The Unexpected Pregnancy

‘Thanks a lot!’

‘You know what I mean, Harry.’

‘I do know. By the way, dearest, he asked why you and I aren’t living together right now.’

He whistled. ‘And what did you say to to that?’

‘I made it clear I disapprove of cohabiting before marriage,’ she said primly.

‘You’re kidding me!’ Tim gave the uproarious laugh that always had Harriet joining in. ‘I do love you, Harry.’

‘I love you, too. Enjoy yourself.’

Harriet put down the phone, unsurprised that Tim had no idea how miserable she felt under all the banter. Their relationship was unique and very special to them both, but secretly it was very different from the one they made it out to be. Usually she had no problem with this, but today she had experienced James Devereux’s touch for the first time. And found it was a dangerously inflammable sensation never experienced before with any man, including Tim. Especially Tim. Yet in the circumstances she had to try and forget it had ever happened. If she could.

Stacy Dyer arrived at nine on the dot the following morning, complete with black eye and a baby boy fast asleep in a pushchair.

‘I had to bring Robert with me today,’ she said anxiously. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Of course I don’t mind!’ Harriet smiled down at the sleeping child. ‘He’s gorgeous, Stacy. Have some coffee before you start. How did you get the shiner?’

Stacy wheeled the pushchair inside and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘His dad did it,’ she said, flushing.

Appalled, Harriet added a dollop of cream to a mug of strong coffee and passed it to Stacy.

‘Thanks.’ The girl stirred sugar into the steaming liquid and sipped it gratefully. ‘Yummy! I love real coffee.’

Harriet gave her a searching look. ‘What happened, Stacy?’

‘Greg came round last night when Mum was out, wanting to see Robert. He’d had a drink, so I wouldn’t let him. We had a bit of a struggle when he tried to get past me and he caught me on the cheek with his elbow. So I told him to get lost.’

‘I’m not surprised!’

‘He didn’t mean to hit me. He’s not like that.’ Stacy sighed, depressed. ‘But I won’t let him come near Robert if he’s had a drink. I had enough of that with my own father. Not that Greg drinks much, he can’t afford it, but he gets frustrated because he can’t get a full-time job, and I won’t get a place with him until he does.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Same age as me. I fell for Robert while Greg and I were still in school.’ Stacy shrugged philosophically. ‘At the moment cleaning is all I can do, but I go to computer classes two evenings a week, so by the time Robert starts nursery school I’ll be able to try for office jobs.’

‘How about Greg? Is he trained for anything?’

‘He’s got a couple of A-levels, but he likes to be outdoors, so he does whatever garden jobs he can get.’

‘It’s not easy for either of you, then,’ said Harriet. ‘Look, Stacy, there’s no need for you to do any cleaning today—’

The girl eyed her in dismay. ‘But I want to. Please! I’m sorry I had to bring Robert, but I couldn’t leave him with Mum in case Greg came back. She’d have given him what for over my eye, and Robert gets terrified when people shout.’

‘Bring Robert any time you like,’ Harriet assured her. ‘But for pity’s sake take it easy. If you feel rough at any point pack it in.’

Robert woke up while his mother was finishing the sitting room. Stacy changed his nappy with swift efficiency, but when she fastened her son back in the buggy the move met with heartbroken protests.

‘Why don’t I take him out in the garden?’ suggested Harriet. ‘Would he like to sit on a blanket for a bit in the sun?’

‘He’d just love it,’ said Stacy, and kissed her son’s wet cheeks as she popped a floppy cotton hat on his fair curls. ‘Thanks, Harriet. I brought some toys for him to play with.’

There was a sticky moment when Stacy left her son with his new playmate, but Robert soon decided that he liked sitting on a rug in the sunshine. His tears dried like magic when Harriet began building a tower with plastic bricks. He scooted nearer, demolished them with chuckles of delight, and made imperious demands for a repeat performance. Harriet obeyed, laughing, time and time again, and felt quite sorry when Stacy came out at last to say she’d finished for the day.

‘We’ve had a great time, Mummy.’ With reluctance Harriet gave Robert to his mother. ‘Are you going home now?’

‘No, I’m due at the vicarage first.’

‘Can you take Robert there with you?’

‘I don’t normally, but I’ll just have to for once. I just hope the vicar isn’t writing his sermon today.’ She gave Harriet an uncertain smile. ‘Would you mind if I gave Robert his lunch here, first?’

‘Of course not. In fact,’ added Harriet on impulse, ‘why not leave him here with me afterwards?’

‘I can’t do that! It’s taking advantage.’

‘No, it’s not. If he gets restless I’ll take him for a walk in his buggy.’

‘If you’re really sure, that would be great,’ said Stacy thankfully. ‘I’ve got my phone, so just ring me if there’s a problem.’

When his young mother left later Robert showed a moment of lip-trembling doubt when she kissed him goodbye, but he cheered up when his new friend took him back into the garden. Harriet built brick towers again for a while, but when the blue eyes began to droop she laid the little boy down on the blanket with his teddy, opened an umbrella to shade him from the sun, then stretched out beside him, content just to watch over the child as he fell asleep.

‘Mum, Mum?’ he sobbed when he woke up, and Harriet picked him up, cuddling him close.

‘She won’t be long, my darling,’ she assured him. ‘How about some juice?’

Blessing efficient Stacy for leaving a beaker of his favourite tipple ready in the kitchen, Harriet took the tearful little boy inside to find it, and cuddled him on her lap, deeply relieved when he stopped crying to drink.

‘What a good boy you are,’ she said fervently, and then sniffed at him in deep dismay. ‘Now this,’ she told him, ‘is where you make allowances for an amateur, Robert Dyer. I’ve never changed a nappy before.’

He gurgled, and clutched a lock of her hair as she bent over him, but made no objection to lying on the changing mat his mother had left ready. Harriet had watched closely when Stacy changed her son, but in actual practice found that, like gardening, the process wasn’t as easy as it looked. Due to much chuckling and wriggling it seemed a very long time before Robert was clean, fragrant and put back together again. Flushed with success, Harriet praised him extravagantly, balanced him inexpertly while she washed her hands, then sat him on her lap and gave him a biscuit.

‘Where’s Stacy?’ demanded a voice from the open doorway.

Harriet jumped up in fright, clutching the child protectively at the sight of a thin, furious youth she’d never seen before.

Robert beamed, and the boy darted forward, arms outstretched.

‘Hand him over!’ he yelled.

Robert burst into tears at the loud noise, and burrowed his face against Harriet’s neck.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded, her arms tightening round the child. ‘What are you doing in my house?’

‘I’m Greg Watts, Robert’s dad. Give him to me!’ He tried to snatch his child, but Robert held onto Harriet, sobbing piteously when he dropped his biscuit.