‘You know how I worry. You are resting, aren’t you?’
Aisha would immediately stop whatever she was doing and sit down. ‘Yes, I’m resting,’ she said.
If Aisha wasn’t in when Mark phoned, if she had gone to the shops or simply for a short walk, Mark would leave a message on the landline answerphone, stating the time he’d called, and that he would call back in ten minutes, then he would ring her mobile. She found she didn’t need her mobile so much now she wasn’t at work so she didn’t always have it with her charged and switched on. But if it was with her and Mark phoned he would ask her where she was, how far she’d walked, and when she was returning home. ‘Please be careful, Aisha,’ he said. ‘I beg you, for all our sakes.’
After a few months, when she was twenty weeks pregnant and her belly had started to grow and she could feel the new life stir within her, Aisha began curtailing her outings to stop Mark from worrying and imagining the worst. It also silenced her conscience for she couldn’t bear the thought of doing something he disapproved of, even though she was past the danger period for miscarrying. So she started going to the local grocery store in the High Street instead of the supermarket in the town, and began limiting her visits to her parents to one afternoon every third week, instead of a whole day every week. Eventually, she abandoned her little country walks altogether – Aisha never knew when Mark was going to phone, with his work commitments he couldn’t say, she only knew that he would. ‘Just grabbed the opportunity,’ he would say. And often that was all he did say; the contact call to reassure him that she was safely at home.
Mark’s care and concern knew no bounds and were well beyond what even Aisha had expected. He was a glowing example of the New Man, she thought, the father-to-be who wanted to be involved in every stage of the pregnancy. He bought books on all aspects of pregnancy and parenthood. Aisha knew her body inside out and so too did Mark, in fact probably better than her obstetrician, she mused. He bought diet supplements, which she took as well as the daily multivitamin complex, and the iron tablet prescribed by the hospital. He visited the health shop during his lunch break and found a specially formulated gel which was guaranteed to stop stretch marks. The label said it contained a secret ingredient – an extract from a plant found only in a remote part of the Amazon. The leaflet inside said that the plant was harvested by a local tribe and its location was kept a closely guarded secret. Aisha gasped when she saw what Mark had paid for it: £29.99 for a tiny pot, and he had bought three!
‘You’re worth it,’ Mark said when she expressed her concern. ‘Some women worry their husbands will no longer find them attractive when they get big. But you needn’t fear that with me. You are more beautiful than ever. Like my very own fertility goddess.’ Aisha wasn’t sure if this made her feel better or worse, but she knew it was well meant.
Mark smoothed the gel onto her swollen stomach every night when they were in bed. Slow, circular movements that covered every inch of her taut, dry skin, from just below her swollen breasts, over her bump and down to her pubic line. Round and round for fifteen minutes or more. She felt like a beached whale glistening in the moonlight. And towards the end of the pregnancy, when she was so tired that she longed only for sleep, Mark insisted in the nicest possible way that he cream her stomach. ‘It’s you I’m thinking of, my little love,’ he said. ‘You’ll thank me later. When you’re back to normal.’
After Mark had finished massaging in the gel, he snuggled into the small of her back and with his hands around her stomach they would drift off to sleep. He liked to put his hands on her bump and feel the baby slowly move, or the muscles of her stomach suddenly contract as the baby kicked or sometimes
Aisha would immediately stop whatever she was doing and sit down. ‘Yes, I’m resting,’ she said.
If Aisha wasn’t in when Mark phoned, if she had gone to the shops or simply for a short walk, Mark would leave a message on the landline answerphone, stating the time he’d called, and that he would call back in ten minutes, then he would ring her mobile. She found she didn’t need her mobile so much now she wasn’t at work so she didn’t always have it with her charged and switched on. But if it was with her and Mark phoned he would ask her where she was, how far she’d walked, and when she was returning home. ‘Please be careful, Aisha,’ he said. ‘I beg you, for all our sakes.’
After a few months, when she was twenty weeks pregnant and her belly had started to grow and she could feel the new life stir within her, Aisha began curtailing her outings to stop Mark from worrying and imagining the worst. It also silenced her conscience for she couldn’t bear the thought of doing something he disapproved of, even though she was past the danger period for miscarrying. So she started going to the local grocery store in the High Street instead of the supermarket in the town, and began limiting her visits to her parents to one afternoon every third week, instead of a whole day every week. Eventually, she abandoned her little country walks altogether – Aisha never knew when Mark was going to phone, with his work commitments he couldn’t say, she only knew that he would. ‘Just grabbed the opportunity,’ he would say. And often that was all he did say; the contact call to reassure him that she was safely at home.
Mark’s care and concern knew no bounds and were well beyond what even Aisha had expected. He was a glowing example of the New Man, she thought, the father-to-be who wanted to be involved in every stage of the pregnancy. He bought books on all aspects of pregnancy and parenthood. Aisha knew her body inside out and so too did Mark, in fact probably better than her obstetrician, she mused. He bought diet supplements, which she took as well as the daily multivitamin complex, and the iron tablet prescribed by the hospital. He visited the health shop during his lunch break and found a specially formulated gel which was guaranteed to stop stretch marks. The label said it contained a secret ingredient – an extract from a plant found only in a remote part of the Amazon. The leaflet inside said that the plant was harvested by a local tribe and its location was kept a closely guarded secret. Aisha gasped when she saw what Mark had paid for it: £29.99 for a tiny pot, and he had bought three!
‘You’re worth it,’ Mark said when she expressed her concern. ‘Some women worry their husbands will no longer find them attractive when they get big. But you needn’t fear that with me. You are more beautiful than ever. Like my very own fertility goddess.’ Aisha wasn’t sure if this made her feel better or worse, but she knew it was well meant.
Mark smoothed the gel onto her swollen stomach every night when they were in bed. Slow, circular movements that covered every inch of her taut, dry skin, from just below her swollen breasts, over her bump and down to her pubic line. Round and round for fifteen minutes or more. She felt like a beached whale glistening in the moonlight. And towards the end of the pregnancy, when she was so tired that she longed only for sleep, Mark insisted in the nicest possible way that he cream her stomach. ‘It’s you I’m thinking of, my little love,’ he said. ‘You’ll thank me later. When you’re back to normal.’
After Mark had finished massaging in the gel, he snuggled into the small of her back and with his hands around her stomach they would drift off to sleep. He liked to put his hands on her bump and feel the baby slowly move, or the muscles of her stomach suddenly contract as the baby kicked or sometimes
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