Chapter 11

‘Do you even believe any of that stuff?’ I asked Jason dubiously as we scooped up our armfuls of groceries in paper bags. I pushed the door open with my hip and immediately scrunched up my face in an attempt to protect myself from the blast of frigid, unforgiving air that hit us.

‘I WANT to believe that stuff,’ Jason said, emphatically, as we reached the car and he opened up the back. ‘That groundhog had better see his shadow in a week. We’re all icicles down this end of the pond. We can’t be having junior coming into a world this cold, now can we?’ He said sweetly, smiling and taking another bag from my arms and loading it in, pausing to give me a brief kiss and pat my bulge affectionately.

‘We can’t help it when he comes,’ I protested. ‘I’m sure babies have been born all the time in places and conditions worse than this, Jason. Besides, he’d be early!’

‘YOU can help when he comes into the world,’ Jason said, in a matter-of-fact tone, closing up the back.

‘Now, you don’t really--’ I began, before I noticed the silly expression on his face. ‘Jason.’ I huffed, crossing my arms under my breasts and trying to ignore how cold I was. ‘You silly goose. We’ve been over that before.’

He ruffled my hat and pretended to steal my nose before affectionately slapping my rump and walking over to the driver’s side. ‘Yup, I know it,’ he said. ‘I always knew it. I’m only yanking your chain.’

‘Goose!’ I accused him again, trying not to smile, but it was a losing battle. I went to my door too and got in the car.

‘Let’s hope March comes in like a lion,’ Jason said cheerfully, putting the keys in the ignition. ‘You know what they say!’

‘It may be April instead,’ I pointed out. ‘The doctor said end of March, beginning of April.’

‘We’ll just cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Jason assured me, reversing carefully. ‘Meanwhile ... you have a little more quality time with the alien under your belt.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed, suddenly surprised to find that the idea of being separated from the tiny person we had created made me sad. ‘About that,’ I said. ‘There’s something I’ve wanted to try. Do we have a headphone splitter?’

I could hear the dishwasher ending its cycle from the living room. We rarely used it, but when we did, the low thrum was unmistakable. I was half lying on the sofa, stroking a hand over my swollen tummy and listening to--currently--Green Day, ‘21 Guns.’ The baby was listening too. We’d found an earphone splitter and plugged in two pairs of headphones. It was a cheesy idea, I guess, but I’d always been curious. The baby had reacted the most to when I’d been listening to The Police, though. It had been hard to tell if the movement inside me indicated happy listening or a way of saying, ‘Change the song!’

Either way, it was an interesting experience. Jason had come to lie with his head in my lap as we sat and was busy doing the weekly crossword. Every so often he’d poke me in the thigh with the eraser of his pencil and ask me about a clue. It was very peaceful.

The song ended and moved on. In shuffle, the iPod landed on Billy Joel’s, ‘She’s Always a Woman to Me.’

In the opening bars of the song, I felt myself getting sad. It had been Mum’s favourite song, and she’d always sung along. The idea of Mum and Dad never seeing their grandbabies...

‘Hey.’ I poked the top of Jason’s head gently. He craned his neck around to look at me.

‘Yeah?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, fiddling with the iPod cable. ‘I was just thinking ... I mean ... well. Maybe ... maybe we should tell Mum and Dad.’

It was the first time we’d spoken about the issue since Christmas. We hadn’t done anything about the phone call, being first too busy and then too nervous about the possible outcomes.