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Without a trace



The flat looked spotless. The smell of dinner filled the air and… was that the sound of a bath running? Since discovering I was pregnant a week ago, my hubby Lee, 26, had been treating me as though I was royalty.
‘Dinner’s ready,’ he called from the kitchen.
‘Smells lovely,’ I said.
‘It’s spaghetti bolognese,’ he said proudly, wiping his hands down his trousers.
Not only was he cooking, he was trying to unblock the sink too!
We’d been in the UK a year after flying over from New Zealand, and were living with my sister Janet, 18, and brother Lance, 32.
We’d planned on staying a few months, save up some cash, and then continue our around-the-world adventure.
But then I’d fallen pregnant so, instead, we were planning to fly home after the birth.
Lee, though, was keen to earn his keep. He’d always been a proper Mr Fix It, no job too big or small. Even when he was at work at the EMR fridge recycling plant in North London, it was him the bosses called on when any machinery went wrong.
‘Right, I want you to take it easy tonight,’ he told me. ‘I’m on a late shift, so won’t be able to keep an eye on you.’
‘Maybe it’s you who needs to slow down a bit,’ I teased.
‘Nah, I’m fine,’ he beamed.
‘Oh, and I booked our first antenatal appointment with the doctor for tomorrow.’
‘Babe, you’re amazing!’
‘Right, I’ve got to go,’ he said, giving me a kiss. ‘I’ve run your bath, and I’ll see you in the morning – can’t wait to speak to the doc about this baby!’
‘Neither can I!’ I grinned.
Just before midnight, Lee called to say he loved me and I went to bed with a smile. I’d known him since I was a teenager, always knew he was the guy for me. He was such a fun-loving character.


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