The Art Of Deception

Chapter 2

Chapter 2She woke early the next morning, feeling sick. She tossed and turned in bed, trying to get rid of the churning in her stomach. John, although half-asleep, seemed aware of her restlessness.

'All right, darling?' he mumbled.

'Just sick.'

'Can I get you anything?'

'No, no, I'm fine. Go back to sleep. It's only four o'clock – you can sleep for another two hours yet if you want.'

Within seconds he was asleep again.

But Angie had to get up. Downstairs in the kitchen she made herself a drink: black tea, as she suddenly couldn't face the thought of drinking milk. She took it into the living room and switched on the TV, but her mind wandered. Her heart beat fast and she was short of breath. Panic wasn't something she'd suffered from before, but now she found herself shaking. God, this should be the happiest time of her life and she felt like this. She couldn't worry John with it, though, when he was so thrilled about the baby.

He came down a little later in his dressing gown, yawning as he saw her sitting in front of the TV.

'You're up early, Mummy,' he said, bending down to kiss her on the lips.

'Couldn't sleep,' she admitted.

'Why's that?'

'I don't know. Perhaps because we had an early night.'

'Can I get you anything? A drink, or I'll cook you some breakfast if you haven't already eaten?'

'Thanks, but I'm not sure what to have to eat. Can't say I'm very hungry.'

'Feeling sick again?'

'Yeah, as sick as a dog. But I haven't been sick – yet.'

'That's something, anyway.' He looked worried, and she didn't know how to put his mind at rest when her own was still in such turmoil.

'How about some dry toast? That's supposed to be light on your stomach.'

She shook her head. 'Later. Think I'll have a shower and get dressed.'

'All right. Give me a shout if you need your back scrubbing.'

'OK,' she said, trying not to smile.

As the shards of hot water hit her, she felt a little better. When she came out, though, she felt giddy and had to hold on to the side of the bath. As she dried herself, her stomach acquired a life of its own, causing her to suddenly retch over in the sink … and then again and again. As before, nothing much came up, but it was unpleasant and she ached. She had to sit on the toilet for a while before those sudden urges to throw up passed.

's**t! s**t! s**t!' If this was what she had to put up with for the next eight months, she thought she might die.

She got dressed, wiped her face with a tissue and ventured downstairs, taking a deep breath and wondering how on earth to hide her feelings from John. And also, she had work today. She was an estate agent and had at least five appointments to show people around properties. What if she threw up while showing clients around? How embarrassing would that be?

She dressed smartly in a beige suit and applied her make-up with a shaky hand. As she came downstairs, she smelt bacon and eggs; John was making himself a fry-up. The smell made her want to puke.

'Ah, there you are,' he grinned. 'Want some bacon and egg? Got plenty here.'

She shook her head. 'Can't face anything right now. And I've got to go to work in fifteen minutes.'

'Well, at least eat something. You're supposed to be eating for two, you know.'

'Very funny. John, I'm not in the mood for your silly jokes, please keep them to yourself.'

He opened his palms towards her. 'OK. Sorry.'

'I'll just have another cup of tea, and then I'll be off.'

'All right, sit yourself down and I'll make you one.'

Sitting at the table, she took in a deep breath, puffed out her cheeks and breathed out. She shouldn't go in today, but she had to. There was only one other person in the office, and nobody would be available to cover her appointments. They couldn't afford to lose out on potential buyers.

She felt John's eyes on her as she drank her tea, and waited for his inevitable comment.

'You ought to phone in sick; you look as white as a sheet. I could always ring up for you, say you're ill, if you like.'

'No, I can't take a sickie already. Too busy. And who knows what time I'll need to take off in the next few months? I'll just have to grin and bear it, and hope for the best.'

'OK, it's your call.'

She got up and grabbed her coat and briefcase. They kissed, and for a moment she had tears in her eyes. But then she smiled, pulled herself together and went out. She got in her Corsa and drove to the office, where she checked out her appointments and then set off again for a house just outside Dexford. Fingers crossed she'd be all right.

She didn't feel her usual confident self as she made her way to 18 Chevel Avenue, a pre-war semi in a quiet cul-de-sac. Mr and Mrs Osborne were standing on the footpath, waiting for her.

The house was empty, so she had the keys to get in. She shook hands with the Osbornes and went inside. Hopefully they'd like it.

Her morning went well, with two possible sales, and one of the owners she did a valuation for looked likely to use Elliott's estate agents to sell their property. The last appointment was at a flat on the fifth floor of an exclusive block that usually sold very well at inflated prices.

Once inside, the thought of climbing the stairs made her feel faint, so she took the lift, but the movement made her stomach lurch. Glad to be out of the lift, she pressed the doorbell and Mrs Reynolds showed her through to the living room.

'Cup of tea?' she asked.

'Oh, yes please, no milk and no sugar,' Angie said, noticing a baby of about twelve months fast asleep in a baby bouncer in the corner. She grimaced.

Within five minutes, Mrs Reynolds returned with the tea. Angie would have liked to drink the lot in one go, but that would be rude, so she just had a mouthful.

'How old is he?'

'Fourteen months. That's the reason we need to move. We want a detached or a semi with a big garden, somewhere for him to run around.'

Angie measured each room carefully and took photos, then discussed fees and gave a valuation. She felt sick again. Drinking her tea, she hoped it would pass, but it didn't.

'Sorry, Mrs Reynolds, is it all right if I use your bathroom? That tea has gone right through me.'

'Yes, of course.'

Angie rushed off, embarrassed, and just made it to the bathroom before she vomited in the sink. Luckily there wasn't much, as she hadn't eaten anything. She rinsed it away and wiped it with some tissues, hoping Mrs Reynolds wouldn't notice. But a few minutes later she came out, red-faced, to find the woman standing in the hallway.

'Are you all right?'

'Yes, I'm OK. I'm sorry, but I was sick in your sink. I've cleaned it all up.'

'Perhaps you ought to go home.'

'Yes, maybe I will. I'm pregnant, you see – I've only just found out – and it looks like I'm going to get morning sickness. My mum had it really badly.'

'Oh, I am sorry. I went through the same with him. It was nine months of hell – although he's made up for it since. Congratulations, anyway. I hope you have a better time than me!'

'Thanks, I hope so, too. If you want us to sell your flat for you, please give me a bell, and I'll set it in motion. You'll find our rates are very competitive, and as we're the biggest agent in the area, you should get lots of viewings.'

'Thank you. I'll be in touch. And good luck.'

Angie was extremely glad to get out of there. How humiliating. She guessed Mrs Reynolds was bound to go elsewhere after what had happened. When she got in her car, she broke down. Having wanted a baby at first, suddenly she wished she wasn't pregnant. Her emotions were all over the place.

Somehow, she got through the rest of the day, mainly because she spent the afternoon in the office, catching up with her paperwork. But she had never been so glad to get out of there.

As she parked on the drive of their four-bed detached house, she wasn't sure she could face John. She didn't want him to see her like this. It would be Christmas in a few days, and she was having a baby. She should be over the moon.

John usually put the dinner on if he got home first, which he had this evening as his car was on the drive. The oven would be on, but what if she couldn't eat it, or was sick? He'd be mortified.

She heard him in the kitchen, singing to himself without a care in the world. When she came in, he turned and gave her a warm smile, like he did when they first went out as teenagers, eight years ago. A smile that used to send her weak at the knees. She put her arms around him and held him close, kissed him tenderly, hoping she could get through this for his sake as well as her own. A baby should bring them closer together, make their happiness complete. But why did she suddenly feel so unsure?