‘She’s my mum and I love her. And if she’s decided to act like my mother again, then I think that’d be great.’
‘Olivia said you got a little cross with her this morning.’ Talk about a change of direction, though I refrain from asking why my boss and my cousin have been talking about me.Mainly because I’m not sure I want to hear.
‘She asked if I wanted her to come with me to my next antenatal appointment.’
‘That’s nice of her. You know I’d do it. Your mum mentioned it, too.’
‘Then she asked if I had a birthing plan, and who’d be in the suite with me.’ As I speak, I can feel all those reactions from this morning bubbling like lava to the surface. Irritation, rage, hurt, all swirling and red. ‘And I told her, James would be.’
I said it as though it were one of the ten commandments—an incontrovertible truth.
Because... because I can’t contemplate anything else.
‘Okay.’
‘No, not okay, actually. She said I should have a fallback plan.’
‘Oh, babe.’
‘So I told her she could fuck right off.’
‘She’s only trying to help, Mir.’ Heather’s gaze is as soft as her reply. And though I know they’re all trying their best, I can still feel my eye twitching.
‘I suppose you think I should be nice because she’s said I don’t need to go into work for a while.’ Oh, that did not come out nice.
‘Why don’t you and go for a nice stroll around the hospital grounds, eh?’ Some might call it a stroll. Others an intervention. ‘And if we pass the psychiatric ward, maybe we should pop in?’
Another evening, this time I’ve wedged one of the chairs at the side of the bed and I’m lying half on and half off of the mattress, my foot pressed to the chair making sure I don’t roll off the edge.
‘Scooch over.’ No response. ‘No? Fine. Be a bed hog. Make it difficult for me. Do you want to hear this bedtime story or not?’
No answer.
One day.
With some difficultly, I pull the book open, balancing it on my open palm.
‘Week thirteen.What's up, baby?That’s what the book says, not me,’ I begin. ‘It’s all in the intonation. Keep up.So, babe is now as a lemon, which is pretty subjective, don’t you think? Some lemons are huge and some are no bigger than a satsuma. Weird,’ I mutter. ‘Anyway; babe’s head is now about half the size of her crown-to-rump length, so still a little alien looking. What a horrible thing to write. Our baby does not look like ET! Harry Haribo is beautiful, isn’t he?
‘At thirteen weeks, your babe is beginning to form bones in her arms and legs. Isn’t that cool? Oh, listen to this next part, James;because he now has more movement, he might be able to get his thumb into his mouth.How cute is that?
‘Babe is also developing vocal chords,the first step to Harry complaining.But because sound can’t travel through your uterus, you won’t be able to hear any sounds or cries just yet.Yet? I didn’t know that was a thing. Can you imagine; Oi, Mum, eat more of those biscuits. I’d freak!
‘Your thirteen week pregnancy body. You’re just a week away from the second trimester, and should be feeling pretty good. The person who wrote this has obviously never been pregnant.Most early pregnancy symptoms will be behind you soon, but some mums suffer nausea and fatigueinto the fourth and fifth months. That’s not very reassuring.Also, you might be faced with some of the following symptoms; bloating,constipation, headachesandbreast tenderness, and vaginal discharge.God, James, I’m so sorry. This isn’t a very good bedtime story, is it?’
I close the book and drop it to the chair behind me, pressing my ear to his chest. And I just lie there in the quiet, listening to his breathing for a while, willing him to open his eyes.
‘James. I need you to wake up. I can’t do this on my own.’
No answer.
I’d loved him. Held him as best as I could. Stoked the skin available to me. Whispered words of love in his ear, and other stuff ...
I’d talked to him constantly, so much so that sometimes, I was hoarse at the end of the day. I’d told stupid jokes, goaded him, read Cosmo and even started The Iliad at his dad’s suggestion. I’d sang, and I hate singing. Sprayed my perfume around the room.
I’d begged and I’d pleaded. I’m promised and I’d wept.
And still no answer.
