Thicker Than Soup by Kathryn Joyce Page A

with it.”
    *
    When Diane had left Sally felt more alone than she’d ever felt. “Fool,” she mumbled, “stupid fool.” Scrambled eggs and toast went un-eaten and calls to Seagrams were unanswered. Midnight came and went and at one o’clock she went to bed whispering, “Awful, awful.” Saturday became Easter Sunday and the days seemed pointless.
    She’d taken tea and work papers back to bed when a key rattled the lock at the front door. Papers scattered and from the bottom of the stairs John’s sunken, pink rimmed eyes looked at her.
    â€œHi.” She descended the stairs slowly, hesitantly. He was here. “Tea?” she asked. He seemed to struggle for words. “It’s what people do when they don’t know what to do, isn’t it?”
    *
    His silence was unsettling. She passed a mug and jumped as he caught her wrist and held it despite spilling hot tea that hurt.
    â€œSal…” At last he spoke. He swallowed, and spoke again. “Sally. I’d been looking forward to this Easter more than I can tell you. The restaurant; my dream. But… I’ve been to hell and back.”
    He wiped tea from her hand and tears prickled at the gentleness of his hand brushing hers.
    â€œMy mind’s been taken over. By what was said. And not said. On Friday.”
    His voice crackled and she could hardly bear his suffering. She had to tell him the truth, to release him. “John, please. I…”
    â€œSally, let me finish,” he urged, “or I don’t think I can say what I have to.”
    She held her breath; her heart was breaking. He didn’t deserve to suffer like this; he had cause to go, to leave without guilt. She listened as he said he didn’t want a child; the idea horrified him. But because he loved her – which he did, he said – he would learn to accept their child. Their child; his words pierced like arrows. It wasn’t right to deceive him. She hadn’t simply bought a pair of shoes without telling him, this was fundamental to their lives. But the truth might destroy him and all he was working for. She couldn’t tell him! Diane had been right; she would suffer either way, but in keeping her secret John and the baby needn’t.
    â€œYou’ll have to help me, Sally, to be a father. You will, won’t you? With you, I can do it.”
    She’d longed for him to come home but now she felt all the happiness she’d ever known drain away and leaning forward her forehead rested against his. “Oh my love. I…. I… I don’t know what to say to you. I wish I wasn’t pregnant more than I can tell you.” She wanted to tell him she was scared, and that she wished desperately that it was his baby, that she could have an abortion and not live the rest of her life with the decision, and that she didn’t have to live the rest of her life knowing she’d deceived him. But she couldn’t.
    Throughout the day and into the night they talked. Of their families, their feelings, their futures. About childhoods, parenthood, and changes to be made. They talked of their parents; when they should tell them; how surprised they’d be. And John talked of marriage. He said he wanted to give his family a foundation, and she sidestepped. “Marry in haste,” she stalled. Having hurtled down a path of duplicity, marriage was a deceit too far. Before exhaustion eventually overcame her later that night, and with her back spooned into John’s warmth, she felt the strength of her love and knew it to also be the weakness in their bond.
    *
    When the phone woke them it was John who went to answer it. Minutes later he was back, saying he’d turned down a bank holiday ramble with his mother to spend the day with her.
    The news pleased her. “What time do you need to be at work?”
    Saying he had until six o’clock he lay down again, close so that he touched her side, and