‘Maybe just hang on a little bit, love?’ I say as we both sit in silence until Jill’s phone alarm hollers at us that time is up.
‘I can’t look,’ Jill cries into the phone, her eyes wet, tears streaming now.
‘I can. Hold it up to me, just go get it but don’t look at it.’ I hop off the window ledge and start to pace between the boxes ofbooks.
Jill nods.
I take a full deep breath as Jill props the phone on the sink and hovers her hand over the slim white stick.
‘I’m picking it up,’ Jill calls out as with a shaking hand she lifts the stick.
‘More to the right,’ I direct her. ‘No, my right, little more, that’s it. Hold it steady. Back a bit. A bit more. Try to grab your shaking hand by the wrist, that’s it, well done. Don’t move.’
Then, I see it, the writing on the white stick. Glowing like the shiniest star in the sky. One word. One priceless word: PREGNANT. In bright blue lettering. It jumps out at me on screen. But I read the word again and again and once more for good luck. Jill’s hand is shaking like a leaf despite her gripping it with her other hand.
‘It’s negative, isn’t it?’ she whispers.
‘Jill?’ I say.
‘Maggie?’ Jill opens one blue eye.
‘Jill, it’s positive too!’ Now I can’t control my emotions, tears come flowing down my face.
‘Shut. Up.’ Jill jumps up and turns the stick towards her, stares at it. ‘Oh-my-God-oh-my-God-oh-my-God.’
‘Bre-athe.’ I sob the word.
‘What if they are both false? What if it’s something to do with me stopping the IVF? Some falsehood that going on in my body? Mad, leftover bitchy hormones?’ Jill blurts. ‘What if, Maggie? What if?’ Her wet eyes blaze with hope and fear.
‘We can speculate all we want but I think you’re pregnant, Jill. Now, you need to see a doctor and have that proper pregnancy blood test carried out.’ I smile now as I see real colour flood into her face, so thrilled is she.
‘Isn’t life strange?’ Jill laments, ‘In all the years I’ve dreamt of this moment, and believe you me, I’ve dreamt about thismoment a million times. No, a trillion times over. I never thought it would be with me in London and you in a little village in Ireland over FaceTime with twenty copies ofWhat to Expect When You’re Expectingsitting on a shelf over your head!’ Jill throws her head back and laughs and it’s the most beautiful sight for me to see, for us to share.
‘Maybe my article has more truth to it than we could ever imagine, maybe this really is a magical place. Now, go call your lovely husband. Tell him the words you’ve been dying to say for years. Enjoy it,’ I whisper to my best friend as happy tears flow like a river down both our faces.
Now, I just need to find Dan and tell him all I know.
TWENTY-ONE
I browse the bookshelves as Giselle is with a customer. In the corner is a tall glass cabinet. Inside I see a shelf of Claddagh rings and book marks with crystals attached. I see a green Claddagh much like my own and remember that I want to buy one for my mom.
‘Thank you so much, Giselle.’ I stand in front of her as she drops the last of a bundle of festively wrapped books into a bag and a customer takes her leave. The door opens again with a tinkle of the bell. ‘It’s great news for my friend Jill, but I’m so sorry to hear you lost so many .?.?. that’s awful.’ I simply can’t ignore what Giselle told me.
‘It was awful, so I understand your friend’s pain and now happiness,’ Giselle says.
‘I’d like to buy the green Claddagh ring for my mom back in New York and one of the crystal bookmarks – stick it in a copy ofWhat to Expect When You’re Expectingtoo, will you? It’s for Jill.’
Giselle is wrapping my purchases when the bell rings out and the door is flung open.
‘There you are! You’re still here, great!’ Dan fills the small space, panting. ‘I was hoping you hadn’t headed back to the castle, I got .?.?. I got—’
‘Did everything go okay?’ Giselle says, clear adhesive tape perched between her teeth, looking past me and straight at Dan.
‘—delayed. Yeah, sure. Hey Giselle, how are you doing? How’s the sciatica?’ Dan takes a few steps to the counter, tilts his head at Giselle, genuinely interested.
‘I am good, a little sore, a little heavy but I don’t dare complain,’ she says in her sweet French accent as she tapes the wrapped book.
‘It’s almost six o’ clock and as it’s Christmas week, I was wondering if I can buy you a drink, Maggie?’ Dan asks me, looking more than a little rattled.
