The nurse on reception calls me over as we leave and puts her hand out for my notes.
‘All OK? Now we’d normally see you at sixteen weeks, but with you being a little younger you’ll get an appointment sooner to keep an eye on you and baby. But for now …’ she takes a quick squiz at my notes, ‘… everything looks great so keep doing what you’re doing and any problems give your midwife or us a ring. Nothing is too silly to ask about.’
Once we’re out in the fresh air and away from the hospital, Mum speaks. ‘Have you two decided what you’re doing yet?’
I stop walking. ‘With what?’ My head is still full of the magical heartbeat that had filled the room.
‘If you’re just over eleven weeks gone, you don’t have a lot of time to decide.’
Her words deflate my mood as if it’s been popped with a pin. I look sideways at Jackson who is hanging back, staying out of the conversation. I’d been so swept away with the excitement of watching our tiny blob on the screen that I’d managed to bury the fact that there were still options on the table that didn’t include keeping it.
‘I think I know what I want to do.’ My hand creeps back to my belly and forms a protective shield around it.
‘All I’m saying is you need to be sure before we tell your dad.’ Mum is twisting the ball of her foot into the gravel of the pavement. ‘I mean, where do you stand on all this, Jackson? Are you standing by Ellie? Is this what you want?’
Jackson coughs and sounds like he’s choking. He takes a step forwards so he’s standing directly behind me. ‘Yes, of course I am.’ He nudges me subtly.
I need to get away from Mum and find out what Jackson really thinks.
I tilt my head up towards him and catch the golden tones shining in his eyes. ‘Actually, Mum, would you take my notes home?’ I hand her the slim green folder. ‘Jackson and I are going to the beach.’
Chapter Nine
My bed is a mound of blouses and shirts all piled one on top of the other, which I’ve discarded for a variety of reasons. One makes me look so pale I look ill, wrong time of year for long sleeves on another, the material is irritating (I don’t know why I haven’t got rid of that one), I’ve lost weight so the navy one hangs off me and one that has a vibrant multicoloured pattern that I love, with little scalloped wings for shoulder straps, but it might be a bit flamboyant for Greg. I’ve settled on my safe purple blouse for our date. Buttons up the front so I don’t have to show too much cleavage and it’s comfy enough to wear, and I think I look OK in it. It’s hanging on the back of my wardrobe door, along with my favourite pair of jeans and my comfy pair of Converse, all ready for our date later.
First, I’m going to get some fresh air and evict the café from my head. I pull on a hoodie and head off outside to wander along the sand towards Thorbridge. Walking along the dunes’ edge ishard work as my feet shift in the loose sand. I glance towards the sea. It’s a calm and brilliant blue this evening. The small waves rolling onto the shore break softly, spilling the crystal-clear water onto the beach. The salty air is a great head cleanser and there’s a particular sound to the sea as it moves too. It’s gentle music. If I wasn’t so scared of the sea itself, I’d probably find it relaxing, but the only reason I’ve moved closer is the dark golden sand which is firmer to walk on. I often fantasise about walking barefoot in the shallow water and feeling the sand squidgy between my toes, but dreaming about it is as close as I ever get.
There’s a calmness to concentrating on what’s around me instead of the nightmare that is presently my life. As the tide retreated, it’s left hundreds of bits of treasure behind. Shells, rocks, seaweed and something which looks like a blob of coral-coloured slime, but is, in fact, a dead jellyfish. The seaweed takes on different forms, from long trailing fronds of deep green to rubbery bulbous-looking clumps which are more reddy brown in colour.
I make it a game of not stepping on the strands that are strewn in my path to keep me occupied. It’s my equivalent of not stepping on the cracks in the pavement. Something I did all the time as a child, praying that if I managed a whole day without messing up, then Dad wouldn’t be angry with me when I got home. Silly superstition, but old habits die hard.
As I round the curve on the shore, the beach huts come into view, the yellow hut closest to me. My breath catches in the back of my throat and I shake my head, dislodging memories before they take hold.
A figure appears, and I squint, trying to focus. I’d swear it came out of Daisy although it could have been from the red hut next to her, but … I strain my eyes and before I can make up my mind, someone’s out-of-puff voice grabs my attention.
‘Hello dear, have you seen Oscar?’
I swing around, the beach hut forgotten. A small dumpy lady in a bright yellow gilet and green wellies is heading my way. She has a baby-blue lead with an empty collar attached dangling from her hand and it bounces as she does her best to run towards me.
‘He got away from me. He’s black and brown and about this big.’ She’s gesturing to something that looks to be the size of a baby elephant.
‘No. Sorry.’
‘Damn,’ she says, tutting, having got her breath back. ‘He’ll be the death of me. But I do love him.’ She looks around her, searching.
‘I’ve got him, Mrs Levens.’ Jackson is walking towards us, holding on to the scruff of a large shaggy dog that’s trotting along at his side quite happily.
‘Oh, you gem, Jackson.’ The old lady beams, buckles the leather collar back around the dog’s neck, and then ruffles him behind the ears.
‘Are you popping in for breakfast as usual tomorrow? I’ll have Oscar’s three sausages ready, along with your bacon butty.’
‘That’ll be lovely.’ She takes a firm hold of the lead. ‘I’ll see you then,’ the lady gasps over her shoulder as she’s towed away, Oscar zigzagging along the shoreline.
I let out a chuckle. ‘Oscar’s nearly bigger than Mrs Levens.’
After our encounter the other day, Jackson does the one thing I never expected him to do. He smiles. A proper, genuine smile which lights up his face and reaches his eyes. ‘He eats twice as much as her, too.’
‘I’m sorry about Tippi,’ I burst out. ‘I feel so guilty.’
