Chapter 45 Freya
FREYA
The cold wind bites my cheeks as I cycle along the lane, and I pretend that I’m going home to the Charlie I first met, the man who swept me off my feet and took my breath away every time he looked at me.
The man I lay under the duvet with, giggling as we chose names for the three children we were going to have.
I used to fantasize about the moment I told him I was pregnant.
He’d come in from work and I’d be sitting on our bed, surrounded by pink and blue balloons, wearing an oversized T-shirt with the words HELLO DADDY emblazoned across the front.
I’d smile at his confused expression, waiting for him to work out what was so blatantly obvious, and then I’d give him a box, wrapped with a huge bow.
His tears would come then, as he looked from the positive pregnancy test to me and back again, the reality slowly dawning on him that we were going to be parents.
And in my fantasy world, what incredible parents we’d be.
We’d not sleep for fear of missing anything, the pair of us playing rock paper scissors to fight for our turn to feed him, the loser being the one who stayed in bed.
We’d all bathe together, neither of us prepared to relinquish the joy of watching him find his feet in the water.
And he’d be the most well-fed six-month-old, his Michelin-starred puree fit for nothing less than a king.
The realization that my life bears no resemblance to the one I thought I’d have chokes me.
The sound of a car revving its engine snaps me out of my reverie, its impatience a timely reminder of what Charlie will be feeling now that I’m purposefully running fifteen minutes late.
I can see him all too clearly, standing by the car, his jaw set as he calls my mobile over and over, wondering where I am.
But it’s on silent, so I wouldn’t be able to hear it even if I wanted to. Which I don’t.
Hopefully he will have already given up by the time I get there, and we’ll concur over text that it’s probably best that we make another scan appointment. Though I’d expect we’ll have to wait a while, which will give me just about enough time to do what I need to do.
A horn blasts, sending a flurry of nesting chaffinches out from the hedge I’m pedaling past. This lane isn’t wide enough for the both of us and I’m not going to be rushed or forced to pull over and lift myself and the bike up onto the grassy verge.
They’ll have to wait until I reach the bridle path.
But the roar of the testy engine, eager to get someplace, edges up closer behind me. Its testosterone-fueled presence making itself felt.
“Idiot,” I yell, knowing that if I was in a car right now, my road rage would probably get the better of me and I’d be flipping him the finger.
But being on a bike renders me far more vulnerable, and I’m not na?ve enough to think that in a battle of wills, I’ll come out ahead.
So despite my reluctance to give into the driver’s agitation, I stand up in the saddle, hoping that the extra leg power will get him off my back quicker.
But I must have misplaced my footing because the bike is falling away from me, the back wheel skidding out from underneath, taking control of the handlebars with it.
My feet are flailing and I’m wrestling to keep the frame from being snatched away, but it’s already too late.
I’m in the air, screaming into the silence of the countryside, bracing for impact, convinced that this is all a dream.
My hands instinctively go to my stomach in the futile hope of protecting myself, but as I crash-land on the unforgiving tarmac, I know there’s nothing I can do to change the damning outcome. My ankle twists and my head snaps back, the concrete coming up to meet me with full force.
Groaning, I roll onto my side, suddenly aware, even in my dazed state, that I’m lying in the middle of the road. I haven’t computed quite what happened yet, but I know that a car could come flying around the bend at any second, seeing me too late to hit the brakes.
My breath quickens as my eyes adjust, bringing the hazy outline of a vehicle slowly into focus.
It seems to be going at a snail’s pace, if at all, so I may have just enough time to get out of its way.
I pull myself up, ignoring the pain that shoots through my shoulder, dragging my heavy legs with me to get out of the way.
But I’m not able to get myself clear before a car engine revs.
I look up, my eyes narrowing as I try to make sense of the red lights just a few yards away.
Brake lights. The car has already gone past. Had it hit me? Or did I just lose my balance and fall?
The brake lights go out and I wait for the driver’s door to open. But instead, the reverse lights go on and my heart leaps into my mouth as the car charges back toward me.
“Nooooooo,” I shout, wondering why they can’t see me.
But they can’t hear me either, because it doesn’t stop—it just keeps coming.