From the first evening they had met, Stephen and Christie had been
inseparable. Weekends were spent with either Stephen travelling to the Lake
District, or Christie to Chester. They had lots in common, both middle children
to two sisters, with a close-knit family and circle of friends. A whole new
group had been formed, as both sets of friends genuinely gelled well. Once they
had announced their engagement after exactly one year, they all went wild and a
mother of all parties had been thrown. Happy days.
Then, after a year of blissful marriage, the cracks began to show.
Christie badly wanted to save and save, to achieve her goal of buying a hotel.
She was by then the manager of a small, boutique hotel in Chester city. And
whilst Stephen still liked the idea of owning his own business, his lifestyle
somehow didn’t involve making the necessary sacrifices to accomplish this. He
still played rugby, every weekend now, as well as attending practice nights
during the week. These inevitably would end in a drinking session, often
followed by slipping into town and finishing up in a club. Basically, he’d
reverted back to his single days. Christie had begun to feel helpless. It was
hard watching her husband who had once shared her ambitions gradually morph into
a drunken slob who only lived for his boozy nights with his mates.
After three months of growing tired waiting for Stephen to come home
sober in an evening, or even come home at all, Christie had had enough. She
packed her bags one Friday night after returning home late from work to a note
saying, “Gone
out. Probably stay at Ash’s tonight.” Well, good for him, thought
Christie. Ash was welcome to him. With grit and sheer determination, she hauled
two suitcases and a rucksack to Chester railway station and never looked back.
Within a week Stephen followed, full of remorse. He’d promised her the
earth, anything, anything, if only she’d come back home with him. Even a
baby. This was his trump card, knowing full well Christie had secretly started
to yearn for one. Up until now he’d always brushed away the notion of
parenthood, claiming they were both too young and ambitious. When Christie had
pointed out he actually didn’t seem as motivated as her anymore, he vehemently
swore he’d change. So compelling were his claims, that Christie – convinced of
her husband’s promises – found herself back in Chester and trying to conceive.
Then more cracks appeared. It just wasn’t happening. Month after month
saw Christie on the verge of tears as the blue line on the pregnancy testing
kits refused to play ball. Why? What was happening, or not happening? It
further saddened her when Stephen feared it could be his fault, as though his
manhood was in question. Well, a rugby player being labelled a “jaffa” was
hardly what one envisaged, was it? So much so, that he made Christie promise
not to tell a soul. The party line was they weren’t trying. They didn’t want
children just yet – that was the patter she’d have to rattle out if anyone
asked. Even though, deep down, having a baby became the only thing Christie did
want. So badly it graduated into an obsession.
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