December EIGHT YEARS BEFORE

December

E IGHT YEARS BEFORE

11.00 A . M .

Madeleine wasn’t fond of hospitals. Without the best sense of direction, she found the signage confusing and, being rather squeamish, was overly worried about seeing an injury. Her stomach rolled at the thought. Still, her presence here – and, in fact, the whole morning – felt surreal. Her mind focused on the minutiae of life; she hoped Captain was being adequately tended to in her absence, and wondered if ‘Suzy with a Y’ or anyone else in the team would comment on her absence. She thought about the reason she’d give for not going into work this morning – a dicky tum, she decided was the best catch-all. She also wished Marnie were with her, but was simultaneously glad she wasn’t, unsure how that conversation would go and knowing that any premature panicking from her mother would make the already farcical situation quite unbearable.

Nausea leaped in her throat. Supposing this wasn’t a mistake, supposing ... No, nope! She shook her head, unable to entertain the idea. The doctor’s strip of magic paper dipped in a thimbleful of pee was surely defunct, and what a fiasco! A day wasted for that. The whole idea of her being up the duff was as preposterous as it was petrifying. She hadn’t slept with anyone for over six or seven months; if she was pregnant, she would know – there’d be signs! She decided there and then to write a strong-worded letter of complaint to the health centre when this was all over. It was unacceptable – putting people through this ordeal due to human error. She didn’t want an apology but would certainly like them to tighten procedures so that no other unsuspecting soul would have to experience the same thing.

Eventually, after wandering aimlessly around corridors, and more from luck than judgement, she found herself at the pregnancy clinic, checked in at the desk, handed in her slip of paper, and took a seat in the waiting area. Looking up, Madeleine saw that she was surrounded by very pregnant women wearing loose tunics. Women who rubbed their backs, cradled their stomachs, and sat with legs slightly splayed. Women whose signs of pregnancy were obvious – more than obvious! She looked and felt like a fraud among them and was entirely thankful for that. A couple of dishevelled-looking partners whose expressions suggested they’d rather be anywhere else ran around after toddlers who seemed intent on putting the corners of dog-eared books and various plastic toys into their mouths – items they’d fished from a lidded box. She felt her nose wrinkle at the germ swamp that must lie in that toy chest. That, and the fact she was entirely unable to fathom why on earth, if you were already in receipt of one of the sticky-faced, chubby-wristed humans who seemed intent on causing mayhem, you would have another one?

She thought children were a bit like a large water feature in a small garden – a novelty at first, something to show your friends and family, but when there was no room for a sun lounger, if and when the current bun showed its face, and no budget for a holiday as the cost of purchase and installation had been huge, buyer’s remorse would set in. Although, given the choice right now, without hesitation she’d choose an elaborate leaping dolphin fountain over one of the kids racing around the table with a full nappy.

‘This is a right pain, isn’t it? Parking is a bloody nightmare!’ A woman with a space hopper up her jumper chuckled in her direction.

‘Yep.’ She nodded, looking down and hoping that her reply and manner, which verged on curt, would be enough to dissuade the woman from trying to engage with her further. She wasn’t in the mood for chitchat, and just wanted to get the whole mess cleared up sooner rather than later. The chatty woman was rounded, voluptuous, engorged with impending motherhood and glowing with a radiant beauty that was the exact opposite of her own grey pallor and flat chest.

‘How far are you?’ the woman asked.

‘Oh, oh, I’m not ... not actually ... I don’t ... no, no, I’m not ...’ She pushed her palms between her thighs and rounded her shoulders, trying her level best to disappear inside the plastic chair on which she sat.

The woman stared at her, her expression a little perplexed, and Madeleine could entirely relate. She too was a little perplexed, to put it mildly.

‘Madeleine Woods!’ A perky woman wearing pink scrubs beamed from over the rim of her clipboard.

‘Here!’ She put her hand up and called out, instantly regretting the word, as it sounded like she was answering the register at school.

The small room was overly warm and, for the second time that day, she was asked to hop on a narrow coach lined with a flimsy strip of paper. Only this time she was to remove her jeans and neon-pink knickeroos.

‘Okay, so this is how an ultrasound works.’ The sonographer spoke slowly and deliberately as if Madeleine were a dumdum. It irritated her. After a simple explanation, the woman coated her stomach with a viscous gel and stared at the wide screen.

Her thoughts wandered.

It’ll take me a good forty minutes to get to work. Which is actually fine. I’ll be there in time for lunch. In fact, that might work out quite well as people will be busy or out of the office and I can slip behind my desk, as if I’ve been there all morning. Poor old Captain, though. Hope someone else has taken him out or he’ll have his legs crossed ... What do I fancy for lunch? I actually feel a bit better ... Maybe a sandwich ... or pasta salad ...

Madeleine heard the noise before she saw the shape.

A loud, distinct boom, boom ... boom, boom ... The unmistakable sound of a heartbeat.

Whipping her head towards the screen, it was as if her heart skipped and the breath stopped in her throat.

She knew she would never be able to describe the utter shock, the terror at the sight that greeted her. There it was: the undeniable, distinct shape of a head, and a body, and scrunched-up arms and legs. Scrunched-up arms and legs inside her body ...

She thought she might vomit and gripped the sides of the trolley.

‘That’s ...’ She pointed towards the screen.

‘This is your first scan?’ Perky woman obviously hadn’t read her notes, or maybe there were no notes to read. Either way ...

Madeleine nodded.

‘Well, you have one baby. And we have a good, strong heartbeat and everything looks great.’

‘How much pregnant ...? I mean, how ... how old is the ...’ Shock didn’t aid the fact that she was unsure of the language, unsure of everything.

There it was. Right in front of her, the indisputable proof: an image on a screen of the alien-shaped thing that had taken up residence in her womb. She stared at it, unable to look away, knowing that if she didn’t see it, absorb the fact, and stare at it some more, committing it to memory, she would not believe it was true. Was it true?

How? How could it be true?

It was as the sonographer seemed to be taking measurements from the screen by clicking a mouse that she asked the question that occurred to her, a get-out-of-jail-free card, a reason for the mix-up.

‘And is this ... this is a ... a live feed? Is that ... I mean ... are you absolutely sure that’s my ... my picture ... my body?’

The woman turned to face her. Her voice was soft, her smile genuine, and this time Madeleine was grateful for her slow, considered tone, because it helped the facts sink in. It helped her, the dumdum who hadn’t known she was pregnant, get her head around the situation.

‘Yes. I am one hundred per cent sure. This is your body, your womb. Your pregnancy. You are approximately twenty-four weeks pregnant.’

‘Twenty-four weeks, that’s ...’ She didn’t know much, but knew that the average pregnancy was about nine months long, give or take. What was that in months? Again her brain ticked a few beats slower than usual.

‘Seven months.’

‘Seven months?’ she asked as the sonographer spoke.

Seven months!

‘How?’ She lifted her head to get a better view of the screen. ‘How did this happen?’

The woman looked aghast, and Madeleine realised that it wasn’t quite the question she had intended to ask.

‘I mean, I know how it happens,’ she added hastily. The woman’s shoulders visibly dropped. ‘But how can I be this much pregnant and not know? I’m on the pill!’

The woman took her time.

‘It’s not as uncommon as you might think. A lot depends on your build, where the baby is positioned, how it’s lying, how regular your cycle is – and the pill isn’t foolproof. Forgetting to take it, sickness, diarrhoea – lots of things can affect the contraceptive. I’ve seen women who only know they’re pregnant when they go into labour and arrive via A&E.’

‘Fucking hell!’ She spoke without thought, horrified and petrified at the same time.

‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’ The woman was being sweet, offering comfort. ‘Do you want to the know the sex or do you want the surprise?’

Madeleine stared at her. What did she want?

‘I can’t believe this is happening.’ She spoke her thoughts. ‘The father of this baby is no more than a friend, really – a guy from school who I first slept with because we were drunk. That was a surprise. The fact I’m pregnant? That’s a big, big surprise. The thought of not working, even for a short while and having to give up my flat, my freedom, all the bloody shite that comes with something like this – the fact that I’m in this bloody situation at all! It’s all one big, terrible surprise!’ She raised her voice with a half-laugh, ‘Not living the life I planned – big surprise – and so, no, I don’t need another surp— Just tell me what it is ... please.’

‘A girl. It’s a girl.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘So what happens next?’ She hardly dared ask.

Miss Perky had handed her a wad of tissue to wipe the viscous jelly from her stomach.

‘You should tell your GP and probably anyone else you would want to know.’

Madeleine hopped down from the couch. It was a very good point. Who did she want to know?

Having walked briskly from the building, she leaned on the wall outside and with shaking fingers, took her phone from her pocket.

‘Mate! Hello!’

It was only when she tried to speak that she realised that she was crying. Her words tried to navigate the lump of distress at the base of her throat, which made coherent speech almost impossible.

‘Mads? Mads, what’s wrong? Where are you?’

‘T-Trina . . . I . . . I need you.’