Not long to go now until the baby will be born, but the happy anticipation is not entirely undisturbed, as some clouds are appearing on the horizon.

Here's the soundtrack song:

Jars of Clay - Flood

Rain, rain on my face
It hasn't stopped raining for days
My world is a flood
Slowly I become one with the mud

But if I can't swim after forty days
And my mind is crushed by the thrashing waves
Lift me up so high that I cannot fall
Lift me up
Lift me up - when I'm falling
Lift me up - I'm weak and I'm dying
Lift me up - I need you to hold me
Lift me up - Keep me from drowning again

Downpour on my soul
Splashing in the ocean, I'm losing control
Dark sky all around
I can't feel my feet touching the ground

But if I can't swim ...

Calm the storms that drench my eyes
Dry the streams still flowing
Cast down all the waves of sin
And guilt that overthrow me

But if I can't swim ...

Lift me up - when I'm falling
Lift me up - I'm weak and I'm dying
Lift me up - I need you to hold me
Lift me up - Keep me from drowning again

I was a little nervous and rather distracted as I rang up people's purchases and helped them find what they were looking for.

Evelyn had woken up in the middle of the night, uttering low noises that were not quite moans, apparently trying not to wake me, but I had not been sleeping well anyway after a nightmare in which I had been carrying a young child through a menacing snake-infested jungle, finding every escape route I tried blocked by all kinds of obstacles.

She had experienced early contractions before, which her obstetrician had told her was absolutely normal, but they had never been this painful, she said when I asked what was wrong, and she said she was afraid the baby was coming prematurely, more than three weeks before the estimated due date.

Against my own worries, I had told her that everything would be fine, that it wasn't unusual for kids to be born two or three weeks early.

As if I had any clue about babies, I thought wryly as I held her in my arm to calm her down a little and then went on to massage her back as she requested me to.

I had been unsure about leaving for work, but when no further pains had occurred until eight, the time I usually left the house, she told me to go. "You can't stay home for weeks just because it might be the day the baby comes. Elliott wouldn't be amused", she said. "You go to work, and I'll call you if anything happens."

Thus I went, reluctantly, keeping an ear out for the phone at the shop, but so far, it had remained silent. Or I had not heard it ringing, this being a busy day.

"Mornin', Michael, my friend! Whatcha gawkin' at? Ghosts?"

I only realized I had been staring into the empty air when Stevie Pearson's croaky voice shook me from my thoughts.

"Mornin', Steve. What can I get you today?"

"Bits and pieces. Will fetch them myself. You stay seated right there and take it easy. You're lookin' like crap this mornin', if you'll pardon my French."

"Had a bad night", I replied. "Evelyn wasn't feeling well."

"Is she better now? How long until the baby's due?"

"Yes, she was much better in the morning. Thank God she's only got about three weeks to go now. It's really getting tough for her."

Stevie nodded knowingly – he had a bunch of kids himself – and disappeared between the shelves to find what he needed, coming back with a big can of varnish and some small items of fishing tackle, which he stowed into the various pockets of his shapeless coat while I tallied it all up.

"Well done, Stevie. Ten dollars exactly."

He chuckled and patted his coat and trouser pockets, then his face fell. "Darn, I must've left my wallet at home. Sorry, mate, gotta go to the bank first, and meanwhile ..."

He made to get all his little things back out, and I shook my head. "Go on home with your stuff, you can pay next time. You'll be back tomorrow anyway for all I know."

He grinned, tucked the can of paint under his arm and tipped his hat in greeting. "See ya tomorrow, then. And thanks."

"Mum's the word", I mouthed. If Elliott found out I had allowed Stevie, of all people, to put his purchase on the slate, there would be hell to pay.

Stevie made a my-lips-are-sealed gesture and took his leave, merrily waving at me.

In the afternoon, the shop was so crowded that Elliott actually ventured out of his office to lend a hand with the customers when he saw how much Dougal and I had to do.

Several of the regulars inquired about Evelyn and the baby. I had not made a big announcement of her pregnancy, but of course it had transpired that we were going to have our first child, and very soon now.

There was so much talk of it that even Elliott deigned to ask at some point, "How's your wife?"

"Fine, thanks", I said laconically.

He looked as if he had expected me to launch into some baby-related small talk, but I just could not imagine discussing back aches and premature contractions with Elliott Snow.

All three of us were glad when six o'clock arrived and we finally got to lock up after this long demanding day.

Having spent virtually all of it perched upon my stool behind the counter, I was feeling rather tense and stiff. I needed to stretch my legs a bit and decided to help Dougal tidy up the shop while Elliott busied himself with the daily closing.

I went to get a broom and was sweeping the floor at the far end of the shop when suddenly some clamour erupted at the counter.

At first, I couldn't understand a word, but then I clearly heard Dougal's desperate assertion, "I didn't take nothin', Mr. Snow! Honestly I didn't!"

"Then who did? Mr. Carpenter? Myself? Or maybe one of the customers walked round here and helped himself to a note or two from the cash register with everybody looking on? Don't be ridiculous, boy. Come on, confess. I know it was you."

"No, it wasn't! I didna do anything wrong! I swear I didn't!"

"How's that for jogging your memory, huh?"

"Ouch!"

I dropped my broom and made my way to the front as fast as I could, shocked to see that Elliott, the same man who never showed any kind of emotion, had grabbed Dougal by the ear and twisted it brutally.

"What's going on here?" I shouted. "Elliott, have you lost your mind? Let go of him before you rip off his ear!"

"The little bugger stole ten dollars, and he's got the nerve to deny it!"

Dougal gave me a pleading look, his face a grimace of pain. "I didn't steal anything", he whimpered.

"Leave him!" I demanded again, bracing myself to intervene bodily if need be. "How can you be so certain he's a thief? Did you see him take the money?"

Elliott grudgingly loosened his grip on the poor lad's ear and glared at me. "No, I didn't", he had to admit. "But who was it then, if not him?" His contempt for the boy of rather humble origin was tangible. "It's a fact that there are ten dollars missing. If it wasn't that little brat, there's just one person left who …"

"Are you sure you didn't just miscount the cash?" I asked matter-of-factly.

He shot me a poisonous look. "I never miscount the cash. Besides, I recounted twice, and the result was the same every time. So how would you explain this?"

Gradually, it began to dawn on me.

"Oh, damn … Elliott, I'm sorry, I guess I forgot to tell you something. Stev … Mr. Pearson came to buy some fishing tackle this morning, but he had left his wallet at home, and I told him he could pay tomorrow."

Elliott stared at me for a full minute, his chest heaving, his face puckering with silent rage, before he exploded.

"Who the heck do you think you are, Mick?" he yelled at the top of his voice. "I clearly remember giving you and that useless boy an explicit order with regard to putting purchases on the slate. I said I was not going to have that, and believe me, that Pearson bloke would be the last person I'd make an exception for! Why can't you ever do as you are told? If you won't take orders from anyone, fine, then you better go and set up your own shop. As long as you are working for me, though, you will have to stick to the rules. I've been far too indulgent with you all along. Do you think you can do as you please just because you've been around for longer than I have?"

"If it weren't for me and Dougal, you'd be out of business by now", I said with a calm I didn't feel.

Elliott was silent for a second before he hissed, "Don't get smart with me! You're really beginning to wear out my patience. I let that thing about the neckties fly, I never complain when you have your endless chats with people, I'm turning a blind eye to all your cigarette breaks, but I'm certainly not letting you endanger the business! Today, it's only Pearson, tomorrow it'll be two or three more asking could they perhaps pay later, and even more the day after, and there you have it!"

"Elliott, listen, don't you think …"

"No, you listen to me now! I don't want to hear your apologies and excuses! You give me ten dollars now to set the record straight, you see to it that Pearson pays up, and you will never, ever do that again, am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal clear. Abundantly clear." I scowled as I pulled two folded fivers from my pocket and tossed them onto the counter, adding acidly, "Are you finished shouting at me? I'd like to go home now. It's been a long day, and rather exhausting, too."

With that, I simply walked off and left through the back door, fuming inwardly, wondering what on earth had got into Elliott.

I didn't tell Evelyn about my run-in with my suddenly not-so-tongue-tied boss when I came home.

I had a headache by then, and all I wanted was peace and quiet.

We turned in early, lying spooned together in the dusk.

I began to caress her, trailing my hand down her front, feeling the baby move once or twice. I answered her kicks by tapping my fingers, glad that she was still safely in there despite the nightly scare.

"Take your time, little lady", I murmured, "no need to come out just yet."

Evelyn lazily replied, "Yes … but don't be too long, please, otherwise I guess I'll simply burst."

I smiled and fell asleep soon, my hand still resting on her belly, reconciled with the world for the moment.

Two days later, I had almost forgotten about the episode with Elliott.

He apparently hadn't, or so I thought when he ordered me into his office late on Friday morning, his face inscrutable as always.

"Mick, I need to speak to you. Now."

I wondered if I was in for another dressing-down because I had broken another of his unwritten, unspoken rules and, shrugging behind his back, followed him into the small room behind the shop that had been a messy but kind of pleasant little office when it had still been Donnie who was in charge. Now it was frightfully tidy and utterly devoid of any charm.

Elliott sat behind the desk, peering up at me with what he probably thought was a sternly authoritative look. In fact, it was nothing but ridiculous in his bland, round face.

He didn't offer me a seat, so I remained standing, not unlike a defendant in the dock, the only difference being that I had no idea yet what I was going to be accused of.

Tapping a pencil on his green desk pad in an unnerving rhythm, he narrowed his eyes and said, "You were rather quick to find a nice little explanation for the missing money the day before yesterday …"

Unable to restrain myself, I interrupted him, "I didn't take the bleeding money, for Chrissake! Why should I?!"

He went on, unfazed, "… and it was quite clever to make Pearson your accomplice, of all people, who would be sure to corroborate your cock-and-bull story."

"There is no story, cock-and-bull or otherwise!" I growled.

"So why hasn't he been back with the money yet? Didn't you say he promised to pay on Thursday? Which was yesterday?"

"Yes …"

"And, did he show up? Did he?"

"No", I had to admit. "I guess he fell ill or something. Stevie is a reliable, trustworthy guy."

Elliott snorted. "Just as reliable and trustworthy as you are, I presume?"

I raised an eyebrow, not sure what he was getting at.

"What I learned this morning finally proves you're not to be trusted. I know all about your false pretences."

"False … pretences?" I screwed up my face, totally at a loss. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Isn't it true that you are living in sin with that woman … that woman who's having your child?"

"I wouldn't call it sin, but no, we aren't married, if that's what you mean."

"You never told me that you were … not married."

"I didn't know I was required to", I said sarcastically. "And besides, you never asked."

"You never corrected me when I referred to your 'wife'." His clawed hands scratched invisible quotation marks into the air.

"You're right, I didn't. That's because for me, she is my wife in all but name", I said evenly.

Elliott spluttered, "I won't have that kind of … talk in this place, and I won't have any employee of mine living in sin! I'm a God-fearing man!"

"I can see that", I said bitingly. "You must be fearing him something awful if you're so afraid of my 'sin'" – I mimicked his quotation-mark gesture – "rubbing off on you, or on anyone else, just because we're doing business together."

"That's enough! I'm not going to take any more cheek from you", Elliott shouted. "You cheat, you lie, you fraternize with the customers and go behind my back, and now you start insulting me? Go! You're fired!"

He was almost amusing in his excessive anger, with his face beet red and his voice keeling over. I half waited for him to bang his fist on the desk in theatrical affirmation.

I raised my eyebrow again and asked, "Are you sure that's what you want? Because if I go now, I surely won't be coming back."

"Go!" he screamed, eyes popping. "You leave this very minute, and don't even dream of demanding any back pay!"

I was not going to beg him to keep me. It was no use arguing with idiots.

"You'll probably want me to give you this first." I pulled my duplicate key from my pocket and threw it at him. It slid across the desk and fell to the floor, jangling dissonantly, just as I turned to leave without a further word.

"Mick? Where are you going?" a familiar voice said as I pushed open the door and briskly marched outside. "I've come to pay my debt … I couldn't come yesterday because my …"

"Explain it all to him", I said, slightly exasperated, jerking my thumb over my shoulder, walking on past Stevie. "Me, I'm going home. Just got myself fired. Take care, old chap."

I clapped him on the shoulder and walked on. I heard his outcry of indignation but didn't stop to listen to his incredulous grunts and curses.

Gradually, what I had just done was beginning to sink in, and I slowed my steps once I had turned the corner.

I had picked a fight with my boss at a time when it would have been better to keep my mouth shut.

I had got myself fired three weeks before my baby was due.

While I didn't actually regret what I had said to Elliott, I did wish I had swallowed my rage in order to have it out with him at a later point.

I told myself I couldn't have known he'd react with such unreasonable harshness, but it was cold comfort.

I shouldn't have let that bigoted fool goad me into jeopardizing my job in the first place – the job my family depended on until Evelyn was going back to work – no matter how self-righteously he had discounted the way we had chosen to live.

Other people had done that before. Why had his holier-than-thou blathering upset me so?

I didn't know.

Neither did I know what to do, or where to turn to.

The only thing I knew for sure was that I could not go home just now. I was not yet ready to face Evelyn, to admit my self-inflicted defeat.

I dragged my feet as I walked to the bus stop, racking my brain for the right words to say.

There were no right words for this, no gentle way to break it to her.

She would be terribly disappointed, and she had every right to be. Short of a leg and out of a job, I was pretty much a failure as a husband, or whatever the appropriate term was for a bloke in my position.

I decided to give myself until my usual finishing time, which was at six.

I got on the first bus that came and rode all the way to the terminus, where I boarded another bus heading downtown.

For once, I didn't want to be alone. I had no wish to speak to anyone, but the bustle of the city might help pass the time until I couldn't put off the inevitable any more.

It was a wet day, not a particularly good one to be out and about, but the weather helped me blend into the crowd. No one took much notice of me as I stumbled through streets grey with rain. People hurried past me, heads down, shoulders drawn up, sheltering from yet another downpour under their umbrellas or the brims of their hats, eager to get inside shops or tea rooms or homes.

I entered a tiny café and had some abominable coffee to kill a bit of time while I smoked two cigarettes and listlessly turned the pages of the day-old newspaper someone had left on the table.

Once I had drained my cup, I didn't feel like sticking around the dreary place, so I threw some coins onto the table and left, the horrible brew burning in my throat and stomach like acid.

A quick glance at my watch told me it was only half past three.

I walked on for a while, past the station towards Belmore Park, my hat pulled low on my forehead, until my leg began to ache.

I realized I wouldn't be able to walk much further without another break and entered the park, looking for a place to sit and rest for a bit.

Most of the benches were dripping, but there was one below a large tree that appeared reasonably dry. I sat down clumsily, trying to find a comfortable position for my sore leg, and lit another cigarette, brooding some more as I smoked it and stared unseeingly at a rain-drenched, half-withered patch of small flowers.

The rain diminished further until it was just a drifting damp mist that crept into my clothes and through into my skin and bones. I didn't mind it much - I had certainly seen a lot worse in my sailor days, and during the war, too - but eventually, I began to feel unpleasantly cold and clammy.

Shivering, I rose and walked to the exit, trying to remember where the nearest bus stop was.

"C'n I help you, Mister?" asked a teenage boy who was passing by, bright blue eyes in a freckled face, an insouciant grin showing a broad gap between strong front teeth.

"Looking for a bus stop", I replied hoarsely, and he pointed into the direction he had come from.

I thanked him, and he walked on, whistling tunelessly, apparently at ease with himself and the world despite the awful weather.

The first bus that drew near bore the familiar number of the line that would take me straight home, in less than thirty minutes.

Flinching, I waved it past and considered having another cup of bad coffee, or something stronger, somewhere nearby to fortify myself for the dreaded way home.

A vehicle pulled up at the curb in front of me. I ignored it, ostentatiously turning my head to one side, pretending I was waiting for somebody to arrive.

The harsh noise of a blaring horn startled me out of my purported indifference. Annoyed at my own skittishness, I snorted contemptuously and shot the driver a dirty glance.

He leaned over, rolled down the passenger window and shouted something.

What business did that figure have hollering at me? Was everybody bent on being nasty to me on this goddamn day? Wasn't it enough that I had let my job go down the drain and spent half the day roaming the city like a sleepwalker until my leg was screaming abuse?

I took a deep breath, ready to give that offensive stranger an earful he wouldn't forget any time soon.

He yelled out again, and this time, I understood what he was saying.

"Mick! Hey, Mick!"

I exhaled slowly and dropped my gaze to have a closer look at the speaker, expecting him to be some fleeting acquaintance, someone I certainly wouldn't have any desire to see.

It was none other than my best friend Joseph Schell.

"What the hell are you d-doing out there in that filthy weather?" he inquired. "And why didn't you g-get on that bus? Don't you want to go home? Come on, get in, I'll g-give you a ride. You look like you've been through the wringer several times over."

"That sums it up pretty well", I said glumly and folded myself into the passenger seat of Joseph's Ford.

"Bad day? Your n-new boss?"

"My former boss, more like."

Joseph didn't say a word for a moment, then the meaning apparently sank in. "Your f-former boss?" he asked, his tone alarmed. "You're not s-saying he …"

"Yes, he did", I said laconically. I didn't feel up to any big explanations.

"Oh, damn." Joseph drove on without speaking, chewing his lip thoughtfully, the slapping noise of the windshield wipers the only sound beyond the patter of the rain that had become heavier again.

After a while, he asked, "Evelyn doesn't know yet, huh?"

I took a deep breath and remained silent, avoided looking at him.

"So that's why you d-didn't take that bus, isn't it? B-because you d-didn't want to g-go home and t-tell her just yet?"

My lips kicked up into a bitter smile for a second. "You know me way too well, Joseph. Way too well." I sighed, and my mouth tightened when an awful thought struck me again, one that I had refused to acknowledge before. "It's not just that I hate having to tell her, you know. I fear she'll … start having the baby. Isn't that what happens if a pregnant woman gets too upset?"

I would never forgive myself if anything happened to the baby because it had been forced into the world too early.

"I d-don't think Evelyn will g-get that upset", Joseph said. "And besides, there's n-no need to b-be afraid, with the baby due so soon. Both Conrad and Henry were two weeks early and s-strapping healthy lads nevertheless."

I didn't answer. I knew he was right, but this new fear wasn't so easily dispelled.

I was so caught up in my brooding that I only realized we had arrived when Joseph asked quietly, "D-Do you want me to come inside with you?"

"Thanks, but no. I'm not that big a coward."

I remained seated and listened for a silent minute as the rain drummed on the roof of the car without cease before I opened the door abruptly and awkwardly got out, murmuring my thanks for the ride.

I limped the short distance to the front door with my head ducked low, which didn't do much to keep the rain out of my face.

When I dug the key from my pocket, I half expected my hands to be shaking so much that I would hardly be able to put it into the lock, but it slid into the keyhole as smoothly as it usually did.

The flower pots on the windowsill, the fresh white paint on the door, the brick front were all the same as always.

So were the coats on the rack in the hallway when I entered, the long mirror, the small cabinet with the telephone on top. Even the white rose on the hall table looked no less fresh than it had looked in the morning.

So was Evelyn when she welcomed me with a kiss and a smile, pretty even in the shapeless brown wool gown she wore to accommodate her huge bump.

It was only me who wasn't the same.

She said something but I couldn't take it in.

"… aren't you glad?"

With a pang of guilt, I admitted, "Sorry, I was not really paying attention. Did you say you and the little lady are all right?"

"We're fine", she said. "What about you?"

"Oh, I'm … I'm fine, too", I lied.

She gave me a piercing look and a sceptical frown. "Are you sure?"

"Kind of. Just feeling a little under the weather, literally. I got all soaked in that dreadful rain, and my leg hurts, and I'm tired. Just let me sit down for a minute before I grab a bite to eat and then call it a day. A good night's sleep might work wonders."

Bullshit. You know it won't. A good night's sleep will do nothing to bring your job back or make you any less of a loser.

I dropped into an armchair, shuddering. I was cold, a sensation that wasn't helped by my wet trouser legs and damp jacket, but I couldn't bring myself to get up and change.

I just sat there, my face buried in my hands, like a little child pretending he's not there.