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“He said so.”
“Okay.”
*
Her heartbeat thumped in the dark. The months passed quickly and Uri was always there, helping her to stand, helping her to sit.
Heartbeat again.
His strong, confident frame appeared to manage her increasingly ungainly frame with little effort, grace even. He was like her own personal pillar, somebody to lean when she was tired, a supporting arm always within reach. Sometimes they would speak, sometimes they would move and act with no need for words to complicate their understanding.
Heartbeat.
The domestics were easy. There was always food in the cupboards, the flat was always tidy, clean. Each night he would bid her good night and leave and she would sleep alone. Sometimes she would lie awake and watch the luminous numbers count out the minutes until her time.
Heartbeat.
Sometimes she would embrace her stomach and think about the other heartbeat growing inside her. “Why me?” She would say, sometimes from despair, sometimes in wonder. “Because.” He would reply.
But also growing inside her was a child of different kind. A dark thing built of suspicion and jealousy. It asked questions which, out of fear of the answers, she strove to ignore: “Where does he go each night?”, “Where does his money come from? Charity work? I don’t think so.”, “Whose bed is he sleeping in tonight?” She never repeated these questions to him, partly out of gratitude, partly because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. The suspicions grew at an alarming rate, however; at a rate she couldn’t control. One morning he knocked and walked in and she faced him.
“Who /are/ you?” she asked, her arms folded across her chest. “I don’t know who you are.”
He levelled his gaze at her. Over the months she had come to realise the effect his eyes could have, their subtle, pacifying weight that reassured and smoothed away concern and quenched curiosity. She fixed her eyes on his shoes and said again:
“Who are you?”
He sighed audibly. “Don’t ask. Please don’t ask. I just want to help you.”
“I want to know.” She insisted.
“The baby is due soon. Stay until he’s born and then you go and…” He trailed off. She dared not look to see what thoughts might be crossing his face. “Then you don’t ever have to see me again.”
“It’s not that!” She snapped. “My God, don’t you understand?” She almost shrieked in frustration stamping her foot instead. “Why won’t you tell me?”
“I cannot.” he said.
“You will not.” She corrected. She sat on the sofa and stared at the coffee table. Leaden moments passed and then he turned and left quietly.
*