The Yuletide Child

There was a tap on the door at that second. Startled, they stopped talking and looked across the room as Ruth came in, smiling.

‘Oh, good, you are awake! I thought I heard voices.’

What exactly had Ruth heard? They had been shouting at each other, forgetting that there were others in the house. Embarrassed, Dylan flushed, looking away, and couldn’t force herself to reply.

‘I brought you a cup of tea,’ Ruth went on cheerfully, putting the cup down on the bedside table.

‘Oh, thank you. I was dying for some tea!’

‘Are you hungry, too? You haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast-I made a chicken casserole for Henry, with lots of vegetables and some herb dumplings; there’s plenty left—could you manage some of it?’

Dylan managed a wavering smile. ‘I’d love some, thank you—but first I’d like to go to the bathroom. Am I allowed out of bed?’

‘No!’ snapped Ross, bristling. ‘Don’t be ridiculous—you only had the baby eight hours ago. You can’t get up yet.’

Gently, Ruth said, ‘Well, actually, I did ask Henry when you will be allowed out of bed, and he says he leaves it to the patient. If she feels she wants to get up he lets her. Years ago patients were kept in bed for a week or more, but not any more; the new approach is to get the patient moving again as soon as they feel up to it. So, if you want to try a walk to the bathroom, Dylan, it’s okay.’

Dylan slid her legs out from under the covers and stood up a little uncertainly.

Ross jumped to put an arm round her. ‘See? You’re shaking like a jelly! Get back into bed.’

She shook her head obstinately. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s only a few steps!’ She began to walk, feeling as if her legs were made of lead; lifting each foot seemed a tremendous effort, and Ross held on to her, taking some of her weight as she moved. At the bathroom door she pushed him away. ‘I can manage alone now, thanks.’

‘Well, don’t lock the door!’ he said tersely as she shut him out.

With the door closed she let herself slacken, leaning on the wall, aware of wobbly legs. She wasn’t going to faint, was she? That would convince Ross he was right to treat her as if she was too feeble to move an inch.

Could she believe everything he had just said? Had she put two and two together after Suzy’s phone call but got the wrong answer? Had the ‘affair’ been the product of an over-feverish imagination? Had he and Suzy simply been planning Alan’s birthday party?

Going over what Suzy had said again, Dylan realised she could have misunderstood—Ross’s explanation might be true.

The trouble was, she wanted so badly to believe him. A tremor of pleasure, of eagerness, ran through her—did he still love her, then? But if he did how could he have been so cool to her these last months? Had her pregnancy turned him off, or was he telling the truth about the advice his sister had given him?

Dylan looked at herself in the mirror assessingly—now that she had had the baby would his desire for her reawaken? How strange her reflection looked without the large bump in the middle of her body she had grown so used to seeing! She flattened her nightie with one hand, and felt a faint flabbiness under her palm. She must start exercising again, get back her muscle tone, get back the figure she had had when she met Ross.

Everything had happened so fast. They had married too quickly, perhaps; she should have realised how big an adaptation she would have to make, but she had been too much in love at the beginning. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of anything but a driving need to be with Ross.

Refusing to think too deeply, she had given up her career, her friends, her family, her home. Her entire life had changed overnight, and then her body had begun to change as the child inside her grew.

Now that it was over she could admit to herself how hard it had been to adapt to all those abrupt changes. She should have given herself time to get used to a new way of life before she started the baby—but then she had never planned to get pregnant; it had been an accident.

The pregnancy had been the real problem all along, she recognised. A dancer needed to be light, free, supple—and suddenly she had been none of those things, and she had hated that. Ross was right. Her slight build had made her pregnancy difficult. She had suffered appalling morning sickness for weeks and when that had passed off she had been miserable about her changing shape, had resented getting fat and heavy.

She had blamed Ross for it, hadn’t she? Oh, not consciously, but somewhere in her mind he had taken the blame, especially when he’d stopped making love to her and seemed to be avoiding her.

If she had talked to Ross frankly they might have understood each other better, but they hadn’t even known each other a year, and Ross had always been so busy. He had been out in the forest during daylight hours, and sometimes during the night. When they were together they hadn’t done much talking in the first months of their marriage. Their desire for each other had been too hot, too intense; the fire had flared up the instant they were alone together.

When she’d woken up just now and seen him asleep in that chair she had instantly felt her body burn with passion, with need, with desire. Her own feelings hadn’t changed—but had his?

They had to start talking, understand each other at last—there must be no more misunderstandings.

Five minutes later she went back into the bedroom to find Ross alone, standing by the fireplace, putting another log on the fire burning in the grate. The dry wood crackled and a greenish flame shot up the chimney. Hearing her, Ross turned his head without straightening, his thick black hair tumbling over his face.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m fine.’

She had splashed her face with lukewarm water, combed her hair and tied it back from her face. Staring with an awareness that made her pulses beat twice as fast, Ross said huskily, ‘You look the way you did when we first met! It suits you, that hairstyle—shows off your beautiful cheekbones and those great big blue eyes.’