“For once, you might’ve given me decent advice. So no fireworks in the sky?” I grinned, referring to Grayson when he’d proposed to Clover a few years ago.
Roe shrugged. “Maybe not yet.”
Iris
Ilooked at my body in the mirror, facing side on so I could try to see any gentle swell that had started to show in my belly, although it was too early yet. I was seven weeks, according to my calculations and I’d finally stopped doing a pregnancy test every other day, mainly because the slight wave of morning sickness that had started a week ago seemed to be a regular thing now.
At almost exactly seven fifty each morning, my stomach churned and I had to make a dash to the loo, whatever was left in my stomach stinging as it made its way up to hit the back of the bowl as quietly as I could so I didn’t summon Gully.
I knew he wouldn’t act concerned – morning sickness was a good sign, wasn’t it? – and he wouldn’t be horrified by my red eyes afterwards or the slight sheen of sweat that I ended up with on my face, but I didn’t want to force more on him than I already had done.
I’d always known he was a good guy. A bit of a fuckboy when he was younger, but since I’d known him, that hadn’t been a dominant trait. It was no surprise that women pretty much threw themselves at him; he was tall, broad shouldered, darkhaired and dark eyed, with enough of a five o’clock shadow to make him look slightly dangerous, and a hint of an Irish accent when he really wanted to get his way.
I had never been immune.
My sister had phoned me the day she first met him and told me she’d found the man I was going to marry. I’d laughed down the phone at her, because I was twenty something and she was at a crime writers’ convention, full of herself because she’d had a number one bestseller and had been labelled as the future queen of crime. I wasn’t in the market for any man at the time; I was single and young and fresh out of art school, with a camera I barely knew what to do with and the world at my feet because I’d taken a really good shot that was mainly luck and a sliver of talent.
Ivy had loved Gully, but never in the way that would’ve grounded her. He wasn’t a bad enough boy. He was too single and too honest and she preferred her men to be villains that couldn’t be tamed, because if they could then she would have to tame herself.
I looked in the mirror again at my tiniest of bumps, my heart full. Morning sun flittered through the window of the bathroom, a bright yellow glean that caught the dust particles in the air.
I hadn’t been sick yet. It was too early, only just after half past seven. I knew Gully was already awake because he’d been getting up just before dawn to start writing, on a deadline with an ambition to get the next book done before the baby was born. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa last night watching some reality TV competition show, wrapped in the blankets sent from Ireland and Gully’s arms. It had been early but I’d been tired and Gully had been worried, so he’d ended up carrying me to bed and sitting next to me on the mattress reading a book until I’d drifted off.
I’d woken this morning wishing he was still there.
I ran my finger over the bump, memorising the slight curve. Today I was planning on taking a self-portrait, beginning to document the journey my body was going to take over the next few months, if all went well. This would possibly be my only chance to have a baby and be pregnant, and I was grateful for that, grateful to my sister for what she’d given me and grateful to Gully.
I sat down on the side of the bath, my stomach starting to do its usual thing, light-headedness beginning, the colours in the room seeming washy.
I got into position over the toilet and waited, the first wave of nausea coinciding with hands carefully holding back my hair.
I didn’t have the breath to say anything, vomiting hard and fast into the bowl. At least this would be over soon and then I’d feel fine for the rest of the day. Some women had it much worse, so I’d be grateful that it would only last twenty minutes.
“Put this under your knees.” Gully slid a towel across the floor, one of his hands still holding back my hair.
I rearranged myself just before the next wave started, panting afterwards because I’d always had an aversion to being sick. Gully’s free hand rubbed my back, the feeling comforting and warm.
Eventually I sat back, wiping my mouth attractively with the back of my hand.
“Sorry about that.” I didn’t look at him.
“Seriously? You’ve just apologised for being sick?” He stood up, the distance created sending a shiver down my back. “Is this the first time?”
“No,” I wasn’t going to lie. “Every day, at this time, for the last week.” I sat on the edge of the bath again.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He looked hurt.
“You were writing.”
“The words can wait for half an hour. If you didn’t want me in the room, at least let me helicopter around and make you a cup of tea. Isn’t ginger meant to be good for morning sickness? It is morning sickness, isn’t it?” He was frowning, his forehead creased.
I nodded. “Ginger’s meant to be good. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it – you’ve already done so much and I knew you’d do even more.”
“Damn right.” He nodded, the confusion slipping away and leaving him looking just – well – cross.
He folded his arms, biceps popping through his sweater.
I gulped. I felt like I was about to be told off, only part of me was quite happy with this telling off. Any boyband good looks that Gully possessed had been eroded by the irritation etched on his face.
