‘Of course I will! What do you think I’m going to do? Start snow-boarding? Cross-country skiing?’
‘I’m serious.’
She rose up on tiptoe to touch her lips to his. ‘And so am I,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll be fine. Ring me when you get to London.’
‘Get Aunt Finola to move in if the weather turns bad or if you’re worried. Or go and stay with Aisling and Patrick. When are you seeing the doctor next?’
‘The day after tomorrow. Finn, stop fussing, will you? Just go!’
His mouth lingered on hers until he drew away reluctantly. ‘Better go. Plane to catch.’ He held her one last time. ‘I’ll see you Friday.’
Love you, she thought silently as his car roared away, and she shivered and shut the door.
He rang her from the airport. ‘What’s the weather like?’
She glanced out at the sky. ‘Same.’
‘I’ll ring you just as soon as I get there.’
‘Finn, what’s wrong with you? Why are you so worried?’
‘What’s wrong with me? My wife’s pregnant and I’m leaving the country! Why on earth should I be worried, Catherine?’ he questioned wryly. But he was worried. Uneasy. Did every father-to-be feel like a cat on a hot tin roof at a time like this?
Catherine put the phone down and made herself some tea. She glanced at her watch to see that Finn’s flight would now be airborne. Keep him safe for me, she prayed, while outside the sky grew darker and the first snowflakes began to flutter down.
It snowed all afternoon, becoming whiter and thicker, until the garden looked just like a Christmas card. Catherine had just lit a fire when there was a loud banging on the door, and there stood Aunt Finola, scarcely recognisable beneath hood and scarf, a rain-mac worn over a thick overcoat and countless sweaters!
‘Come in.’ Catherine smiled. ‘What are you doing out on an afternoon like this?’
‘Finn rang me,’ explained Finola, shaking snow off her boots. ‘Told me to drop in and keep my eye on you.’
‘He keeps fussing and fussing!’
‘He’s worried about you. And the baby.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Yes.’ Aunt Finola sat down and held her hands out to the heat before sending Catherine a shrewd look. ‘You’re looking much better these days. Less peaky. More…at peace with yourself,’ she finished.
It was an ironic choice of word. ‘Well, I’m pleased that’s the way I look,’ said Catherine slowly.
‘You mean it’s not the way you feel inside?’
She hesitated. This was Finn’s aunt, after all—and in some ways his mother, too. ‘I’m fine,’ she repeated carefully. ‘Honestly.’
‘Things seem better between you these days,’ observed Aunt Finola carefully. ‘You seem more relaxed these past few weeks. The two of yous seemed terrible tense a lot of the time before that.’
Catherine did some sums in her head, and blushed. Oh, God—was it that obvious? That the moment they had starting having sex their relationship had settled down?
‘You really love my boy, don’t you?’ asked Aunt Finola suddenly.
Catherine met her eyes in surprise. But what was the point in lying to someone who loved him, too? Wouldn’t she then be guilty of false pride? ‘Yes, I love him. Really love him.’
‘So why the long face?’
Catherine shook her head. ‘I can’t talk about it.’
‘Well, maybe you can’t—but I can. I don’t know what went on before Finn brought you here, and I don’t want to know, but I assume that he married you because you were pregnant.’