Ill Conceived Plans

Under my skin

THE sounds of the house woke her up. The excited squeals of children reverberating through the beautiful old structure in a way that took her back to her childhood, well her teen-aged years at least; a way that dragged her out of her slumber but left her in a dream state, disorientated and confused.

Her eyes drifted open and in a moment of panic she wondered where she was and how she'd got there, the surroundings totally unfamiliar in the morning haze, still drowsy snuggled in a cocoon of duvet, sheets and the warm body next to her, spooning her protectively.

A warm body?

What the hell?

The haze started to clear, that beautiful feeling of total relaxation started to seep from her body like water through old brick work until she reached a point of total and complete clarity. The activities and events of the past few days hitting her psyche with a tidal-wave of emotions. Stress, anger, sadness, tiredness and sexual frustration, slammed her between the eyes.

"Shit!" she said almost to herself, realising where she was and who she was with. It made sense; she'd fallen asleep in the car, he'd carried her here (she half remembered that) but then where else was she going to sleep in a house full of Hilditch, where else but the one place she really really didn't want to be. The one person she didn't want to see and yet was unlikely to avoid in the sardine-can existence of Christmas with the family. Not her family though, not really, not by blood – well Neville, Ruby and Athena. She shifted uncomfortably, they were her blood, her kin – but not him – no not him. He was...........

She didn't know what he was.

Five months ago he was one her dearest friends and now.............now he was a source of pain and anguish, pain in more ways than one if you counted the one shooting down her legs from sciatica caused by her changing body, her changing centre of gravity.

Now he was the father of the fetus growing inside her and he had her off kilter.

Constantly.

He was under her skin – literally and figuratively.

She had almost convinced herself that they could and should be friends and then she'd seen the scan, their baby, an unmistakable look of him, too long and gangly already. Perhaps if she hadn't seen Bean before the Christmas drinks at the library on Friday night then she wouldn't have turned Greg from Geographical down. She never had before. But she couldn't drink this time, maybe you had to drink to find Greg from Geographical attractive enough to fuck. She'd certainly kissed him but even that felt like a betrayal. She kissed him and the shot of serotonin must have hit Bean, given it a wake up call. That's what had happened, Bean had moved and reminded Sarah of it's existence and she'd decided she couldn't have a stranger poking around in Bean's house.

Yes, that was what had happened.

She wished she hadn't now – she woke up alone and still horny – fucking pregnancy hormones. She woke up alone, horny and to pictures of Dane having a romantic time in Paris with his girlfriend.

She was angry.

With herself mainly.

She knew he had a girlfriend, he was entitled to a life.

She wanted him to have a life.

This was her mantra.

Bean was hers, her responsibility, her life. He hadn't asked her for a baby – well not in recent decades. This wasn't a planned decision but keeping it was – though the decision had been hers and hers alone, she had never asked him. Maybe he didn't want to be a father not to her child. Oh god, she hated this, hated to second guess herself.