Chapter 57 -Gary and Libby

“Do you think he’ll like it?”
“Im sure he’ll love it Gary.” I reassure for the umpteenth time since half past 6 this morning as we sit cross legged in the lounge staring at the box of a childs play car set, complete, of course, with a firenegine with working lights and a siren that i am sure will make us both regret buying such a toy for a three year old very quickly. “You know what hes like though, he’ll be bored within five minutes. Dont be disheartened when he toddles off will you?”  I mumble, hauling myself onto my feet, limbs stiff from pregnancy, yet worsened by being prematurely dragged out of bed to set up Ethans presents. Gary scrambles to his feet quickly to help me, one arm around my waist as if he were assaisting an elderly woman across a busy road. I roll my eyes.

“Im not an invalid you know?”

Im presented with his shy smile, sleep mused and ungelled strands of hair flop over his forehead. “You know i worry.”

“Hmm.” I agree, slipping free from the protective hold and into the hallway to head to the kitchen. “I had noticed. What time are people coming tonight?” Flicking the kettle i run through the mental list of things i need to do in preparation for tonights tea party.

“Six.” Gary pads into the kitchen behind me, instinctively moving to retrieve two mugs from the cupboard. “Ay, I was thinking, you know, and you don’t have to if you don’t want to- i was just thinking that-”

I yawn, pulling two tea bags out of the red polk-a-dot jar on the counter top. “Spit it out.”
“Well, i thought maybe we should start telling people perhaps- about you being pregnant. I mean, youre nearly four months. Have you even told your parents?”

Dropping the tea bags into the mugs just as the kettle gives a final hiss and clicks off, i wince. “No. I didn’t want to.” My tone is more sullen than i had intended, but the heaviness in my chest is too powerful a force to fight against at six fifty two on a Saturday morning. “Not after what happened last time.”
I hear Gary sigh behind me as i turn to reach for the kettle, a long, low, heavy sigh and ive being married to him that long to know that a sigh like that is usually accompanined by four long fingers scratching over the stubble on the opposite cheek. “Libby, thats not going to happen again.”

I shrug, not wanting to dampen the mood, but not particually wanting to lighten it either.

“Libby.” Garys voice sounds again, louder this time, even over the gush of steaming water being poured carelessly over teabags.  And then his left hand is on my waist as his right moves over my shoulder to relieve the kettle from my grasp, then he moves away again, only for a moment though to replace the kettle in its cradle before hes back, hands either side of my waist and spinning me to face him.  Only when hes sure im looking dead into the hazel green morning eyes does he speak again, low and slow and certain. “Thats not going to happen again. You hear me? Please don’t worry, i couldn’t bare to think you were worried. This-” He pulls a hand away from my waist to wave it about in the air, bringing it back down until the tips of his fingertips can caress the swell of my stomach before returning to their previous hold at my side. "It's all going to be ok. Please don't worry. You don't need to worry."

And i don’t know why, stood there, in the kitchen at six fifty three on a Saturday morning with the April breeze licking against the window pane and two mugs of tea brewing away behind me as i stand in the arms of my husband, i voice the unspoken truth I've pushed aside for seventeen weeks and three days. “Ive spent the last four months worried Gary.”

I barely recognise the pathetic mew that leaves my lips in place of my voice, but i watch none the less as Garys face contorts into an unmistakeable mask of pain and anguish.  The frown lines creasing his forehead are deeper now, more apparent and i watch the soft triangle of flesh form amid his marrying brows as he draws them together. And then suddenly im crushed flush against him, trapped in a bone breaking hug as two firm arms cross over my shoulders, holding me so tightly to his chest that i almost cant breathe.

“Dont.” Gary breathes quietly. Its  a simple imperative, yet somehow, when  hushed on a whisper against my ear, it seems to calms me all the more. “Please don’t.” Gary sighs again, carting a hand down to the small of my back and then back up to my shoulders. I manage to wrangle my arms free enough to wind around his waist, holding him to me. And then, at six fifty five on a Saturday morning, standing in my kitchen with the April birds beginning to chirp in the trees outside the window and two steaming mugs of black tea brewing behind me, i am unusually soothed in the most childish way by my husbands warm hug and hushed tones. And not when feel as though any demon has being laid to rest, or any balloon let go of, but when i feel brave enough,  i pull away, gazing up at Gary through sleepy, maternal eyes and smile as best as i can muster at six fifty six on a Saturday morning while the sun begins to peep behind the blossom tree that stands in front of the kitchen window.

“Get the milk? The teas getting cold.”

"Do you like it?" Garys eyes are more alight than Ethan's as the toddler tears into the Thomas the Tank Engine papered box. 

I smile at Garys impatiences as he sits at my feet on the lounge floor, opposite Ethan, legs stretched out in front of him and bare feet crossed at the ankles, but still wearing a cotton blue pyjama top and grey tracksuit bottoms. 

"He hasn't got it open yet, give him a chance!" I run a finger along the side of Garys neck, more to still his childish inpatience than anything else.

He turns then, craning his neck to look back at me and flashing me the full, cheesy, all teeth, no-fucks-given grin as I perch on the edge of the settee, knee against Garys shoulder and my third cup of tea this morning between my hands. Garys attention, however, is diverted when Ethan emits a small grunt of frustration and shuffles on his bum, using his feet to pull him along, closer to the box in front of him. The small boy paws at the box with tiny hands, trying desperately to tear into the package.

"Here you go monster," Gary leans forward, holding the box from the other side to enable Ethan a better purchase on the wrapping paper. "Let me hold it for you."

But Ethan's mouth twists immediately. "No daddy!" The toddler wails almost the second Garys hand touches his present. "No!"

"I'm only going to hold it for you, Ethe!" Gary sounds more defensive than I've ever heard him "I'm not going to open it for you!"

"No daddy! Get o-ff! Is mine! I'm f'ree!" 

I laugh as Gary recoils, hands flying either side of his head in retreat at the reprimanding from the birthday boy. 

"Ethan.." I coo, and even though it's not enough to steal his attention away from the gift wrapped peice in front of him, I continue any way. "Don't be mean, daddy only wants to help. You'll make him sad if you don't let him help you." 

Ethan looks up then, with big green eyes that shine when he looks from me, to Gary, then back at the still wrapped present, small hands clutching two small strips of wrapping paper. Finally, his stubborn disposition resolves.

"You jus' hold." He states clearly, looking Gary square in the eye and pointing, as best he can, with little arms, to the back of the box. "No ripping. I will rip."

Gary nods sullenly then, shuffling forward to help his son open the birthday present he was oh-so desperate for him to have. "Of course, Ethe."

"You're so bossy." I grin at the toddler, but he ignores me, ingrossed once more in the task at hand. 

There is a little more groping to no avail, but soon enough the tell-tale sound of tearing paper rips though the frustrated grunts of the toddler and the flimsy piece of gift wrap folds away revealing to the three year old the colourful box, twice the size off the toddler and displaying the contends of the present in shiny carboard on the side. 

Ethan draws in a long, blatantly copied from adult influence, gasp, one small hand covering his little mouth as his chest balloons. In the split second I have, I sneak a peak at Gary who is regarding Ethan with such joy it nearly makes me burst. 

"Do you like it, Ethe?" He asks quickly, leaning forward now to tear the remainder of the wrapping paper away, screwing it up in a ball and discarding it on the settee next to me. I look back at Ethan, watching his chubby cheeks give way to a down scaled version of the cheesy, all-teeth grin id seen from Gary mere minutes ago. 

"Ye-as!" The toddler scrambels to get a better view of the box, pulling himself onto his feet to scrutinise his present. "It go' fire'gine!" He gasps again.

His happiness is palatable -and infectious- and I'm as good as grinning like a fool when I say; "Is that the one you wanted, mate?"

Ethan nods so quickly I worry, as every mother would, about his neck. "Nee-Naa-Nee-Naa!" He gabbles quickly, running circles around the box on little, unstable legs and nearly tripping over Garys feet. 

"I'll take that as a yes then?" Grinning, I turn to replace my empty mug on top of the side table next to the settee before turning back to Ethan. "Come here gorgeous." I hold out my arms and the toddler bounds over immediately, crushing his face to my neck and strangling me with little arms. I laugh, hauling him up onto my lap and wrapping my arms around his warm, pyjama glad frame. Ethan mumbles something too close to baby talk for me to understand, but the strawberry scent of No Tears shampoo makes me smile into the copper curls. I sigh. 

"Happy Birthday, baby boy."