Free The Baby Verdict by Cathy Williams Page A

flew through the window the minute you got ill.’
    â€˜Did I say that?’
    â€˜Along those lines. Now, why don’t you stay where you are and I’ll go and fetch you a cup of tea?’
    â€˜That’s very kind, but, really, there’s no need. I appreciate your gesture in coming over here...’ ha, ha ‘...but I’d really rather be on my own. And I’m sure you can think of better ways of celebrating your victory than sharing a room with me and thousands of contagious little germs....’ She yawned, only remembered to put her hand over her mouth halfway through, and squashed herself into a more comfortable position on the sofa.
    â€˜Nonsense! You should have someone around here, though, to help out if you’re ill. Is there no one who could come round and look after you?’
    â€˜I don’t need looking after!’ Jessica said, more sharply than she had intended. ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’
    â€˜I take it that means no.’ He stood up, waving her back down when she attempted to follow suit, and she heard him as he headed to the kitchen, then the muffled noises of him making them a cup of tea.
    Why had she become so defensive just then? He had asked a perfectly reasonable question and she had jumped down his throat, and the worst of it was she knew why. She had no one. Oh, she had a handful of friends. They went out and had a good time every so often, but there was no one who could come around and look after her if she ever needed looking after.
    She was twenty-eight years old, successful in her career, owned her own house and could afford to go on holiday whenever she cared to, but what did all that count for when at the end of the day she had no one to share any of it with?
    She couldn’t remember thinking this way before. She had measured her worth as she’d climbed the steady ladder of success. She had watched as her friends had married, settled down, in a couple of cases had their first children, and she had never felt the stirrings of envy. She had been vaguely curious as to how their lifestyles would change, but she had held on to her own steady fortunes in the never-ending stormy waters of chance with a feeling of relief.
    â€˜Not everyone needs a caretaker,’ she announced as Bruno walked back in with a mug of tea in his hand, and he looked at her questioningly.
    â€˜You’ve lost me.’
    Jessica took a sip of hot tea, made a face, and then looked at him as he settled on the sofa, which meant that she now wouldn’t be able to stretch out her legs if she wanted to.
    â€˜I can look after myself,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.’
    â€˜I don’t recall mentioning that I did.’
    â€˜You don’t have to mention it. You can imply it without saying so in so many words.’
    â€˜Okay. If it makes you feel happier, I won’t feel sorry for you.’
    There he goes again, she thought with exasperation, patronising. He did feel sorry for her, and it had nothing to do with her temporary ill health. He felt sorry for her because he compared her to the women he knew, women who went out every night and owned a wardrobe full of designer outfits, women whose lives were never free of men, who skirted from one relationship to another without pause in between. She could feel it in the way he looked at her sometimes.
    â€˜Good,’ she said, disgruntled.
    â€˜How are you eating?’
    â€˜With my teeth, like everyone else.’ His concern, for some reason, was catapulting her into another bout of self-pity. When was the last time anyone had brought her a cup of tea? she thought, on the verge of tears at this point.
    â€˜I see your cold hasn’t done away with that viper tongue of yours.’ His mouth twitched, and she steadfastly refused to look at him. She cradled the mug in her hands, feeling the warm, rough texture under her fingers. It