Chapter 12
TWELVE
In the end, Guy comes with me for my scan a couple of weeks later. After weighing up all the options, it just seemed the simplest thing to do – other than going alone, which was sorely tempting.
I am nervous about it, and still not sure I believe it all, and I can’t face the thought of telling people until I know what’s happening.
I know my dad will be thrilled, and Connie and Cally will be delighted, and all of that should feel nice – but it doesn’t.
It feels like pressure. It feels like something could still go wrong, or even that those multiple pregnancy tests could have all been duds.
It feels like my heart could still be broken, and carrying the weight of that is quite enough without adding in everybody else’s excited expectations.
I was also painfully aware of what Ella had said, about it being difficult for my dad and Connie to visit the hospital.
I’m feeling tense about it myself as Guy drives Bettina out of Starshine and carefully eases us onto the A-road that leads into town. I close my eyes at every roundabout, and grimace when anybody overtakes us, and generally act like a bit of a wuss.
He knows the backstory, and he is driving with utmost care and attention, not overreacting to my overreactions. It doesn’t help when we have to navigate a long stretch of speed bumps, and every time we slowly bounce over them, I feel like I’m going to pee myself.
‘I don’t think they really need our bladders to be this full,’ I say, after the final near-miss. ‘I think it’s just something invented by men to give them a laugh.’
‘Who knows? Don’t worry, we’re nearly there, and as soon as you’re done I’ll get you straight to the nearest loo. VIP escort.’
‘That’s the sexiest thing a man has ever said to me,’ I reply, squeezing my bits to try and prevent an impending leak. I only have to think the words ‘pelvic floor exercise’ for the relevant muscles to contract.
I’m quiet as we park up, taking in the various sights and sounds as we make our way inside.
Women in all stages of pregnancy; men at all stages of pride through to terror; doctors, nurses, ambulances.
I try not to let my mind drift towards Sandy, my baby sister, and the way she died.
It doesn’t feel like the best of omens, and I’m wondering if I should ask to be transferred to a different hospital.
‘You’re building new memories,’ Guy says, taking hold of my hand as we walk towards the foyer.
‘New associations. Something terrible has happened everywhere, and something brilliant too. It’s just a place, a building.
It isn’t intrinsically good or bad, it just is.
And now we’re going to go in there, and meet your baby, and it’s going to be amazing. The start of an epic love.’
I flash a grateful smile at him and keep hold of his hand.
He is right, I know he is. We register with the reception and are directed through to a small waiting room full of uncomfortable looking women.
All of them have somebody with them – a partner, a mum, a friend – and I’m suddenly so glad I agreed to let him come.
Without him by my side, I know I’d be feeling even more scared right now, even more weak.
He nods at me reassuringly, keeping tight hold of my hand, and I wonder if people assume we are a couple, that he is the father.
Of course they do, I decide. Everything must look simple from the outside.
A quick glance would show a slightly older-than-average mum and her partner, not the complex layers of connections and relationships that really exist. The actual father now being thousands of miles away in South Sudan, according to a message he sent me a few days earlier.
Guy being a friend who only came into my life weeks ago.
Me only recently having come home from a lifetime of globe-trotting.
We are not what we appear, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I have never been a simple person, which has been both a blessing and a curse.
I was never like my siblings, or my dad, never satisfied with the gentle rhythms of life in our sleepy corner of the world.
Yet here I am, back in Starshine, facing a future that feels both rich and terrifying.
I feel like I’m on a roller coaster, lurching from stable and settled to gut-churningly uncertain every few minutes.
‘You okay?’ Guy asks, distracting me from my thoughts.
‘Yes,’ I lie. ‘Just worried I might wee myself.’
My name is called just at that moment, and I am consumed with nerves as we walk through into the little consultation room.
I am on autopilot as I lie down on the bed, barely hearing the technician as she explains the procedure and warns me about cold gel.
I barely even feel it, my brain short-circuiting to a different time, a different place – years ago, in a health centre in Thailand, David at my side.
Both of us fizzing with excitement as we saw two tiny heartbeats flickering on the screen.
The babies I loved instantly, and never even got to meet.
I close my eyes, squeezing away tears, overwhelmed with it all.
I need to separate the past from the present.
I need to concentrate on the here and now, not lose myself in the grief I know I never really processed, the grief that has become tangled up with the loss of my mum, of Sandy, of Simon.
Too much loss, and it feels so heavy. Too heavy for anything new to survive.
Like a thick layer of earth, too dense to let the light through, too suffocating to allow new roots to grow towards the sunlight.
‘Suzie,’ Guy says gently, his hand squeezing mine. ‘Look.’
I open my eyes, and the first thing I see is his face. He leans over me, wipes away my tears, and smiles. ‘Say hi to your baby.’
I bite my lip, realise that everything the technician has said has gone over my head. I disappeared into a black hole, too scared to even engage. I nod, feeling shaky and disconnected as I turn my head to the screen.
It’s there, that magical little blob. It’s jiggling around and pulsating with life, with energy, with potential.
The lady points out its head, its spine, its little waving limbs.
Its bright, joyous heartbeat. Love and relief surge through me in equal measures, and I turn to look at Guy.
He is staring at the screen in awe, the flickering light reflected in his eyes.
‘Guy,’ I whisper, ‘it’s got a head…’
‘Yeah. It’s a really nice head too. It’s perfect.’
He sounds swept away, gazing from the image to me with complete amazement. I know this is something that millions of women do every single day – and have done since the dawn of humanity – but it’s still a miracle. Still a thing of utter wonder.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask. ‘And is there only one?’
The ultrasound lady assures me that everything looks great, that there is only one, that she can try and determine the gender for me if that’s what we want.
I look at Guy, wondering what he would choose, then reminding myself that this is not his miracle.
He is simply sharing the moment, and he is doing enough.
I don’t expect him to help me make decisions as well.
‘No, thank you,’ I tell her. ‘As long as it’s healthy, I don’t care. Can we get a photo?’
We can, it turns out, and we emerge from our appointment clutching a little strip of printout images.
They look like weird abstract art, but they represent so much more.
They represent life, and I am so happy, so relieved, I can barely function.
I’m staring at the paper, letting Guy steer me along the corridor, enraptured by the collection of blurry circles.
‘Toilet,’ he says, drawing us to a stop outside a door marked Ladies. I look up and immediately feel the need to go. I dash in, bursting, laughing as I do my business, not caring how loud I am. It is the best wee I have ever had in my entire life.
‘Congratulations,’ Guy says, when I finally emerge.
‘Thank you. For everything. I was planning on coming here by myself, and I realise now that would have been a mistake. I was so scared, Guy. I hadn’t let myself acknowledge it, but I was so scared she was going to tell me something was wrong.
I couldn’t enjoy any of this until I knew it was okay.
And now… Gosh. Well. Now, I’m scared for all kinds of other reasons.
Now I have to tell people, and decide what to do next, and figure out how to be a mother when I’m not exactly renowned for being the most sensible and steady of people. ’
It seems my brain has enjoyed its allotted amount of happiness, and has now decided that it’s time to go into overdrive again. What if I can’t do this? What if I’m a terrible mother? What if, what if, what if…
Guy sweeps me up into his arms and gives me the world’s best hug. Right there, outside the loo, in a hospital corridor – world’s best hug. They should put up a plaque to commemorate it.
‘Stop worrying,’ he says, dropping a kiss on my head before he lets me go. ‘Stop overthinking. Let’s go somewhere for a bit, let you settle. Get used to the idea before you go back to the village. Your dad is going to be so excited…’
‘Oh, God, I know. I think we should go to the pub. The one on the coast that feels like it’s about to float out to sea.’
We head off, and I give him directions to the place I had in mind. It’s perched on top of a cliffside, with views so vast you feel like you’re at the edge of the world. We find a spot on the terrace, and he goes off to get the drinks.
‘A dizzy water for you,’ he says, placing it down on the table. I smile, remembering the first day we met. How can it only be weeks ago?