothes, a pram, a cot, her body blossoming into a big bump, feeling their baby kick inside her tummy. She glossed over the actual birth – something she definitely didn’t want to think about – to the moment when they saw their baby for the first time, both staring down proudly at their new son or daughter.

  Oliver leant forward, caressing her hand. ‘I know you really want a baby, Meg, but I’m not ready yet…’

  She stiffened. ‘What do you mean, I really want a baby? I thought you did too? That we both wanted a family…’ She drew back and searched his face. ‘You do want children, don’t you, Olly?’

  There was a flash of hesitation on his face and panic filled the pit of her stomach. ‘Olly, do you want a family?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but not yet…’ He was avoiding her eyes.

  ‘Oliver.’ Her tone was sharp, forcing him to look at her. ‘Please tell me the truth. Do you want a family or not?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, flushed.

  ‘You. Don’t. Know,’ she repeated, her voice rising slightly.

  ‘I mean…’ He rubbed the stubble on his chin. ‘Look, Meg, a baby is a big responsibility, never mind the financial side of things and the fact that we won’t be able to work like we do now. What if we don’t get it right? If we’re rubbish parents?’

  ‘Why should we be? People are having babies every day and they cope. Why shouldn’t we? Yes, of course we might find it difficult at first, but we’ll soon get used to it.’ She placed her other hand over his, clasping it reassuringly, and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘We can do this, Olly. I know we can. I’m scared too, but I know we can do it.’

  Oliver looked down at their hands joined together, his face downcast, his shoulders slumped. ‘I don’t think I can do it, Meg. I’m sorry.’

  She released his hands and sat back. ‘What do you mean?’

  For a moment he didn’t move, then he lifted his head slowly and his face was like a stony mask. ‘I don’t want children. Not now. Not ever. I’m sorry.’

  She recoiled as if he’d slapped her across the face. ‘Y-You don’t mean that,’ she stammered.

  It was as if a shutter came over his eyes. ‘I do. I’m sorry but I mean it, I don’t want a family.’ He reached out for her hand but she snatched it away; shocked and hurt, she jumped to her feet. How could he do this to me?

  ‘I love you, Meg. And you love me. We don’t need a child to make our love complete. We have each other – that’s enough, isn’t it?’

  She shook her head, her mind a whirl of hurt, anger, heartbreak. ‘We talked about this. I told you right at the beginning, when we first got together, that I wanted a family at some point. We talked about it again when we got engaged. And you agreed. You said you wanted a family too. And we can’t wait much longer, I probably only have a few fertile years left,’ she pointed out.

  Oliver was on his feet now too. They were standing at opposite sides of the coffee table, facing each other, the low, black, smoked-glass table a poignant symbol of the divide between them. ‘I did. Well, I thought I did, when it was years away. Now you’re saying it’s got to be now and I can’t do it.’

  ‘Do you need more time?’ She asked the words calmly, forced herself to unclench her fists. She had to focus, to listen, to make sure she understood what he was saying. This was too important to mess up.

  Oliver shook his head, ran his hand through his thick hair. ‘I can’t do it, Meg. I don’t want to be a father. It’s too much responsibility.’ She recoiled at the determination in his voice. ‘We’re happy as we are, aren’t we? We don’t need a child.’

  ‘I want a child. I’ve always wanted children. And you have always known that. Now you’re trying to back out of our plans.’

  ‘And you’re acting like all you want me for is my bloody sperm!’ he yelled at her.

  Meg gasped, her hand going to her mouth, tears springing to her eyes. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say!’

  ‘And so is trying to force me to have a baby I don’t want. I do have a say in this, you know. It would be my child too.’

  ‘I can’t believe you conned me into marrying you, knowing that I wanted children. Knowing you didn’t. That you’ve deliberately robbed me of my prime, child-bearing years.’ Tears pouring down her face, she ran out of the lounge and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

  A few minutes later she heard the front door close. Oliver had gone out.

  They often rowed but never seriously, and never for long. One of them would say they were sorry then the other one would say they were sorry too, and they would cuddle and make up. This time she didn’t see how they could possibly make up. Oliver had betrayed her. He had lied to her. If he’d been honest with her at the beginning, maybe they could have talked about it, worked something out. How long would he have spun it out? Until she was too old to conceive? How could he be so cruel? And to suggest that she was only with him so he could give her a baby… How dare he?

  The hiss of the milk boiling over dragged Meg’s mind back to the present, and she reached for the handle, lifting it off the hob before more of the contents could spill out.

  She poured the milk into the mugs, stirring it quickly, then grabbed a cloth to wipe the spilt milk before it set on the hob.

  ‘How’s that hot chocolate coming on?’ Sally called from the lounge.

  ‘It’s coming right now.’ Meg put the two mugs on a tray, with a packet of biscuits she found in the cupboard, and took it into the lounge, where Sally was now sitting in front of the fire.

  Meg set the tray down on the coffee table between the two chairs then blurted out, ‘Oliver doesn’t want any children. Ever. That’s why we’ve split up.’

  6

  Sally

  Sally listened as Meg haltingly explained how Oliver had finally confessed yesterday that he never wanted children. ‘He’s deceived me all these years and he knew how much I wanted a family, Mum.’ She sniffed. ‘I mean, if we had tried and found out we couldn’t have children, that would be different. But to pretend that he did want children and now, when we really need to think about starting a family, to refuse to even consider it…’ She took a tissue out of her jeans pocket and wiped her eyes.

  Sally’s heart went out to her. ‘That’s terrible, I’m so sorry, darling.’ She got out of her chair and gave Meg a hug. ‘Do you have any idea why he’s suddenly decided he doesn’t want children?’

  ‘He hasn’t suddenly decided. It turns out that he’s never wanted them. He just didn’t tell me. I think he was hoping he could keep delaying it until I was too old.’ Meg dabbed her eyes again. ‘I hate him for that. All these years I’ve been thinking that one day we’d have our own little family, and all the while Oliver…’ She gulped.

  ‘It’s horribly cruel of him, I know, Meg. But Oliver is so good with children, you can see that he loves them. He must have a reason. Can’t you talk this through?’ Sally asked softly.

  Meg jumped to her feet. ‘Can’t we talk it through? Seriously, Mum? I’ve split up with Oliver over something really important and you want me to talk it through? You, who seem to have walked out on Dad because he’s boring and…’ She searched for a suitable word. ‘Undemonstrative. How about you talk things through with him instead of tearing our family apart?’

  Sally recoiled as if Meg had slapped her across the face and watched sadly as her daughter stormed out of the room. She had known Meg would be hurt. Dan would no doubt be too. How could she explain it to them both? It was hard to say exactly what had made her go. She’d been unhappy for so long but had tr
ied to ignore it. Somehow it had all come to a head yesterday. Her mind went back to the events that had finally caused her to walk out on her marriage and her home.

  ‘What do you think?’ Frances came out of the changing room and gave a little twirl, the pleated skirt of the navy and white dress swishing around her legs.

  ‘Very smart,’ Sally told her. ‘Does everyone dress up on the cruise?’

  ‘Oh yes, especially for the meals. Last year we sat at the captain’s table, you know.’ Frances studied her reflection in the mirror. ‘I wonder if I should buy navy or white shoes.’

  ‘Navy,’ Sally said firmly. ‘They’ll look much smarter.’

  Frances nodded. ‘Yes, I think you’re right.’ She studied her reflection again, looking satisfied. ‘I do wish you and Ted were coming; it would be such fun.’

  Frances and her husband Martin had asked Sally and Ted to join them on their Caribbean cruise this year, but Ted had refused right away, saying he and Sally preferred to spend Christmas at home with the family.

  ‘Actually, Ted, maybe it would make a nice change to go away?’ Sally had suggested, but Ted had looked horrified.

  ‘Christmas is for family,’ he’d said firmly.

  Which was all very well for him to say when it was Sally who did all the preparing, cleaning, present-buying and cooking. Ted thought making cups of tea, carving the turkey, refilling the glasses of wine and loading the dishwasher was more than pulling his weight. Sally loved her family, but it would have been nice to have just one Christmas away, to go somewhere different, be waited on and entertained.

  Ted had never been one for socialising, which hadn’t bothered her so much when the children were little. In fact, Sally had been pleased that Ted wasn’t down at the pub a few evenings a week like some of her friends’ husbands. And babysitters had been an expense they could ill afford in the early years, so they’d had separate nights out, Ted taking up bowling and Sally going to the cinema and the theatre with Frances and their old school friend, Sylvia.

  As Dan and Meg had got older, Sally and Ted had sometimes gone out with friends to see a show, or for a meal, but once a month was more than enough for Ted, and that had lessened as he got older. When Dan and Meg were young and there hardly seemed to be time for each other, Sally and Ted had made so many plans for their retirement: they were going to travel, see a bit of the world, take up hobbies, enjoy their life. However, instead of bringing them closer, retirement seemed to have driven them further apart. Sally had sadly come to the realisation that they had virtually nothing in common any more. She and Ted had grown into different people; the whirl of bringing up two children and the bustle of going to work every day had masked that, but now, now they were both at home, together for hours, she realised that they were like friends sharing a house. They rarely argued, they were polite, friendly, rubbed along smooth enough on the surface providing neither of them scratched too deep, but there was no togetherness, no sparkle. They wanted different things out of life, and Sally felt like a butterfly trapped in a cage who longed to break free and fly off and spread her wings. She had a list of things she wanted to do, places she wanted to see while she was still fit enough to get about and do it.

  ‘Maybe I can persuade Ted to come next year,’ she said to Frances, although she didn’t have much hope that she could.

  ‘I hope you can,’ Frances shouted from inside the cubicle where she’d retreated to take off her dress. ‘He’s a bit of a stick in the mud, your Ted. He needs to get out more.’ Frances and Martin were out all the time, at one social event or another. They were in so many clubs, and they went abroad on holiday at least four times a year. Sylvia and Graham were the same. Sally couldn’t help envying them all. If only Ted had a bit more get up and go.

  I guess I should be grateful that Ted isn’t a drunk, a gambler, a womaniser… She kept reminding herself of this every time Ted irritated her, which seemed to be constantly at the moment, although she tried very hard to keep a lid on it. She liked a peaceful life; they both did. Arguments and shouting had never been their style. Outside they lived a content, calm existence, but inside her wilting spirit was beating at her ribcage, begging to be let out and soar free.

  She bought herself a new dress for Christmas Day in an effort to cheer herself up, then she set off home. Ted would be waiting for his Sunday dinner. Lucky Frances was meeting Martin for lunch at a new brasserie in town. Sylvia and Graham were joining them too.

  Ted was in the garden, weeding. It amazed – and irritated – her how he could find so much to do out there, even in the winter. How could he enjoy messing with dirt in the bitter cold?

  He glanced up as she came out the back. ‘Have you had a good time?’

  She wanted to shout, No! A good time was going to a West End show, or a holiday abroad soaking in the culture, things she desperately wanted her and Ted to do, not just shopping with Frances and listening to her talking excitedly about the cruise she and Ted could have gone on too, if only he wasn’t so set in his ways. She tried to keep the resentment out of her voice as she said, ‘Frances was shopping for clothes for the cruise. It sounds so much fun. Perhaps we could go another time.’

  Ted leant on his spade. ‘You know I don’t like the idea of being on water. Maybe you and Frances could go on a cruise together in the summer?’

  That was Ted’s answer whenever she asked him to go somewhere. ‘Go with your friends.’

  She didn’t want to go with her friends. She wanted to go with her husband. She wanted them to do all the things they had said they’d do when they retired, before Ted had decided he no longer wanted to do them. She remembered on their honeymoon how they’d sat in bed talking about all the things they were going to do, the places they would go, the dreams they had. Then Dan had come along, followed by Meg a couple of years later, and their dreams had been postponed as paying the mortgage and looking after their precious family had taken priority. They’d do it all when the children had grown up, they’d promised each other. Somewhere along the years, Ted had wanted to do those things less and less.

  ‘What time will dinner be?’ Ted asked. ‘I’m a bit peckish.’

  She bit back the retort that he could have put the meat in while she was out. ‘I’ll get the beef in now. Fancy a cuppa and a piece of cake to tide you over?’ she asked, hoping he would stop his gardening for a bit and come and sit down, talk to her. They rarely actually had a conversation. And as for making love or any other kind of affection, that had gone out of the window years ago. Ted considered they were too old for all that ‘lovey-dovey’ stuff.

  ‘Love one.’ Ted nodded. ‘Bring it out, will you? There’s still a bit to be done on the garden yet.’

  There always is, she thought, annoyed. It’s a wonder Ted didn’t put a camp bed in his shed and live in the perishing garden!

  She put the oven on and took Ted’s favourite blue-and-white striped mug out of the cupboard. Ted was a creature of habit, he liked routine, normality, his own mug, builder’s tea with two sugars with every meal, cosy evenings in front of the fire. For years it hadn’t bothered her too much, but now, since they had retired and spent most days together, it really irritated her. How she wished she could persuade Ted to step out of his comfort zone and do something different now and again. It would be lovely to spontaneously go out for an hour or so this evening instead of spending it yet again in front of the TV. She didn’t want to exist; she wanted to live.

  She made two mugs of tea and took Ted’s tea and a slice of fruit cake out to him, came back and put the beef in the oven to roast, then sat down at the kitchen table with her drink to check the Christmas list. There was a week and half to go. She ticked the items off one by one: turkey ordered, Christmas cake iced, most of the presents bought, just a bit more Christmas food to get in and mince pies to make. She’d already brought the tree down from the attic and decorated it – silver and blue baubles this year. Ted had been aghast; they always had red and gold. ‘It’s a family tradition,’ h
e’d said, but Sally had been desperate for something to be different even if it was only the tree!

  Oh, if only we were going on the cruise like Frances and Martin. She sighed as she nibbled the end of her pen.

  To be honest, it wasn’t even the cruise that specifically appealed to her; and good friends that they were, Frances and Martin could be trying company to spend two weeks with, especially as Martin tended to be a bit pompous. It was the idea of doing something new. Of breaking away from the traditional Christmas lunch with Dan, his wife and little Tom, Meg and Oliver. She loved seeing them all but after a few hours catching up, swapping presents, playing a couple of board games, they would all go home, leaving just her and Ted. Ted would fall asleep in front of the TV, as usual, then they’d go to bed, where he’d immediately fall asleep again. Then that would be it, Christmas over.

  Next Christmas has to be different. I’ll make sure of it, she thought determinedly.

  She hadn’t realised then how different this Christmas would be. Giving the dwindling fire a stoke, she decided it wasn’t worth putting another log on now. She doubted if Meg would be down again this evening, which gave Sally a bit longer before she had to tell her ‘why I walked out’ story. She sat back in her chair, her mind going back to the argument that had caused her to leave.

  It was a couple of hours before the door opened and Ted came in, minus the wellies he’d left by the back door, his empty mug in his hand. ‘Is dinner almost ready?’

  ‘It’ll be about ten minutes. There’s just enough time for you to get cleaned up,’ Sally told him, getting the plates out of the cupboard. Honestly, it was dark now. What did Ted find to do in the garden when he couldn’t see properly, despite the lights he had set up?