Cleo tipped her head back and roared her laughter. ‘Stop! If I laugh too hard, I pee!’
‘You can, you’re in the bath, no one will ever know.’
She pictured giving her mother the news that their daughter was to be her namesake. ‘It’s a sweet idea, but if we named our daughter Winnie, she’d be forever in my mother’s shadow. It might feel like a pressure. She’d be known as “Little Winnie”! Oh my God!’ The thought horrified her. ‘Can you imagine if, aged six, she started putting together over-elaborate cheeseboards, arranging flowers into ornate vases in every room and trying so desperately to be the perfect hostess! Every event would have to be “so much fun!”’ She hoped she’d painted enough of a picture to put him off the idea.
‘Okay, no. Definitely no! Not Little Winnie then,’ he agreed.
‘What about after your grandad, especially if it’s a boy and he’s born on his birthday tomorrow?’ Her enthusiasm for the idea grew. It was staking a claim, it was announcing to her family that Georgie was not just some tag-along she was saddled with, he was her person, the father of her baby.
‘Today,’ he corrected. ‘Tomorrow is now today and it’s his birthday.’
‘Oh! Happy birthday ... What was his name?’ She looked at him quizzically.
‘Welland. Welland Thomas Richardson.’
‘Sweet Jesus, please be a girl!’ she yelled at the ceiling and again they laughed. ‘I mean, can you imagine? “Welland, your tea’s on the table!” “Clean your teeth, Welland!”’
‘I rather like it!’ He played devil’s advocate.
‘I don’t. But I quite like Thomas. Tom, Tommy.’
‘I quite like Thomas. Tom, Tommy.’ He sounded out the names.
Cleo sat forward in the water and smiled at him.
‘I don’t think you have ever looked so beautiful, so serene. A goddess.’
His words were touching. And it was in that second that she felt a surge in her womb, a quickening in her veins and a throb of discomfort that was thrilling and terrifying in equal measure. ‘This is it.’ She spoke softly.
‘Yes, my love.’ He stroked her arm. ‘This is it. We’re having a baby; we are going to be a little family.’
‘No’ – she squeezed his fingers – ‘I mean, this is it. It’s time. Right now. It’s happening. You can take me to the hospital.’
Georgie, who had heard her words, and apparently understood what she was saying, appeared quite unable to move. It was as if he were glued to the spot, while his brain tried desperately to goad his body into action.
‘Georgie?’
‘Yes?’ He stared at his wife who now leaned over the bath, placing her forehead on his and speaking closely and quietly, her tone firm.
‘We’ve got this. We can do anything, me and you. So, I’m going to get out of the bath, dry off, put on my comfies and you are going to drive us to the hospital, just like you practised, okay?’
‘Okay.’ He nodded and very slowly stood, feeling his way as he reached the bathroom door.
‘Have you got the car keys?’ she asked gently.
‘Car keys? Erm ... I think they’re downstairs.’
She smiled at her man who had boasted how he was primed to assist, but in that moment, it appeared his mind had gone a little blank.
‘Don’t be scared, Georgie.’ She whispered as she stood and reached for the large, soft bath sheet that was looped over the radiator.
‘I’m ... not scared ... I’m ...’
‘Petrified?’ she cut in.
He nodded. ‘Yep, that’s more accurate. I’m absolutely bloody petrified!’
CHAPTER TWELVE
