Chapter 31
Nina was sitting on the sofa with her laptop open on the coffee table. She was watching a YouTube interview with one of the authors whose recipe book she’d learnt to cook from after her first husband had died. As she sat absorbed in the interview, she realised that she felt as if she knew the author because she’d now read and followed so many of her books. Not that the author knew it but she and Nina had been on a journey together. Even though they’d never met, from Nina’s point of view, she felt like the author was one of her friends. The author had unknowingly joined Nina in a pool of grief. She’d then taught Nina how to cook, yanking her out of the grief and helping her to heal along the way.
There was a small problem with the friendship now; as Nina watched the author being interviewed, she had the horrible realisation that the friend she’d conjured up in her head was but a figment of her imagination. The person who had steered her through her grief recipe by recipe from the pages of a book was nothing like the woman who was chatting away on the screen in front of her. This woman took narcissism to a whole new level. Nina sat agog as she watched the author spend most of the interview humble-bragging about how she was not only a very successful cookery writer but now also had a literary career to boot. With a sinking heart, Nina cringed as names were dropped left, right, and centre. Was there much worse than a minor celebrity dropping names by the dozen? There really wasn’t. Just no and no again.
Nina closed her laptop, tapped on Instagram, and looked at the author”s profile. As she scrolled mindlessly down, she opened one of the squares where the author was doing jazz hands into the screen and proceeding to tell her thirteen thousand and fifty-three followers how good she was. The author pretended to be shocked to receive a gigantic box of books from her publisher, one of the biggest in the world. She delved into the box as if its contents were a total surprise to her. Nina rolled her eyes as the author feigned excitement and shouted out, ”Oh my God! I can’t believe it!” as if she hadn’t known that she’d written the book. Not only was the video itself cringeworthy, but the author then pretended that she had to do another take and did, in fact, do just that, acting as if the box had arrived again, rubbing her hands together and squealing, ”Oh my God! I can’t believe it! I wrote a book! I wrote a book!” and then jumping up and down and clapping her hands together. ‘Squeeeeeee! I wrote a book.’ Blech.
Nina had a sinking feeling as every little thing about the friendship she’d thought she’d had with the author, which wasn’t even real, went out the window as quick as a flash. She rolled her eyes as she realised that the author was nothing like she’d imagined at all – so very disappointing. Her toes curled back on themselves. She sighed and chuckled to herself as she continued to doom-scroll through the author’s posts.
In her recovery from the influenza, it was actually quite alarming how much time and effort she’d wasted on social media since she’d arrived back from Thailand. As she’d rested up at home getting her strength back, she’d found herself lost down social media mines way too deep and way too often.
She’d realised as she’d lounged around the house how busy the last few years had actually been. Her days had been filled with working, buying and renovating the harbour property, and organising her wedding. Since she’d been lying on the sofa or tucked up in bed, trying to fully heal from the Bangkok episode, she’d wasted hour upon hour on her phone and she’d discovered a whole new world after typing ”new baby” into the Insta search bar.
Right before her eyes played out a world where the sweetest, perfect newborns existed in perfectly curated, soft, billowy lives. Nina had looked and scrolled and looked and scrolled. Tiny little babies topped with huge bows on their heads, bassinets and swaddling, barefoot mums in black and white with tousled hair. Nurseries with all the things, doting dads, naked twins in crocheted hats propped up on their hands asleep. Nina swirled around in it all, wondering if and when she would be in the same boat. Part of her had come to the conclusion that it was never going to be.
She mulled it over as she got up from the sofa, tidied the cushions, picked up her tea mug from the coffee table, and put it in the dishwasher. She’d resolved at the beginning of her pregnancy journey that she would let what would be simply be. She’d convinced herself that it wasn’t the be-all and end-all. She told people she was fine one way or the other. That nature would do its thing. Blah, blah, blah. That she was more than fine either way. However, a little part of her didn’t think that at all. Not at all. Not even a tiny bit. That minuscule corner of her heart right next to the part where Andrew resided, wanted it so very, very much.
The worst thing about it all, she pondered, as she thought about the topic of fertility and the possibility of having a baby, was the not knowing. Nina Lavendar was a person who very much liked her ducks to be lined up in a nice, straight, organised row. The uncertainty and the wondering made her feel all upside down.
It all weighed heavily on her mind. She wondered if she was even capable of conceiving, given her age and the health scare she’d had in Bangkok. It had crossed her mind that it was time to go and see someone, but she’d shied away from the idea, preferring to stick her head in the sand. Potential disappointment loomed large. She didn”t want to put all her hopes into something that might never happen or embark on an emotional rollercoaster of treatments and tests. She’d had enough stress in her life after Andrew to last her a lifetime.
Nina resolved to take things one step at a time, to not let the pressure of ”the ticking biological clock” be front and centre. Her mind went back to the conversation she’d overheard by the pool in Bangkok and that everything would fall into place in time. As she wiped down the surfaces in the kitchen, she spoke to herself aloud. ‘Whatever happens, happens. You will be okay.’
The thing was that deep, deep, deep down, our Neens didn’t feel okay. A little part of her was angry, furious, livid, absolutely fuming. Why wasn’t it going her way? How come she’d had to lose her husband? How come she wasn’t able to flick a switch and be pregnant right when she wanted to? So not fair! Poor old me, she thought to herself wryly. Bring on the massive violins.
Going up the steep stairs to the attic floor, she tried to put fertility out of her mind as she made the bed, tidied up her bedside table, opened the windows to air the room, and plumped up the dress cushions on her bed. However, the same things swirled around and around her brain on repeat. Baby, bliss, pregnant, sweet, newborn, happy, mummy. Ahhhhhhh.
Deciding she had too much time on her hands and needed to get back to work and quickly, she walked into the bathroom and plumped for a nice long shower and washing her hair. Hair washing did wonders, didn’t it? She stepped in and let hot water rinse over her head, poured a generous portion of very expensive shampoo into the palm of her hand, plopped it on her head, and started to scrub. As she scrubbed and lathered, it was as if her brain switched – she immediately felt better and nodded. She wasn’t going down again to the place she’d been when she’d lost Andrew. No way. Not on your Nelly. She needed to get back to work, stop doom-scrolling babies on Instagram, pull on her big girl knickers, and quit the poor old me rubbish. No time for that. Onwards and upwards.
She chuckled to herself at how much washing her hair had made her feel better and spoke to the tiles. ‘The life-changing magic of washing your hair. Available in a bathroom near you now.’
After rinsing the shampoo, she applied a fancy conditioner and closed her eyes. She would not allow herself to go downhill. Stepping out of the shower, she grabbed a white towel and wrapped it turban-style, gently squeezing out the excess water. About an hour or so later, she was dressed, albeit in a cosy tracksuit, and sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea, checking her emails and making arrangements to start back to work the following week.
As she was sending an email, her phone buzzed with a text message from Ella, the estate agent.
Ella: Hi Neens. Just confirming the viewing. Are u still around?
Nina: I am, yes.
Ella: I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for it or not??? How r u feeling?
Nina: Funnily enough, I’m just arranging to go back to work.
Ella: Better?
Nina: More or less. Still very tired, but it is what it is.
Ella: I’ll come and pick u up.
Nina: Yep, sounds good. I need to get out of the house, lol.
Ella: I bet.
Ella: Okay, great. I”ll swing by at 1:30, then.
Nina: Perfect, thanks. See u then.
Ella: No problem. Looking forward to catching up properly!
Nina: Me too. It”ll be nice to get back into the swing of things.
Ella: Definitely. Tomorrow will be good. They seemed interested in a second look so we’ll see how it goes.
Nina: That”s promising. Fingers crossed, then.
Ella: Get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.
Nina: Will do. Thanks, Ella. See you tomorrow.