Last Orders at the Star and Sixpence Page 18

  Sam blinked. ‘My what?’

  ‘Your cycle,’ Dr Arnold repeated patiently. ‘When was your last period?’

  The question caught Sam by surprise. ‘I don’t actually know,’ she said slowly. ‘They’ve always been a bit erratic. Um . . . let’s see. I didn’t have one in the run-up to Christmas so that’s a good few weeks now – in fact, I don’t remember having one in December at all. So probably November.’

  Dr Arnold nodded. ‘So four to five weeks ago, yes?’

  Unease stirred in the pit of Sam’s stomach. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And is there a chance you might be pregnant?’

  Sam felt the blood drain from her face. It couldn’t be that. ‘No, of course not.’ Her mind started to whirl as she tried to do the maths. ‘I can’t be – I’ve had no morning sickness. My sister started to suffer with that almost right away.’

  ‘All women experience pregnancy differently,’ Dr Arnold said in a matter-of-fact tone. She reached into a drawer. ‘Take this card and pee on it, please. There’s a toilet just outside this room.’

  Sam shook as she locked the toilet door and did as the doctor had instructed. It was obviously just a precaution, she told herself. Her symptoms didn’t fit with pregnancy; she’d had a cold and been a bit run-down, that was all.

  Dr Arnold took one look at the card and gave Sam a small, practised smile. ‘The test is positive. You’re pregnant. You might want to do a home pregnancy test to confirm how many weeks along you are, since you’re not sure when your last period was.’ She paused. ‘And if you’re not sure whether you’d like to keep the baby, I can give you some information about that too.’

  Sam knew she was gaping, but she couldn’t seem to control the muscles in her face. ‘But I can’t be pregnant,’ she managed eventually. ‘My sister just . . . she just lost her baby.’

  The GP’s face clouded with sympathy. ‘I see. That’s a shame. But there’s no reason to think you’ll do the same – as I said, every woman is different.’

  She continued to talk but Sam stopped listening. She was imagining Nessie’s face when she told her the news. Picturing the way her expression would crumple when she found out Sam would be having a baby when she wasn’t. She’d have to tell Joss too; how would he react? Oh god, it was all too much to think about.

  ‘Sam?’ Dr Arnold said. ‘Are you all right? Is there someone I can call?’

  Picking up her bag, Sam got quickly to her feet. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Thank you, Dr Arnold. You’ve given me a lot to think about.’

  Nessie had parked on the opposite side of the road. She gave a cheery wave when she saw Sam, and Sam considered turning around and hiding in the surgery. But she couldn’t do that for the next seven months. Mouth dry, she crossed the road and got into the car.

  ‘All okay?’ Nessie asked. ‘Did they get to the bottom of it?’

  Sam hid her hands in her coat so her sister wouldn’t see them shaking. ‘The doctor thinks I might be a bit anaemic,’ she said, trying to keep her tone level. ‘I have to go for some blood tests.’

  Nessie started the engine and pulled out into the traffic. ‘That’s easily sorted. We’ll stock up on spinach on the way home, maybe pick up a multivitamin.’ She glanced across at Sam and smiled. ‘No big deal.’

  ‘No,’ Sam echoed, looking out of the window and catching a glimpse of her pale, clammy reflection. ‘No big deal.’

  Except that it was, she thought as the car carried her back to the Star and Sixpence. It didn’t get much bigger, in fact. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the cool glass. What the hell was she going to do?

  PART THREE

  Cosy Nights at the Star and Sixpence

  Chapter Twenty

  YOU ARE INVITED TO AN

  EASTER EGGSTRAVAGANZA

  at the Star and Sixpence,

  Little Monkham.

  Easter Egg Hunt, Easter Bonnet Parade,

  Guess the Weight of the Cake

  and much more!

  Easter Sunday

  12 p.m. until 5 p.m.

  The cold was biting, even for the middle of February. Sam wrapped her arms around her body and put her head down as she crossed the hospital car park, wishing she’d thought to wear a hat. She glanced sideways at Ruby Cabernet, who was wearing a hat: an adorable green cloche that set off her loose wave of red hair beautifully. The nursing staff in the maternity wing had seemed a bit star-struck and even the sonographer undertaking Sam’s twelve-week scan had seemed slightly distracted by the impossibly glamorous woman sitting opposite her.

  ‘Not far now,’ Ruby said, slipping her arm through Sam’s and nodding towards a suspiciously dark patch of tarmac. ‘Watch out for that patch of ice.’

  Sam felt her chilled features crack into a half-hearted smile. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said, after a few seconds had ticked by. ‘I’m not sure I could have gone on my own.’

  ‘Of course you could,’ the older woman said, her tone warm but dismissive. ‘You’re stronger than you think. But I’m thrilled you asked me – what an honour, to be one of the first to meet your baby. You know that means I get cuddle priority when he or she is born?’

  Sam’s smile widened in spite of the hollow feeling in her chest. As much as she loved Ruby, she hadn’t been her first choice to come along today. But her sister Nessie had made it clear she wouldn’t be joining Sam – for reasons that were heartbreakingly understandable – and Joss, the baby’s father, had no idea his ex-girlfriend was even pregnant. So it had been Ruby or no one . . .

  ‘You’re going to be his or her grandmother,’ Sam said, squeezing Ruby’s arm with a gloved hand. ‘Of course you get first cuddles.’

  Ruby beamed for a moment, then sighed. ‘I know this has all come as something of a shock, darling, and you’re still reeling, but I promise everything will work out.’ She stopped walking to gaze into Sam’s eyes. ‘You are going to be absolutely fine. Both of you.’

  Sam thought back to the moment she’d heard her baby’s heart beating for the first time and seen its tiny head and arms outlined in white on the grey screen. Just for a moment, she’d forgotten all of the fear and anguish she’d felt since discovering she was pregnant just after New Year’s Day and had felt a storm of love and protectiveness for the baby who’d caught her so utterly by surprise . . . And then the fear had roared back stronger than ever, because what did she know about babies? She had no right to be bringing one into the world when she was so poorly equipped to look after it.

  ‘I wish I could believe that,’ she whispered to Ruby as the icy wind took her words and whistled them away.

  ‘You can,’ Ruby replied, a fierce expression on her face. ‘And I’m going to be beside you every step of the way.’

  Sam stared at her for a moment, wishing she had a fraction of Ruby’s confidence. Then she nodded. ‘Okay, I believe you.’

  ‘Good,’ Ruby said in satisfaction. ‘Now, can we get out of this bloody subarctic weather and back to Little Monkham? I actually think my eyelashes have frozen together.’

  Laughing in spite of herself, Sam reached into her coat pocket for the car keys. ‘Yes. I’m ready to go home.’

  Except that there wasn’t much at home for Sam at the moment, she reflected as she settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine. But maybe if she said it enough, she might actually convince herself it was true.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Spring was taking its time to arrive in Little Monkham. The trees on the village green were stubbornly refusing to do more than hint at bursting out of their winter hibernation. Nessie Chapman glanced up at the green-tipped branches as she crossed the grass and thought they seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for the last frosts to loosen their grip on the chilly March mornings before allowing their buds to unfurl. There had been a dusting of snow on the rooftops that morning, and the sky looked leaden, so maybe the trees were wise to keep their leaves tucked away. In fact, the heavy sky matched Nessie’s mood perfectly: gre
y and dull. But she couldn’t blame her mood on the weather – she’d felt that way for months, since the day she and Owen had been told their unborn baby had no heartbeat. Christmas had helped distract her, with all its accompanying bustle and sparkle, but January had been hard. And it was made all the harder by her sister’s bombshell, two weeks into the new year: Sam was pregnant.

  Nessie still remembered the numbness that had settled over her as Sam had said the words. She hadn’t replied, her brain able to comprehend what Sam was telling her but not managing to process it. Her chest had felt tight; she’d fought for breath as the walls of the small kitchen had seemed to close in on her. And, all the time, her sister had watched her, green eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  ‘Say something, Ness,’ Sam had pleaded, when the silent seconds turned into minutes. ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean for this to happen.’

  And that made it worse, somehow, Nessie had thought dimly as she’d stared into her half-drunk cup of tea; Sam didn’t even want a baby. ‘Then how did it happen?’

  Sam had let out a long shuddering breath. ‘I don’t know. We were drunk – maybe we weren’t as careful as we should have been. You’d think by the age of thirty-one I’d know how to use a condom, but apparently not.’

  And that had forced Nessie to consider that it took two people to make a baby; how did Sam’s ex-boyfriend feel about unexpected parenthood?

  ‘I haven’t told him yet,’ Sam had admitted, when Nessie asked the question.

  ‘Sam!’ Nessie had exclaimed, incredulity making her tone shrill.

  ‘I wanted to tell you first,’ Sam had said, holding her hands up in defence. ‘And I wanted to get things straight in my own head. To decide . . . well, to decide what the best course of action might be.’

  It had taken a moment for Nessie to understand what she was saying. When the meaning behind the words became clear, a shiver had shaken Nessie’s whole body. Surely Sam couldn’t be talking about . . .

  Nessie hadn’t been able to stop the sob that had escaped her then. She’d wanted her baby so desperately, and it hadn’t survived. Now she was having to listen to her own sister talk about voluntarily ending her pregnancy, and it was all too much to bear. She’d shaken her head, sending a torrent of tears cascading down her cheeks.

  Sam had given her a wretched look. ‘I’m sorry, Nessie. I know this must be impossibly hard for you—’

  Nessie had stumbled to her feet, barely noticing that the sudden movement tipped her tea all over the kitchen table. ‘I can’t do this.’

  ‘I’m so—’

  ‘Stop!’ Nessie cried, clamping her hands over her ears. ‘Stop saying you’re sorry. Can’t you see it’s too late for that?’

  Sam had started to cry too, and part of Nessie ached for her, because she could imagine the turmoil her sister was going through. But that tiny spark of compassion had been swept away by the tide of Nessie’s own pain.

  She’d taken a shuddering breath. ‘If you’re going to have an abortion then why tell me at all? Why not just go and do it?’

  Hurt had flashed across Sam’s tear-stained face. ‘Because I – I can’t imagine anything worse than having to go through that on my own, in secret. Because you’re my sister and I thought you might want to know, in spite of what happened to you. Because—’

  Nessie couldn’t bear to hear any more. Turning her back, she’d walked to the door on legs that felt as though they were made of wood. ‘How could you let this happen, Sam? How could you be so stupid?’

  She was at the top of the stairs that led to the bar before she heard her sister’s reply.

  ‘I’m keeping the baby. In case you care.’

  Nessie had frozen, one hand on the banister, and closed her eyes as a deluge of fresh anguish washed over her. There was no good outcome here; whatever Sam chose to do, it would feel like a knife to her heart. And right then, all Nessie had wanted to do was get away, to pretend it wasn’t true. Opening her eyes, she’d trudged down the stairs and into the Star and Sixpence.

  Even now, almost two months later, Nessie found it hard to believe there was a new life growing inside Sam. She looked the same as she always did – slim and beautiful, without much of a bump or a hint of the morning sickness that had wiped Nessie out. It was easy to wonder whether there had been some terrible mix-up. Except that she knew Sam had been for a scan – maybe even lain on the same bed she had when she’d learned her baby had gone – and everything had been fine. Unsurprisingly, Sam hadn’t asked Nessie to accompany her; she’d taken Ruby Cabernet, their late father’s girlfriend. Nessie only knew it had happened because Ruby had thought she ought to know.

  ‘I don’t expect you to fall over yourself to congratulate Sam, but I imagine it’s been weighing on your mind,’ Ruby had said, her voice gentle but her eyes sharp. ‘And perhaps now you can both begin to accept that it’s real.’

  But acceptance was easier said than done, Nessie thought as she juggled the parcel in her hands to reach for the post office door handle. It didn’t help that no one else in Little Monkham knew; Sam had sworn both Nessie and Ruby to utter secrecy, claiming she wanted to get the scan out of the way first. And then she’d said Joss had a right to know before it became common knowledge, which meant a trip to Chester to see him – a trip Sam didn’t seem in a hurry to make. She’d have to make it soon, Nessie decided, meeting the eagle-eyed gaze of the village postmistress, Franny Fitzsimmons. If she didn’t, someone else was certain to put two and two together and break the news to Joss first.

  ‘Good morning, Vanessa,’ Franny said, frowning from behind the cash register. ‘You look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. I do hope everything is all right.’

  ‘Fine,’ Nessie said, hoping Franny wouldn’t notice her fractional hesitation. ‘Just the usual work stress. Laurie is away on holiday this week – I don’t think we realised how much responsibility he’s taken on over the last few months. We’re missing him – or at least I am.’

  She stopped, worried her gabbling would set off Franny’s unerring instinct for intrigue, but the older woman simply nodded.

  ‘Yes, he’s certainly made himself useful. Now, what can I help you with today?’ Franny gestured to the post office window at the back of the shop and Nessie made her way past the shelves lined with jars and packets.

  It was the only grocery store in the village and enjoyed all the supply-and-demand benefits to be had from cornering the market. Sam and Nessie had speculated more than once whether other shops had tried to move in, without success; Franny was also Chairwoman of the Village Preservation Society and ran things with an iron fist. Nessie was fairly sure any competing business would meet with a firm refusal if they dared enquire about opening a shop. It also meant that almost every person in Little Monkham found themselves under Franny’s gimlet gaze at some point, a situation Nessie had no doubt helped the postmistress poke her nose into everyone else’s business.

  ‘How’s Henry?’ she asked as Franny weighed the parcel. ‘Is married life agreeing with him?’

  Franny gave her a serene smile. ‘I don’t think he’d dare say if it wasn’t. But we are both very happy. Never been happier, in fact.’

  She certainly looked contented, Nessie decided. Softer, somehow, as though she’d let go of some inner bitterness at life since their gorgeous winter wedding just before Christmas. Maybe that was why Franny had taken Nessie’s explanation of her own tension at face value; maybe she was so pleased with her own lot that she couldn’t fathom why the rest of the world wasn’t happy too.

  ‘I’m very glad to hear that,’ Nessie said. ‘Good for you.’

  ‘I thoroughly recommend marriage,’ Franny replied, smoothing a label on Nessie’s parcel. She peered over her wire-framed glasses. ‘Isn’t it about time your Owen got down on one knee?’

  A few months ago the thought would have filled Nessie with delight, but now she summoned up a careful smile. ‘We’re not in any rush.’

  ‘But yo
u should be!’ Franny declared. ‘Carpe diem. Seize the day – who knows what will happen tomorrow? And if Owen is slow on the uptake, which wouldn’t be entirely out of character, then take matters into your own hands.’

  Nessie stared at her; she would never have guessed traditionally minded, strait-laced Franny would be so – well – feminist when it came to who proposed to whom.

  ‘And there’s no need to look so shocked,’ Franny went on, her gaze softening. ‘I want you to be happy, Vanessa. Heaven knows it’s been a tough time for you and Owen, but I’ve never seen a couple more in love – and you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.’

  She had dreamed about marrying Owen, Nessie was forced to admit, although not lately. The miscarriage had hit them hard, sending shockwaves through their relationship that had taken perseverance and courage to recover from. For a time, Owen had been so distant that Nessie had convinced herself he blamed her and while she no longer doubted his love, things weren’t yet back to the way they’d been before. The undeniable stress of a wedding was the last thing either of them needed.

  ‘Maybe next year,’ she told Franny, trying to sound cheerful about it. ‘Besides, how could we follow your wedding? People are still talking about it four months on.’

  The older woman smiled. ‘It was a wonderful day, wasn’t it? Henry looked so handsome as I walked down the aisle that I thought I must be dreaming. And yet there he is every morning when I wake up. I’m a lucky woman.’

  Nessie couldn’t help smiling. ‘And he’s a lucky man. You’re an inspiration.’

  Anyone else might have waved the praise away, but Franny accepted it graciously, as though it was nothing more than she’d expected to hear. ‘I have high hopes for you and Owen Rhys,’ she said. ‘And if you happen to need a matron of honour – well, you know where to find me. I’m sure Samantha wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t either,’ Nessie said, hoping her face was as neutral as her tone. ‘Thanks for doing the parcel. See you later, Franny.’