Read Online A Baby on Her Christmas List by Louisa George - Free Book Online
Authors: Louisa George
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did. ‘No, Georgie, you can’t see a thing. I will not wait. I will stay here and make sure you’re okay.’
‘Go do your patient review. You’re not the boss of me.’
‘How old are you?’ He’d spent ten years getting to know that no one could ever be the boss of Georgie. He could hardly leave her and go back to ball-bearing-in-nostril kid when she was like this. ‘You infuriating woman
—
’
But he stopped arguing as she slammed the door open and crouched down while he held her hair back in a thick makeshift ponytail. Her body shook. He held her steady.
This was his fault. He’d allowed this to happen. He’d facilitated this. He ran his hands across her back, felt the knobbly bones of her spine through her loose-fitting T-shirt. Jeans hanging off her hips. She was definitely thinner. This pregnancy was taking a toll on her and she was so damned proud she would never think of mentioning it. She needed a good meal. To be looked after. Someone to take care of her while she grew her baby, instead of believing she could do it all on her own. ‘Does this happen a lot?’
‘Enough.’ She rocked back on her heels and wiped her mouth with toilet tissue.
Putting his hands under her arms, he hauled her up, made sure she was steady on her feet, watched her wash her hands and splash her face, wincing as cold water hit her eye. ‘You’re losing weight.’
She looked at him in the bathroom mirror, dried her hands and threw the paper towel in the bin. Peered at her eye in the glass. The swelling had worsened. Her one good eye pierced him. ‘So are you.’
‘South Sudan can do that to a guy.’
‘Don’t tell me you gave half your food away again?’
‘I can survive. They don’t have enough. I had plenty even with half-rations.’
‘So how was it?’
‘Messy. Murky. Complicated.’ Like the rest of his life. ‘But I’m back here and I want to know about you. How long have you been vomiting and how many times?’
‘Simmer down. A few times a day. Counting wasn’t helping. Let’s just say, too much. It’s perfectly normal. It’s supposed to go once I hit the second trimester, so it’ll be gone any day now. I’m fine.’
Fine? She was a mess. ‘And in between the vomiting you’re working full time and then taking out your frustration on your house walls? When do you rest?’
She threw him a smile that stopped way short of her dark eyes. ‘Well, you know what they say about giving a job to a busy person. That’s me! I like being busy.’
‘No, you don’t, Georgie. You like getting drunk in grungy bars playing loud eighties rock anthems, you like blobbing on the couch and watching reruns of your favourite soaps until you can say the dialogue better than the actors, you like strawberry ice cream, but not berry swirl. You like doing nothing at all if you can help it. You do not like to be busy.’
Uh-oh. Hip-planting was occurring. Both hands fisted. Bad sign. ‘Well, you can add doing renovations when pregnant to that list. Go figure, you learn something new about people every day.’
‘You know what they say about people like you?’
‘No.’ She turned to him and swayed a little, her cheeks drained of colour. Her eyes fluttered closed as she steadied herself, leaning against the sink, hands flopped to her sides. She looked exhausted. He wanted to swoop her into his arms, wrap her up in bed and look after her. As if she’d ever let him. ‘Tell me, Liam, what do they say?’
‘That only the pig-headed, wilful, independent and stubborn will not listen to anyone else. To the detriment of their health. You can’t get sick, this baby needs you to be well. You need to stop and rest.’ And he was not going to stand by and let anything bad happen. Period.
But contrary to everything he expected from her, she didn’t rally. Her shoulders sagged as she gripped the sink, her voice so small he had to strain to hear her. ‘Okay, okay, I get it. I’m done arguing. Whatever you say,
‘Go do your patient review. You’re not the boss of me.’
‘How old are you?’ He’d spent ten years getting to know that no one could ever be the boss of Georgie. He could hardly leave her and go back to ball-bearing-in-nostril kid when she was like this. ‘You infuriating woman
—
’
But he stopped arguing as she slammed the door open and crouched down while he held her hair back in a thick makeshift ponytail. Her body shook. He held her steady.
This was his fault. He’d allowed this to happen. He’d facilitated this. He ran his hands across her back, felt the knobbly bones of her spine through her loose-fitting T-shirt. Jeans hanging off her hips. She was definitely thinner. This pregnancy was taking a toll on her and she was so damned proud she would never think of mentioning it. She needed a good meal. To be looked after. Someone to take care of her while she grew her baby, instead of believing she could do it all on her own. ‘Does this happen a lot?’
‘Enough.’ She rocked back on her heels and wiped her mouth with toilet tissue.
Putting his hands under her arms, he hauled her up, made sure she was steady on her feet, watched her wash her hands and splash her face, wincing as cold water hit her eye. ‘You’re losing weight.’
She looked at him in the bathroom mirror, dried her hands and threw the paper towel in the bin. Peered at her eye in the glass. The swelling had worsened. Her one good eye pierced him. ‘So are you.’
‘South Sudan can do that to a guy.’
‘Don’t tell me you gave half your food away again?’
‘I can survive. They don’t have enough. I had plenty even with half-rations.’
‘So how was it?’
‘Messy. Murky. Complicated.’ Like the rest of his life. ‘But I’m back here and I want to know about you. How long have you been vomiting and how many times?’
‘Simmer down. A few times a day. Counting wasn’t helping. Let’s just say, too much. It’s perfectly normal. It’s supposed to go once I hit the second trimester, so it’ll be gone any day now. I’m fine.’
Fine? She was a mess. ‘And in between the vomiting you’re working full time and then taking out your frustration on your house walls? When do you rest?’
She threw him a smile that stopped way short of her dark eyes. ‘Well, you know what they say about giving a job to a busy person. That’s me! I like being busy.’
‘No, you don’t, Georgie. You like getting drunk in grungy bars playing loud eighties rock anthems, you like blobbing on the couch and watching reruns of your favourite soaps until you can say the dialogue better than the actors, you like strawberry ice cream, but not berry swirl. You like doing nothing at all if you can help it. You do not like to be busy.’
Uh-oh. Hip-planting was occurring. Both hands fisted. Bad sign. ‘Well, you can add doing renovations when pregnant to that list. Go figure, you learn something new about people every day.’
‘You know what they say about people like you?’
‘No.’ She turned to him and swayed a little, her cheeks drained of colour. Her eyes fluttered closed as she steadied herself, leaning against the sink, hands flopped to her sides. She looked exhausted. He wanted to swoop her into his arms, wrap her up in bed and look after her. As if she’d ever let him. ‘Tell me, Liam, what do they say?’
‘That only the pig-headed, wilful, independent and stubborn will not listen to anyone else. To the detriment of their health. You can’t get sick, this baby needs you to be well. You need to stop and rest.’ And he was not going to stand by and let anything bad happen. Period.
But contrary to everything he expected from her, she didn’t rally. Her shoulders sagged as she gripped the sink, her voice so small he had to strain to hear her. ‘Okay, okay, I get it. I’m done arguing. Whatever you say,
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