“Ah, you must be Libby,” the cheesecloth woman said when she spotted her. “Come on in. We’ve left spaces for you and Simon.”
Libby faltered at the door.
“Don’t be shy; we won’t bite.”
The five couples were all staring at her, and Libby could see some of them looking behind her for her partner. Did she really want to go through this today, discussing placentas and cracked nipples with a bunch of strangers all pitying her for being there alone? Surely, there were better things she could be doing with her time.
“I’m sorry; something’s come up,” Libby said, and she turned and fled.
As she walked away from the library, Libby congratulated herself on her decision. Now she could go to Sainsbury’s to do some food shopping, and then she could spend the afternoon washing, labeling, and putting away the baby clothes that her sister had given her. Rebecca had recently discovered she washaving a girl and had immediately announced that all the clothes she’d used for Hector were no longer suitable. Libby had happily agreed to take Hector’s old baby clothes and had been surprised when her sister had volunteered to drive down and drop them off last weekend. They still weren’t exactly close, but Rebecca had been uncharacteristically supportive over the past few months. Libby had also reached a tentative peace with her parents, who were delighted she was back in Surrey and were clearly making an effort to support her rather than control her. Although, true to form, her mum hadn’t been able to stop herself from making the odd critical remark about Libby’s choice of pram, cot, and even nappy brand.
As Libby was walking past the train station, she heard an announcement drift over the wall.
“The next train is the ten thirteen service to London Waterloo.”
Libby paused. If she hurried, she might have time to buy a ticket and catch the train to London, her last chance for a day in the city before the baby was born. Or she could stick to the plan, go to Sainsbury’s, and prepare for the baby’s arrival.
An hour later, Libby emerged into the bustle of Vauxhall Bus Station. It was almost six months to the day since she’d last been here, carrying two hastily packed rucksacks, her life in tatters. Libby could remember getting lost trying to find the right stop for the 88, and then being tutted at by passengers as she struggled to pay for her bus journey. Now she strode toward stop E, boarded the waiting bus, and paid with a touch of her card.
Libby moved instinctively toward the stairs to the upper deck, then stopped. That was where she and Frank had alwayssat together, but she hadn’t heard from him since the horrible day of their fight, back in July. She’d initially given him space like he’d wanted and because she’d been so busy with everything going on in her own life. When she’d finally plucked up the courage to call him, about a month later, his phone had rung and rung and eventually cut off. Libby had tried calling several times since, but the same thing always happened, and she’d come to the reluctant conclusion that Frank didn’t want to hear from her. With a small sigh, Libby moved away from the stairs. The lower deck was busy, and despite her heavily pregnant state, no one offered her a seat as she moved down the aisle.
The bus pulled off and Libby looked out the window, taking in the view as they drove up toward Vauxhall Bridge. She remembered how strange and overwhelming this had felt when she first arrived in London, an unfamiliar city with its traffic and tourists and constant buzz of movement. Now she realized how much she’d grown used to it over her short stay in the city and how much she’d missed it since moving back to Surrey.
“Oi, are you blind?”
A loud voice to Libby’s left caused her to look round. An elderly lady wearing a transparent plastic rain hood was glaring at the teenage boy in the seat next to her.
“Can’t you see that girl’s pregnant? Or were you pretending you hadn’t noticed so you wouldn’t have to give up your seat?”
The teenager looked between the old woman and Libby in confusion.
“It’s fine. I’m quite happy standing,” Libby said.
“That’s not the point,” the woman barked. “In my day,young men were taught to give up their seats for women, especially those in your condition. Come on, lad, move it.”
She gave the boy a sharp jab in the ribs with her elbow. For a moment Libby thought he was going to shout at the old woman, but she was giving him such a steely look that he obviously thought better of it, and with a grunt he stood up and slouched away.
“Well, come on, then, sit down.”
Libby really had been happy to stand, but there was no way she could disobey this formidable woman, so she lowered herself into the vacant seat next to her.
“That’s quite a bump you got there. You expecting triplets?” the woman said, nodding at Libby’s tummy.
“Just the one.”
“Blimey. When you due?”
“Tenth December.”
“Good luck with that. It’s going to be a whopper by then.”
Libby was used to this by now, complete strangers approaching her to talk about her pregnancy. A few weeks ago, she’d been in Boots when a stranger had walked up to her, put both hands on her stomach without asking permission, and pronounced it was going to be a boy.
“This your first?” the woman on the bus asked, and when Libby nodded, she sucked her teeth. “I remember when my son was born. The labor took three days and the doctors said it nearly killed me.”
“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I was fine, love. I’m as tough as old boots. And you should be all right too, with those big hips of yours.”
