‘Meaning that when he found out about Rob—’
‘But you said you told him…?’
‘OK, as soon as Itoldhim about Rob, he went off me,’ I said.
‘Of course he did,’ Mum said. ‘Bloody hypocrites.’
‘Who are?’ I asked. I was scared she was including me.
‘Men!’ Mum said. ‘Why d’you think I never let one stick around? They’re bloody hypocrites, one and all.’
‘I thought you were in love,’ I said. She’d been seeing a new guy called Martin for the last few days, though I hadn’t yet met him.
‘I am,’ she said. ‘But that doesn’t mean I will be this time next week.’
We talked about it all morning, over numerous cups of tea.
Mum was convinced I was too young to have a baby on my own. That was something I could trust her about, she said, because at my age she’d done exactly that and it had been an ‘absolute bloody nightmare’.
‘So you regret having me,’ I said, feigning outrage. ‘That’s lovely, Mum. Cheers!’
‘No, I don’t,’ she said. ‘Not one bit. But Idowish I’d waited a few years.’
I could see the logic of what she was saying. There were plenty of single girls my age pushing prams around Millmead, and none of them made it look fun.
‘What it all boils down to,’ Mum said, summing up, ‘is whether you want to snag that Billy. If you love him enough to have a baby with ’im and settle down and everything.’
I reminded Mum, yet again, that Billy wasn’t necessarily responsible, but she insisted it didn’t matter. ‘If you tell him it’s his, he’ll believe you,’ she said. ‘And if he’s daft enough to want to be a father, then you’re sorted. But like I say, he probably won’t. He’ll probably just bugger off anyway.’
And I’m ashamed to say that I toyed with the idea – I seriously gave it some thought. But after a cheese and Branston sandwich and another cuppa, I realised that not only did I not believe Billy could be fooled, but, even if he could, I didn’t want to ‘snag’ him. What Iwantedwas for him to be head over heels in love with me. And that boat, sadly, had sailed.
* * *
At first, the consultation went well enough.
Mum, who was with me, took it upon herself to answer all of the questions, so I sat there in a weird spacey trance, merely nodding to agree with Mum’s answers.
But then the doctor lifted up my T-shirt and spread cold slimy gel over my belly, and I was forced to understand that this was about me.
‘So, we’re just going to check how far you’re gone,’ the woman said.
‘She told you,’ Mum said. ‘It’s six weeks.’
‘Yes,’ the doctor replied. ‘But that’s something we need to check.’
She turned the screen a bit further away from me and slithered around with her scanner. I looked over at the rain dribbling down the window and thought, for some reason, about sledging down the hill in Tivoli Park.
‘Yes, I’d say six weeks is about right,’ she said. ‘You can barely see the heartbeat.’
‘So just pills?’ Mum asked. ‘No need for any sort of surgery?’
But that word ‘heartbeat’ had jerked me back into the room.
‘The baby’s heartbeat?’ I asked, tensing up. ‘Or d’you mean mine?’
‘Yes, the foetus has a heartbeat,’ the doctor said. ‘But it’s barely visible at this stage.’
‘Show me,’ I said, trying to sit up so I could lean towards the screen.
