‘J’imagine que je te reparle bientôt. Oui, d’accord.’
He hangs up and even I, with limited high school French, can tell he didn’t end the call with a goodbye.
‘More trouble?’
‘You could say that.’ He looks pensive for a beat, his expression clearing just as quickly. ‘About last night,’ he begins, but I cut him off, because this is my cue.
‘I’m sorry. About everything. I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with, and it seems pregnancy has just made a colossal bitch out of me.’
‘I wouldn’t say that’s true.’
‘I would, because you’re right, I haven’t thought about you and your thoughts and your fears. Your worries and concerns. I’ve only though about me. About how I feel.’
‘Have you thought about how you feel about me?’ he asks carefully.
‘You know I like you, and you know I’m scared. But I am going to move in with you.’
His expression lightens, lightens a hundred times, and he reaches for me when I hold up my hands. I’m not warding him off, exactly. But tempering his response.
‘I’m making no promises. I don’t know how it might look or what will happen, or if it’ll even work, but I’m willing to give it a go. For you. And for our baby.’
‘And what about for you?’
‘Well, that’s part of it, too.’ I look down at my hands, not sure what else to say.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re not my dirty secret. And I want you to know, I think you’re pretty special. But I watch my parents hurting each other, and I think about what Cameron did to me, and I don’t see how there can be such a thing as love, because even if it dies, surely it would leave some sort of residual energy.’
‘I—I don’t know what to say.’
‘You can promise me you’ll try never to hurt me.’
‘Miranda—’
‘This is a huge leap of faith for me and I’m not even sure what’s on the other side.’
‘I’ll be there. I’ll be your other side.
‘I need to hear you say it. Say that you’ll try not to hurt me—you need to promise me, James. As the mother of your child, as the woman you want in your bed. Because believe me when I say, you hurt me, and you’ll be hurting our child, too.’
‘I would never do anything to harm either of you.
I don’t stop him this time as he reaches for me.
33
James
‘James!’Out in the garden, Dad straightens, though I notice he’s a little less straight these days, his soldier’s carriage giving way to old age. ‘You didn’t say you were calling today, did you?’ His words tiny puffs of white in the crisp morning air, and though he looks a little confused, I know there’s nothing to worry about there. The man is as sharp as a tack still.
‘Do I need an appointment to catch up with my old man these days?’
‘I might still have been in my pyjamas watching the morning news.’ He’s right. It is a little early to be making unannounced social calls, but after dropping Miranda at her office, I found myself unprepared to start my own workday.
‘But clearly, you’re not wearing pyjamas.’
His aged brown cardigan matches a pair of baggy corduroy gardening pants, his feet in a pair of rubber shoes from the same colour palette. A few more weeks and he’d be able to wear his ensemble as autumnal camouflage.
