The plastic carrier bag from the chain store chemist round the corner was heavy and I’d done my best to conceal its logo and what it had in it. I unpacked, spreading the contents on the floor. Two large two-litre bottles of water and six long, slim boxes.
My stomach churned. After the amount I’d thrown up when I made it into work this morning and again at eleven am and again after lunch, I was pretty sure I had nothing left inside me to chuck up. However, the body was a wonderful thing and I was half prepared to sprint to the nearest toilet.
I sat down and opened one of the bottles, starting to drink. I’d bought six of the boxes, each containing two tests. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t need all of them, but I’d definitely need more than two, just to be sure. And a lot of water.
It had only been when I walked down the feminine hygiene aisle in the supermarket that I realised I hadn’t bought any tampons or sanitary towels for ages. I hadn’t used any since I’d been staying – now living – at Killian’s. I was feeling nauseous, although today was the first day I’d actually been sick.
The conversation we’d had on the moor replayed through my brain. I’d been given antibiotics to make sure the cut I’d sustained when I’d been tackled to the ground didn’t get infected. They weren’t overly known for interfering with the pill, just that they could. I’d said it half in jest, but my words were coming back to haunt me.
If I was pregnant, and I was pretty sure those tests were going to come up positive, how would Killian react? What would it mean for us?
My career at this point wasn’t a consideration. I was established and successful and one of my main jobs was managing the department and overseeing other lawyers doing the work. Since the whole break in and vacation by the sea, I’d been less of a workaholic, leaving that honour to Maxwell, and more home centred. Not that I wanted to stop working, but there were always ways around things, weren’t there?
I felt my pulse thudding, my throat tight and then a strange sense of peace. I needed to know. Drinking water wasn’t necessary as I knew it took around ninety minutes to get to your bladder, but I did it anyway. Then I picked a stick and went to pee.
Two blue lines.
I managed a second, amazed at the ability of my pelvic floor to stop mid pee.
Two more blue lines.
Then there was a knock at the door.
“Claire?” It was Jackson’s voice. “Claire? Is that you in there?”
Then the knock became a bang.
“Claire, if you don’t respond I’m going to bust the door through. Seph’s saying you’ve been kidnapped. I think he’s talking out of his ass, but I’m worried you’ve fallen over and knocked yourself out or something. You’ve looked like shit all day.” I really hoped Jackson was more complimentary with Vanessa.
I stared at the rows of boxes and the two tests, both very positive, both very clear and touched my stomach tentatively. There was a baby in there. One I would meet and see and name and love and watch grow. One whose birthdays I would celebrate and have Christmas mornings with and take trick or treating at Halloween. One who would share pieces of me and Killian.
“Claire, for fuck’s sake! I’m coming in!”
I crashed back to reality, knowing that my brother would indeed break down that door if he thought I wasn’t alright. “Stop, Jacks, I’m fine.” I rummaged in my purse for my phone and then remembered leaving it on my desk. “Don’t come in. There’s nothing to worry about, but can you call Killian? I don’t have my phone on me.”
There was silence. I knew exactly what the look would be like on his face right know. “I don’t like it. I’d rather come in and see you myself, but if that’s what you want.”
“Tell him to come quickly,” I said, knowing it would elicit panic in Jackson but needing Killian to be there, help me comprehend the news and to see his face.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Jackson, just fucking call Killian.”
“Doing it!” I knew the sharp tone in my voice had kicked him into action. It was one he associated with me when I was fourteen and brandishing sharp cutlery at him. I wouldn’t actually have harmed him in any way, but he didn’t know that, therefore he had stopped doing whatever dick thing it was at the time.
I managed four more pregnancy tests before there was a quieter knock at the door. Each one said the same thing, so I was think that it was pretty certain that I was pregnant. Whatever fears I had thirteen years ago weren’t present now. I felt excited, a little scared, elated and still slightly sick.
“Claire,” a voice said from behind the door. “It’s me.”
I opened the door slightly, peering through to make sure I wasn’t about to be ambushed by any of my siblings or, God forbid, Marie, who had been working in the office today.
“It’s just me. I’ve made everyone else clear off. I’m going out of my head here with worry. What’s going on?” He tried to peer further round the door. Fairies paraded in my stomach with more than a couple participating in a pole dancing competition. I opened the door wider and his eyes went straight to the line of tests, perfectly straight because my OCD did extend to out of the office.
“Claire?” His voice was quiet, but I heard a tremor in it. “What are those?”
I pointed to the wrapper. I was a great believer in actions speaking louder than words, especially when you were physically unable to get any words out.
“Okay. We’re playing guessing games. They’re pregnancy tests. Am I right? I haven’t seen one before.”
