Beyblade Fan Fiction ❯ Evra's Big Mistake ❯ Chapter two ( Chapter 2 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Rei's Neko_gurl: Well here is the second chappy of ma little story (which now that I think about it, won't be that little). Enjoy.

Florence Curtis had led an action-packed life; she had always lived for the day and crammed as much as was humanly possible into each and every one of them. Married at twenty, a mother at twenty-five, divorced by twenty-seven, married again, widowed, married for the third time at thirty-three . . . good Lord, it made her dizzy nowadays just to remember those hectic years when, juggling homes, staff and the needs of her much-loved but increasingly demanding son, she had followed her various husbands all over the world.

Then her beloved Ray, number three, had died of a heart attack on the steps of the casino at Monte Carlo and Florence had to decided to call it a day on the husband frount. twice widowed was enough; the pain was almost too much to bear. From now on she would stick to lovers. Apart from anything else, she glibly informed her friends -- because sympathy was anathema to Florence -- she was tired of endlessly changing her surname on chequebooks.

The next twenty years had been spent in the relentless pursuit of fun, with Florence adoring every last minute. Her motto had always been 'You're a long time dead', until the first signs of stiffness had begun to seep into her joints, it had never occured to her that perhaps it should have been 'You're a ong time crippled with arthritis'.

It was hard, adapting to life in a wheelchair when your brain sometimes fooled you into thinkingyou were still as active as you'd always been. Every now and again Florence dreamt that she had been dancing all night at the Cafe Royal. When she woke up, exhilarated and in the mood to carry on, she would think, That's what I'll do today, go somewhere a bit swish and dance . . .

Untill she tried to turn over in bed, only to groan aloud with the pain. These days she was lucky if she could make it as far as the kitchen before collapsing in a heap.

Last year Florence's well-meaning GP had suggested wheelchair ballroom dancing. Every Thursday night, apparently, busloads of disabled pensioners descended on nearby St Augustine's church hall and had a high old time of it, spinning and twirling their partners around the floor.

'What, in their wheelchairs?' Florence had roared with laughter. 'Sorry, darling, not my scene. Sounds like two teenagers with clonking great braces on their teeth trying to have a snog.'

If she sometimes felt a bit down in the dumps, Florence made sure she kept it to herself. What good would it do, after all, to drone on about how depressed you were and how narrow your life had become? That was a surefire way to end up a Nellie No-friends.

Instead, she concentrated on presenting her cheerful, fun-loving face to the world. She also made sure she kept counting her blessings regularly. She had her home, and no money worries. She had Evra. And her legs might be useless, but at least she still had the use of her hands, which meant she could hold a champagne glass, play a mean game of poker and put on her own make-up. Not always brilliantly, as Florence was the first to admit. But hell, there were worse things in life than a bit of wonkily applied eye-liner.

As the clock on the mantelpiece chimed six thirty, Florence wheeled hrself over to the sitting-room window. She liked to watch out for her lodger. As soon as she saw Evra coming up the street -- usually searching in her pockets for her frount door key -- she would fetch a bottle fof lager from the fridge and pour herself a decent measure of dry sherry.

That was another great thing about wheelchairs. If the first drink of the day went straight to your knees -- well, so what?

Florence was still tussling with the ice cube tray when the frount door slammed shut and Evra yelled, 'I'm home.'

'You're frozen. Go and sit by the fire,' Florence protested when she came through to the kitchen to help. 'I can manage.'

Evra bashed the tray against the top of the fridge, scattering ice cubes in all directions.

'My hand sare already numb.' She clattered ice cubes into Florence's sherry glass. 'There, done. Now we can both sit by the fire.' She pulled a face. 'And I can tell you about my wonderful day.'

Sleety rain dripped down Evra's neck as she tipped her head bach to drink the lager straigh tfrom the bottle. Her short black hair, urchin-cut and streaked with dark blue and green low-lights, gleamed like a magpie's wing.

'. . . so I missed my lunch break and by the time I left the salon he'd gone,' she conculded, unaware of the rim of froth on her upper lip. 'Poor chap, I feel terrible letting him down like that.'

'You know your trouble,' Florence said comfortably, 'you're a soft touch.'

'I just worry about him. What kind of life does he have? I mean, imagine not having anywere to live.'

Florence snorted into her sherry. 'Ha, feeling sorry for him is one thing. Just so long as you don't bring him here and expect me to feel sorry for him too.'

She wouldn't put it past Evra to give it a go, to try and persuade her to allow some smelly old tramp to move in with them.

'Your heartless,' said Evra.

'I'm not a pushover, that's all. Anyway,' Florence grew serious, 'there's something I have to tell you. Not good news, I'm afraid.'

'What?' Evra's dark eye's widened in alarm. 'Are you ill?'

'I'm not, but my bank account's feeling pretty sick. You heard about the stock market crash last week?'

Evra hadn't, but she nodded anyway. Matters of high finance tended to pass her by.

'Well, my accountant phoned me this afternoon. My shares have gone down the toilet. Basically I'm skint.' Florence paused and looked embarrassed. 'The thing is, I'm afraid I'm going to have to put your rent up.'

Evra swallowed. She began to feel queasy.

'Oh. Okay. Um . . . by how much?'

'Well, double it?'

Good grief.

The look on Evra's face was a picture. Florence roared with laughter and clapped her hands.

'Ha, April Fool!'

Evra's mouth dropped open.

'You mean . . . my rent's not going up?'

'Of course it isn't!'

'You aren't broke?'

'There hasn't been a stock market crash. You chould try reading the paper occasionally,' Florence cackled, 'then you'd know.'

Evra breathed again.

'It's after midday,' she protested. 'April Fools don't count after midday.'

'I didn't get a chance earlier. Anyway,' Florence's grin was unrepentant, 'still worked, didn't it?'

'That's cheating,' grumbled Evra.

With an air of complacency, Florence said, 'Ah well, I'm allowed to cheat, I'm a batty old woman in a wheelchair. That means I can do what I want.'

Hiro wasn't due home from work untill eight. Feeling that an extra-special dinner was called for, Dawn marinated the chicken breasts and mushrooms in garlic and olive oil, tossed the tiny new potatoes in butter and made sure there was enough blackcurrent sorbet in the freezer before running her bath.

She fastened her hair up with the diamante clips Hiro had brought her last night Christmas and took out the red satin dress he had given her for her birthday. Since his favorite scent was Obsession -- though she wasn't wild about it herself -- she squished it on with abandon. She even dug out her old suspender belt and the sheer black stockings Hiro was so keen on, determinedly ignoring the scratchiness of the lace around her waist.

Every little helped.

She hoped.

And let's face it, thought Dawn as she began -- albeit shakily -- to put on her make-up, tonight I'm going toneed all the help I can get.

Twenty-five past eight.

Still no sign of Hiro.

God, the one time I desperately need a drink, and I can't have one.

By eight thirty Dawn's nerves were in bits. When she heard the click of Hiro's key in the frount door, she catapulated out of her chair as if she'd been zapped with a cattle prod.

Appearing in theh living room, loosening his tie, Hiro let out a low whistle.

'I say, what's all this in aid of? Not our anniversary, is it?'

Dawn began to tremble. She'd overdone it. Now he was going to want to know right away why she'd made such an effort.

'I just felt like dressing up.'

She managed a bright smile. Telling Hiro was going to be so much easier once he had a good meal and the best part of a bottle of wine inside him.

'Suspenders too.' He tilted his head, observing the telltale bumps beneath the tight red satin. 'This is the kind of dressing up I like.'

Hmm, maybe dinner followed by sex, then tell him. That might be better.

That is, if Hiro didn't fall asleep and start snoring like a rhino within seconds of rolling off her.

It had been known to happen in the past.

'Is that garlic?' Hiro sniffed the cooking smells wafting through from the kitchen. 'I'd better give that a miss. Big meeting first thing tomorrow -- don't want to knock the clients senseless.'

'Oh.' Dawn's face fell. She'd put garlic in everything. That meant dinner now consisted of blackcurrent sorbet.

'Is everything okay?' Sensing her anxiety, he moved towards her. 'Sweetheart, you're shaking. Is something up?'

'I'd better turn off the oven.' Dawn heard her own voice echoing in her ears. It was like listening to someone else talking. She hadn't wanted to launch right in and say it, she needed time to gear herself up, run a few more practise lines through her head.

Then again, was that really going to make it any easier?

'Dawn?' Hiro's hands were on her bare shoulders, gently massaging them. 'What's is it?'

'Oh Hiro, we're going to have a baby.'

There, she'd said it.

Blurted it out.

Like Bambi's legs collapsing on the ice -- whoomph -- Hiro's hands slid off her shoulders.

'What?'

Another deep breath.

'A baby. We -- we're going to have one.'

He took a step backwards.

'You mean you're pregnant?'

With an effort, Dawn stopped her smile from wobbling, though her knees carried on regardless.

'Well, we didn't win one in a competition.'

'Is this a joke?'

'No! I wouldn't joke about something like this!'

Hiro gave her an odd look. A not very encouraging one.

'How long have you known?'

Her heart was flapping around in her chest. It felt as if it was trying to get out.

'Seven hours.'

'Dawn. This can't happen. You know it can't.'

'But it has happened,' Dawn protested, dry-mouthed.

'We agreed. No babies. We don't need them. I don't want them. I don't even like them.'

'I know, I know,' she pleaded, 'but it's happened. It was an accident but know it's happened---'

'Sure about that?' said Hiro coldly. 'Are you sure it was an accident?'

'I swear to you!' Oh God, this was awful. 'I'd never do anything like that. It was just as much of a shock to me---'

'Good. So all we have to do is sort it out.'

Dawn stared at him, unable to speak.

'Don't look at me like that.' Steadily, Hiro held her gaze. 'What did you seriously expect me to say? Dawn, you are not going to have a baby. We'll get this taken care of. It's no big deal, sweetheart, it won't even hurt.'

Fear was replaced by fury. Dawn felt her fingernails digging into her palms.

'We aren't talking about a . . . a wisdom tooth . . .'

'It's smaller than a wisdom tooth.'

'It's a human being!' Why couldn't he understand how she felt? She fought back the urge to scream at the top of her voice. If he truly loved her, why couldn't he understand how she felt? How could he just reject the idea out of hand?

'I'm not being brutal,' said Hiro, 'just realistic.'

'But it doesn't have to mean the end of the world!'

'No, just the end of our marriage.'

Dawn reeled back as if he'd hit her. She felt physically winded.

'So that's why you made all this effort,' Hiro drawled, gesturing at her dress. 'Oh, I get it now. Slap on a bit of make-up, dig a suspender belt out of the back of your knicker drawer and that'll do the trick. One flash of stocking top and you'll have me at your mercy, gibbering, ''Darling, how wonderful, you've made me the happiest man in the world, of course I want a baby.'' '

Dawn looked away.

Well, yes.

Basically it was what she had hoped would happen.

'Sorry, Dawn. I can't do it. I told you before we got married how I felt about children, and I'm not about to start changing my mind now. See?' Hiro waved an arm in the direction of the window. 'No flying pigs.'

No, thought Dawn, just one two-legged one right here in the livingroom.

'I can't get rid of it,' she whispered, 'I just couldn't.' Hating herself for being so feeble, knowing it was a waste of time even saying the words, she begged.

'You might change your mind.'

'No.' Hiro picked up his car keys, his grey eyes cold. 'No, no, no. By the way,' he added dismissivley as he made for the frount door, 'don't worry about saving my dinner for me. I'll eat out.'

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Re's Neko_gurl: Nasty Hiro. Don't like you. Sticks tongue out at screen. How could you do that to poor Dawn?
Jiana: because you made him do it.
Rei's Neko_gurl: Your point is?
Jiana: Sighs.
Rei's Neko_gurl: Ja Ne till next time.