Where There's Smoke

Kate set down the letter on the breakfast bar. She didn’t realise she was staring into space until the toast popped up, making her jump. Ignoring it, she went to her bag in the hallway and took out her diary. She had been keeping a temperature chart and testing her urine every day to time her menstrual cycle. It was so regular that she didn’t really need to check when she was next due to ovulate, but she did all the same. It was just over two weeks.

Kate went back into the kitchen and absently spread sunflower margarine on the toast. It had gone cold, and the first bite clogged in her mouth. She washed it down with tea and dropped the rest of her breakfast into the bin.

Although she wasn’t supposed to make her appointment for the first treatment until her period had actually started, she couldn’t wait. She called the clinic as soon as she arrived at work. The receptionist, polite, with only the barest trace of Birmingham in her voice, booked her in for a little over a fortnight’s time and told Kate to telephone the day before to confirm. It was curiously undramatic, almost like making a dental appointment. The excitement was there, a taut anticipation, like sitting in a plane as it gathered speed to take off. But the knowledge of what she had to do first overlay any pleasure she felt.

She had continued to see Alex after Christmas, accepting the apology he had made on Boxing Day, a stammered account of over-indulgence and indigestion. She had even managed to convince herself that she had narrowly avoided a stupid mistake. But she had deliberately begun to tail off the number of times they met, preparing herself for the moment she now faced. It didn’t make it any easier.

Kate didn’t phone him until that evening, feeling a sneaking relief that he had asked her not to ring him at work. His phone rang on, monotonously, and she was about to hang up when he answered.

“Yes?” He sounded breathless, as though he had run to get to it.

“It’s Kate, Alex.”

“Oh, hi! I wasn’t expecting you to call tonight.”

She steeled herself against the pleasure in his voice. “I’ve heard from the clinic. Your final blood tests are okay.”

“That’s great! I knew they would be, but... well, you know.” He laughed, happy. “So you can go ahead now?”

“Yes. The thing is...” She shut her eyes. “I don’t think we should see each other any more.”

There was a pause. “Oh.”

“It isn’t anything personal. But we always knew this was going to happen some time, and — and I think now’s the time to do it. It’s only going to complicate things if we don’t, and I don’t think that’ll do either of us any good. Or the baby.”

The words sounded false. “It’s for the best... You can see that, can’t you?”

It was almost a plea. “Uh... yeah, yes, I...” She heard him clear his throat. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m not grateful for what you’ve done,” she said, knowing she was only making things worse, but unable to stop. “I’ll send you a cheque for the rest of the money I owe you, and—”

“No!”

The word was spat out. Kate recoiled from the heat in it.

“No,” he repeated, more calmly. “I told you I didn’t want paying.”

The conversation was over, but Kate couldn’t bring herself to end it. She said the one thing she had determined not to say. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Kate kept the receiver to her ear, waiting for him to say something else or break the connection. But the line remained silent. She hung up.

Her meal lay untouched on the coffee table. The CD had finished playing, but she didn’t get up to put on another. She sat on the settee, her legs curled under her, idly stroking Dougal who was slumped asleep on her lap. She told herself she had no reason to feel miserable. The whole point of what she was doing was because she didn’t want a relationship. Alex had known from the start what the situation was. This would be her pregnancy; her baby. It would be cruel to let their relationship — or non-relationship, she thought, remembering Christmas — go on any longer. With a sigh she slid Dougal onto the cushion and stood up. She picked up the plate of cold pasta and took it into the kitchen. As she was scraping it into the bin, the phone rang. Expecting it to be Lucy, she went to answer it. “Hello?”

“It’s me. Alex.”

The sound of his voice brought a rush of mixed emotions. He went on before she had time to sort them, not giving her a chance to speak.

“Look, I’ve been thinking. You’re right, we should stop seeing each other, but, well, the thing is, I thought it would be nice to meet one last time. Perhaps after you’ve been to the clinic, or something. You know, for a sort of farewell good-luck dinner.”

The words had come out in a rush. Now he stopped. When he spoke again it was more haltingly. “It seems a shame to — to just end it like this. Without, well, without saying goodbye properly.”

His voice held a note of hope. Kate found her mood had lightened.

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “I suppose it does.”