Page 90 of The First Time I Saw You
‘Bret is on Skype.’
‘I’m coming.’
‘Hey,’ I say, sitting down in front of the screen.
‘Hey, how’s things?’ His accent is strong, but his voice is uncharacteristically hesitant.
‘Good, man, good . . . you?’ I ask. There’s a smell lingering in the room, something from my childhood, but I can’t quite place it.
‘Goooood,’ he replies. ‘I’ve, um, buddy, I’ve got something to tell you and you might want to hear it on your own.’
‘On his own! Bret my boy, I thought we had an understanding!’ Da leans forward. Sits back. Then leans forward again. Mam is sitting next to me, her knee bouncing up and down.
‘It’s fine, thin walls in this house anyway.’
‘Right. Well. The thing is, well—’
‘Spit it out, Bret!’ Mam shouts. I jump, and picture Mam frowning at my startled expression.
‘Right you are, Mrs McLaughlin. Well, I, I rang Sophie.’
‘Feck’s sake!’ I shout. Other me smiles knowingly. ‘I told you to leave it alone. It was my decision.’
‘Oh, shut your piehole!’ Mam says and hits me with a tea towel. At least I think it’s a tea towel; it could be one of her giant pairs of beige knickers that I’ve seen hanging over the radiators for all I know.
‘I had to let her know that I’d had her email, mate – what kind of man do you take me for?’
‘Quite right, Bret, I bet your mother is as proud as punch of you.’ I can practically hear her nodding knowingly.
‘Just get to the point, will you?’ Sarah says. I hear the pop of a bubble; the smell had been eating away at my senses and I couldn’t place it until then.
‘OK.’ He lets out a long stream of breath. ‘It’s yours, Sam. The baby is yours.’
Mam gasps and claps her hands together. Da clinks his glass against mine which sits untouched on the table. Sarah blows another bubble and I . . . well, I smile. My face smiles in a way that I don’t think it ever has before, each muscle happy, each piece of skin tingling with joy. I’ve never felt this way before. I’m having a child, a child that I might be able to see.
‘The dude you saw through the window is called Charlie; she said he’s just a friend. Nothing more.’
But it doesn’t matter who that other person is any more; what matters is that I get to Sophie, that I see my child before the last brick is set and the tunnel is sealed for ever.
AUTUMN
Week Thirty-Four
Sophie
The midwife extracts a printout from the machine next to the hospital bed and smiles.
‘Right, so, you’re what? Thirty-four weeks plus six?’ I nod as she scribbles this down on the printout. Tomorrow I will be thirty-five weeks pregnant. Already. ‘No sign of contractions, Sophie, and you’re not dilated at all yet. Just very strong Braxton Hicks, by the sounds of it. I think it’s best if you go home and get some rest. Storm Russell is set to hit later, they say, so my advice to you is to make the most of a night in front of the telly. This baby is staying put . . . for the meantime, at least.’ She smiles and unbuckles the elastic belts around my tummy, then takes one of the round disks that have been monitoring the tightening across my stomach. Typical. The last few days, Bean has been convincing me that I’m in labour, and then the minute I get to hospital the pains vanish. I’ve kept the pains to myself. Helen was supposed to be coming over today, but Caitlin has a sickness bug and I didn’t want her to worry.
Back at home, I turn off the engine and stare at the house being beaten by the beginnings of a storm. Leaves fly around in angry mobs, taunting and hurling themselves against the windows and the doors; plants huddle in their baskets and cling to each other in tangled fear. I retrieve my case from the boot and struggle towards the front door.
Already, the spilt ink of night is oozing across the sky, its blue-black stain spreading across the pinks and yellows. Charlie left for London yesterday and it seems strange seeing his half of the cottage filled with darkness.
‘London?’ I had asked when he nonchalantly dropped it into the conversation yesterday.
‘Yes.’ He added some basil to a bubbling pot of tomato sauce.
‘And you’ve decided now is the time to go?’ I pointed to my stomach. He disappeared behind the steam rising as he drained the pasta.
