The Missing Husband

‘Bye, Jo,’ he whispered and then, before straightening up, he placed a hand on the duvet over the unseen swell of her stomach and the baby she was carrying. ‘Goodbye, little FB.’

She willed herself to peel back her eyelids and look at the man who was her soul mate, the man she loved with all her heart and for a fraction of a second she thought she might. But she kept her eyes closed, her breathing steady and when at last she allowed herself to speak, David was long gone.

‘I love you,’ she whispered, the words falling into the empty room.

2 (#u8eb7d500-1860-53ed-9e77-063a6ba9f7cf)

By the time Jo was ready to leave for work, the sun had begun its sluggish ascent and grey light bled through the stained glass panels of the front door leaving multicoloured trails across the timbered floor. The only item of furniture in the hallway was a shabby chic dresser and Jo checked her reflection in its large oval mirror. She pulled her ponytail tight at the base of her skull and smoothed the poker-straight fringe that cut a sharp line just above her eyebrows. Her glossy auburn hair shone despite the dim light which was making the rest of her features look distinctly ghoulish and she had to resist the urge to switch the hallway light back on to chase away the shadows.

Adjusting an aquamarine silk scarf around her neck, Jo tried to reassure herself that she looked perfectly presentable. The grey cashmere coat had already seen her through a couple of winters but it was as immaculate as ever and would have seen her through this one – if it still fitted. But at five and a half months pregnant it was now snug around her chest and gaped open at her midriff.

She had once imagined that she would be wearing maternity wear within moments of that sacred blue line appearing on the pregnancy test, but then she had also thought that when she did take the test, David would be looking over her shoulder with eager anticipation. As things turned out, he hadn’t even been there. Jo had taken her time revealing her pregnancy – and when she had told her husband, he had been stunned and angry. She had reluctantly accepted that it would take time for him to come around to the idea, so hadn’t rushed out to buy maternity clothes to flaunt her delicate condition. But every time she thought he had taken a step forward he somehow managed to take two steps back. She placed a hand protectively over her stomach.

‘How are you doing down there, FB?’ she asked softly, using the nickname David had come up with for her bump only recently. It had been a tantalising glimmer of hope that he was ready to accept that they were going to be parents – one that he had snuffed out again last night. ‘I bet you’re glad you didn’t have to go out into the storm this morning, aren’t you?’ she went on. ‘I can’t believe your dad even thought to ask.’

Jo suspected that David still preferred living in denial. That was why it was taking him forever to get around to clearing the second bedroom in preparation for a nursery and why he expected his pregnant wife to get up in the middle of the night to drive him to the station. It was ironic, really, because it had been David who had first devised their family plan.

‘How many children do you want?’ he had asked her.

Jo was lying on a sun lounger at the time, listening to the waves crashing on to the shore of a tiny Grecian island as David rubbed suntan lotion over her body in slow sweeping caresses. ‘Where did that come from?’ she had asked with a laugh that made her perfectly flat stomach wobble beneath his wandering hand.

‘After two years, it’s a bit late for a honeymoon baby but still … that biological clock of yours is ticking away. I can hear it.’

‘That’s probably just my arthritic knees clicking now I’ve reached the advanced age of twenty-six.’

David had continued to rub the lotion into her skin, his fingers moving in sensuous arcs. ‘This has nothing to do with getting old and everything to do with the way you go all gooey-eyed when you see a baby.’

‘And what about you?’

‘Oh, you go gooey-eyed over me too.’ He had waited for the smile on Jo’s face to broaden then said, ‘We were watching you at breakfast. You couldn’t take your eyes off that little boy sitting with his mum at the next table.’

‘We?’

‘There was a little old dear sitting behind us. She collared me later and patted my hand. “Give that woman her babies,” she said.’

Jo had giggled. ‘Are you sure she wasn’t the one who wanted your babies?’ She had paused then as she met his eyes. He was serious. ‘Two. I want two babies, David. A mini me and a mini you, but only when the time’s right.’

David had leaned back and nodded slowly, his fingers hooked under his chin and his thumb resting on the prominent groove in the middle of it while he remained deep in thought. He had then proceeded to explain the plan he was hatching in a way that only a project manager could, with timelines and milestones and of course, deliverables. He had started off by listing all the other goals they had set themselves. There were qualifications to excel at and promotions to secure for both of them. ‘I’d say we’ll be ready in four years’ time,’ he had concluded.

‘Ah, when I reach the big three-oh.’

‘Which still gives us plenty of time to practise.’

David had resumed massaging her sun-kissed skin, and Jo had to put her hand over his before his roaming fingers breached public decency laws. ‘Let’s go back to our room,’ she had said with a contented smile, no doubt in her mind that the future laid out before them had been set in stone.

That long-forgotten smile made a brief appearance as Jo picked up her handbag and slung it over her shoulder, but the pull of material across her chest was tight enough to constrict her breathing and she sighed in frustration as she was reminded how easily David had discarded their plans. She had been the one to pick up the pieces and glue back together the life they had planned, the one she was convinced would make them happy – if only David could remember it was something he had wanted too.

The rain was torrential as she drove the twenty miles to a building site north of Southport for her first meeting of the day. The foul weather had snarled up the traffic and as soon as she realized she was going to be late, Jo telephoned Kelly. She didn’t want her over-eager assistant starting the meeting without her. Kelly was in her early twenties and had worked as Jo’s assistant for three years but while she had acquired an unrivalled knowledge of policy and procedures, she still had a lot to learn.

‘What have I missed?’ Jo panted as she shook the worst of the rain from her umbrella before leaving it propped up next to the Portakabin door. She had to strain her ears to hear Kelly’s reply above the cacophony created by the rain hammering against the metal roof and a radio blasting out from the room next door.

‘Only the offer of a cuppa.’

Kelly was sitting at a table with her notepad at the ready. Even from this distance, Jo knew that the neat script on the open page was a list of the key points for the meeting. The air of professionalism Kelly was trying to project was lost slightly by the mounds of coffee-stained paperwork scattered across the table in front of her, which from recollection had a Formica top.

To say Jo liked order and cleanliness was an understatement and she tried not to notice the mess as she slipped off her coat and pulled self-consciously at her navy blue Jasper Conran dress. It had a bias cut that was meant to be forgiving but not enough to cope with her ever-growing bump.

‘I think I’ve doubled in size overnight,’ she said.

‘That dress must be two sizes too small now,’ Kelly said helpfully as she absentmindedly ran a finger down the row of buttons on her cream satin blouse, which fitted her trim figure perfectly.

‘Thanks, Kelly, you certainly know how to make a girl feel better.’

‘You’re pregnant, for goodness’ sake; you’re allowed to be fat.’

Fortunately, Jo knew Kelly well enough to know that her bluntness wasn’t ill-intended but the comment still stung. ‘Like I said, you know how to make a girl feel better.’

Kelly mumbled an apology and a frown creased her brow as she returned her attention to her notepad while Jo pulled her ponytail tight and tried to flatten her damp fringe, which had surrendered sleekness to frizz thanks to the atrocious weather, unlike Kelly’s short-cropped hair, which had been gelled to within an inch of its life.

As Jo approached the table, Kelly crossed and uncrossed her legs. The hem on one of her trouser legs was unravelling and her colleague’s imperfections should have made Jo feel a little less shambolic, but the mud-spattered flap of material only served to irritate her. Hesitating before she took a seat, Jo glanced towards the door that led to the kitchen. ‘I could do with a coffee right now to warm me up.’

Her words were drowned out by a loud burst of music and laughter as the internal door opened. Jim’s arrival was accompanied by the smell of bacon and toast.

‘I’m already one step ahead,’ he said, holding up three mugs that slopped about as he moved. ‘Coffee, milk, no sugar.’

Jo was only drinking decaf these days but didn’t want to appear rude. Besides, she could do with just a little caffeine to liven her up so she took the proffered cup and wrapped her hands eagerly around it. She tried not to notice the brown staining on the inside of the cup above (and undoubtedly below) the steaming liquid. ‘You’re a mind reader,’ she said.

‘I caught a glimpse of someone running across the yard under a frilly umbrella and guessed it wasn’t one of my lot.’

‘There are women working here too,’ Kelly reminded him evenly.

‘None that need umbrellas on a building site,’ he said, matching her tone. ‘And if you and Jo fancied getting your hands dirty and wanted to go beyond this cosy little office, you’d be kitted out with hard hats and hi-viz jackets too.’

Jo met the foreman’s gaze and gave him a silent apology. Jim was in his late fifties and had worked all over the world for construction companies, big and small. But where Jo recognized his wealth of experience, her assistant was more preoccupied by his occasional lapses in political correctness. Kelly’s years of study had given her strong principles as well as making her something of a bureaucrat. She looked on managers like Jim as dinosaurs and it was a view that Jim wasn’t afraid to reinforce, if only to wind her up.

‘Shall we get started?’ Jo asked.

Kelly’s response was to look at her watch and then over to the internal door where the sounds of muffled music and laughter could still be heard. She opened her mouth to say something but Jim beat her to it.

‘Some of us were here at half six,’ he said. ‘Some of us need a bit of drying off and a hearty breakfast before resuming our labours.’

‘I wasn’t going to say anything.’

‘Then I apologize.’

Jim sat down next to Jo. Rather than find a clear space he balanced his mug on a relatively level pile of paper.

‘Simon Harrison,’ Jo began, as if the uncomfortable exchange hadn’t happened, ‘has been on sick leave since 24 June. He’s been declared fit to return to work next week so we need to decide what adjustments if any can be made.’ She then went on to discuss possible options, and while Kelly chipped in with the occasional suggestions and cited precedents, Jim was more than happy to make it as easy as possible for one of his most experienced bricklayers to resume his duties.