Chapter 16

"And you're sure I can't get in today . . . okay. Well, thank you. I'll see you tomorrow at nine, then." Lynda replaced the phone in its cradle, frowned and chewed her lip.

"I can't get in to see Doctor Bloom until tomorrow morning," she said to Spike.

"Hey, that's not bad for around here," joked Spike. "I remember, I had a wart on my thumb one time? By the time I got in to see the doctor, it wanted its own TV and an allowance!" Lynda didn't smile. "Hey, come on. It's just a few hours. No big deal, right?"

"No big deal! Spike, I could be pregnant! Now, this very minute!" Lynda shrieked. "That's a pretty big deal!"

"Right," said Spike, unruffled. "And tomorrow morning you'll be no more and no less pregnant than you are. If you are." Lynda dropped her head and looked at the floor. Spike took her hands in his.

"Lynda, look at me. Come on. Look at me. It's not a hard thing to do. In fact, most girls would kill for the privilege!"

Lynda gave a small snort and rolled her eyes before fixing them upon Spike.

"You know what, Lynda? My mission, should I choose to accept it – and I do – for the rest of this day and for tomorrow morning is to stop you from being Lynda over this."

"What do you mean?" frowned Lynda.

"I'm going to save you from yourself. Stop you from freaking out." He waggled a finger at her, mock-severely. "I know you, Ms Day. The minute I turn my back, you'll be bolting down the High Street and lurking in dress shops. There's only so many times I can go into each one looking for you without raising suspicions, you know. I still have a reputation in this town, and I'd prefer it if that reputation wasn't one that involved cross-dressing!"

Lynda smiled weakly.

"So what I'm going to do is stay here with you, all night. We'll order some pizza, we'll watch some TV, we'll talk, we won't talk. Whatever you want. But you're not leaving this place until your appointment tomorrow morning and even then, you'll be escorted by your friendly representative from Tough Guy Security. Me."

"What about the office?" Lynda asked.

"I'll take care of that. I'll take care of everything. Today, I am your personal assistant, your bodyguard, your errand boy, your caterer and maybe even your boyfriend."

"Thank you, Spike."

"No problem. I'm great at multi-tasking. So long as I don't mail out the pizza and serve letters for dinner, we should be okay. Now, why don't you slip into something more comfortable . . ." he broke off as Lynda shot him a look. "Your pyjamas! I meant your pyjamas," he added hastily. "I'll call the office, talk to Julie, get everything under control."

"Tell her to stay away from my desk!" came an order from the old Lynda as she headed towards her bedroom.

"Shouldn't be too hard. I mean, you did lock the door from inside!" replied Spike and dialled the number of the Phoenix office. Good thing they'd managed to keep the old Junior Gazette number and just re-route it. Spike had enough trouble remembering his own number now that mobile phones stored everything in them.

"Good afternoon, Phoenix magazine, Sophie speaking! How can I help you?"

"Hey, Sophie. It's Spike."

"Spike, she still hasn't . . ."

"No, it's fine. I've found her. She's at home."

"Oh, thank God for that," Sophie definitely sounded relieved. "I'll start taking messages. Her voicemail is full and people are definitely getting narky about it."

"Divert everything you can to Julie," said Spike. "Lynda's going to be off for the rest of the day and probably tomorrow too."

"Is she all right? I mean – we all got the email . . ." Sophie trailed off.

"Yeah, she's fine. Well, physically. Mentally, I'm not too sure. But when are we ever sure about Lynda's mental state? I'll be staying with her anyway, so if you can take messages for me too, that would be great."

"Of course, Spike. No problem."

"Thanks Sophie. Put me through to Julie, will you?"

"Sure. Bye."

Spike filled Julie in on the situation and received her reassurance that everything would be handled in Lynda's absence.

Later that evening, after a gourmet dinner of pizza and garlic bread, Spike and Lynda were curled up together on the couch when Lynda suddenly brought the subject of children up.

"What was your childhood like, Spike? I mean, I know it was hard. But – well . . . what was it like growing up with two parents from different countries?"

Spike thought. "Well, it all started in New Rochelle, where I was born. That's in New York City. We lived there til I was maybe 12? Well, Dad and I did. Mom kinda came and went, as you know. Anyway, when I was 12, Mom got this opportunity to head up this publishing company in LA. So we picked up and moved across to the other side of the country. I guess that's where I started getting into trouble. You know, I was the kid from New York, different accent, different clothes. That kind of thing. I was going to this private school . . ."

"You went to a private school?" Lynda asked, incredulously.

"Sure. Hard to believe, I know," Spike replied. "They had this uniform – I'm telling ya, Lynda, it was awful. No-one looked good in that uniform, not even me. So I didn't wear it and I got expelled. Well, that was one of the reasons they gave. Changing the school's motto on the sign probably didn't go down too well either."

"What did you change it to?" asked Lynda.

Spike smirked. "Well, it was E Pluribus Unus', which means . . ."

"Out of Many, One," interjected Lynda.

"Right. So I changed it to E Platypus Anus."

"You didn't!"

"I did," chuckled Spike. "But the thing was, nobody noticed for ages until the visiting superintendent was doing the rounds . . ."

"No!" gasped Lynda.

"Yup," replied Spike, gleefully. "So that ended my educational career at that particular institution. Shortly after that, Mom got transferred to London anyway. And I guess Dad thought she might be happier and easier to live with if we all came to England with her. She wasn't but I think he stayed on, living in hope, for a while anyway. Which is how I came to be at Norbridge High and the rest, as they say, is history."

"Did you miss America?" Lynda asked.

"Sure. I still do sometimes. But when I go back there, I miss here." He smiled. "You've got a lot to do with that, but not everything."

"So, this baby. If it does exist, you'd be happy to raise it completely here in England?" Lynda asked.

"Well, I'd like to take it over to the States for visits, you know. Aunts, uncles, cousins, bars, casinos . . . that kind of thing." Spike replied. "But, yeah. I want this kid to have a stable home. Well, as stable as can be with you and I under the same roof. You know what I mean, though. Grow up in the same house like you did, or at least in the same area."

"I'd like that too," said Lynda thoughtfully.

"I was a mistake, you know," Spike said casually.

"Spike! Don't say that!"

"No, really. I was. My Dad told me. Repeatedly. I don't know if they meant to have kids eventually or what, but I came as a bit of a surprise. I think Dad thought it was what drove Mom away. She was the one who had to put her career on hold and he could just carry on doing what he did, you know? So when it came time to move to LA, they didn't even ask me. Just told me, 'Hey Spike, guess what? We're going to the land of swimming stars and movie pools!' or something like that."

"Must have been hard," said Lynda sympathetically.

"I like to think of it as character-building," replied Spike. "And as you can see, it worked. I'm quite a character!"

"You are," agreed Lynda.

"So that's why I'm determined not to see this as a bad thing or a mistake," continued Spike. "I'm ready for anything. Except octuplets. Now that would be a shock."

Lynda smiled at Spike. "Well, are you ready for a beating in Trivial Pursuit?"

Spike scoffed. "Lady, I'd like to see you try! Who won the last game?"

"That was totally unfair," replied Lynda haughtily. "You cheated."

"Hey! I didn't know I wasn't allowed to phone a friend!"