Set Me Free Read Free

the cruel words he’d said to me two months before would just be a memory.
    But a memory that would never fade.
    â€œIt’s his baby. And he loves you,” Anna said. “He will come round. He has to. I have all faith in him,” she added, sounding somehow less convincing. I looked into Anna’s face and I realised she was feeding me a kind lie. She was aware, just like me, that there was a chance Ash would never come round, never accept this baby. We both knew Ash well. We knew the secret side of him – his potential for coldness, for selfishness. For just not loving enough, or not loving at all. Maybe it was the defence mechanism of a child who hadn’t been much loved himself, but whatever Ash’s childhood traumas at the hands of his mother, this baby needed a father.
    I took a sip of my tea, hoping it would stay down. I was now nearly three months gone. The morning sickness had been terrible, but I was too happy to care. I now had a tiny bump, small and tight. There was no way I could still wear my normal clothes any more, so I was wearing soft trousers with an elastic band at the waist and a white empire-line top. I felt beautiful – I kept looking at my profile in the mirror, marvelling at the changes in my body, marvelling at the roundness, the softness of it. My sister became enormous during her pregnancies – no offence to Anna – and I suspected the same would happen to me. Once I told her that if I ever wanted to jump out of a plane I could use her maternity bra as a parachute – she laughed until she got the hiccups. I was looking forward to my bump growing and I wanted to enjoy every minute of it.
    â€œThe three-month scan is next week. He’s trying to wriggle out of it.”
    Anna’s eyes widened. “What? What on earth is his excuse? OK, I understand he’s not over the moon about all this, but it’s his baby! He has to be there!”
    â€œWell, he hasn’t plainly said he doesn’t want to go, not as such . . . but he’s sort of saying he has a lot on, that the next few weeks are going to be very busy, that he’ll try and be there but he’s not sure he’ll manage and blah blah blah . . . which could be true, I suppose.”
    â€œRight.” Anna slammed the cup down on the coffee table so hard that some tea spilled out of it. She wasn’t looking at me. She was trying to hide her anger, but I knew . “So he can’t spare two hours for his pregnant wife. He must be really very busy .” She spat the word.
    â€œHe is very busy. I know that. But I want him there. I need him there.”
    â€œHe must be there!” Anna snapped.
    When she’s angry, my sister sounds like my mum; the hint of an Italian accent comes out and she starts gesturing wildly. The women in my family are very hot-tempered – I seemed to have skipped the temper gene, being quite easy-going most of the time. But when I get angry, I get really angry.
    â€œWhen I see him I’ll give him a piece of mind, I can tell you.”
    â€œPlease don’t. Honestly. Things are complicated enough at the moment.”
    â€œSomeone has to give him a reality check, Margherita! He can’t possibly think that his behaviour is normal! Or justifiable! How long have you been married? Ten years now? This is how he treats his wife of ten years, pregnant with her first baby? The guy needs to take a long, hard look at himself!”
    Ash had clearly gone down in my sister’s estimation. He didn’t even have a name now. He was the guy . Short for the guy who is rejecting his own baby .
    â€œI know. But please don’t go in all guns blazing now. Don’t go in at all, actually. I’ll deal with it myself.”
    â€œHow?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œI don’t recognise you, Margherita. Why aren’t you reading him the riot act? What’s all this . . .