designed to do … I’m pregnant!
Great news. Congratulations.
FINALLY, AN ANSWER. Biggest news she’d ever had and not one exclamation mark. Not one. No cheers or fanfares. No questions. Was he not just a little curious? Pleased for her? Maybe it was the whole emotionless text thing stuffing up the sentiment of his message, but hadn’t the man heard about emoticons?
Disappointed, Georgie texted him back.
I’m so excited! :) Catch up soon?
Sure. Things are a bit busy right now. Packing. South Sudan. In two days. I’ll try come over to say bye.
Okay, your call.
He was heading off again and he’d try to come and see her? Try? What the hell …? Packing didn’t take two whole days. He was the world’s lightest traveller.
And, actually, it was her call just as much as his. Worrying about contacting him had never been an issue before and it shouldn’t be now just because she was carrying his baby. No. Her baby. He’d made that very clear. But surely they could still be friends? She wasn’t going to allow this to change what they had. Why should pregnancy make a difference?
But it did, she realised. Not just to her relationship with Liam, but to her. She was going to be a mum. A mother. With a family. Something she’d never had before. She was going to be part of something … more.
She put a hand to her very flat, very unpregnant-looking stomach and her heart did another flip. It was still so early, too early to grow attached; any number of things could go wrong. But it was already too late. Her stomach tumbled as she closed her eyes, imagining.
Hey, there, little one. Nice to meet you.
And that was about all she dared say. She felt something tug deep inside her. These days she seemed to be so emotional about things. About the baby. About Liam …
Well, if he wasn’t going to make an effort then she damn well would. She wanted to celebrate and send him off on his travels with no tension between them. Georgie stabbed his number into the phone and left a message: ‘Hey, step away from your backpack. Let’s do something. I won’t take no for an answer. I get the feeling you’re avoiding me. But if you are, please don’t admit it. Just say you’ve been busy. Mission Bay? Six-thirty. I’m hiring bikes. No excuses.’
‘Are you bonkers or just straight up certifiable?’ Three hours later his voice, behind her, although irritated and loud, made her heart jig in her chest. He’d turned up at least, and for that she was grateful. ‘Cycling? In your condition? Seriously?’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, I’m fine. How many times have we done this?’ She turned and pretended to scowl, but her scowl dropped the moment she set eyes on him. He was wearing a scruffy old T-shirt that hugged his toned muscles and was the same vibrant blue as his eyes. Faded jeans graced his long legs, framing his bum … and, no, she’d never really studied it before, but it was deliciously gorgeous. No wonder he had a queue of women trying to encourage him to commit.
Heat hit her cheeks and shimmied down to her belly, where it transformed into What would he be like in bea?
And that was just one of too many thoughts about him recently that were way out of line.
To distract herself from staring too long at the man who had suddenly become a whole new fascination for her, she clipped on her helmet and prepared to use up some of this nervous energy. Pregnant, yes. Petrified, indeedy. Strangely excited just to see her long-lost best mate? Very definitely. And that made her legs twitch and her stomach roll.
‘I needed some fresh air. It’s such a beautiful evening and it’s the weekend tomorrow. Freedom! We could get fish and chips and eat them on the beach later.’
He frowned and pointed to her helmet. ‘Take it off, Georgie. It’s too dangerous. We haven’t been cycling for years, you could fall off. Why you suddenly want to do it now I don’t know.’
‘Because it used to be fun and I don’t know why we got out of the habit of doing it. I want the fun back.’ She shook her head in defiance. ‘And stop being ridiculous. You’re a doctor, you know very well that at this stage in pregnancy it’s perfectly fine to exercise. Come on, I’ll be fine, it’s not as if I’m bungee jumping. Although, there is a free slot at the Skytower at eight. So if we hurry …’ She handed him his helmet and stood, arms crossed over her chest, until he’d put it on over that grumpy face. ‘Breathe, Liam. Breathe. It was a joke. And do try to keep up!’
The sea air was filled with salt and heat and the smell of a distant barbecue. Overhead, seagulls dived and squawked, making the most of a bright summer evening’s scavenging. Mission Bay was, as always, filled with smiling people, cycling, blading or running along the seaside promenade. On the right, beyond small beach inlets and a turquoise sea dotted with anchored yachts, the mighty volcanic Rangitoto Island stood verdant and powerful. On the left they cycled past coastal suburbia, higgledy-piggledy candy-coloured houses clinging to the steep hillside.
Georgie pedalled hard, keeping him in her slipstream, ignoring his concerned cries. She could do this. She needed to do this to show him—and herself—that she was still the same old Georgie. And if she could also purge those weird fluttery feelings that seemed to happen whenever she saw him, that would be even better. Because this new Georgie who kept popping up with hot thoughts about Liam was unsettling in the extreme.
Usually he raced ahead, screaming over his shoulder for her to go faster, but today he seemed happy to pootle behind. She had the distinct feeling that, in his own way, he was keeping watch over her.
After a few kilometres, pedalling towards towering city skyscrapers, she turned and cycled back to the row of Victorian buildings flanking a children’s playground and large fountain. Toddlers kicked and splashed in the spraying water, watched over by attentive parents.
Georgie braked, imagining being here some time in the future, showing her little one the exciting new world. Making everything a game, lining up her pram with the others, chatting to parents about nappy changing, bedtimes and the terrible twos. Her heart zinged. It seemed that, despite all her best efforts, she was starting to see everything through a different, pregnancy-coloured lens. With a heavy heart she glanced at the young dads splashing around and on the reserve, throwing balls to their sons, cheering, encouraging and, most of all, laughing.
Liam had been definite in his refusal to be a father. She understood that some people didn’t have the need for kids in their lives, but that didn’t mean she liked the idea. How could someone not want to know their own flesh and blood? It had been a question burning through her for her whole life. How could you just walk away and not want to be found, not want to make contact? What the hell ever happened to unconditional love?
It went against everything she knew about him. He was gregarious, funny, and cared deeply about the people he helped. But if he really meant he wasn’t going to be involved she’d have to be Mum and Dad to her child. After all, in the children’s home where she’d eventually settled, one parent was always better than none at all.
As Liam approached she flicked the bike into gear and cycled on to a small caravan advertising fish and chips and ice-cold drinks. ‘Usual? Snapper?’
‘Of course. And a large portion of chips. Tomato sauce …’ He grinned, pointing to a can of cola. ‘And all the trimmings.’
‘I
