The Breakdown(38)

Matthew’s arms come round me. ‘Now can you see why I was so surprised?’ He nuzzles my neck. ‘I can’t believe you’ve ordered me a garden shed for my birthday.’

‘I know you’ve always wanted one,’ I say distractedly.

‘I love you,’ he murmurs in my ear. ‘Thank you, thank you so much, I can’t wait to see it, although you have to feel sorry for the poor guy who realises the shed he’s just received isn’t for him after all.’

‘I don’t understand,’ I mutter, looking at the pram.

‘Did you order the shed online?’

‘Yes.’

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‘Then they’ve got two orders mixed up. We’ve got


someone’s pram and they’ve got our shed. I’ll phone the delivery company and, with a bit of luck, I’ll have the shed by this afternoon.’

‘But I saw this pram in a shop in Castle Wells on Tuesday. There were some other people there, a young couple, and they asked me what I thought of all the different prams, so I looked at them for a bit and said that I thought this one was the best.’

‘So did they order it?’

‘They must have.’

‘Well, that explains it then. It’s got sent here by mistake.’

‘But how did the shop get my address?’

‘I don’t know. What sort of a shop was it? If it was a department store and you bought something there, maybe you gave them your address.’

‘It wasn’t a department store, it was a shop that sold baby clothes.’

‘Baby clothes?’

‘Yes. I bought a sleep-suit for our future baby when I was in Castle Wells the other day. I meant to give it to you but with all the fuss over the alarm I forgot about it. It must still be in the car. I wanted to tell you that we could start looking into having a baby. It seemed like a good idea at the time but I suppose it seems stupid to you now.’

He tightens his arms around me. ‘No, it doesn’t. It’s a lovely thought and you can still give it to me.’





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‘It’s spoilt now,’ I say miserably. ‘Everything’s gone wrong.’

‘It hasn’t,’ he insists. ‘Look, when you bought the baby clothes, are you sure you didn’t give the shop our address?’

‘I filled in a form for a loyalty card,’ I say, remembering. ‘I had to give my name and address.’

‘There we are then, problem solved! Which shop was it?’

‘The Baby Boutique. There must be an invoice or something.’ I peer into the pram. ‘Look, here.’

He reaches for the phone. ‘Give me their number and I’ll call them. And while I’m doing that, you can make a start on breakfast.’

I read the number out to him and go into the kitchen to make some coffee. As I switch on the machine, I hear him explaining that a pram has been delivered to us by mistake and when he goes on to joke that if it’s destined for the young couple who were in the shop at the same time as his wife on Tuesday, I should get a commission for encouraging them to buy it, I can’t help feeling pleased that they took my advice.

‘Let me guess – they said we can keep it anyway, for our future baby.’ I smile, when he comes into the kitchen.

‘So it’s true, then.’ He shakes his head in wonder-ment. ‘I didn’t believe it at first, I thought she must be mistaken.’ He comes over and puts his arms around me.

‘Are you really pregnant, Cass? I mean, it’s wonderful The Breakdown





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if you are but I don’t see how.’ He looks uncertainly at


me. ‘Unless the doctors got it wrong. They told me I couldn’t father children but maybe they were wrong, maybe I can, maybe the problem isn’t with me after all.’

The look on his face makes me hate myself more than I’ve ever hated myself.

‘I’m not pregnant,’ I say quietly.

‘What?’

‘I’m not pregnant.’

‘But the woman I spoke to congratulated me, she remembered you, she remembered you ordering the pram for our baby.’

His disappointment is hard to take. ‘She must have got me mixed up with someone else. I told you, there was a young couple there…’

‘She said you told her you were pregnant.’ He moves away from me. ‘What’s going on, Cass?’

I sit down at the table. ‘I told her the sleep-suit was for me, because it was, and she presumed I was pregnant,’

I say dully. ‘And I went along with it because, at the time, it seemed easier.’

‘And the pram?’

‘I don’t know.’

He can’t hide his frustration. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’

‘I don’t remember!’

‘Well, did you let yourself be persuaded into buying it?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say again.





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He sits down opposite me and takes my hands in his. ‘Look, sweetheart, would it help if you talked to someone?’