Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Ella – or Dr Farrell as she is technically known – has her GP surgery tucked away inside the community centre.
All of the usual paraphernalia is here – BP monitors and weighing scales and boxes full of swabs – and Ella is wearing a very professional-looking stethoscope around her neck.
All the signs point to her actually being a real doctor.
Still, I have my doubts – do real doctors have their own kids in the room with them, in this case a super-cute toddler called Kitty?
And do real doctors have a fake skeleton in the corner wearing a pink feather boa, a top hat and shades?
And do real doctors talk to someone called Cookie Monster on a walkie-talkie?
‘Sorry about that,’ she says, putting the device down. ‘It was just Connie. You know how the signal is around here, so we have the walkies as backup. Connie, as you can imagine, insisted on code names.’
‘I can imagine. I like it. What’s yours?’
‘Dr Zhivago. So – Kitty, sweetheart, take that out of your mouth! They’re Larry’s, not yours!’
Her daughter glares up at her in the defiant way that spells a huge amount of trouble brewing in the years ahead.
Ella extricates the foreign object – a dog treat – and shakes her head as she deposits it in the bin.
She passes Kitty a bag of carrot sticks instead, which she proceeds to tip all over the floor and arrange into shapes.
It’s absolutely exhausting watching this whole routine, never mind being part of it.
‘Sorry! She’s supposed to be with Jake today, but his dad isn’t well, so he’s had to go and visit him. I’m trying to avoid putting a video on my tablet for her, but I’m already starting to realise why so many parents depend on them.’
I’ve been sitting here for ten minutes, and so far we’ve barely managed to exchange more than a couple of cohesive sentences.
Kitty is busy trying to insert a carrot stick into her ear when there’s a knock on the door, and a woman called Lucy pops her head into the room.
Lucy is an old university friend of Ella’s, who also happened to fall in love with her brother-in-law, Josh.
She and her daughter Rose – Goth girl, I now know – moved here from Ireland.
Lucy is now in partnership with Dr Wong, the village vet, and Rose works with Archie.
It’s a complex web of life that ties this place together, and I remind myself that I am now part of it, adding my own gossamer strands.
‘Hiya!’ Lucy says, nodding towards Kitty. ‘I finished up early and wondered if you needed a hand?’
‘Yes!’ says Ella with very unmaternal gusto. ‘Please, take her! I’ll be done in an hour or so if you want to bring her back to the inn? I’ll pay you in wine.’
‘It’s a deal,’ Lucy says, scooping the child up, artfully dodging a carrot stick up the nostril. ‘Come on, you little horror…’
It feels insanely quiet once Kitty has gone, and Ella and I take a few moments to simply breathe, and stare at each other in gratitude.
‘I love her to bits,’ she says quietly, as though she’s scared she might overhear, ‘but, sweet Jesus, she’s hard work!
You genuinely have no clue what motherhood is like until it bulldozes you.
Anyway, Suzie, my apologies again. Now we can hear ourselves think, what is it I can do for you? ’
I can’t help but grin, knowing that this is what they call in the trade ‘perfect comic timing’.
‘Uh, I’m pregnant,’ I tell her. ‘And about to be bulldozed.’
‘Oh God,’ she drawls, hiding her face in her hands. ‘I’m sorry – again! Obviously it’s a joy, blah blah blah, wouldn’t be without her, etc etc etc… Usual disclaimers apply! So. Do you know you’re pregnant or just suspect it?’
‘Well, I did three tests in France, one in Belgium, and another two when I landed in the UK. Just to cover all bases. Every single one of them was positive.’
‘Okay then. I’d say that was a pretty scientific approach. And how old are you again, Suzie?’
‘Forty-three – and yes, I know, positively geriatric.’
She laughs and waves the comment away. ‘I was also classed as geriatric – there are a lot of us about. Fit and healthy? Anything else I should know about?’
This gives me pause. I know I need to tell her everything, but it is not easy. She looks at me sympathetically, and adds: ‘Would it help if I say something like “Trust me, I’m a doctor” at this stage? Believe me, there won’t have been a thing I haven’t heard before.’
I nod, and take a deep breath, and tell her about my previous pregnancy. She asks relevant questions, makes notes, and is the picture of efficiency. Once she’s done, though, she reaches out and takes one of my hands in hers.
‘I lost my first baby, too,’ she tells me, her eyes kind.
‘And all the way through my pregnancy with Kitty, I was terrified that something was going to go wrong. That I was going to do something wrong. Even with a medical degree and years of experience, I thought that. So please, believe me when I say this, I understand why you haven’t told anybody yet.
I won’t breach your confidentiality, obviously, but I would encourage you, on both a professional and personal level, to share the news sooner rather than later.
You need the support, even if you don’t want to ask for it.
Have you been taking vitamins, looking after yourself? ’
‘I have. As soon as I found out I started on the folic acid, and not a drop of booze has touched my lips since. I’ve, well, other than that, I’ve basically been ignoring it.
I was so excited last time, so hopeful. I did everything by the book and it still ended like it did.
This time, I suppose I’m trying not to let myself believe it just yet, if that makes any sense? ’
‘Bizarrely, it does. But we need to get you booked in for a scan, see how things are going. Nothing quite makes it real like seeing the scan, does it? Hearing that little heartbeat and knowing they’re growing inside you…’
She looks a little misty eyed, then shakes herself out of it. ‘Nope. One is enough!’ she says firmly. I imagine this is more to herself than to me.
‘I’ll get the paperwork done, Suzie, and arrange your first appointment. I don’t have the equipment here so it’ll mean a trip into town. If you don’t have anybody else to go with you, then let me know, and I’ll clear the time. It can be difficult, for George and the others, going to that place.’
I nod and screw my eyes shut. ‘That place’ is the maternity ward at the local hospital.
The ward where my siblings were heading when their car collided with a lorry, and they both lost their lives.
The ward where little Meg was delivered by C-section, coming into a world that had just taken her mother.
The cycle of life can sometimes be excessively cruel, and I know I will have my own struggles with ‘that place’, and the memories it will stir.
I thank Ella and make my farewells. It’s all a bit crazy, I think, as I emerge into another sunny day in Starshine Cove.
I’m back here, I’m pregnant, and I’m still no closer to having a life plan.
I am financially solvent, I am healthy, and I am resourceful – these things are in the plus column.
But I am going to be a single mother, a geriatric one at that, as well as a certified flight risk.
I wish my mum was here, I think for the millionth time.
My mum would make everything seem okay, and even if she didn’t, we’d make each other laugh.
Without me giving my feet any clear instructions at all, I find myself walking towards Trevor’s Emporium, recalling that first morning, when he offered me ginger tea.
I wonder if the Druid in him somehow knew I was expecting?
Trevor has a certain innocence to him, despite his interest in ancient fertility symbols and nature, and part of me wonders if he even knows how babies are made in the real world.
I give him a wave as I pass, and head behind the little row of buildings, towards the construction project.
It’s looking good, starting to genuinely resemble a structure now rather than random wooden frames and plastic sheeting.
I peer through into the half-built room that I know will become the kitchen and feel a little plunge of disappointment when I see that Guy isn’t there.
I wasn’t planning on coming to see him, and I’d insisted that I would be fine going to the doc’s alone, but still – he feels part of this, somehow.
The fact that I told him before I told anybody else must count for something, even if it’s just that I have very strange priorities.
I’m about to leave when Miranda herself appears, Evan at her side.
He’s holding a plastic toy hammer and wearing a yellow helmet like Bob the Builder, and if it’s possible to look too cute, he’s managing it.
He’s a sturdy little fellow, two and a half, with bright blue eyes, and an inquisitive nature.
He stomps over to me, and waves his hammer in the air. ‘Bang, bang, fix!’ he announces.
‘Yep, totally,’ I reply, hoping I haven’t just agreed to something I’ll regret. ‘Bang, bang, fix.’
He seems happy with this, flashes me a heartbreaker of a smile, and sits abruptly down on the ground. He then proceeds to whack seven shades out of the sawdust-coated floor. There’s definitely some bang bang, but I’m not sure about the fix.
Miranda rolls her eyes and says: ‘He’s a one-boy wrecking machine. Have you seen my dad anywhere?’
‘Nope, not this morning. Do you need him for something?’
‘No,’ she says, a little too quickly. ‘I was just wondering. It’s fine if he’s not around.’
‘Maybe he’s at the builders’ yard again, or maybe he’s having a nap, or maybe he’s just gone to the café to get a coffee?’