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Mind you, Polly was getting more nervous as the time drew closer. She couldn’t help thinking—more often than was probably wise—about her mum, who had died giving birth to her.
But strangely, this tragedy had also been the reason Polly longed to be a mother. She’d only ever known her mum, Jessica, through the stories her dad had so fondly shared with her and through the photographs he’d kept in their house.
Their wedding photo, and another taken at the beach on their honeymoon, with her dad grinning like he’d won the lottery. Pollylovedthose photos. So much. She adored the happy, vibrant young woman she saw in them.
Polly’s favourite photo was of her mother when she was about seven months pregnant. Jessica was at a picnic, sitting on a tartan rug spread on the grass. There were gum trees in the background and the rural backdrop always reminded Polly of Wirralong.
Jessica was leaning back a little, supported by her hands and with her long legs stretched in front of her, and she’d managed to look elegant despite her big, round, pregnant belly. Polly had always adored that image of the dark-haired, laughing young woman, glowing with health and happiness. And expectation.
Polly had kept a framed copy of that photo in her bedroom and so many times during her childhood, she’d stared at it and longed to speak to her mother. Oh, how she’d yearned to seek her mum’s advice, to have her answer those all-important questions that girls need answered, to feel her mother’s arms around her, hugging her, to feel her love reaching and settling deep inside—that same love that glowed in her face.
Perhaps these longings might have bothered Polly even more powerfully, if she hadn’t been assured of her father’s love. Tom Martin hadn’t been the hugging or bedtime story reading type of dad, but she’d never doubted how much he loved her.
Her dad had been a great one for board games and puzzles, as was Polly. Oh, man, so many hours the two of them had spent doing jigsaws together, taking on harder and harder challenges. The dining table had always been covered by the scattered pieces of a puzzle in progress, so they’d mostly eaten dinner on their laps in front of the television. And that wasbeforeher dad had taught her to play chess.
It was in later years that the photo of her mum had become more than a source of longing. It had also been Polly’s inspiration. She’d rationalised that if she, Polly Martin, became a mother—a good, conscientious and loving mother—her own mum’s death might not have been in vain.
This theory had made sense to Polly for quite some time, but now as her baby’s due date drew closer, she couldn’t help worrying that she might not be able to provide for her baby as well as she’d hoped. And there was also the fear that she might die too, despite all the assurances from her midwife that there were no signs of complications and she would be fine.
On her braver days, Polly told herself that facing up to this fear was an important life challenge. On other days, the challenge felt overwhelming.
‘Do you know the baby’s gender?’ Seth’s voice cut into her thoughts.
‘Yes,’ Polly said. ‘I’m having a girl.’
The muscles in Seth’s throat rippled and his smile was a tad crooked. ‘Another little Polly.’
Polly groaned. ‘Poor kid. I certainly hope she’s quite different from me.’
She’d been excited to learn that her baby was a girl, but she was really hoping for a laughing, happy and relaxed little bundle, something she was sure she’d never been.
‘But I take it you found someoneniceandnormalto father her,’ Seth said, placing careful emphasis on the adjectives.
‘He’s a landscape gardener,’ said Polly.
‘Okay, that’s different.’
‘I figured he should be rather happy and relaxed in a job like that.’
‘What do you mean by youfigured? Don’t you know the guy?’
‘No. But I made a careful study of his profile.’
Despite the heavy traffic, Seth turned to her, frowning. ‘You mean you’ve never met him?’
Polly shook her head. ‘No, Seth, and I don’t plan to. I went with an anonymous donor provided by the IVF clinic.’ Given her intention to remain single, after she’d made such a hash of relationships, this had seemed the best option. If she’d known the guy, he might have been like Seth and wanted to hang around, sharing their child.
Polly knew dads were important in many families. Her own father had been everything to her. But she was also very aware that she’d found dating difficult enough, and those failures had left her with no confidence whatsoever in her ability to share her baby with some random male.
*
At least Sethwas well organised, even though this outing had been impromptu. While he’d been waiting outside Polly’s flat, he’d booked a table at an Argentinian restaurant and he’d also keyed the address into his maps app, so he was able to find both their destination and a parking spot quite easily.
The restaurant was reeking with atmosphere. It had an Old World, South American interior, a charcoal grill that was visible to all the diners and the place smelled amazing. For Polly, after the months of living frugally, it was like stepping into a beautiful fantasy.
It had been way too long since she’d enjoyed such a classy meal—empanadas, pasture-fed steak, char-grilled vegetables—she loved it all.
Seth was grinning as he watched her help herself to a second empanada. ‘Good to see you have a healthy appetite.’
