Chapter 23

Spike spent an agonising and painfully slow hour waiting in Lynda's flat.

He skipped through almost all of the songs on his iPod, unable to find anything he wanted to listen to. He made himself some toast, took a bite out of a piece and left the rest on the plate to grow cold and stiff. He flipped through the pile of catalogues on the table, not taking in any of the bargains on offer and finally threw the lot in the bin.

"I'm goin' stir crazy in here!" he said aloud after drumming a relentless rhythm on the kitchen table. He checked his watch. "I'll just go for a quick walk around the block."

He snatched up his phone, keys and sunglasses and headed out the front, pulling the door shut behind him.

After his quick stride around the block, Spike was on the approach back to Lynda's flat when he noticed a taxi pulling away from the curb.

"Damn! She's back already and I wasn't there. You idiot!" he cursed himself and broke into a trot. The door was locked when he got to it.

"Lynda! Open up! I'm sorry, I just went for a walk to clear my head! Open up!"

Spike fumbled his key to the flat out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock. "I'm coming in, okay?" he called and opened the door.

Inside, the flat was deserted.

"False alarm!" shouted Spike with relief, flopping onto the couch after poking his head into every room.

"Exactly," said Lynda, coming through the front door, eyes red and swollen from crying.

"What?" asked Spike, startled by her sudden appearance. In response, Lynda burst into fresh tears.

Spike thought to himself briefly he had never seen Lynda cry so much or as easily as in the last week or so. Must be a pregnant thing.

"Hey, Lynda! It's okay! We're in it together, we'll make it work. We'll have the coolest, funniest, smartest, best-looking kid in the world!"

Lynda sobbed harder. "Didn't you hear me? False alarm. I'm not pregnant."

Spike took a minute to process this information.

"But then – why are you so upset?" he asked gently. "I mean, you didn't really want to be, did you?"

"No! Yes! I don't know," sighed Lynda, wiping her eyes with her hands and sniffing. "After last night, I started thinking, maybe we could make it work. I could have done work from home or taken the baby into the office." She gave a watery smile. "They made my office soundproof, you know, so I could yell at people without disturbing the rest of the staff. Isn't that considerate?" She blew her nose loudly.

"I can see how it would come in handy," said Spike, rubbing her back.

"And I thought, a baby, a tiny little baby who needed me – us – well, it would be kind of nice. You could teach it sports and I could have read to it . . ."

"Lynda," said Spike seriously. "There's no reason why we can't have a baby together one day. At least now we can plan for it, be ready for it. We've got lots of time. Wouldn't you rather do it on your terms?" Lynda shrugged.

"Come on, now, this is me you're talking to. You like to do everything on your own terms!" Lynda smiled and nodded reluctantly.

"So how come you were being sick all the time?" Spike asked. "What's causing that?"

Lynda gave a small laugh. "Gastric ulcer."

"What? How?" Spike asked, worried.

"Stress. Not eating properly. Taking ibuprofen for my headaches on an empty stomach," said Lynda, a little guiltily.

"Lynda!" Spike was flabbergasted. "You have to take care of yourself better! You can't run on empty!"

"I know, I know," sighed Lynda. "I have to take these pills, eat properly, lay off spicy foods and fizzy drinks and reduce my stress levels."

"I'll see to that," muttered Spike, before a brainwave struck.

"You need a holiday!" he said suddenly.

"Spike, I can't take a holiday right now. The first edition . . ."

"Okay, after the first edition. The day after it hits the streets. Face it, Lynda, you haven't been on a holiday the whole time I've known you!"

"I have!" said Lynda indignantly.

"Lynda, you went to Surrey to track down possible links to gang crime in Norbridge. It doesn't count!"

"Well, what are you suggesting? Cornwall? Blackpool? Edinburgh?" Lynda asked.

"Actually," a grin crossed Spike's face. "Something a little more exotic."

"Where?"

"I'm going to take you home. To the States, I mean."

"I can't go to America!" said Lynda, amazed.

"Why not? You have a passport, don't you?"

"Of course I do. But . . . Spike, you can't afford it!"

"Sure I can. I haven't mentioned it but my Dad did leave me some money. A lot of money, actually. And his house in Santa Monica. What do you say, Boss? Want to bully some other poor Americans besides me?"

"I – I don't know what to say!" said Lynda, flustered.

"Say yes!"

She thought briefly. "Yes!"

"Great!" Spike hugged her in delight. "You leave everything up to me. The hardest decision you'll have to make is aisle or window."

"Sounds great," replied Lynda. Spike's face grew serious again.

"Actually, I'm lying. There is one other decision I'm going to ask you to make, Lynda. The thing is . . ." Spike looked uncharacteristically nervous and ran a hand through his hair. "I was going to ask you anyway, no matter what . . ."

"Spike . . ."

"Hang on, Lynda, I want to . . ." He fumbled in his pocket but it was too late. Lynda beat him to the punch.

"Will you marry me?"