‘Dolly—’
‘I’m not making you stay!’ she half-arsedly snaps at me. ‘Warren was supposed to be here.’
‘Well, he’s not and I am, so get used to it.’
She groans. ‘As much as I love our verbal sparring, can we leave it until I have stopped having contractions?’
I gasp, trying to wrap my head around this. ‘But you—’
‘Not pregnant, calm down,’ she snaps, exasperated with me, and I feel a little foolish to have jumped right there. ‘I’ve got endometriosis. The big cramps are like contractions.’
I want to sayfuck that’s awful, I’m sorry. But I still feel rather bitter from feeling stupid, so I snap back, ‘Well, you can see how I misconstrued that, what with your using a term famously connected with giving birth.’
She doesn’t give me anything back so I guess she really is too tired to argue with me. Why do I feel a bit disappointed?
I don’t really know very much about endometriosis. That’s not really something you talk about in first aid training; in fact you rarely get to assist people with chronic conditions. It’s more likely you’d help someone giving birth unexpectedly. This whole situation has spun me out enough that for some reason I find myself muttering about the signs of labour in my ewes at the farm.
She raises a hand, heavy and slow. ‘Carys, I know you Welsh people love chatting about your fucken sheep, but please shut up.’
‘Fine. But we have to get you out of here.’
‘No moving yet.’
‘I’m stronger than I look. I can help.’
‘Carys, I’m familiar with how strong you are from you going on about hauling your sheep, and,’ she looks to my neck, and must notice my mic still attached, ‘other things.’
The flush of heat runs up my skin. ‘You said we needed to stop talking about sheep.’
There’s a knock at the door and I leap up to answer it.
‘Hey,’ says Warren, as though he knew I’d be in here. ‘Is Dolly okay?’
I shake my head. ‘Pretty bad.’
‘I’m glad you were here. You wouldn’t believe how much production did not want to believe me that we needed to go home – and not film it either.’
‘But they agreed?’
‘In the end.’
‘You’re a good man,’ I say, realising we haven’t spoken much since we left the warehouse.
I suddenly feel a rush of guilt for what I’ve been doing with his fiancée. If they have a fake marriage, does he know what she and I have been doing? Why we fight?
He sighs, shaking his head. ‘It was helped along by Zack decking Jackson for some reason.’
‘No, what?’ Dolly cries from the floor. ‘Aw man, I missed it.’
I open the door wider so he can come in, and try to ignore the strange feeling in my stomach as I watch him gently wipe the damp hair from her forehead. They’re so easy with each other.
‘Yeah, Malachi had to grab Jackson before he got Zack,’ Warren says, trying not to laugh. ‘The guy would have beenobliterated.’
‘A real case of the worst person you know made a good point.’
‘Anyway, there’s a car for us. No cameras.’
Dolly looks up at the ceiling. ‘Fuck’s sake. I’m sorry.’ It rushes out in one word, and I barely hear what he says to reassure her because he crouches down, and his voice is so low and deep at the best of times.
