Chapter 19

Neither Spike or Lynda got much sleep that night.

Spike was on the couch. Spike was no stranger to the couch at Lynda's flat, however this time, he was there on a purely voluntary basis. While he had enjoyed the pizza the first time around, he was very sure he didn't want to see it again, particularly in any partially-digested form. Thoughtfully, he had furnished Lynda with a bucket and towel before tucking her in for the night and taking his place in the lounge room at around 3am.

It had been a rather eventful day and a long night. Spike was sure he would fall asleep straightaway. Instead, he found himself staring at the ceiling, with thoughts crowding into his brain, keeping him awake.

"I wonder if it's a boy or a girl? That's if she is pregnant . . . shouldn't jump the gun . . . but if she is . . . boy or girl? I'd like a boy. But what if he takes after his old man . . . could I keep him in line? Sure would hate to see my kid nearly go off the rails like I did . . . but he wouldn't because his mom and dad would love him and make sure he didn't head that way . . . I could teach him to play baseball and throw a football to him . . . none of this cricket or soccer . . . then again, a girl would be cool . . . Daddy's little girl . . . she'd be a little Lynda that I could spoil rotten . . . we could get a house with a yard and put a swingset out the back . . . but what if she got hurt . . . I couldn't stand to see my kid in pain . . . that's if she is pregnant . . . shouldn't jump the gun . . . Lynda's parents would be great as grandparents . . . I bet they'd be so proud . . . Mom, on the other hand, well, she'd get used to the idea . . . I'd get the kid to call her Gramma and make her feel really old . . . we could go on family holidays to the States or Blackpool . . . I'd go on all the rides . . . that's if she is pregnant . . . shouldn't jump the gun . . . "

Lynda, on the other hand, was sure she would be awake all night and had fallen asleep almost immediately.

She dreamt of standing by the canal that ran past the old Junior Gazette building, watching the water, when she noticed a black bundle floating by.

Seized by terror, she jumped into the canal and swam after the bundle. As hard as she swam, it stayed out of her reach, bobbing up and down on the murky water.

"Help me!" screamed Lynda, as the bundle floated further away. "Help me get the baby!"

Suddenly she noticed Spike was standing on the bank of the canal, watching.

"Help me, Spike! The baby!"

Spike remained calm as Lynda thrashed her way desperately through the water.

"Why aren't you helping!" she screamed. Spike smiled and shook his head.

"Lynda, Lynda. When are you going to learn? I am helping. Be calm."

"But it's floating away! I have to save it!"

"You aren't doing it alone, Lynda. Be calm."

Lynda stopped swimming.

"Now come over to the bank."

Lynda obeyed. As she did, the bundle changed direction and floated back towards her, right into her arms.

"See?" said Spike. "You don't have to fight. You just have to be."

Lynda unwrapped the bundle. There seemed to be a lot of material. She felt like she had been unwrapping for hours, yet the bundle didn't grow any smaller.

"I don't think I'm doing this right," she said, puzzled.

"Let me try," offered Spike.

"No, no, I can do it," Lynda kept unwrapping and unwrapping until finally she gave up. "Okay, you try."

Spike gave the bundle a tug and the material fell away in a heap.

"There's nothing there," he said.

"But what happened to the baby?" asked Lynda. "There was one, I know there was!"

"Lynda . . ."

"No! There was! Where did it go?" Lynda started frantically sorting through the large pile of material. "It's in here somewhere! I've lost it!"

"Lynda!"

Lynda sat up in bed, gasping, with Spike kneeling by her side in his boxer shorts.

"Was I shouting?" Lynda asked blurrily, snapping on the bedside lamp.

"I'll say. I'm surprised the neighbours haven't called the police. Then again, they might be used to shouts coming from your bedroom." Spike smirked. "Bad dream?"

"I suppose so,"

"Want to talk about it?"

"No, it was just a silly dream. I'm fine." Spike looked at her questioningly.

"Lynda. Remember, you aren't doing this alone."

"No," Lynda replied slowly. "No, you're right. I'm not doing it alone. You helped me."

"I helped. I am helping. I will help. Just call me Mr Helpful," said Spike. "Now, slide over. That couch of yours is giving me a stiff neck."

"Aren't you worried about being vomited on, Mr Helpful?" Lynda asked dryly.

"It's a chance I'm willing to take. I guess I'll have to get used to it, if there is a baby on the way."

"I guess we'll both have to get used to a lot of things," said Lynda. "But, Spike . . . do you think we'd be good parents?"

"Sure we will. I mean, they give you a manual at the hospital, right?"

"Spike . . ." Lynda said, warningly. Spike leaned over, turned the lamp off and snuggled into her.

"Lynda, with your brains and my looks, how could we possibly go wrong?"