Santa, Baby!

One of my oldest friend’s is due imminently! I had this idea after her baby shower!

One More Nativity © Billy London

Ryence closed his suitcase, leaning back and cracking his spine. At least at his sister’s house, he’d enjoy a tempered mattress. He’d been needing to replace his own for ages, but he needed to speak to his accountant, get money released from the club to him by way of dividends. They were sold out for New Years Eve. He couldn’t have hoped for better and with the club being in his sister’s sole name, the destination wasn’t associated with his crime.

His thoughts drifted to Morgan as they had every night since he’d met her. They’d been at the start of something so beautiful and… Gwen would never say that he’d ruined anything, because he’d saved her. She told him he saved other women from what that arsehole could have done. Gwen didn’t understand what he’d given up as a result.

Back to Wales for a few days, take some walks, pretend he hadn’t spent the better part of seven months in prison, eat some of his father’s Welsh rarebit and enjoy some beer. If his dad would allow him to cross the threshold…

He opened his Facebook profile and searched for Morgan again. Her profile picture hadn’t changed from what it had been at the start of the year; she wore a long blonde wig and a cut out mini dress as she posed in front of a floral display for his club. Lots of comments on her wall asked if she was okay, to call them, to get in touch, to reply to messages. Where was she?

He tucked his phone into his jacket pocket and lifted his case through his flat. Heating turned off and fridge empty, he locked the flat and made his way down the stairs to the lobby. Braced against the doorway, her hands gripping the frame, stood Morgan.

Ryence dropped his case and flung the door open before he could say anything, she collapsed onto him.

“Hey Rye! Oh you’re going grey,” she observed, touching a cold finger to his temple and tracing the pad to his mouth. A painful grunt burst from her.

“Wow contractions really are a cunt!” she said through her teeth. Only then did he look down and saw her protruding stomach.

“You’re pregnant? You’re fucking pregnant?”

She yelped, pressing a hand to her lower belly, hunching over. “Yep. Thanks for that by the way.”

 “And you didn’t tell me?”

Morgan grunted. “Look, can we have this conversation somewhere else please? I’m literally about to drop this little twat out of my twat, so let’s move.”

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to pass out. Practicality kicked in. Snow swept inside the door in a flurry of flakes, dotting Morgan’s coat with white and resting on his arm. He lifted her into his arms, kicking the door closed and leaving his suitcase behind.

Morgan yelped, but he ignored her, taking the stairs with grim determination to his flat. “Hold on,” he said, unlocking the door and carrying her inside, kicking the door closed. Quickly and carefully, he set her on his bed.

“I’m turning the heating back on and I’m running you a bath.”

Morgan grimaced. “What for?”

“It’ll help.” He promised, removing his jacket and flicking on the heating. Christ, he didn’t have anything in his flat to even eat. Turning on the kettle seemed a good idea while he tried to grapple with the idea of Morgan going about her life, carrying his baby and giving birth on Christmas Eve. What the hell. The kettle’s blue light switched off and he poured the water over a green tea bag and carried it into the bedroom. Morgan had shed her coat, boots and her leggings, leaving her in a reindeer printed jumper dress and bare legged.

She struggled to sit up when she realised he was standing, staring at her.

“Hi. Oh is that tea? You’re amazing.”

“It’s green. Sorry. I don’t have any milk.”

“No, this is perfect,” she said with a sigh of delight, reaching for it. “My throat is dry as hell.”

“Morgan,” he began, his voice low.

“Are you running that bath?” She grinned at him. His brain flooded with memories of how she smiled that way when she was satisfied.

“I will. Just explain to me how we’re here right now. And why we’re not at a hospital?”

Morgan lifted the mug to her lips again. “I’m at least eight centimetres dilated and I give it twenty minutes, or maybe half an hour before I push this baby out. I’d rather not risk it in a car. Or God forbid, a taxi.”

“You can’t be!” he whispered, panicked.

Morgan pointed a finger between her thighs. “Have a look.”

He lifted the hem of the dress and took an instant step back. “Running the bath.”

Once the tub was full, he took the cup from her hands and lifted her into his arms again, carrying her into the bathroom. Gently, he lifted the jumper dress from her body, and eased her into the water.

“Oh mate, that’s the perfect temperature.” She gave a murmur of delight, before she absolutely bellowed the bathroom down. “Oh fucking hell! Okay, truth time. I found out that I was pregnant when you were sent down. I didn’t know which prison you were sent to and no one would say. When I asked at the club, your name was my god I hate this so much!” she screamed. Ryence reached into the tub and rubbed along her spine in soothing stroking motions.

“And then?”

“And then, I dithered about keeping it or getting rid and then it was too late so I was like, alright lemme look on eBay and see what shit is cheap.”

“Why didn’t you contact my sister?” He asked.

“I thought about it, and then I was argh butt fucking shit!” She breathed out in short sharp gasps. “I thought about it, and I thought, this poor bitch doesn’t need this too.” She looked up at him, her eyes watering with pain. “I looked up your address on Companies House you’re listed as a former director so here I am. I’m not due for another three weeks. Everything’s at home. My bag, the baby’s crib, nappies. I hate this so much!”

He helped her to her knees in the large bathtub, resting his palms on her biceps. “Morgan, look at me. You’re going to be fine. Everything’s going to be fine, I promise.”

“You haven’t even got a Christmas tree!”

“Okay, it’s what, five. That huge Tesco down the road closes at eight tonight. I can get everything from there that we need. You’re staying here. Do you have your notes?”

“How do you know all of this?” she demanded, wincing.

He shrugged. “They played One Born Every Minute in the prison sometimes. I’ve got one of those memories that sucks that shit up. And I don’t have a tree because I was going to stay with my sister and my dad. But since, I’m about to be one, I’ll buy one from the guy outside the train station.”

She touched his face. “I really hope you’re ready for this, Joseph.”

He pressed his mouth to her forehead, feeling tears prickling at his eyes. “You don’t know how ready.”