Page 45 of The Art of Loving You

‘Hey. We’ll be fine.’ I gently stopped her and examined her skin. It was red and inflamed.

‘Is this stress?’

‘It’s pregnancy-induced eczema. It’s not uncommon apparently. I’ve been given some cream for it.’

‘It looks so uncomfortable, why didn’t you tell me?’

She avoided my eyes. ‘It didn’t seem important.’

And there it was. The cold, stark fact that in the game of trumps, Jack’s death would always score the most points. Everyone was tiptoeing around me like their problems were insignificant in comparison to mine. I needed to take more interest, in Alice at least. She needed looking after if the elusive father of her unborn child either wouldn’t or couldn’t.

Our arms linked, we carried on towards the entrance. Sitting on the wall outside was a figure in a hoodie, hunched over a mobile phone. When he looked up I gasped.

‘Liam?’ I hurried over to him. ‘What happened?’ His face was bloodied and bruised, SteriStrips covered his forehead. There was a throbbing in my chest borne from a desire to comfort him. Desperate to give him a hug but certain he’d push me away. ‘Have you been in a fight?’

‘Yeah but …’ He shrugged. ‘You should see the other guy.’

‘Are you all right?’ I asked helplessly, unsure what to say.

‘Are you?’ His gaze was unwavering but when I didn’t answer he jumped off the wall and stalked away, hands in his pockets.

‘Wait.’ I wanted to know if he was going into college.

‘Come on.’ Alice gently tugged my arm as Liam disappeared around the corner. ‘We’re going to be late.’

Alice gave her name and then we sat on plastic chairs. I didn’t know whether it was nerves or a desperate need for the toilet that caused her knees to jiggle up and down but she couldn’t keep still. I checked out the other women waiting. Some had still-flat stomachs like Alice. Some had bumps they stroked. Could the baby feel their touch? I knew nothing about pregnancy. Jack and I had both wanted children; we’d had that conversation before we moved in together but we had wanted to wait until our careers were established.

‘Although I could still paint if the baby was in one of those sling things,’ Jack had said.

‘You’d get paint over her.’

‘Her?’

‘We’ll have two girls.’ They could play together like me and Alice had.

‘What if I want a boy to play football with?’

‘Girls play football too. Anyway, when was the last time you played?’

‘Umm. Year 10 probably. Fair point. Boys just seem easier. I don’t know how to work girls.’

‘You know how to work me.’ I had slid onto his lap, my arms wrapping around his neck.

‘Is that so?’ His fingers played with the buttons on my blouse. ‘I think I need some more practice.’

‘Practise away.’ Our lips met. Jack had …

‘Alice Emerson?’ a voice called over the tinny speaker. ‘Please make your way to room three.’

Taking one last lingering look at the couple I followed Alice into the room.

‘This is my sister, Libby,’ Alice said.

‘Fiona,’ the sonographer said, smiling.

Soon, Alice was lying on the bed, her shirt unbuttoned, her stomach shiny with some sort of gel-like substance.

The screen was turned towards us. Fiona ran the probe across Alice’s belly.

---