Condoms—a pack of twelve.Laughable, almost.
A packet of travel tissues.
Mint flavoured chewing gum.Because this awful taste makes me want to detach my tongue.
I stare at the basket—talk about mixed signals—and stick the cost of the whole thing on my credit card.
‘Where’ve you been?’ Fin’s curled up on the sofa still in her flannel pyjamas and fluffy socks. Pretty sure she hasn’t realised I’ve been out this morning.I must give her hair a trim before I head back to Scotland tonight. The cut is beginning to grow out.
‘The loo,’ I answer, sliding into the armchair opposite, clasping the white plastic bag to my lap.
‘I meant earlier. You were out when I woke up.’
‘How’s your head?’
‘Tender. Yours?’
Considering I didn’t drink—not because I thought I might be pregnant because I didn’t—don’t; can’t be—my head isn’t all that great. I’m just under the weather, that’s all.A particular kind of under the weather.One where a person can’t stand the whiff of gin, apparently.
‘Well,’ she questions again, ‘how’s your head?’
‘Well and truly fucked.’
Pulling open the bag, I begin fishing things out, ignoring her gobsmacked expression.
‘You can have these.’ I throw the maxi box of tampons on the low table between us. ‘And you can give these to Bea for her dirty Spanish weekend.’Thumpgoes the box as it hits the glass. ‘These I’ll be needing for my mouth.’ I pull out the chewing gum then the tissues. ‘And the other I expect I’ll be needing a steady supply of for the next seven months or so.’
‘Are you having some kind of mental breakdown?’
‘Might’ve been easier. Might’ve been preferable.’ I throw the bag in her direction, not wanting to touch what’s inside; figuratively or literally.
Opening it, Fin pulls out one box then two, staring at them as though the branded packaging is written in Chinese.
‘Have you—’
‘Yeah, you might not want to open those. I peed on them, so they’re definitely mine. That’s how it goes, isn’t it?’ I scrunch my nose, not quite able to comprehend what the hell I’m saying, never mind what I’m going to do. ‘I’m right royally pissed. I’m up the pisser without a paddle? Just... you know what?’ I say, throwing up my hands. ‘I’m fucking fucked!’
Chapter Twenty-One
Ivy
‘Fucked, are you? I think you mean you have been.’
‘She called you.’ It’s a statement—and not a particularly cheery one—as I drop my weekend bag at the bottom of the set of stairs leading up to my flat.
‘What did you expect?’ Nat replies from her position at the top. She begins to descend.
‘I expected her to keep a confidence until I get my head around it myself.’
I’m not pregnant and I can’t be . . . turns out I can be and am.
‘Din’nae fash,’ Nat chides.But how can I not worry? I’ve done little else on the train these past few hours.‘I’ve been sworn to secrecy. I haven’t even told June yet.’
I turn from locking the front door and shoot her a glare. ‘You’d better bloody not.’
‘Come on.’ She rolls her eyes theatrically. ‘June’s like a white witch or something. She always knows when stuff is up.’
‘No, she always seems to know when something’sbeen upyou,’ I return, regretting the nastiness in my tone immediately. ‘So I’ll thank you to keep your trap shut.’
