Page 46 of The Art of Loving You

‘Say hello to baby.’

I leaned forward, squinting, not able to make out a little person at all, more of a dark moving mass with lighter parts.

‘That’ – Fiona pointed – ‘is the head. There’s the heartbeat, and that’ – her fingers curved across the screen – ‘is the spine.’

Alice’s hand squeezed mine. We were both too overcome to speak.

A life. A new life. Suddenly it all felt so miraculous. I was ashamed I’d ever, however momentarily, resented this baby, felt they were to blame for what had happened to Jack.

Alice squeezed my hand back. And that squeeze told me she understood and more than that, that it was okay.

‘So … are you ready to know when you’ll meet your little one?’ Fiona asked.

‘My midwife said around 6 November?’

‘Yes, I’d say around 7 November which makes him—’

‘Him?’ Alice squeezed my hand.

‘Or her. It’s too early to tell the sex but their star sign is a Scorpio.’

‘I’m not big on astrology,’ Alice said.

‘I’m no expert but I think Scorpio’s are brave, passionate and artistic.’

‘Artistic!’ Alice beamed at me. ‘He’ll take after Jack. Not take after,’ Alice hurriedly added, ‘but he’ll love to paint. Imagine that, Libby, another artist in the family.’

‘Do you want an image?’ Fiona asked.

‘Yes please.’

‘And one for dad?’

‘I … I’m on my own.’

‘That’s okay. Nothing wrong with being a single parent as long as baby is loved.’

‘I love him – or her – already.’ Alice smiled at the screen. ‘To think I never planned on having a baby so young. When I first started throwing up and suspected I was—’

‘Was it just because you were sick that you suspected you might be pregnant?’ It hit me hard and fast. Taking the nausea I had felt lately and teaming it with other facts. When hadIlast had a period? I’d unpacked a new box of tampons when we’d moved in weeks ago; they were still unopened. I’d thought stress had messed up my cycle but what if it wasn’t? What other symptoms were there? ‘Everyone feels sick sometimes don’t they?’ My gaze flickered desperately between Alice and the sonographer, my own stomach spinning wildly. ‘There are lots of different reasons for nausea aren’t there?’

‘Well, yes but—’

‘Why are you asking, Libby?’ Alice asked.

Because …

‘What else? Feeling tired. You feel tired don’t you, Alice?’ Exhaustion was a heavy weight I carried every day.

‘Shattered. And my hormones! A cereal advert reduced me to tears yesterday.’

My heart skittered around my ribcage; I couldn’t unpick whether I was anxious or hopeful.

‘We’re done here.’ The sonographer handed Alice a wad of blue paper towel to wipe her stomach.

‘The giveaway was the lack of periods though.’ Alice was still chatting away but her voice grew fainter.

Missing periods.

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