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Sarah knew Brett would find the question irritating, that he would just want to switch off after work, read the paper or watch television, but he hadn’t mentioned the pregnancy once since she’d first told him about it. It had been almost two weeks now. It was both insulting and unbelievable that he clearly preferred not to acknowledge it and with each passing day she grew more resentful, more furious. She couldn’t wait for him to get his head around the whole idea any longer. They had to talk about it. She coughed softly to get his attention

“So,” she said. “Have you thought about it any more?”

He kept his eyes on the newspaper. “About what?”

“The pregnancy, Brett. Our baby…the fact that you’re going to be a father.” She struggled to control her temper, to avoid becoming sarcastic.

“No, not really. But nothing’s really changed. It’s still a shock.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And what?” He looked up, irritated.

“You’re shocked. So am I. Shouldn’t we talk about it?”

“We’ve got nine months for that.” He shrugged and looked back down at the paper. “Heaps of time.”

Sarah stared at him. She often felt stung by his ability to remain so detached, at the indifference he could sometimes show towards her. She wondered whether it was some kind of defensive reaction, a way of hiding his own feelings, of avoiding some kind of spilling-out of emotions that, for some reason, he found frightening or undignified. Or whether it was simply that he really was as uninterested and as detached as he sometimes seemed.

She picked up the plates and took them to the sink. She could feel her mouth tightening, her lips turning down with the effort of not crying.

She filled the sink with hot soapy water and started on the dishes. The water was too hot for comfort, but the sting of it was a welcome distraction. She washed the plates quickly, dipping them under the surface of the water briefly to wet them, wiping them over with the sponge, and dipping again to rinse. Her fingers became red with the heat. When she finished, she turned to face Brett.

“Well, I’m happy about it.” She swallowed, trying to control the emotion in her voice. “I want this baby. And I think we’ll be good parents.”

“Of course we will.”

She watched him look down at the paper and turn another page. Everything about him, the way he kept his head bent down to read, the tense set of his shoulders, his exaggerated fascination with the paper, told her that he wanted the conversation to end, that pursuing it would be futile. But she felt as if she’d been avoiding a fight since the day she told him she was pregnant. “Is that it? Is that all you can say?” She slapped the counter so that he looked up. “Brett… please …can’t you show even the slightest bit of interest?”

“I don’t know, Sarah…I don’t know…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry what? Sorry you can’t show any interest? Or sorry you don’t know?” She could hear her voice getting louder, more high-pitched. “Sorry what? Why the hell are you sorry?”

“Jesus.” He clenched his teeth. He folded the paper, stood up and pushed his chair beneath the table roughly, so that it scraped along the floor. “I’m sorry you’re getting so upset. That’s why I’m sorry. And I’m sorry you just can’t accept the fact that I’m not over the moon about it.”

“I can accept it. I don’t exactly have a choice, do I? But we still need to talk. I’m not exactly expecting or asking you to be enthusiastic about it. God, no. I know that would be asking too much. But you should at least be interested. I mean it’s your life too, Brett. This affects everything, it changes everything. We can’t just go on ignoring it for the next seven months…pretend it’s not happening…we need to talk about it…and soon.”

“We will. Just let me get used to it…let me get my head around the whole idea.”

“God, Brett. You should hear yourself. Let me get my head around the whole idea? If you use that stupid phrase again I’m going to scream. You make pregnancy sound like a terminal disease.”

Brett walked to the doorway and paused. Then he turned back to face her and leant against the door frame. He smiled tentatively, spoke gently. “That’s why I don’t want to talk about it. Whatever I say is just going to disappoint you.”

“But why? Why does a baby have to be such a bad thing?”

“It’s not.” He shook his head. “It won’t be. Just give me some time. Okay?”

“Okay.” Sarah smiled back, making a real effort to make it look genuine. She suddenly wanted the conversation to end. It wasn’t a good time for a serious conversation anyway—she was tired, irritable and was finding it difficult to keep her cool. She also felt quite nauseous and emotional and would be unable to stop herself from bursting into tears if Brett became sympathetic now.

Brett was so obviously desperate to end the conversation that he was happy to accept her smile as the real thing. He smiled back, clearly relieved, and turned into the hallway.

“I’m just going to take a bath,” he said.

When she finished cleaning, she boiled the kettle and made herself a cup of tea. She didn’t usually drink tea in the evening, the caffeine kept her from sleeping, but since she’d been pregnant she’d been so tired that nothing could keep her awake. Each night, as soon as her head hit the pillow, she fell immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep, as easily as if she’d taken a sleeping pill.

She took her cup into their bedroom and sat on their bed, a pile of pillows behind her back for comfort.

Brett’s attitude, his unhappiness about the baby, just confirmed her worst suspicions. Deep down she knew, or was pretty sure she knew, why Brett was so miserable. He didn’t love her enough. He simply didn’t love her as much as she loved him.