"This is a little bit snug" She mumbled to herself as she clasped her pencil skirt together. "I should limit the biscuits". She could now smile with the benefit of hindsight when she thought back to that fateful day she and Patrick had found Timothy smoking in their living room. The petrifying sight forced them both to give up smoking for now and forever. Yet it was only later that evening when Tim revealed he had smoked a single cigarette in his life. Still, it was a picture they both agreed they wanted to never see again, and therefore they would lead by example.
However, it hadn't done her waistline any good. She never had a problem with excessive weight gain, years running around with her father in his greengrocers and then cycling the length and breadth of Poplar and beyond during her time as a midwife. Now, she still spent a lot of time on her feet as a nurse and a mother, but many hours of her days were spent sitting at her desk or relaxing in an armchair at home to repair another of Tim's trousers. It wasn't until now though that she noticed the effects of the many biscuits and the little exercise.
She lay her hand on her stomach, feeling the very slightly protrusion. She knew she had eaten her Sunday fry-up breakfast too quickly, still, she took pride in getting the family neat and tidy ready for church.
It wasn't until a few weeks later when she was going through the same routine when she noticed something strange. She clasped her brassiere and felt a tenderness she'd never felt before. They were more sensitive than before, and almost hurt to touch. However, she persevered and put the thought to the back of her mind. That was, however, until she tried to zip up her favourite blue dress.
"Patrick!" She called nonchalantly, when he entered the room, she added "Could you zip me up at the back please?"
A tug. A pull. Yet the zip would not go further than halfway up.
"My love," She could hear the beginnings of his teasing tone "Have you eaten one too many biscuits?"
She turned with a mischievous grin on her face, yet it masked the fear she felt in her heart.
"Possibly...Patrick?" He hummed in response but had his back turned to her as he searched the drawer for a matching tie to his subtle grey shirt. "Something's wrong...no, not wrong", she corrected herself, "Different".
"Different how?" Part of his attention still on the pile of ties he laid on the bed.
"I'm not sure. I mean, I have an idea but I can't...I don't..." He finally turned to her as small pools of water collected in her eyes.
"Shelagh, what is it?" He collected her into his arms, in an attempt to save her from the harm her heart had caused. She couldn't speak it. So long they had tried. Night after night, even day after day. When they found out she could not conceive, the pure joy of their long evenings disappeared for a time. Dreams were dashed and hopes were cut short.
But could hope be on the rise again?
She gingerly touched her belly, and lay her hand flat against the bump she found once more. Noticing her movement, Patrick pulled her back slightly by the shoulder, his thumbs soothing away the last few hiccups of sobs. His eyes drifted down to her hand, and widened.
So many questions he wanted to ask. But his wife, ever in tune with him, raised her eyes to catch his and whispered "It's a baby, Patrick"
