June #3
‘Ready.’ I’d been looking at my phone to avoid seeing other people’s flesh, never mind the woman walking around with a loop of string hanging out. I slipped it into the locker and punched in a four-digit code.
I felt better as we wandered into the lounge, which was also white but with splashes of colour that made it feel less sterile.
We were both swaddled in the kind of fluffy dressing gown you would expect to find in a fancy hotel, and as we sat down on a comfy sofa, Anna made a sound that told me she was already feeling more relaxed.
That’s why we’re here, I reminded myself.
Her name was called first and five minutes later, Mandy, the woman I was told would be taking care of me today, came to collect me.
‘Sorry for the short delay,’ she said, shaking her head with frustration. ‘I’ve been on the phone with my ex.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not in a rush,’ I said, quietly surprised by her overshare.
She must have taken my indifference as an indication of me being a good listener, which didn’t really bother me – after all, I assumed she would stop talking when the treatment started.
Ten minutes later, my face was wet with lotions and creams, and she was moaning about the fact that he was never on time when he came to pick up the kids, which he did every other weekend.
I pressed my lips together and resisted saying running late must run in the family.
‘You’re married,’ she said, a statement rather than a question. She must have spotted my ring.
‘I am,’ I replied, pointing and flexing my toes within the pair of slippers that matched my gown, and wondering why I hadn’t taken them off before lying down. I held my breath, waiting for what would surely be the follow-up question.
‘Kids?’
‘Two.’ It slipped out before I had a chance to stop it. And then, unprompted : ‘A boy and a girl.’
‘How old?’
No hesitation : ‘Seven and four.’
‘How’s your husband with them?’
‘Oh, he’s great.’ I was unstoppable. ‘Loves them to pieces.’ I was even talking differently. I never said ‘to pieces’. A final flourish : ‘I got lucky.’
I have no idea what came over me, but it did the trick. Mandy was quiet after that. From then on, the only words that left her mouth were related to pressure points and ointments.
At the end of the treatment, my face feeling fresh and new, I stood up and thanked her, and said I hoped she managed to sort things out with her ex. I think I might have even tacked on a ‘life’s too short’. She thanked me in return and said she hoped my own marriage would last longer than hers.
Anna was floating in the middle of the pool, at the point where it gently sloped between the shallow and deep ends, her plasticky pink skin stark against the azure tiles.
As I lowered myself down the creaky metal steps into the water, which was warmer than I’d anticipated, I couldn’t take my eyes off her stomach.
She was stretched out, on her back. Instead of a dome, as it should have been, it was flat to the point of dipping in, her ribs flaring like butterfly wings.
‘How was that?’ she asked, swivelling onto her front and slowly coming to standing as I waded towards her. We were the only ones in the pool, which was dimly lit in the basement of the building, and her voice echoed off the walls and ceiling.
‘Good,’ I replied, deciding not to mention Mandy and her moaning. ‘And yours?’
‘Heaven. Just what I needed.’
We stood facing one another. I was submerged almost up to my chest, while the water, clear as glass, barely skimmed her belly button.
A silence opened up between us, soft and inviting, and all of a sudden, I longed to talk to her about the fertility clinic.
Instead, I stretched out my hands and tapped my palms on the water’s surface.
‘How are you feeling?’ I asked. ‘Generally, I mean.’
‘Generally, OK,’ she replied, nodding as she added : ‘Occasionally, not.’
‘And Caleb?’
She breathed in and out and said : ‘He wants to try again.’
‘And you?’
‘I want to try again, too.’ She smiled, though her eyes didn’t squint as much as usual, the sadness of her loss coexisting with the excitement surrounding the prospect of something new.
Still, I felt a tug of jealousy, wishing things were so straightforward with me and Noah.
Followed by a wash of guilt. How could I even think that, after what she and Caleb had been through?
The past few months had been hell for them, the opposite of straightforward.
I stopped tapping and instead started swiping at the surface of the water, a human windscreen wiper.
‘Even if it works, though, and I get pregnant, then what?’
I was searching for the answer, but she already knew it.
‘I would have to prepare myself, to plan for both outcomes. A baby, or not.’ She took a breath. ‘It would be like living at a fork for nine months.’
I swiped quicker, back and forth.
‘Of course, it’s worth it.’
I stopped.
This time, when she smiled, her eyes squinted a little more. ‘There’s a chance, isn’t there? A possibility.’
For a moment I thought I could hear the distant sound of rain, then I realised the hammering was coming from my chest.
‘The doctor says we can try again as soon as we’re ready, that there’s no need to wait. In fact, she said the longer we wait, the more daunting getting pregnant again might feel.’
When my chest began to burn, I sank lower into the water. It wasn’t cold enough to cool me down, but still I stayed there, the water lapping softly against my lips.
‘Cathy?’
I straightened up, too quickly, creating a small wave. ‘I think that’s exactly right,’ I said, swallowing the surge of panic rising in my throat, clinging onto the sides of my thighs in an effort to keep still. ‘There’s no use waiting.’
All through lunch my thoughts kept straying to the clinic.
When the waiter asked what kind of water we wanted, still or sparkling, I heard the gentle gurgle of the machine in the corner of the waiting room, the pop of a paper cone being let loose.
When Anna started to talk about how easy everything had been with Theo, I felt the sponginess of the sonogram bed beneath my back, the pressure of the grooves spreading my legs.
Usually swimming made me hungry, but after a few mouthfuls of my bread roll, which I’d generously spread with the restaurant’s fancy salted butter, I felt full.
We were sitting side by side on a banquette, our elbows touching, and yet, I felt alone.
As we emerged onto the pavement, Anna received a phone call from her mum, and as they talked, I considered calling my mother too.
Something about their easy back and forth stopped me.
Anna had mentioned that they’d spoken about the prospect of her and Caleb trying again, how happy her mum had been to hear the nearly good news.
Instead, I stared up at the sky, a little cloudy now, marked here and there with a single moving black speck, sometimes more.
As I watched them swoop and soar, I reflected on what Anna had said, or at least insinuated, in the pool.
That the grief in the event of another miscarriage would be more bearable than the uncertainty she’d have to live with if she never tried.
That she could accept not having another baby, but not the idea of never giving it a chance.
‘OK,’ she said, slipping her phone into her pocket and looping an arm through mine. ‘Ready?’
She would rather roll the dice.
As soon as I was back in the flat, I sat down on the sofa with my laptop and signed up for the open evening.
I texted Noah to ask where he was before remembering that he was over at Daniel and Griz’s.
Things had been tense between us since the other night – our conversations shorter, our kisses more brisk – and, however much I loved them, the idea of him alleviating that tension by talking things through with his brother and sister-in-law made my skin itch.
It also made me feel even more isolated than I already did.
I got up and filled the kettle, then, cup of tea in hand, I phoned my mother.
She picked up after just a couple of rings.
‘Hi Mum, it’s me.’
‘Darling, what a nice surprise.’
Her standard reply sounded a little passive-aggressive, but when I heard the news on in the background, I put it down to distraction.
‘How’s your weekend going?’ I asked, wrapping my fingers around my mug, feeling its warmth. ‘Have you been gardening?’
‘Yes.’ She said it with a huff, like I was checking she’d done her homework. As if to prove it, a detail : ‘I’m pleased with the heleniums.’
‘Oh, I don’t know what those are.’
‘Yes, you do.’
I was glad we weren’t speaking over a video call so she couldn’t see me frowning.
‘Like bigger, brighter daisies.’
She was right – I did know that.
When I heard her lips part, I waited for her to continue. A few seconds later, the quiet stretching out between us, I asked, ‘Mum, is everything OK?’
‘Of course, why wouldn’t it be?’ She, too, must have picked up on the irritable tone in her voice this time, because she sighed. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just been one of those weeks.’
‘That’s OK, I know the feeling. Anything I can help with?’
‘No, don’t you worry – it’s nothing a good night’s sleep can’t fix. Anyway, tell me, how’s your whale coming along?’
My whale. I smiled. ‘Slowly but surely. I’m just trying to keep up with the excitement building around it.’
‘You’ll do brilliantly.’
Noah still wasn’t home when we said our goodbyes. I looked at the clock, tipped the dregs of my tea into the sink and changed into my running things. I could feel nervous energy billowing inside me, and if I didn’t do something about it, I knew I wouldn’t sleep.