Hello! I really hope you like this new H&T oneshot, I think it’s one of my favourites to have written :) Anyhooo, here it is, oh for this shot, they’re married (just to save confusion!). I apologise of any grammar errors, I’m tired and ill….
“I think I’m going to head home,” I quietly inform Harry.
Conscious of the concentrated faces around me, I try to make as little noise as possible; anything to avoid Zayn throwing a handful of crisps at me again. It was a nightmare picking out the crushed ready salted snack from my hair.
“It’s only half time,” he smiles.
The gesture is warm and dimpled, and on another occasion I would have melted back into the sofa cushions, attempting a wholesome effort to be interested in a group of grown men kick a football around on the grass. I prefer hockey.
“I’m not feeling too good, just want to lie down.”
I reach for my bag by the side of the sofa, doing a quick spot-check on keys and phone. When I raise my head, I still hold Harry’s attention. He refused to take his beanie off upon entering Liam’s flat, mumbling something about “hat-hair”, and how he didn’t want the other boys making fun of him. But now I think he looks a little silly because his ensemble of clothing doesn’t make sense; a winter hat and t-shirt. But with a face like that, he could pull anything off.
“Is it the headaches again?”
The question holds concern and Harry dismissingly waves off the other boys, who are complaining about our conversation interrupting the match. I don’t want to make an issue of it because Harry knows health stuff freaks me out. I’ve been known to neglect sleep in order to stay up and google symptoms, unable to decipher if it’s a common cold or a tropical disease. Harry had resorted to turning the wifi off and then grumpily dragging me back to bed.
I nod.
“I don’t think this is normal, Teddy. We should go to the doctors.”
The suggestion strikes fear into me, enough to have my knuckles turn a bony white as I clutch the strap of my bag. However, Harry’s words are cushioned in safety; “we”, like he never even jested with the idea of me going alone. It was preposterous to think he’d be somewhere else whilst I attended an appointment, and I adored him for that.
“It’s fine.”
I attempt a smile, trying to convince both him and myself that I feel normal. But I suppose “normal” people don’t suffer with pounding headaches on a regular basis.
“I’ll come with you,” he moves to stand.
Maybe that’s his compromise, not forcing the medical diagnosis, but insisting on escorting me home instead.
“No,” I speak, placing my hand on his shoulder. “Stay here, enjoy the rest of the night.”
He looks a little wary, defeated. I don’t like knocking him back, but if I accepted every offer Harry gave , he would be by my side 24/7. Even so, the small pout he subconsciously exhibits reminds me of a child knowing he’s disappointed his parents.
“Honestly, I’m only going to bed anyway, there’s not much point.”
A kiss is pressed to his cheek as he glumly nods in acceptance of my reasoning. He follows me out of the living room as if attached by an invisible string - a thread that I have to unwillingly cut to part from him. I’m helped into my coat and he observes as I wrap an irritating long scarf around my neck.
“You’ll text me when you’re home,” he says, handing me the purple bobble hat.
“Of course.”
I leave him to gesture a, mostly ignored, wave into the room previously departed. The boys mumble a uniform chorus of “goodbyes” and are glued back to the TV screen within seconds.
I’ve never seen Harry look quite so misplaced as I unite with him; rubbing his socked feet together and staring down at his fiddling hands. His legs appear even more spindly than they normally do in tight black jeans; hips to shoulder ratio enough to disband me into a puddle on the floor.
“I can come,” he quietly offers again, but it’s almost as if he knows I’ll decline.
Any other time we would be childishly giggling at his choice of words, but neither of us are feeling that juvenile amusement.
“It’s ok.”
***
I’m shaken awake, firm hands on my shoulders and a pain in my hip. My head is a muddle, squeezing my eyes closed to try and fight the fuzzy feelings. I’m on the floor, but I have no recollection of how I came to be in a heap in the hallway.
The walk home had done nothing for my headache, the biting wind pressing against my temples even after pulling my hat further down.
“Teddy.”
I know it’s Harry, his voice is laced with fear. My body is cautiously rolled, and I find Harry kneeling next to me. His eyes are darting everywhere, desperate not to find a visible wound. I feel awkward, discovering my coat is half-way from being removed, my right arm still trapped within the clothing.
“Does anywhere hurt?”
I register his jittery question, focusing in on the throb of heat my hip emits. I don’t mention my head; it feels unnecessary to state information already in possession.
“My hip.”
Harry lays a careful hand on the area I draw attention to, not wanting to cause any more discomfort.
“I think you bumped it on the way down,” he expresses out loud. “Did you pass out?”
That could explain why I’m only adorning half a coat. At least I had the sense to faint within our flat rather than outside in the street. That thought makes me feel uneasy and I’m suddenly overly thankful to be in Harry’s presence. He would have never have forgiven himself, even if it was no fault of his own.
“I don’t know what happened,” I panic. “Harry.”
In some way, I wish the fainting fall had knocked the pestering aches from my head. I could have endured the resulting disorientation if it meant chasing away my sore temples; something to relieve a bit of tension. But alas, it seems I’m now worse off.
“It’s alright,” he reassures, taking my hand in his. “I’m gunna try and lift you up.”
Harry is vigilant. His hands are aware of touches that would have been naturally performed if I wasn’t in such a state. It’s a gentleness that babies and children are treated with. He’s holding me as if I’m going to shatter in his arms, and I’m clinging to him; fearful of being reacquainted with the floor once again.
“Thank you,” I mouth against his cheek.
“You don’t need to thank me,” he releases.
I’m standing as Harry rids me of the troublesome coat. I feel pathetic.
“I should have come home with you.”
***
He’d only returned to the living room for about ten minutes after I’d left; his body sitting wedged between football fanatical males but his mind was everywhere else. Mainly on me. He’d apologised to the other lads, collecting his possessions and making a mad dash along the road he knew I’d travelled minutes before.
He’d opened our front door and found me.
Harry watches as I brush my teeth, lingering after he’s finished flossing. I know he’s alarmed that I may take an unforeseen fall once again. But this time he wants to be present to catch me. I have to almost wrestle him out of the bathroom so I can pee in peace. If it was up to Harry, he’d be in there with me.
I discover his troubled self, sat at the end of the bed, head in hands. We don’t speak; instead I come to stand in front of him. Without a seconds thought his head rests on my stomach, arms tightening to have me as close as physically possible. An audible sigh from Harry relieves the tension I’ve built up in my rigid muscles.
“We’re going to the doctors, I’ll make an appointment tomorrow.”
There’s not much use in arguing with him, and I don’t have much of a standing in this discussion, mainly because I could hardly stand myself a few minutes ago.
That night Harry was clingier than usual, the fabric of my t-shirt screwed up in his hands, hands that refused to let even a small distance separate our bodies. It’s as though he wants to keep warm, but I know better than that. Fear.
***
Harry’s POV
“I don’t really want to go in,” Teddy admits.
She’s been worried about the doctor’s appointment all morning, unable to finish her toast and accidently knocking over her orange squash. I cleared up the mess as Teddy fluttered around me. I place my hand over hers, big blue eyes magnetising to mine. Her freckles don’t look as distinct today, the usual sprinkling looking slightly dull against her abnormal pale skin.
“I’m a bit frightened.”
It breaks my heart. I’d do anything for her, but this is something out of my reach, unobtainable.
“That’s why we’re here, it’s going to be alright.”
My lips barely connect with her cheek when a nurse appears from the open doorway to our right.
“Teddy Styles.”
I stand with her, smothering her hand with mine and walking to greet lady with blond hair scraped away from her face. We’re led down the hall to a room marked with a metal number three above the frame and everything smells like antiseptic and citrus bleach. The wooden door is pressed open to find a woman dressed smartly. She lowers her glasses as we step in. Her hair is neatly taken back in a plait, and by her name plate I assume she originates from somewhere in Asia.
She ushers us to take a seat opposite her, Teddy practically sitting on my lap.
“It’s…Teddy, isn’t it?” she enquires, scanning the papers.
“Yes.”
“What seems to be the problem?”
Symptoms are explained in detail, something which makes Teddy feel uneasy, fingers still clutching mine. I fiddle with her wedding ring as her voice wavers upon describing the fainting episode we endured last night. The doctor nods, taking notes on a pad of paper. I hate it. Medical staff must be accustomed to diagnosing people, telling them what’s malfunctioned in their body. But everyone is just a number, a small appointed time from their day.
I don’t think she really understand that the most important person in my life is sitting next to me, terrified of her prognosis.
“We’ll just do a quick examination, if that’s alright.”
She smiles as though everything is fine, but it’s not.
“Mr Styles, can I kindly ask you to take a seat in the waiting area?”
I frown and Teddy voices a demand we both feel strongly about.
“I want him with me.”
She hasn’t let go of my hand since we entered, and now it’s almost painfully clutched, any tighter and it’ll be fused to hers permanently.
“I’m sorry,” the doctor shakes her head.
***
2 minutes.
7 minutes.
8 and half minutes.
14.
22.
I spring up out of my uncomfortable chair, chucking the barely read magazine to the pile on the coffee table cluttered with leaflets. I’ve had a glance over some of them while impatiently waiting. Most of them are about healthy eating, one on the Heimlich manoeuvre, something that might come in handy if Teddy nearly chokes on another olive again.
The ticking of the clock above the receptionist’s desk had kept me preoccupied, glancing up from the reading material to see minutes pass.
Teddy’s out. Comparisons could be made to herself and a white sheet, the colour completely gone from her cheeks, even her uncovered arms are a wash of pale. It’s something bad. The doctor is holding her forearm. She smiles as I make haste towards them, stumbling over a chair. The movement catches Teddy’s attention. Her eyes look glassy, it’s as if she’s looking right through me.
“Is everything alright?”
Her mouth is attempting to form words but it appears her brain isn’t co-operating.
“Everything is fine, she just needs to drink a bit more and I’ve prescribed her some tablets to help with the headaches.”
She offers Teddy’s arm for me to take as it seems my wife is incapable of walking of her own accord. I link our hands instead, and it’s a couple of seconds pause before what was an automatic reaction before is performed, squeezing her fingers around mine. Teddy’s cold.
“Thank you.”
The doctor nods her head in acceptance, standing in the doorway of the waiting room as I guide Teddy out of the practise.
“Take care of her.”
***
Four days later.
Her skin is soft under my tentative lips, smelling fresh from the shower and newly applied lotion. My hands squeeze at her hips, still aware of the bruise brandishing her right side. We’re both cuddled into the warmth of covers, cocooning ourselves in the familiarity of our bed.
I sigh in content as my hair is petted before fingers tease at the now deflated quiff. It’s taken as a go ahead to perform the gentle sponging of kisses down her neck and the expanse of her left collarbone. The strap of her vest top of eased down to reveal the uninterrupted curve of her shoulder. More skin for me to affectionately sprinkle with varying bursts of chaste kisses and more suggestive presses of my mouth.
Teddy’s beneath me, her eyes adoring as she visually connects with me in such an intimate manner. The blue of her irises are washed with green, so pretty, and they would be flawless if it wasn’t for the unmistakable spike of sadness tinting the edges. I chose to ignore it, because it hurts too much to recognise the emotion nestled within her the actions and words over the past couple of days. It’s always there; sometimes even preventing me from physically touching her, like she can’t bear for my arms to band her waist or my fingers to tickle her sides.
She hasn’t kissed me in three days. And I feel lost without her.
But now, right now, she’s allowing me to immerse myself with her again. I cup her face in my hand, our lips meet and the wall built between us feels as though it’s crumbling. I’m not desperate for sex; it’s more the intimacy of the act that I crave. It’s a connection that’s been buried under fears and worries that should have passed by now.
“Harry.”
Teddy’s voice is quiet, but I recognise the tone. My mouth commits one last kiss to memory, savouring it before I reluctantly draw back to see her almost frightened eyes.
“I…c-can we not,” she pauses. “I’m on my period.”
It’s almost an after-thought. I don’t want to be a prick and challenge her because I know there’s no box of tampons on the side in the bathroom, and she hasn’t consumed stupid amounts of ice-cream.
“Sorry,” she weakly smiles.
My hands retract from under her top, skimming the soft skin of her stomach that I’d been gently warming with my palms. She tries to disguise the relief that I’m no long touching her naked middle.
“Don’t be silly,” I reply.
I’m wounded that Teddy thinks she has to invent excuses; it’s not my right to demand anything from her, especially sex. If she didn’t want to, then she could have just said.
I roll off and onto my side of the bed, puffing out a sigh as my head hits the pillow. I can’t find it within myself to look at her.
“I love you…so much.”
Her words soften the aching in my heart. I speak my reciprocating response up to the ceiling, collecting the duvet further up my chest.
“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” I question, turning to her.
“Everything’s fine, Harry,” is her immediate reply.
It’s an answer that’s been chipping away at me ever since we got home from the doctor’s surgery. I know it’s a lie, I’m not stupid. I’m the one who held Teddy that first night, she cried when she thought I’d fallen asleep. It was strange, I didn’t want to make my consciousness know, so I cuddled her, pressed my body into hers so she knew she wasn’t alone.
“Ok.”
A small kiss is pressed to my cheek, but it doesn’t feel sincere.
“Good night.”
Teddy’s rolled over and it’s some minutes before I work up the courage to curl into her frame, half expecting her to nudge me away. She doesn’t. My arm drapes her waist, hand settling on her tummy before she takes it in hers and encourages our linked fingers to rest over her chest.
***
“I think I should go home,” I confide in Niall.
He looks at me like I’ve just suggested we rob a bank.
“Why? We’ve only just finished the first round and you’re our secret weapon. We need your expert throwing dart hand.”
My right hand is taken in his and I panic as he raises it to kiss. It’s yanked away before he can do so. I drain the last of my beer before setting the glass on the bar behind me. Liam has just thrown a shocking score of six on his first dart, which means we’re about the worst team in the pub.
“You’ll do fine without me.”
It’s a lie, they’ll crash and burn without me.
“You feeling sick or something, because I told you not to order that prawn sandwich from the bar? I’ve seen them being made.”
His eyebrows raise as he swallows of gulp of beer and peers at me over the glass rim.
“It’s not the sandwich. Teddy’s been a bit funny lately, it feels wrong to leave her on her own.”
Niall shifts on the stool beside me, watching as Louis hurls a dart which bounces off the board and becomes lodged in the wooden flooring. An amused shriek erupts from his mouth before he swivels and gestures for a refill. He smiles at the barmaid as she tops the pint glass up.
“You probably shouldn’t be drinking that much if you’re throwing potentially lethal spikes at such a small target.”
“It improves my aim,” Niall responds with a shrug.
Of course it does.
“So, you having a dry spell?”
“I think the weather is the same for the whole area,” I reply to the odd question.
I receive a shaking head and a patronising eye-roll.
“You’re not getting any…”
He finishes the sentence with a silent mime; index being crudely shoved through a temporary “o” shape he’s made with his thumb and finger on the other hand.
“Piss off,” I admonish, batting away his gesture.
“It’s true then. Mate we’ve all been there. Just gotta hold down the fort ‘til your lady wants the baby maker again.”
I’m punched in the shoulder as if this is some sort of bonding experience. It baffles me how he’s so blasé about everything.
“It’s not just that, she’s being a bit distant. This has never really happened before, so I don’t know what to do. Any attempts to talk to her about it, she just shoots down.”
Niall gives it a pondering moment.
“Maybe she doesn’t know how to handle it either.”
“Maybe,” I consider thoughtfully. “I just wish she’d tell me. Even if it’s something I’ve done or haven’t done. I need to know, otherwise it’s gunna drive me insane.”
I watch as he hops down off the stool, being called up for the next round of darts. He throws a squiffy looking double twenty on the first try and then a disappointing nine and five.
“Perhaps she’s got the painters in?”
I dismiss his suggestion.
“Nah, it’s not that, when she’s on she just eats a lot, cries and carries around a hot water bottle like a kangaroo.”
Niall’s attempting a mental image as I continue.
“She’s never really shouted at me like she does now, snapping at me. Whatever I do is wrong,” now that I’ve begun, I can’t seem to stop the words from escaping. “She’s been going out a lot, I think she’s avoiding me; and that’s quite difficult to do in our tiny flat. She’s been eating all the fucking fruit, there’s never any bananas left for me. I suggested doing something romantic this weekend, but she shot that in the face. I mean, before now we’ve showered together in the evening, and that was so hot,” my mind flickers to steamy scenes. “But it’s like she can’t bear for me to see her naked and I don’t know why. Nothing’s changed as far as I’m concerned. I have no idea what’s going on. We’re married for crying out loud…”
I trail off, unaware of just how flustered I’ve become and apparently half the pub is now clued in on how much non-sex I’m getting, and the dwindling supply in our fruit bowl. Niall draws in closer, laying a hand on my shoulder.
“Mate, you need to go home. Talk to Teddy, you both need to sort this out. Whatever it is, sort it out.”
“You’re right.”
***
I drop my keys into the bowl by the door, slotting the chain across because it’s unlikely we’ll venture out at this time. And anyway, I’ve been drinking, all I want to do is go to bed. But I can’t. My coat is shrugged off before toeing out of my boots.
Cake.
I can smell cake and the aroma baffles me. Teddy hasn’t baked in a long time. It’s nearly half ten on a Saturday night, she’d normally be squashed up against me on the sofa as we watched a recorded episode of Graham Norton.
My feet warily take me on a travelling path to the kitchen, cautious of not frightening her as I’m home earlier than planned. Teddy must have heard the door though, because she turns a little and greets me with a lip-bitten, “hi”.
“Hey,” I smile.
A tipsy giggle is produced as I absorb her face. She frowns at me.
“What?”
Our small kitchen ensures my walk is short, and I’m glad. Any longer and Teddy might have had time to reconsider our proximity and excuse herself from any sort of physical contact.
“You have flour on your face,” I state, brushing my thumb over her cheek.
“Thanks.”
It stuns me that I’m not met with any hostility, or perhaps my judgement has been clouded by that liquid courage shot Niall insisted I had before leaving. My hand lingers, Teddy bashfully stepping back as I bop her nose with my index.
She’s beautiful, as always. Auburn hair taken back in a bun, tendrils escaping in waves upon her shoulders. Her legs are uncovered, and I can’t help but stare as she anxiously rubs her bare feet together.
“So, what’s with all the cake?” I ask, dipping my little finger into batter around the bowl’s edge. “You haven’t baked this much since you broke the news about my X-BOX.”
We’d had scones and fairy cakes coming out of our ears for about a week after Teddy had told me about the accident. Liquids and technology don’t mix, and the result of a spilt drink was the death of my games consol.
“Have you broken something else?” I turn to her. “Must be something big for a banana loaf.”
I try to make a joke, but the efforts go unnoticed. Teddy tends to bake when feeling guilty. Before the X-BOX saga, there was the time when she put the iron through my favourite Rolling Stones t-shirt.
“Whatever it is, we can replace it.”
“It’s not that.”
I wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. She’s wearing an old button-up shirt of mine, something to keep her clothes underneath, batter free. I notice the lower buttons are undone, remembering her calling me a “skinny bastard” and how none of my clothes fitted her hips. Teddy had been playful then; now she looks sad again, guilty.
I move closer, anything to break free of this awful feeling. My fist lightly bumps hers, a prompt to begin a thumb-war. It normally makes her laugh.
Teddy’s POV
I don’t know why, but I don’t have it in me to play games with him, it feels wrong to joke around when I haven’t told him. Our fingers are interlocked (Harry’s doing), but my thumb is stationary as Harry counts down to commence in battle. I’m staring at him, his eyes are focused on our hands. It about breaks my heart when Harry weakly smiles, thumb lightly pressing down upon mine. It feels like the first real physical contact we’ve had all week. He’s desperately tried, but I’ve knocked him down so many times.
“Gottcha,” he whispers in defeat.
I couldn’t say how long we stand there for, his fingers refusing to let mine go. It’s only until the timer for the oven buzzes that I prise myself away, relieved of the interruption. A force of warm air escapes as I retrieve yet more of my guilty baking. Harry’s behind me, watching as I place the tins on the worktop.
“Will you please tell me what’s wrong,” Harry feebly pleas. “I can’t help if I don’t know what the problem is.”
I find the prospect of facing him overwhelming, so instead I choose to make myself busy and start tidying up.
“It’s nothing,” I reply, collecting crumbs in the dish cloth.
“Are you ill?”
His question surprises me and I’m suddenly washed with a fresh wave of guilt. Oh God, I’ve been preoccupied with my own thoughts and worries and hadn’t really taken into consideration what conclusions Harry had come to. He thinks I’m ill. I’ve been a bitch. He’s suffered through this period of time just like I have, but he thought…
“No, no,” I shake my head.
My hands rest on the sink as I attempt to gather my mess of silly doubts and burdens. This has to stop. It’s not as though I can hide this forever.
“Teddy, we don’t have sex anymore, and some days you won’t even kiss me,” he sounds upset, worried. “You’ve been crying. At night when you think I’m asleep, you cry.”
Harry’s voice pitches like the time we watched Bambi. He insisted he wasn’t upset, but when he’d expressed his objection I knew it had got to him. We’d laughed about it later.
“Do you still love me?”
My hand flies up to cover the sob that spurts from my mouth. How could he think that? I’m clutching at him in seconds, ugly sniffles into his shoulder. His arms are ‘round me, so tight it reminds me of the vine-weed that killed off my roses.
“Please don’t ever ask that again. You mean the world to me, of course I still love you, you idiot.”
My voice cracks with emotion. I have to tell him, I can’t do this on my own any more.
“I’m going to have to share you with someone else.”
It’s barely a whisper but he’s heard, pulling away from our embrace.
“Who?”
He’s smothering my hands with his, so strong, so beautiful. How could I ever doubt him?
“We don’t know them yet.”
“Teddy, I don’t understand.”
It’s what I’ve wanted to say all week since returning from the doctors, headaches had been the least of my worries after giving a urine sample. I’ve shouted, tried to keep myself busy and spend as little time as possible around Harry. He’s my weakness, always has been.
“Harry, I’m pregnant.”
His eyes widen to an impossible size, mouth doing an amazing job of impersonating a goldfish. Harry’s head shakes, unruly hair with it. His grasp at reality is failing; I can see it shutting down as a disbelieving hand falls to my middle as if my tummy will answer all his questions. I’d been uncomfortable with him touching my stomach a few day prior, terrified that he’d have some magical ability and be able to tell the secret I’d been hiding.
“Are you alright?” I ask, because he’s been quiet for some time.
“W-What?”
“I’m pregnant.”
I repeat the information so it has a chance of settling in.
“I…how?”
“I’m pretty sure you know how, Harry. You were there,” I lightly joke.
“But we…you’re on the pill, a-and we use condoms.”
It’s inappropriate to giggle, but that’s what I want to do. Harry’s last statement is hushed almost as if we’re in the middle of a family get together, and are trying to keep any indication of us even touching each other a secret.
“I think we were a little careless that night.”
“When?”
“The night we went to see that band you like…The 1975.”
“Oh…”
The realisation on his face is a truthful indicator. He knows. We were drunk, intoxicated, sloshed, trollied. However you phrase it the effects were the same.
“I think I may have forgotten about my pill and we…”
Flashback
My hips almost bounce off the kitchen worktop, Harry giggling against my shoulder. I can feel myself swaying before smashing my mouth to his. His tongue is sloppy, licking past my lips, with teeth grazing my chin seconds later.
“Owww!”
“Sorry,” he breathes into my hair.
I’m feeling tipsy but Harry’s here to break my fall if I decide to forth come to sleep. Whilst I’ve been steadying myself, Harry’s fumbling around in his back pocket. He makes a cute exclamation of joy once his wallet is produced. I can’t help but laugh as he fishes a condom out and does a “Simba pose” with the contraception, drunkenly singing the start to “The Circle of Life”.
“I bet…” I pointedly begin.
“What?” Harry interrupts with a hiccup.
“I bet you can’t make a balloon animal with that condom.”
My speech is slurred but I know he understands, his eyebrows descending in concentration.
“Challenge accepted!”
I can’t recall a recent time when I’ve laughed to hysterical levels. But here I am, possibly about to pass out for lack of air to my lungs as I witness Harry fail at capturing air in the rubber.
“It tastes funny,” he scrunches his nose.
“Welcome to my world.”
Upon accepting defeat, Harry coaxes me over to the kitchen table, his hands are slightly awkward, but the tender sentiments are there.
“Bend over.”
Tender sentiments have staggered out the door.
“Oh, how romantic. This is how I want all of our sexual encounters to start,” I dramatically slur, knocking the small vase over on the table top.
Harry’s palm lightly presses to my lower back, encouraging me to comply so my chest is flat to the wood.
“Shhh, lady.”
He’s giggling again and I can’t help but think it’s the most adorable sound I’ve ever heard.
“I’m not a lady,” I object.
“Noo, you’re my Teddy.”
My dress is haphazardly shoved up, clumsy fingers hooking into my knickers. I shriek when the elastic is none too gently pinged against the skin of my backside.
“Watch it!”
“I am, very nice,” he appreciatively admires, connecting his hand to my arse and making me shriek.
That’s not quite what I meant.
“Have you got it on?” I try to encourage the scene along.
“The balloon animal?”
“The condom,” I deadpan.
“I can’t do it.”
He sounds like a child unable to tie his shoelaces. I shove off of the kitchen table, spinning and catching Harry’s right bicep to steady myself. He hasn’t even dropped his jeans; he’s just ineptly struggling with the belt buckle. I bat his hands away, Harry nuzzling into my neck as he laughs and I sort out the trouser situation.
“I think you’ve got it inside out.”
We both peer down between us, Harry narrowly missing head-butting me. My fingers pinch at the tacky rubber, his statement making me doubt the process of fitting the contraception. One too many G&Ts have dulled my motor skills but I have enough sense to knock Harry’s hand away from fiddling.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” he dismisses. “You don’t need to wear a condom in the kitchen. It’s only for the bedroom.”
“Huh? I don’t think it works like that, Haz.”
My eyebrows have scrunched at his logic; he never really makes much sense once plastered.
“Yeah, you can only make babies in the bedroom.”
By the time I’ve been placed in my previous position, I haven’t a clue whether the condom is on or off. All I’m worried about is where Harry’s fingers seem to be heading.
“Harry! That’s the wrong hol…”
I smack his mischievous antics away from behind me. He’s laughing.
“I’ve got it.”
He makes a vocal effort, something I’m reluctant to hear.
“Are you in?”
“You shouldn’t have to ask,” Harry huffs.
My giggling is sharply choked off as he pulls out and thrusts back in. I feel euphoric, buzzed with alcohol and tingling with pleasure. He’s sloppy with the movements, there’s no rhythm, but I don’t care. It’s not in my interest to pick fault because I would do no better if I was on top.
Harry’s swearing like a sailor as the tips of my fingers hook onto the edge of our small table. My right cheek is pressed to the wood, failing at regulating my breathing.
I have no recollection of how or why, but I’m on the floor and Harry is inelegantly crawling to situate himself between my legs. He’s awkwardly negotiated himself inside me again, prodding several times before pleasurable success. His once styled quiff is now a mess of flicked curls; damp upon his forehead, and were my fingers interlock at the back of his neck. Glassy eyes and dark pink lips. He looks ruined, obscene, undeniably sexy until our foreheads clash and we both groan.
The rocking movement is doing nothing for my current state of drunkenness, Harry squeezing at my clothed breasts and leaving a sloppy trail of kisses down my neck. He stills for a moment. I’m uncertain if he’s just finished or he’s suddenly remembered he’s forgotten to record something on Sky. Either way, it gives me time to decipher the bubbling feeling in my stomach. Pleasure? No.
“Harry, I’m gunna be sick.”
I shove desperately at his chest and he tries his best to clear the way for me to scrabble up from the floor. I make haste as best I can, using doorframes and walls as support, bouncing off them and stumbling over shoes in the hallway. My hand is clasped dramatically over my mouth as I seek the porcelain in our bathroom.
I barely have time to lift the lid before evidence of the alcohol consumed this evening is making itself known and burning my throat upon it’s exit. Harry’s here now, leaning over and awkwardly petting my head.
“You’ll feel better soon,” he says.
My hair is being lifted off my face and shoulders in fingers that overly gentle; Harry being aware of how heavy handed he can be when drunk.
“I’ll hold your hair back.”
“I love you,” I cry before heaving into the toilet bowl once more.
His hand rubs unevenly against my back, drunkenly attempting to comfort me. He’s so lovely. After repeatedly being acquainted with our bathroom loo, I settle into comfort that’s it’s over.
“Are you finished?”
Harry’s face is close to mine, unperturbed that I’ve just thrown up. If I was sober, I would wonder why he wasn’t grossed out. It’s probably the vodka, but I like to think that it’s the unconditional love we hold for each other.
“No, leave me here to die,” I grumble, curling around the base of the toilet.
“You’ll feel better in bed; and I don’t want to fall over you in the night if I need the loo.”
I brush my teeth for longer than strictly necessary to get the taste out of my mouth before joining Harry in our bedroom. I make a sound of protest as he brushes the decoration cushions from our bed. We’d normally place them on the chair in the corner, but Harry’s already under the duvet and I want to go all koala on him.
It’s quiet and dark, an atmosphere to sooth the drumming in my head and the ringing of concert ears.
“You know, if I was a Black Widow spider, I would have killed you by now.”
My legs are curled up into the back of Harry’s. It’s a position we don’t normally forth come to, me being “big spoon”, but Harry likes to be held when he’s had a couple of drinks.
“Huh?”
I squeeze his hip.
“The female eats the male after they’ve had sex.”
“Please don’t eat me,” he murmurs into the pillow. “I’ll miss that David Attenborough programme on Thursday. I really wanted to see it.”
He’s so adorable. I wish I had a miniature version of him so I could carry him around in my pocket and he could tell me his awful knock-knock jokes.
“I’d probably nibble on your ears first because they’re so cute.”
I try to sweep the hair away as gently as I can to reveal his right ear. I’m partly successful, Harry wriggles with discontent, before tolerating my pestering.
“Don’t be mean.”
***
Present time
“I think we conceived our baby on the kitchen table. Or possibly the floor.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Harry’s smiling stupidly at me, his palm upon my stomach. It feels a bit odd in all honesty. I’m carrying a tiny human being around inside me; a human being that’s going to look a bit like Harry and a bit like me.
The doctor’s appointment was when I’d found out, a thorough examination and a surprise baby. I made her check twice. To start with I was in denial, we couldn’t have a baby. Harry and I had lost my sister’s child when her and her husband had gone away for the weekend. We had recovered Eve, but that wasn’t the point. We’d lost a baby, like, misplaced it.
For a while my thought processes were all over the place. All it would take was a small trigger and I’d be immersed in images of future scenes. Harry had been sitting at the kitchen table reading me a news story as I washed up. I’d glanced around to see him following the lines with his index and BAM. He’d have a toddler in his lap, fighting to contain the giggling baby and attempting to read “Billy’s Beatle”. A little boy, all curly hair and dimples, sticky hands and cheeky smile. Or I’d find them asleep sprawled out on the sofa with an episode of Scooby Doo on in the background.
That’s what I wanted. A family.
“Do we know what it is?”
He can’t fight the uncontrollable grin, it’s consuming him. I’m experiencing an odd combination of terror and elation.
“No, not yet, it’s too small, probably looks like a peanut at the moment.”
“A peanut?”
It seems to baffle him, zoning out until I speak again.
“We can get an ultrasound soon though.”
We’ve moved to sit in the chairs occupying the kitchen table. I’m partially grossed out by what act we performed here. It’s uncertain how many times Harry will burst out in laughter at someone else taking a seat around the “sex table”, but I can guarantee it will be at the most inappropriate of moments. And judging by the way he’s taken a scone from said table’s top, it’s clear he’s unconcerned about grossness.
“So we can see the peanut?” Harry asks through a mouth of crumbs.
“Our baby,” I laugh.
Maybe I shouldn’t have used a peanut as a size comparison.
“T-That’s what I meant,” he blushes. “I can’t believe it.”
He’s leaning over the space between us, lips covering mine in an instant, and I’m having déjà vu with the eagerness he exhumes. If I don’t stop him he’ll have me on the table again after comically clearly the space of cake and muffins.
“Harry,” I mumble into his mouth. “Harry.”
My hands press to his shoulders, he’s breathless and grinning like an idiot.
“I don’t think we should celebrate this pregnancy by making another baby.”
He laughs into my neck, and I wonder why I was ever worried about telling him. He’s going to make a great dad, he’ll help with homework, play superheroes (with bed sheet capes to match), take on the role of medic and patch up scraped knees, be an expert at hiding vegetables and sneaking biscuits, always in the audience at the school play, the parent who cheers the loudest; and I’ll be right there with him.
“Is that possible? To get pregnant again?”
“No idea, I have no clue about any of this.”
“We’ll learn together,” he reassures, taking my hand.
It’s my turn to take the part of stupidly grinning.
“I was going to suggest we have a celebratory drink, but you can’t do that either,” he pokes fun.
“No, it’s a shame. I’m going to miss having a Pimms.”
“You can’t do anything fun,” Harry light-heartedly complains.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. We’ve got lots of cake mixture; I could smother your naked body in it and then lick it off.”
He’s up out of his seat in a flash. Harry’s fingers work fervently at the bottom of his jumper, getting tangled before popping out and throwing the clothing to the floor.
“What are we waiting for?”