Baby on Board: Secret Baby, Surprise Parents / Her Baby Wish / Keeping Her Baby's Secret

‘He wanted you to share his happiness, Josh.’

‘It was a little more complicated than that.’

‘Your understanding, then,’ she said, when he didn’t elaborate.

‘I understood.’

‘You just didn’t approve.’

‘No.’

‘Why? What was your problem?’ She hadn’t understood it then and didn’t now. ‘He didn’t pressure me. Neither of them did. It was my idea. I wanted to do it.’

For a moment she thought he was going to explain but, after a moment, he shook his head, said, ‘When did you have your hair cut?’

Her hair? Well, maybe that was better than a rerun of a pointless argument. Although, if the general male reaction to her cutting her waist-length hair was anything to go by, maybe this was less a change of subject than a change of argument.

‘About six months ago,’ she said, trying not to sound defensive. Every man she knew seemed to have taken it as a personal affront. She, on the other hand, had found it liberating. ‘When did you grow the beard?’ she retaliated.

‘About six months ago.’

‘Oh, right. It’s one of those clever/dumb things, then.’

He thought about it, then shook his head. ‘No. Sorry. You’re going to have to explain that one.’

‘Whenever someone does something clever, in another part of the world another person does something stupid to balance it out,’ she said, as if everyone knew that. She shook her head and then, unable to help herself, grinned. ‘Sorry. It’s just a ridiculous advert on the television that drove Phoebe…’ She stopped.

‘Say it, Grace. Talking about her, about Michael keeps them with us.’

‘That drove Phoebe nuts,’ she said slowly, testing her sister’s name on her tongue. How it felt. It brought tears to her eyes, she discovered, but not bad tears. Thinking about her sister being driven mad by Michael, them both laughing, was a good memory. She blinked back the tears, smiled. ‘Michael used to tease her with versions he made up.’

‘Like you’re teasing me?’

‘Oh, I’m not teasing, Josh. I’m telling it the way I see it.’

‘Is that right? Well, you’re going to have to live with it. But while I’m not prepared to admit that the beard is dumb, I have to agree that your new style is clever. It suits you, Grace.’

‘Oh…’

She picked up her fork, took a mouthful of casserole. Touching her hair would have been such a giveaway gesture—

‘I really, really hate it,’ he added, ‘but there’s no doubt that it suits you.’

—and much too soon.

‘Pretty much like the beard, then,’ she said. And, since the food hadn’t actually choked her, she took another mouthful.

‘Grow your hair again and I’ll shave it off.’

It was an update of the arguments they’d used to have about the clothes she’d worn. The girls he’d dated. The music she’d listened to.

‘If you hold shares in a razor-blade company, sell them now,’ she advised.

Perhaps recognising that step back to a happier time in their relationship, he looked up, smiled.

And it was as if he’d never been gone.

For a moment they allowed the comfortable silence to continue, but finally Josh shifted, said, ‘Do you want to tell me about the funeral?’

She sketched a shrug. ‘Michael and Phoebe had left instructions…’ She swallowed. ‘How could they do that? They were much too young to be thinking about things like that.’

‘I imagine they did it for one another. So that whoever went first wouldn’t be faced with making decisions. What did they want?’

‘A simple funeral service in the local church, then a woodland burial with just a tree as a marker for their grave. I imagine that was Phoebe’s choice. Your father wasn’t impressed, but there was nothing he or your mother could do.’

‘One more reason for Michael to lay it all out in words of one syllable.’

‘Josh… He was their son,’ she said helplessly.

‘Not in any way that matters. His mother is living in Japan with someone she isn’t married to. His father is in Strasbourg, raising his second family. He hadn’t spoken to either of them in years.’

‘You’re their son, too. Have you spoken to them?’

‘We have nothing to talk about.’

She said nothing. What could she say? That they had both been dealt rubbish hands when it came to parents?

In a clear attempt to change the subject, Josh said, ‘How are you coping with your business? I heard your answerphone message cancelling your classes for the time being and obviously Posie needs full-time care at the moment, but what are you doing about the craft centre workshop? Private commissions?’

‘Beyond asking someone to hang a “closed until further notice” sign on the workshop door?’ she asked. ‘Not much.’

‘Have you actually been out of the house in the last few days? Apart from the funeral?’

She shook her head.

‘Go into Maybridge tomorrow. Pick up your post, at least. You need to keep some semblance of normality in your life.’

‘Normality?’

How on earth did he expect her to think about something as frivolous as jewellery at a time like this?

‘It’s all you can do, Grace. It’s what Michael and Phoebe would want.’

Of course it was. She didn’t need Josh to tell her that. But knowing it and doing it were two entirely different things.

‘I’ll drop you off there when I go into town tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I have to talk to Michael’s lawyers. I spoke to them from the car on the way from the airport. They’re expecting me first thing.’

‘Right. Well, I suppose I should go to the workshop. Process what orders I can fill from stock, send notes to people about anything that’s going to be delayed, give them the chance to cancel.’