Charlotte
I dash to the toilet the second Nicki unwraps her last gift. I don’t even fill in the final slot of the spreadsheet. I’ve bled through my makeshift sanitary towel and I gasp with actual horror. I’ve bled through my knickers and some of it has dried to either side of my thighs in this heat. I wipe and blood comes off the toilet tissue. I’m going to have to get to hospital immediately. This blood cannot be argued with – I can’t manifest away this much biology. I bite my wrist until it leaves a mark and then try to mop myself up. When I shakily open the bathroom door, there’s a line of women waiting, and I apologise sheepishly before running to locate my phone. Nicki isn’t on her throne. Most people have dispersed to the kitchen to top up their drinks. Lauren’s still sat down, red-faced and laughing with that terrible Phoebe and her terrible undercut. I should be helping with drinks, but the blood . . .
The blood . . .
The heat’s still a surprise as I run outside and down the long gravel driveway. I only have one bar of reception but it’s enough to get through.
‘, are you OK, babe?’ Seth asks. ‘Matt got picked up by the taxi just fine, I promise. He should be arriving any moment. It’s all going to be per—’
‘I’m bleeding,’ I tell him. I fold over, holding my stomach, sweat dripping across my back as the sun throbs down on me.
‘What?’
‘From my vagina.’ My wobbling lip vibrates through my voice. ‘There’s a 20 per cent chance it’s a miscarriage. We won’t know for sure until I get to hospital. If they hear a heartbeat, the odds improve drastically.’
‘. What? Are you OK? Where are you? Fuck. You’re bleeding? For how long?’
‘Just an hour.’
‘An hour? Why aren’t you in hospital?’
‘The baby shower. I have to—’
‘Fuck the baby shower. Why didn’t you call? Oh shit. OK. So, the car’s still being pulled out, but it’s alright. Matt’s taxi is arriving any time now. Wait outside for it and get in it once he’s out. Tell the driver to come back and get me and we can go together . . . but that will take a while . . . no. Can you drive? You could get him to pick me up but drive yourself there. Do it, . Now.’
‘But . . .’
‘But nothing. It’s going to be alright. I’m sure. But we need to go to hospital.’
‘I don’t think I can drive.’ I stare at my hand in detached wonder, watching it shake against the gravel. I glance over at my car parked by the balloon arch. ‘And my car’s blocked in.’
‘OK. So, wait for the taxi, and come get me. I’ll google the nearest hospital.’
‘What if the driver doesn’t take us?’
‘Then get someone at the party to come.’
‘I can’t . . . Seth, it will ruin Nicki’s shower.’
‘So?’
‘The surprise is about to happen. I can’t ruin it. I can’t make today all about me.’
‘, you’re bleeding. That’s not being selfish. You can’t help it.’
‘I’ll wait for Matt and the surprise. It’s only a few extra minutes. It will be alright.’ I look up at the clear sky and it strikes me just how blue it is. As blue as the two lines on my pregnancy test. I get why they call it Clear Blue now, I find myself thinking. Because the lines on the test are the same colour as a sunny sky . . .
‘Honey? Are you with me?’
‘I won’t ruin the baby shower,’ I tell him. This is a test from the universe. The shower is going perfectly and soon my reward will come. If I cope without ruining Nicki’s day, then I’ll hear a heartbeat at the hospital. If I make this about me then I’ll be punished.
‘ . . .’ Seth’s trying to use his calm voice but it’s shaking. ‘You know whatever is happening to you right now medically can’t be changed by magical thinking?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not—’
‘This baby shower has nothing to do with the bleeding. Leaving early won’t change what’s happening to you biologically.’
‘We don’t know what’s going on with me biologically,’ I scream as two birds fly out of a nearby tree. ‘It’s unexplained infertility. Nobody knows why we can’t have a baby.’ I start crying then. Oh no. Please. It will ruin my make-up and then everyone will ask why I’m crying and that will ruin Nicki’s baby shower and then I won’t hear a heartbeat. ‘If the world can’t explain it – if it doesn’t make sense – then surely the only way to fix it is by something else that doesn’t make sense! If today is perfect—’
Seth yells back. ‘, stop. Come on. Please. Don’t make any further sacrifices. This is my baby too. Promise me you’re going to be on your way to hospital in less than fifteen minutes. Either in Matt’s cab or get someone to drive you.’
I nod but I might be lying. I’m not sure yet. My stomach cramps and I drop to the gravel. ‘I’ll keep you updated,’ I say. ‘I love you.’
‘It’s all going to be OK, .’ Seth doesn’t know that for sure. He can’t make that promise. I ring off, I sit fully down, behind a big rose bush. I decide to allow myself one strategic cry. I hug my knees to my chest and let myself get out all my emotion in one effective burst. I must stay focused, and I can’t concentrate with a wayward bottom lip. I cry more than I thought I would, making high-pitched guinea-pig noises that hurt my throat. Then I smooth down my dress and get ready to stand up. I’ll say I popped out to get something from the car and that I got really sweaty, and that’s why I’m all red and blotchy. Then, I’ll lurk by the door waiting for Matt. I might even be able to get the taxi driver to wait five minutes while we do the firework surprise, so I can ensure it goes completely to plan, before I go to hospital to be told I’m miscarrying and all hope is gone and I’ll never get to hold my own baby in my arms, even though it’s all I’ve ever wanted in life and . . . I start crying again, much harder. These big shaking silent sobs that reverberate through my whole body, like I’m shedding my skin. I tell myself only two minutes more – I need to stop falling apart. It’s hugely unhelpful. Then the front door opens and voices travel across the humid air.
‘Oh Christ it’s hot out here.’ Shit. Nicki’s voice. I duck further behind the rose bush. ‘It should be illegal to be pregnant and this hot.’
I peek out through the branches to check I’m not in eye-line. She’s settling herself down onto the front step, her giant stomach making her sit with her legs wide open. She’s with Phoebe who laughs at Nicki’s deep squat. As she sits next to her, she reaches out and strokes Nicki’s hand as she takes it, squeezing it to her chest. The sheer weirdness of it yanks me from my distress.
‘So, you did it. You’re having a baby.’
Nicki puts their entwined hands to her face and kisses them. ‘I am. I hope it’s OK. My friend, Lauren, is freaking me out a bit today.’
‘She’s great. I was just chatting to her.’
‘She’s not. Well, she’s great, but today, if you knew her, she’s not herself.’ Nicki lets go and leans up to bake her face in the sun. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen her in months and she’s . . . different. She’s so . . . frumpy, for one thing. I’m not judging, but if you’d known her before, you’d be shocked.’
‘It will all be worth it, I’m sure. That’s what mothers tell everyone anyway. That’s what you’ll tell yourself.’
Nicki lets out a small snort. ‘You can’t even reign it in on my baby shower, can you? Of all days?’
Phoebe does this bitchy cackle. ‘Nothing’s been reigned in about this baby shower, Nicki. I mean, I get that you’ve chosen the heteronormative path of least resistance, but I just saw a vagina pinata outside.’
Nicki snorts again. ‘It’s a vulva actually.’
‘Seriously, what even is today?’ Phoebe asks. ‘I feel like I’m living in a fever dream, and this heat isn’t helping.’
My arms prickle as I wait for Nicki’s response. I wait for her to tell this total bitch of a woman how perfect today is, and how hard I’ve worked and how grateful she is. There’s nothing I haven’t thought of. No extra details I didn’t add. As a gift for my best friend. I hope she tells Phoebe to leave; quite frankly, she’s been messing with the energy all day.
But Nicki says none of that.
‘I know. Today is my worst nightmare realised. I promise you, I’ve had nothing to do with any of this.’
I gasp but they’re both laughing too hard to hear me.
‘Can you say that in calligraphy for me?’ Phoebe cackles again. ‘Nothing can be said today in normal handwriting.’
‘Poor probably took an online evening course to learn calligraphy for today.’
‘Well, so she should. Personally, I can’t piss unless signs for the toilet are spelled out in calligraphy.’
‘I’m surprised you saw them through the wall of peonies.’
‘Don’t. I’ve developed hay fever. Whatever today is, I’m allergic to it.’
As tears mix with sweat on my face, as my knickers fill with blood, as I squat in the gravel, I can only listen, stunned, as one of my best friends shamelessly rips the piss out of me. Ridiculing the day I’ve spent weeks planning for her. I’m frozen with shame and humiliation. Nicki hates today? She hates all this? Everything I’ve done? As I peer out again, her face is crumpled with laughter. She’s not only ridiculing me, she’s enjoying it. Then, somehow, as the universe has obviously decided to enter me into some super-advanced test today, it gets worse.
‘Is your friend on Ritalin or something?’ Phoebe asks. ‘Does she chase her pill down each morning with a bottle of butter icing?’
Nicki snorts for a third time. ‘’s always been a lot.’ Then she stops laughing and her voice quietens and I strain to hear her properly. ‘She means well, she does. But today is a bit selfish of her . . .’ I gasp again. ‘It’s awful, but she’s not been able to get pregnant, even though she’s tried everything. Three rounds of IVF that didn’t work. It’s been so painful to watch. All she’s ever wanted is to become a mum. And it’s come so easily for Lauren and me . . .’
‘So easily,’ the Undercut Bitch interrupts. ‘Nicki decides she wants a baby and nothing could stop her. You’ve never looked back.’
‘That’s not true. You know that.’ Nicki reaches out and takes her hand again, interlocking their fingers. They lean into each other, their faces almost touching, but Phoebe pushes Nicki away.
‘I think you love everything about today. I think you’re more like your friend than you realise.’
‘What? I’m not.’
‘You’re basic, Nicki. Admit it. Today is basic, and you’ve pretended to be above it, but secretly you love this.’
‘What? I don’t love this. Today has been something to endure ! The cupcakes! The games! It’s not fair. ’s been using me to have the baby shower she ’ s always wanted. And I’ve just had to go along with it otherwise I’m a bitch. This isn’t me. You must know that!’
My insides line with lead. I can’t quite compute what I’m hearing. I’ve spent hundreds on today – thousands possibly. I’ve been up late for weeks, making all the craft, ensuring every last detail was perfect. I’ve . . . I’ve . . . I can’t believe she thinks—
‘— might be basic but I’m not basic. When you sent me a picture of that invite this morning I felt sick, wondering what you must think of me. The glitter . . .’
My legs are standing up when I really haven’t told them to. And my hands are at it too, curling into fists against my will. Slowly, I rise from the gravel.
‘. . . You know I think baby showers are weird, gendered, archaic, wasteful ego-fests. My baby doesn’t need any of this shit and neither do I. I’m blessed enough, you know? Do I really need all this . . . capitalism . . . but come on, Phoebe. Let’s get to it, shall we? Why are you here? What do you want? Are you just here to . . . oh my God, .’
One hand goes to Nicki’s mouth and the other to her bump as I stand before her, shaking my head.
Transcript: Inspector Simmons interviewing Nicole Davies, Lauren Powell, Steffani Fox, Roth
Simmons: We’ve been going through the photos taken on the day in question, and there’s quite a few, Nicole.
Nicole: It’s a baby shower. People take photos.
Simmons: In total, going through the phones of everyone who was in attendance, over a thousand images were taken that day.
Nicole: It was the peony wall. It just brings something out in people.
***
Simmons: You took no photographs on the day in question, Lauren. There’s not one on your phone.
Lauren: I didn’t have a spare hand all day.
Simmons: Is it not strange? For a mother to not take a photo of her baby at an event like that?
Lauren: was there. I knew she’d send on all the semi-professional shots she took.
***
Simmons: Can you tell me a bit about this fight that broke out?
Steffani: Which one?
***
Simmons: , your phone has over 400 shots on it from the day in question.
: It was a day for memories to be made. I wanted Nicki to have photos she could cherish forever.
Simmons: In fact, you’ve forensically documented the entire day, from Nicki’s family shots at 9am, the group shot of you and your friends in front of the balloon arch at around 10am, through the games, the meal, and the presents. There’s also photos of every attending guest in front of the wall of peonies.
: I pay Google ￡5 every month for extra cloud storage.
Simmons: However, your phone records state that you stopped taking photographs right around 2pm, when these documented fights broke out.
: Well, who wants photos of a silly falling out? That’s not one for the baby book.
Simmons: True, but, if what you’re saying is true, if you and your friends reconciled and then decided to have a miniature gender reveal, just the four of you, well, where are the photos of that? [Silence] Surely the gender reveal firework is the pièce de résistance? The ultimate content? Surely the main reason you brought the smoke grenade was to take photos of it going off?
: I . . . we must’ve got carried away in the moment and forgot.
Simmons: Forgot? The woman with over 400 photos on her phone already?
: I . . . we . . . it was A Moment. Everyone knows you don’t take photos when you’re having A Moment as it ruins it and pulls you all out of it.
Simmons: Well, it certainly was A Moment.