Roe looked at me, his smile knowing and his eyes twinkling. “Nothing really. Not much at all.”
Gully
It was day sixteen.
I woke up bolt wide awake, my heart racing as if I had an exam or an interview that was going to change the rest of my life and spent the first few seconds of my day completely disorientated.
Day sixteen meant Iris could take the pregnancy test and we’d find out whether we’d have a baby in a few months time. Today could mark the day when I could start putting a fence up at the bottom of the garden and coming up with a plan to baby proof my house.
Or it was going to be a day that we’d remember for all the wrong reasons.
I knew that even if we had a positive test today it meant that the road had only just started. There were the same sort of statistics for a successful pregnancy than if we’d conceived naturally. This was the biggest hurdle, but not the only one.
I felt sick.
Nervous.
Nauseous.
I threw back the covers and headed out of my bedroom towards Iris’, tapping at the door quietly before I pushed it open.
I’d avoided her bedroom until now.
She’d avoided mine.
It was safer that way, keeping the walls as boundaries, at least for me.
For the last two weeks, I’d watched her knowing she was possibly growing my baby inside of her, hoping that she was.
Unsure of what it would mean.
We’d taken walks along the sea, our feet bare as we walked across the sand. We’d eaten out across the island, fish and chips at the end of Beaumaris Pier, dinner at a posh restaurant in Rhosneigr, a meal at Finn’s, and then there was the time at home, just the two of us, a pile of blankets sent from Ireland on top of us as we read or watched TV or just sat by the fire and talked about everything and nothing.
I’d never spent as much time with one person, never felt the need to hibernate before, but that was how it felt.
I liked it.
I wanted more.
I didn’t like it when Iris went to bed in her own room. I didn’t like not being able to put my arms around her when we were under the blankets on the sofa. I didn’t like not having the right to hold her in the kitchen or touch her when she looked sad or worried.
For my own sanity, I’d stayed out of her bedroom.
I opened the door, feeling like a boy on Christmas morning, only I wasn’t sure what would be under the wrapping.
Iris was snuggled under the covers, her hair sticking out over the pillow. The curtains were pulled back, probably so she could see out over the Menai Strait as soon as she woke up.
I sat down on the mattress, aware I was looking like a complete creeper right now.
Her eyes flickered open. She smiled, stretching under the covers.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
She stirred some more, a smile appearing. “How late have I slept?”
“It’s just after eight.” So not late at all.
She sat up, holding the covers up to her chest.
