And it was the nicest picture. It would be the first on her wall, one she would take to the shop tomorrow and have properly framed, because it wasn’t the red dots, or the destinations, but the generosity that came with it—the acceptance, the space, the future they would create.
And she could do this, Alison realised.
She could love and she could live, and, yes, it might be scarier than safe, but it was nicer than safe, better than safe, and anyway Nick made her feel safe.
‘Choose the honeymoon.’
‘You don’t have to marry me.’
‘Actually, I do,’ Nick said. ‘Makes me feel more secure.’ And then he grinned, and grinned even wider as a delicious thought struck. ‘Oh, God,’ said Nick, ‘you know what this means…’ He was grinning and sounding delighted. ‘No condoms. Monogamy, here I come.’
They had to undress in the dark because there were no curtains and would have to be up at the crack of dawn if they didn’t want to be on public display.
‘I don’t like the look of this,’ he warned as he pushed at the inflatable bed. ‘I think it needs more air.’
‘It’s been filling for ages,’ Alison said. ‘You go first.’ Because she’d rather topple onto him than have him topple onto her.
‘It’s comfortable.’ Nick sounded surprised and he took her hand as she climbed in beside him and lay a moment adjusting to floating on air—her first night in her flat and Nick was beside her, and she lay there for a moment, trying to fathom how in so little time her life had changed, was changing, and would keep on doing so.
He rolled towards her and she lay in silence, could feel him watching.
‘Are you happy, Alison?’
‘I think…’ She thought and paused as she examined her heart. ‘That I’m going to have to get used to being happy.’
‘Hey!’ Nick said. ‘We could move in with your mum, save a bit of money—rent this place out.’ She kicked him, which wasn’t a great idea in that bed because he almost fell out, and he held on like he was climbing up onto a life raft.
‘It’s a bit awkward,’ Nick said, and he was right. It was awkward, less then two months in and suddenly here they were, except, she realised, Nick was talking about the bed, because he toppled onto her with a touch more gusto than intended, his lips meeting hers. They were warm and firm as she had so often remembered and his tongue was smooth and warm and tasted of Nick. And he was here, and that was going to take some getting used to, that this gorgeous, stunning man was here, not for baby, not for duty, but for her.
‘I’m scared,’ Nick said, and she was about to admit again that she was too—scared of telling everyone, scared of the future, scared that what they had found was too good to last—except as he came up for air, again Alison realised that he was talking about the bed. ‘That we’re going to topple over.’
There was the difference. Nick was in the now, living in the present, and for Alison grief and tragedy meant she lived with every scenario, every vision, knew how easily it all could change. And she wanted his faith and his presence in each moment, and she stepped into it as he moved deep within her, she let her mind still, concentrated on nothing more than the pleasure he gave her, focused on the now and all that they were.
And it was a precarious position, a shift to the left or the right and the passion that was building would crumble, but he locked his arms under her, cocooned her middle, trapped her where she wanted to be.
‘I’ve got you.’
And she knew that he wasn’t talking about the bed, that she was safe, and that they didn’t need cartwheels. Just a dodgy bed and the other’s body was enough for them.
‘WHAT are you doing? ‘
Nick woke up and found her standing in the dark kitchen on tiptoe. ‘Looking at our ocean view.’ It was the only room in the house you could see it from. Right there between a couple of buildings there was their glimpse of the ocean, and even if it was tiny and she had to stand on tiptoe to see it, every day Alison did so, and tonight she had to see it too.
Her mum had been absolutely delighted, of course. She’d be delighted to babysit so that Alison could work, but only a couple of evenings if Alison was on a late shift, because Rose was busy getting her own life back.
And, of course, Nick’s parents hadn’t taken it so well—this Australian hussy who had dragged their son screaming from his lovely structured life—but she and Nick had spent a couple of months in the UK and his parents had been over for a visit and were coming in three weeks when their grandchild was due.
‘Come back to bed,’ Nick said, because he’d worked the previous night and had been up all day, trying to turn what was surely a cupboard into a nursery. But more importantly he was loving this last trimester. Who would have thought pregnancy could be so sexy?
‘My waters broke.’ Just like that, Alison said it. ‘Half an hour ago.’
‘And you didn’t wake me?’
‘I just wanted…’ Alison gave a little shrug ‘…a bit of time before everything happens.’ And he heard the wobble in her voice and she was such a deep little thing, and he could see, even in the darkness, the sparkle of tears in her eyes, which meant she was scared. And though he never wanted her to be, he accepted that sometimes she was.
‘You’ve got time,’ he said, even when she bent over with a contraction. ‘How far apart?’
‘Ages,’ Alison said.
‘Come on,’ Nick said, and he took her back to their bed, and he understood exactly where she was coming from because part of him didn’t want the rest of the world right now, didn’t want to ring the hospital or the excited, expectant families. He wanted just a little bit more time that was just for them.
And always he surprised her. Every morning, every night, every day he surprised her, because he was hers, because he got her, because he made her more of herself, and they surprised each other too.
Like this morning.
She had never trusted in them more completely, in him, in herself.
She had thought about labour, as to how it should be, would be, might be, and had prepared, she thought, for every eventuality, was open to drugs and epidurals and a Caesar if it had to be. She had scared herself senseless while never imagining this.
To lie in their bed, with him beside her, with no rush and no haste.
To be held and kissed for that first couple of hours, because that wasn’t in any of the books, and they certainly weren’t sexy kisses, just confirmation, and then later, just to be held and stroked as the pains deepened.
And then later, to be locked so deep in pain and know he was there at the other end, to close her eyes and go with it and to hear his lovely silence. She didn’t want to move,
