Private Investigations

Thirty-Seven

‘There’s no doubt?’ I asked, as I sat beside her on the edge of the bed, staring at the words on the stick that she had handed me.

‘None.’

‘This says it’s certain?’

‘It’s as certain as it gets.’ Sarah snorted. ‘We can do it again if you doubt it. You can even come in and watch me pee. But the result will be exactly the same. I’m pregnant, Bob.’

‘Jesus.’

‘We can call him that if you like,’ she said, ‘as long as he’s a boy.’

To my surprise, I started to giggle. ‘We might have to,’ I chuckled, a little manically. ‘We’ll be running out of boys’ names soon.’

My mild hysteria passed very quickly. ‘Have you thought any more about this?’ I asked.

‘Pretty much all day.’

‘And?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m forty but I’m fit. There’s no physical reason why I can’t deliver a normal healthy child. At my age any consultant will want to do an amniotic fluid test to check against the outside chance of Down’s Syndrome and other foetal abnormalities. As for my work, maternity leave is my statutory right, regardless of my job.’

‘And?’ I repeated.

‘No,’ she said, firmly. ‘You first. How do you feel about another child?’

I drew a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, and all the time I was thinking. I didn’t reply until I was truly certain of what I wanted to say.

‘I’m fifty-three,’ I began, when I was ready, ‘and I’m fit. I have my last police medical, eight months ago, as evidence. I have four children by three different women, plus one who’s adopted . . . Ray Charles had twelve by ten, so I’m nowhere near a record-breaker. My daughter is thirty, and my older son, the one I’ve only just learned about, is about to be twenty. The thought of all that should scramble my brain, but it doesn’t. I love all my children in different ways, but I love them all equally. Love isn’t something you can quantify. It isn’t something of which there is a finite supply in every person. It’s unlimited.’

I took Sarah’s hand and looked her in the eye. ‘If you go ahead and have this baby, I will love him or her as I love all the others, no more no less, in the same special, individual way.’

‘Is that a yes?’ she asked, quietly.

‘It’s a statement of unqualified support for whatever you decide,’ I promised her.

‘In that case, it’s a yes.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’ve been certain since I saw the message on the tester. I’ve been doubting myself all day, trying to pin down how I feel, but when I saw that word in the window, it all went away.’

‘How pregnant are you?’

‘From the date of my last period, five weeks; I’ll be due some time in October.’

‘Around the time Ignacio’s due for release on parole. I’d better call the architect,’ I said. ‘We will definitely need to crack on with that extension.’

‘I’ll sell the Edinburgh house; that’ll pay for it.’

‘I can afford it,’ I protested.

‘We can afford it,’ she corrected me.

‘Can we afford a small wedding reception as well?’

She dug me in the ribs, and looked up at me, sideways. ‘You sure about that?’

‘I have been for a while,’ I confessed. ‘I’ve been meaning to broach the subject.’

She winked at me. ‘In that case, I accept.’

‘Champagne to celebrate?’ I suggested.

‘Not until the bombshell arrives,’ she said. ‘We should let Trish provide that,’ she laughed. ‘This keeps her in certain employment for the foreseeable future.’

In the event we decided to postpone the announcement until the weekend, when Alex had promised to visit. Instead we had a normal family supper, with me wondering whether we’d need a bigger table as well.