Golden Luckenbooth

Sixty

Except he doesn't come home the next night.

Having showered and changed into pyjamas after my time in the clinic, I survey the contents of the fridge and larder to create a conciliatory meal that will encourage the conversation we need to have. Piper and I wait patiently for the door to open, for his wide smile as he spots us, for his scratches behind her ears and his kisses on my face and rubs on my belly.

I start to worry when he's 30 minutes late. What if something awful has occurred on the road? It's a long drive between the manor and here. A million different incidents could happen.

Why do you have to go to the worst case scenario right away? I challenge myself to consider other options. What could keep my boyfriend away from me? From his princess?

Maybe he no longer finds me attractive now that my belly button has become an outie. But that sounds nothing like Harry, so I try to name other reasons for his lateness. The only ideas that pop into my head are scary ones, so I download a game on my phone to keep my mind and hands busy. It's not usually part of my regime, so it takes a few tries to get the hang of the popular match three game.

Time ticks by as slowly as a sloth climbing a tree. I'm sure it will help Harry move more quickly if I check my watch more often, so I keep a relentless eye on the minute hand. When he's forty-five minutes later than he's ever been, I yield and call.

"Harry? Are you okay? We expected you home by now."

"Oh, shoot. Time got away from me. We're still working, so maybe it's best if I just stay here tonight?"

He asks it as a question, but it's apparent that he's already decided on his answer.

"I don't mind if you're a little late," I hint, wanting him to come home but unwilling to say the words out loud for fear that he simply refuses or, worse, expresses an opposite feeling.

"It's probably best if I don't drive tonight. We've been working on this since early this morning, and my eyes are a bit dry and blurry now. It wouldn't be safe for me to drive home."

Dammit. He pulls out the one excuse that's sure to give me pause.

"I don't want you to be reckless," I announce. Then I lower my voice, "But I miss you."

Instead of returning the sentiment (and the words), Harry laughs. "You just saw me yesterday. I'll be home tomorrow."

But the next night, just as I'm contemplating whether I'll cook again or order fish and chips for me from Murdoch and a separate uncooked fish to prepare at home for Harry, the man himself texts.

Not going to make it tonight either. Still working.

I simply respond with an "okay" although my heart is squeezing tightly in my chest. Whatever confrontation we're going to have – or not going to have – it won't be over text messages. It will be face to face, toe to toe, eye to eye.

It's just that I've never thought of Harry as a coward. It hurts my heart to consider that he's not willing to even face me with whatever is bothering him.

Dejected, I place my order for one plate of fish and chips. Picking it up at Murdoch's with Shortbread in the truck alongside me, I drive us to a park where the weather is sunny for a change. Putting Shortbread on the lead (which makes her whine), I tie her to the bench of a picnic table. Spying some children playing, she lunges and whines, finally settling with her eyes focused on them as they squeal and laugh. As much as I would love to let her off the lead to go play with them, I've no idea if they even like dogs. Or might be deathly afraid. Or allergic.

As I take a bite of my fish, chewing carefully to ensure there are no bones, I too watch the children play. There are three of them, and they appear to be siblings. Although I could be wrong, they have similar colouring and features so they seem to have some sort of familial connection.