Ch25: Stolen June 29th-July 12th

June 29th

Ian leaves and I’m actually willing him to go. I’m worried I’ll say something that makes him think of babies and he’ll guess. Besides I don’t know for certain, can’t know without a pregnancy test, and there’s no way I can ask Ian to pick me up one of those.

I walk up to the puffin colony and watch Ian as he returns to Mainland. I’m surprised to find most of the puffins have vanished. I can hear noises from the burrows, so the babies are still here. I wonder what’s keeping the parents away. Wally seems to be one of the departed and I’m more sad than I expected that the bird is gone. One of the young emerge from a burrow near me. It’s just like the adult version, just a bit smaller. It hops, skips, then flapping madly, takes to the air.

“Bon voyage,” I say.

July 2nd

There’s a book on birds on the shelves and I sat down and looked up puffins today. All the birds are gone now, only their burrows and a few feathers wafting on the breeze remain. The book tells me that the birds go out to sea once they’ve bred. I won’t see them again. They won’t be back until next spring, and I won’t be here to see their return. This makes me sad, and I wonder aimlessly around the island. Mostly I shadow the rabbits and try to befriend one of them. At least they can’t leave the island.

July 5th

Saturday today. Ian will be back in a week. I’m looking forward to his return, but I think I must be getting used to solitude as being alone isn’t as painful as it was at first. I hold a hand to my tummy and wonder how the little one is getting on in there. I reckon I must be about eight weeks gone. The danger time for losing a baby is twelve weeks, and I’m split emotionally. Part of me still wants to miscarry the baby. Life will simply be easier without that burden. But a growing part of me is getting attached to the idea of a baby. There’s a life inside me. I remember how much I loved Gemma, right from the start when I found out I was pregnant. How Chris jumped around like a madman, so excited to be having a child.

I decide if I make it past the twelve week mark I’ll tell Ian, and not a day before. There’s no point telling him about something that might never happen. Will Ian react like Chris, or will he be angry with me? Fact is it takes two to make a baby, so why do I feel like it’s my fault this has happened?

July 12th

Nine weeks today. No bump to show, but I’ve been sick the last three mornings in a row. Ian’s boat is about halfway to Vanir and I’m trying to work out how to make him go back today. If he stays and I throw up in the morning, then he’ll guess. He’s a smart guy, and there’ll be no fooling him.

I stay up on the hill, watching the boat grow closer until it’s almost to the pier. When he slows the boat, I start walking down. It’s a sunny morning, and I’m in short sleeves and light trousers, my brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. By the time I get to the harbour, Ian has secured the boat and half the supplies are on the pier.

“Hello beautiful.” Ian beams at me, then takes me in his arms for a hug. He pulls back and gives me a lingering kiss.

“Pleased to see me?” I ask.

“Always,” he replies. He fixes me with those ice-blue eyes of his and for a moment I’m unable to move. Ian turns back to the boat and the spell is broken.

I pick up the heaviest bags. When I was pregnant with Gemma, Chris made a big song and dance about not letting me pick up anything remotely heavy. He’d spout off about how pregnant women were supposed to avoid carrying things, and that it increases the risk of miscarriage. Just as I’m wondering if I can manage another bag, Ian grabs the last few. Together we make our way up to the cottage. About halfway there I regret my decision to lug so much shopping. Not because of the baby, but because the plastic handles are digging into my palms, and the muscles in my arms are complaining about the weight.

“So have you got lots of work on?” I’m putting away tins and perishables in larder. Ian is cooking up a protein-laden lunch.

“There’s always lots of work to do.”

“Good to be busy.” I’m setting down the foundations for what I’m going to say later. I need him to leave.

Ian comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my belly. I don’t feel like sex. Must be the pregnancy hormones, and I couldn’t be less turned on. His lips are on the back of my neck, and he gently moves my ponytail to the side to get at my earlobe. I can’t stop myself from stiffening at his touch.

“What’s wrong?” Ian pulls back and I turn around.

“Nothing, why?”

“You’re not being your usual self.”

“Just tired, with the bright nights, it’s hard to sleep sometimes.” I’m lying and hoping he’s convinced.

Ian snorts. “I hate the simmer dim as well. Any sleep I get is pitiful and light.” He grabs me again. “Still, might as well make the best of our time together.”

I don’t want him, and try to push him away. “Sorry, Ian. I’m not in the mood right now.”

A dark look comes into his eyes. Nerves flutter in my stomach, his expression unnerving me.

“Later, let’s eat first.”

He nods, his eyes not leaving mine. For the first time, I’m a little bit scared of Ian.

“Any news from my parents?”

Ian goes back to the stove, turning the bacon. “Not much. Don’s busy with that therapist. They think you need to stay here another few weeks.”

I had expected that, and for the first time, I hear something in his voice, in the way that he tells me the news. I realise that Ian is lying.