Now, before anyone gets upset, this is lighthearted! I'm not going to break them up again so nobody panic (we've suffered enough at the hands of Tom Ward and his bloody free will :P).
Hope you enjoy! You know what to do if you do!
All the best the everyone!
Oh dear.
Oh dear.
It had seemed like a good idea at the time. It was a good idea at the time.
You had organised to have the weekend off work with Leo, asked Janet if she would mind taking Oliver – of course she didn't – phoned your Mum to take the other two and booked a two night stay for two at the nicest hotel you could find out of town.
Settled.
You. Nikki. Peace. Quiet.
It would have been perfect.
If the two of you had only been a bit more careful.
And it had been brilliant. You had went out for dinner, slept in late, got drunk, participated in long, undisturbed sessions of passion and come home feeling completely refreshed.
You're not chauvinistic, or at least you didn't think you were, but you do remember marvelling at how unbelievably easy it was to please a woman. In a mere two days you had managed to bring her back from what had seemed to be a state of exhausted insanity. In 48 hours she transformed back to her old, witty, carefree, contented self and would remain in that state – with you in her good books – for months to come with little more than the odd grumble…
Until she started getting stomach cramps. Feeling sick. Bad tempers. At first, you had thought it was simply time for another weekend away, until she told you calmly not to look too much into it. It would pass. Eventually.
It was one night a few weeks later, as you lay facing the ceiling, side by side in the dark that she brought the topic up again. Looking back now, you wonder if she knew already. She had been unusually quiet that night, a Friday, if you remember correctly. Film night with the kids. She had seemed very distant. You remember her voice, the only contact you had with her in the darkness of your bedroom, quiet, shaky, unsure, as if she was standing on the edge of something. She took your hand. As if inviting you to leap with her. Into what, you hadn't been sure. Not yet.
"Are you awake?"
"Mmhmm."
"Harry, I think something's wrong."
"With what?"
"Me."
You had squeezed her hand then, she had your full attention.
"What d'you mean?"
"Something's different. I'm scared, Har."
"Hey, it's okay. If you're worried, I'll call Leo tomorrow, get us an hour or so off on Monday morning, we'll go to open surgery, yeah? You're probably working yourself too hard again."
Oh dear.
It had been obvious, now that you think about it. You should be a complete veteran at this sort of thing by now.
But when you're not expecting it. You just don't make the connections.
"Harry?" She says as you sit in the doctor's waiting room for the results. "Whatever happens next, whatever this is, I'm ready for it, I'll – I'll deal with it."
"It might be nothing."
"No…somethings…different."
"Mrs Cunningham?"
She'd looked at you nervously as her name was called, a soft hand slipping into your own and together you had walked hand in hand into the office.
The next few minutes pass in a blur. One minute you were getting yourself comfortable at the other end of the desk, the next thing you know you are holding your distraught wife whilst trying to find the words to apologise to a shocked doctor, whilst battling your own embarrassment as, although all three of you are doctors, only one of you had come to this conclusion.
She sits at one end of the living room, you stand at the other.
The kids are in bed. The cat is outside.
She hasn't said a word to you since earlier, before the doctor's appointment.
You have a double measure of whisky in your hand – perhaps a sliver more than a double – to help you get through this conversation.
It's going to be a long night.
"Come on, Nikki, you're acting like this is my fault!"
"Scientifically, it is…"
"Well it takes two to tango, honey."
You wiggle your eyebrows at her. She's not amused. She simply glares at you, like she wants to tear your face off.
"Why does everything have to be a joke with you?"
"What? You want me to act like I'm not pleased? Well I'm not going to Nikki, because I AM pleased. I'm over the damn moon!"
It's only after you've become silent that you realise she's crying. You can't see her face, she has turned it in, to her chest, so her hair falls in a golden cascade over her head. Her voice is frail, a distant murmur as if she had somehow got lost under all those golden curls.
"I didn't want another baby."
It's a difficult situation all round. The two of you weren't very good at planning babies. So far only 1 one of the three you have was through coherent decision. You had always wanted to be a father, that much you're sure of. Especially to her children. You relish each of them, getting to know them, finding out who they are, trying to guess what they will grow up to be.
"I did."
"I know!"
She stands up quickly and the tears have gone, she's angry now, or not angry, frustrated.
"…And I know why! Because you're not the one that has only just started to settle back into work again. You've not just got over your body hang ups or had to find out who you are all over again. You're not the one who has to completely change lifestyle and wave goodbye to any form of social life! You're not the one who has to cope with the back pain and the stomach cramps and the night sweats and the throwing up…"
"So you regret it then, you regret them?"
This seems to calm her and she sits down again. The whisky remains full in your hands, you place it on the table and walk towards her, gingerly sitting next to her so your legs are touching.
"Of course I don't."
"Do you remember when we brought Freya home? Do you remember how it felt?"
Kit was on your knee, fast asleep, the last few weeks having finally taken their toll. You were all just beginning to settle back down into yourselves again. He had been out of sorts for a while. You presume he assumed this little baby girl would be a novelty; one that mum and dad would get bored of and send back where she came from. After he realised she was here to stay, he played up a bit and only then, eventually settled again.
Nikki is holding Freya. It still amazes you how tiny she is. A tiny human. Your tiny human. Your responsibility. That thought scares you half to death but also catalyses a sudden rush within you that you can't explain.
You wonder if Nikki can feel it too, she's smiling widely enough. She's spoken before you get the chance to ask.
"I think I could stay like this forever. Never need to go anywhere, or do anything else, just, be here. I don't think it can get much better than this."
Enigmatic as ever, but you understand exactly what she means.
You can tell that the sparkle now in her eyes is not just through tears, you know she remembers.
"Well, maybe it can get better."
She looks at you, stunned.
"You really think so?"
"Yeah. We'll share the childcare, too, if you like?"
"How?"
"You take say…6 weeks maternity, and then we'll both go part time and alternate!"
"What about money, Harry?"
"We'll manage somehow."
She gives you a weak smile and for a moment the two of you just look at each other, into each other's eyes. It reminds you of when you first got together, you lost countless nights of rest just lying, facing her, looking. You know she doesn't think you're as cheesy as to remember such moments, and yet you still truly believe that you learned more about her in those hours of silence than any other time.
You're looking now. And you can see she's not convinced.
"What do you want to do, Nikki?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's your body. You know, ultimately, I'm leaving this decision up to you…
She looks a little bit lost when you stop looking, turn your back and leave the room.
…Just know that I'll be behind you whichever conclusion you come to."
And you had even convinced yourself. It's only when she slides into bed behind you, wraps her arms around your torso and whispers excitedly "We're having a baby!" that you realise you would be quite happy to repeat the whole baby process over and over, perhaps forever.