Baby On Board

HISTORICAL SHORT STORY BY WENDY JANES

In this story, set in the 1980s, All Robbie could think about was having a child – but would Sasha ever feel the same way?

What on earth was that noise?
It sounded like a series of high-pitched coughs followed by what might have been some sort of animal trying to clear its throat.

It was thoroughly out of place amid the familiar hum of adult voices, the trill of a phone in a neighbouring office and the rhythmic chug of a photocopier churning out page after page.

Robbie returned his focus to the screen and the figures he’d been double-checking for this afternoon’s pitch to potential clients.

Things were shaping up well, and he was very grateful for this state-of-the-art PC the firm had invested in, which had made life in the finance department so much easier.

Who would have thought that a calculator would now seem old-fashioned in comparison with these new computer programmes and other gizmos?

An almighty wailing from the office next door interrupted his musings.

Oh, it was a baby!

How was anyone expected to get any work done with that little critter sobbing its heart out?

Cara, one of the few female account managers, must have come in to show off her new baby.

Funny how new fathers would show a photo or two round the office, but new mothers always felt the need to bring in the real thing and expect everyone to coo over it.

As suddenly as the crying had begun, it stopped.

Someone must have stuck a dummy in its mouth, or a bottle, or something.

Robbie focused on the Lotus spreadsheet in front of him, pleased to see how the whole financial proposal was shaping up.

They were well within the budget they’d estimated, and the design for the rebranding and refit of this chain of jewellery shops was really eye-catching.

Although his professional involvement only involved the money side of things, he liked to take an interest in the creative side, too.

His stomach gave a little growl, and glancing at his watch he realised he was late for his usual elevenses.

When he’d first started at the company in the mid-1970s, one of the secretaries would have done the honours, but ten years on, office life had changed and he had no option but to trundle down to the vending machines situated at the end of the corridor.

He’d taken one step along the carpeted corridor when he saw Cara manoeuvring a bulky pushchair out of the office next door.

They greeted each other and he offered his congratulations.

“Thanks,” Cara said. “He’s a little pickle. Hope he didn’t disturb you just now.”

“Only for a moment. Good set of lungs on him.”

“Yes, it’s amazing how much noise a three-month-old can make.”

Robbie glanced down. A tiny baby gazed up at him with the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, and a voice inside his head whispered,

I want one of those.

Before he could properly register the feelings behind those words, Cara was telling him about an excellent nursery she’d found in preparation for her return to work next month.

“As much as I love this little guy,” she continued, “I’m looking forward to adult conversation and the opportunity to think about something other than nappies and cracked nipples.”

Robbie couldn’t stop a blush springing to his cheeks.

“Sorry, that was far more than you needed to know,” Cara said.

“You see, proof positive I’m in need of some civilised company.”

Despite her words she was unable to disguise the adoration on her face as she looked down at her son.

Robbie accompanied her along the corridor, and they said goodbye at the vending machines as she headed off towards the personnel department.

While pressing the buttons for his coffee and biscuits – black, no sugar and a three-pack of custard creams – Robbie smiled as he remembered Cara’s baby’s innocent face staring up at him.

The image remained with him while he walked back to his office.

Him? Kids? Surely not.

He and Sasha had agreed years ago that they didn’t really see themselves having children.

Not that it had been a definite no.

But with a baby would they still be able to travel, visit restaurants and theatres?

Didn’t babies get in the way of those good things?

Parenthood had certainly turned far too many of their friends into dull table companions, where the only subjects up for discussion revolved around sleep, nappies and wind.

And yet, that little
face . . .

That afternoon the team stormed the presentation to half a dozen representatives from the jewellery company.

He could tell they were keen from the moment the architect heading up the team showed them the designs – sleek displays and counters, striking font for the company name, and a geometric logo, all in vivid blue with a dash of silver.

Robbie’s figures helped to seal the deal.

At the end of the meeting, a verbal yes from the six representatives and strong handshakes all round were as binding as the paperwork that would be sent and signed by close of play the next day.

He was still buzzing on the walk to the station, and the adrenaline rush of a successful pitch was still whirling around his system on the train journey home.

Robbie was eager to tell Sasha the good news, and maybe crack open a bottle to celebrate.

In the carriage, sitting opposite him, a young woman was holding a baby to her chest, gently patting its back.

It looked older than Cara’s son, but whether weeks or months older, he hadn’t a clue.

It was asleep, and the little one’s head was lolling against its mother’s shoulder. Robbie could see  fine dark hair covering its fragile skull.

Again, the voice in his head spoke up: “I want one of those.” Only this time it was louder.

The mother absent-mindedly stroked her baby’s cheek.

What must it be like to hold your own baby in your arms, to feel its soft skin, to protect that precious life?

He shook his head to stop these foolish thoughts.

Turning the key in the lock, Robbie called out he was home.

“I’m in here.” Sasha’s cheery voice reached him from the living-room.

She was curled up on the sofa, reading a paperback.

Her glossy brown hair was falling across her face and she smoothed it away with her free hand as she offered her cheek up for their usual welcome-home kiss.

The lemon smell of her shampoo enveloped him, and he settled himself beside her on the sofa.

He always looked forward to this time when they came back together after their working days apart.

Why would he want to change their perfect life?

“So, how did the presentation go?” Sasha asked, slipping her bookmark into place and resting the book on the arm of the sofa.

“It was perfect. They said yes.”

“Oh, well done.” After asking a few more questions, Sasha launched into the day’s anecdotes from the exclusive fashion boutique where she worked.

Whether it was harmless gossip about her colleagues or something a customer had said or done, Sasha’s expressive face and hands always added an extra sparkle to every tale.

Unbidden came the certainty that their child would be entranced by the fairy stories Sasha would conjure up.

He smiled as he pictured their toddler, dressed in pyjamas, snuggled on to Sasha’s lap listening to a bedtime story.

Suddenly Sasha was on her feet announcing it was time to cook supper, and the soft-focus image vanished.

“Cara Douglas came in with her baby today,” Robbie found himself saying over supper and a bottle of Beaujolais.

Sasha nodded and continued eating her chicken Kiev.

“It was a sweet little thing.”

I bet it’s not so sweet when it’s screaming its head off at three in the morning

Sasha said.

Usually this would have been a cue for the two of them to reiterate how much they didn’t want a child of their own, but today he felt a stab of annoyance at Sasha’s intolerance, and a deeper discomfort which he couldn’t understand.

He toyed with his food while Sasha rambled on.

“I don’t know how I’d cope with the crying, and the night feeds, and the constant demands . . .”

Robbie laid down his knife and fork. His throat and chest were too tight to allow him to eat any more.

And then he realised the cause of his discomfort: he was feeling protective of their baby – a baby that didn’t exist; a baby that might never exist.

Robbie tried to cover his emotions with a nervous laugh and a cough.

“ . . . and how do you know you could love your baby? How can you be sure?” Sasha stared down at her plate.

“But everyone does, don’t they? Isn’t it wired into your DNA to love your child?” Before he could censor himself, Robbie went on.

“Haven’t you ever wondered what a child of ours would look like?”

This time he saw, clear as anything, a child with Sasha’s dark chocolate eyes and his own light brown curly hair.

A child who would have Sasha’s facility with words and his knack with numbers.

“Not really. I mean, what if it had your nose and my ears? Poor love.” Sasha laughed.

“Maybe it would have the best of you and the best of me. Wouldn’t that be something?” Robbie took a sip of wine.

“Better than the worst of us.”

There was a pause which Robbie didn’t feel up to filling.

“You’re not saying you want us to have a baby, are you?” Sasha asked.

He couldn’t tell from her face or her tone whether she was asking him because she wanted a baby herself, or because she didn’t want one.

A split-second decision – it must be the latter.

“No, no. Absolutely not.” The lie gripped his heart and wrung it out like an old cloth. He felt as if he’d betrayed his unborn child.

Downing the last mouthful of wine, he picked up the bottle and filled his glass to the brim.

He waved the bottle towards Sasha, but she put her hand over her glass, whipped their plates from the table and marched into the kitchen.

Robbie slumped in his chair. What had started as a pleasant evening had taken a turn in a very wrong direction.

If Sasha got annoyed just talking about the possibility of having a baby, how would she ever come round to actually agreeing to have one?

During the following weeks, on the way to and from work, Robbie saw sweet, vulnerable babies everywhere.

Cocooned in car seats, carried by their mothers on buses, sitting in pushchairs on trains.

Their huge, innocent eyes stared out at him from adverts on TV or from photographs in newspapers and on the covers of magazines.

Prince Charles and the Princess of Wales announced they were expecting their second child and the newspapers were full of it.

He also came across a term he’d never heard of before – biological clock.

He wondered if Sasha, coming up for her thirtieth birthday soon, had ever listened to hers.

At the age of thirty-five, his was ticking loud and clear.

Too often at work he’d find himself writing down a pros and cons list on his memo pad in the hope he might be able to find a solution.

It worked with business decisions, so the method should also work for personal decisions.

However, although the cons lists turned out to be shorter, the biggest of the cons was that Sasha showed no inclination to be a mother, and that was insurmountable.

Every evening he told himself he should say something, but remained silent.

In fact, he was finding it difficult to think of anything to say that wouldn’t lead to a conversation about babies or children, and so he withdrew into himself.

Sasha seemed as happy and loving and lively as ever.

They weren’t a couple to live in each other’s pockets, and she often went out with work friends and those from her weekly exercise class at the local church hall.

In fact, she was talking about going twice a week to the class, and attending a local college to do a marketing degree – maybe start a new career.

Robbie was acutely aware that a baby would curtail all that.

Would it be fair to ask her to postpone her plans?

Sasha seemed so happy and motivated, and Robbie felt so empty. Each success at work felt hollow. What was the point?

His thirst for business seemed to have dwindled to nothing while his wish to be a father dominated his waking and sleeping hours.

What had happened to make him feel like this?

How could he explain to Sasha this urge to have and to hold their child when he couldn’t explain it to himself?

He knew he was pulling away from her, and that wasn’t fair.

She didn’t even know what he wanted, so how could he blame her or criticise her for not wanting the same thing?

What if he just came out and told Sasha he really wanted to have a baby?

If she said no, then they’d move on with their lives, and he’d have to live with it.

If she said yes, well, just the thought of it made him smile. These baby thoughts were addling his brain.

Was this an early mid-life crisis? No fast cars or affairs for him. Only a deep longing to be a father.

As the whip of winter wind was replaced by bracing spring breezes, Robbie’s obsession continued.

It was coming up for Sasha’s birthday, and he knew he had to tell her how he was feeling, and to ask whether she could ever feel the same way.

He booked their favourite Italian restaurant.

Amid the candlelight, over a bottle of wine, it would be the perfect setting for such a momentous conversation.

The waiter held the door open and kissed Sasha’s hand in greeting.

She looked stunning in a black trouser suit with a shimmering purple blouse.

Her brown hair tumbled over the padded shoulders of her jacket and he could see the eyes of the other diners following her as they walked to their table.

As they sat down, the reality of having to have this conversation in a busy restaurant struck him.

How could sitting in a room full of people be the right time and place?

They ordered their food and Sasha held forth with the latest stories from work.

He laughed in all the right places, and on the surface they seemed to be chatting perfectly normally during their meal, but inside his head he was carrying on a completely different narrative; one which he wanted to share with Sasha.

But he was scared – yes, genuinely scared – about how she might respond.

Once he’d said the words, he wouldn’t be able to unsay them.

There was a pause in their conversation while the waiter topped up their glasses: wine for him, water for her.

Sasha had said she wanted to keep a clear head for an early start tomorrow.

Robbie took a swig of his wine, and even though everything was telling him this wasn’t the right place to be having this conversation, a louder voice was telling him to stop being a coward and tell his wife what was in his heart.

He leaned forward, but before he had a chance to speak, Sasha reached across, took both of his hands in hers and held his gaze.

“Robbie, I’ve been thinking . . .”

She hesitated, casting her eyes towards her dessert plate.

“I never thought I’d say this, but . . .”

Oh, no, she wasn’t about to end it, was she?

His heart thudded as he squeezed her hands tightly.

He’d been a fool to want this beautiful woman and a baby.

Just let me keep her, he thought; I won’t want anything more.

Robbie, I want us to have a baby.

She looked directly at him, her brown eyes wide, almost pleading.

He immediately opened his mouth, intending to assure her that he wanted the same thing.

But his emotions were too big, too complex, to be turned into words.

Sasha rushed on.

“Robbie, I’m sorry, I know a baby wasn’t in our plans, but I . . . I’ve changed my mind.

“I want us to try. I’ve wanted it for quite a while now, but we always said parenthood wasn’t for us, and then that day you got the contract and you said no, well, I have to be honest, I was scared to bring it up again.

“So I’ve been throwing myself into other stuff, thinking maybe it’s a passing thing, but it’s not.”

Discovering that she, too, had experienced all those weeks and months of wanting and hoping and longing, brought tears to his eyes.

“Oh, Robbie, I realise I’ve sprung this on you. You don’t have to say yes or no immediately, but please tell me you’ll think about it?

“Could we . . . ? I know right here . . .” She withdrew her hand from his and placed it over her heart. “This is what I want.”

The rapid beat of her heart mirrored his.

With a smile he took her hand and slowly placed it over his own heart.

She returned his smile and in the stillness between them he finally found his voice:

“It’s what I want, too. Oh Sasha, I’d love for us to have a baby.”

Then he leapt from his seat and she rose, too, and they hugged each other tight.

He didn’t care who saw, or what anyone else in
the restaurant thought about their display of emotion.

Robbie and Sasha clung to each other, their cheeks wet with tears of joy and hope.

Enjoy short stories every week within the pages of ‘The People’s Friend’