I put the steaming cup on the work table next to her pot of brushes and wrap my arms around her from behind, wishing I could infuse her with some of my strength. For the first time, she feels frail in my arms and I realise how much weight she has lost in the last couple of weeks.
“It will all be over soon, and you’ll be able to relax and enjoy your success.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, but her answer is distracted, her mind back on the work, leaving me to watch and worry.
Hours later, I tip the cold tea down the sink and put the cup in the dishwasher, counting the days.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lulu
Bythemorningofthe opening I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of Highland cattle. I’ve spent the last few mornings clutching the toilet bowl, and I don’t like it one little bit. Luckily, Nick has been super busy, leaving for work at the crack of dawn. So I haven’t had to suffer the indignity of an audience.
I’ve no sooner finished cleaning my teeth—for the second time—than I hear the front door rumble open. Rosanna’s boss might not be great at career development opportunities, but she makes up for it with her willingness to be flexible about Ro’s work hours. So, she’s been able to take the day off to keep me calm before the opening.
“In here,” I call out. Ro knows I’ve been a wreck the last week or two and is aware the nerves have travelled to my stomach and set up camp there.
“Well, isn’t this handy? You’re right where I need you.” She’s smirking.
“Honestly, Ro, I’m in no shape for games this morning.” My hands are still shaking from the violence of this morning’s upchuck.
“No games. Hop on the toilet and pee on this.” And from a paper bag, Ro pulls a white plastic stick. It takes me a shocked moment, but I’ve seen enough rom-coms to recognise it for what it is.
“Don’t be ridiculous. What for?”
“Tired. Headachy. Emotional. Throwing up.” Ro ticks the points off on her fingers. “Can you join the dots? Have you had a period lately?” I’m having trouble wrapping my head around what she’s saying.
“No. No, no, no. I amnotpregnant. I have an implant. And you don’t get a period with an implant. So there.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re being melodramatic. This is all just nerves and stress and worry and …”
“Fine then. If you’re not pregnant, you won’t mind peeing on the stick. Because it will be negative. No harm done. Right?”
I plop down on the side of the bath, suddenly dizzy. I can’t be pregnant. Implants are so reliable. And just because I feel …
Oh crap.
I snatch the stick from Ro. “You had to do this to me today, didn’t you?”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. But I can’t watch you go on like this another day. If it’s negative, then you have nothing to worry about. If not, well, we’ll work it out later. But best to know one way or the other—yes?”
Ro stands at the bathroom door while I pee on the stick.
“How long until we know?” I hand it to her while I wash my hands.
“Hmm. Ummm. It says on the box one minute, but …” She holds the stick up and there in the window are two undeniably dark pink lines. Already.
“Well, that can’t be right. It’s only been twenty or thirty seconds. If we wait a minute the line will go away.” We both stare at the lines. I reach out blindly to turn on the bathroom light, just to make sure.
“I think it’s getting lighter.” I suggest hopefully. Willing it to go away.
“No, I don’t think so.” She could at least have the manners to look doubtful.
“Maybe it’s a faulty test?”
“Maybe. The box says over ninety-nine per cent accurate. But there are two sticks in there, so do you want to do it again?”
