Tuesday 16th January

All of this thinking about Anna and her baby has me thinking about Belle a lot. Well, a lot more than normal. Of her little toes and her wrinkled fingers, her fingernails already so long. I remember holding her tight and studying every detail of her. But where there should have been warmth there was coldness. Where I should have felt her heart beating against mine, there was nothing but stillness.

When it happened, the idea of having another baby was so far away from what I wanted. I just wanted her back. Joshua wanted us to try again straightaway. As if I could just forget her and think oh well, I can always have another baby. Like I didn’t just carry her for nine months: feel every kick, listen to every heartbeat at the scan, think of a possible name for her. He just didn’t get it.

But now... I don’t know. I’m scared to go through it all again, but my urge to have another baby is growing by the day. Even if the urge is only there for ‘someday'. I’m all too aware that I’m thirty-two. Time is ticking away. In another few years my fertility will fall off a cliff according to those scaremongering health magazines I read.

So today I’ve decided to visit my doctor and find out where I stand with my biological clock. Get more of an idea.

‘Miss Roberts,’ the doctor calls.

I look up, braving a smile. The stern looking male doctor does a nod, barely recognisable to the human eye. I’ve met him before. That’s his version of a beaming smile.

I stand up, gulp, and follow him into the small room. Being here brings back far too many memories. Memories of me crying, asking for something to help ease the pain.

The doctor sits down, crossing his legs in a very feminine way. ‘So, Miss Roberts. What can I help you with today?’

I take a deep breath. ‘I want to know the chances of me getting pregnant.’

His eyes widen ever so slightly, obviously surprised. ‘Ah. I didn’t realise you were in a new relationship.’

‘Err... I’m not,’ I admit bashfully. ‘But, I’m very aware of my age and I just want to know the quality of my eggs.’

‘Okay,’ he nods, his face still not showing a hint of emotion. ‘Well, unfortunately the NHS won’t send you for a scan to assess the quality of your eggs until you’ve been actively trying with a partner for over a year.’

My shoulders sag. Bloody fantastic.

‘But I can order a blood test to see if you’re ovulating before your cycle?’

‘Yes, please,’ I nod. That’s something I suppose.

‘You can of course pay to go private and get the scan, but there are things you can do in the meantime to increase your chances. A healthy diet, cutting out alcohol, mild exercise.’

‘Yeah, the usual,’ I nod. All the things I did when I found out I was pregnant with Belle.

‘There is also the risk of being on Fluoxetine while pregnant.’

I knew he was going to mention my Prozac. I’ve been on it since Belle and after about four long months I finally felt it bringing me back to my old self. Now I feel completely normal, able to hold down the burning emotions of my grief for long enough to get through the day.

Yet I’m terrified that if I come off it, I’ll revert to how depressed and anxious I was. And the truth is that even if I only go back to five percent of how low I was feeling, it’s not worth it. I can’t go through that agony again.

‘Would you recommend I come off it?’ I ask, dreading his possible answer.

He raises his eyebrows in alarm. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t recommend that straightaway. You could have some serious side effects. Fluoxetine is one of the better studied antidepressants of pregnant women and it’s unlikely to cause birth defects. But it is possible that if taken throughout the pregnancy a baby could develop neonatal adaption syndrome. That’s when the...’

‘No.’ I shout cutting him off. ‘I don’t want to put any potential baby under any risk.’

He smiles sadly. ‘Nadine, I understand with your history you’d be concerned, but you have to remember that you were suicidal at one point. It may be safer for you to continue with them during the pregnancy. It’s far better for the mother to be mentally well.’

I scoff. ‘Yeah, tell someone who’s lost a baby that. Oh wait, you just did.’ I can’t help but be harsh.

‘If you’d prefer, we could work on weaning you off it slowly, starting with reducing your amount?’

I twist my ring around my finger. That sounds a bit better. I want to do everything in my power to get my body in peak condition. Not that I have any idea who I’d have a baby with. Maybe I could get a sperm donor and do it on my own? I know my parents would help out.

‘Weaning me off. How would that work?’ I enquire.

He checks his computer. ‘You currently take two 20mg tablets at night. I’d suggest alternate days where you only take one tablet.’

I at least expected him to suggest coming down by 10mg first, but a whole half a dose? That seems extreme.

‘And will I have side effects?’ I ask, already fearing what I’m going to go through.

‘You could possibly have some,’ he nods, ‘but Fluoxetine is the easiest SSRI to wean off due to the Prozac staying in your system longer. Give it a go.’ He types on his computer, an awkward silence descending over us. ‘But I notice that you never took up my offer of therapy. Without that you might not have the tools to cope.’

I snort. ‘I don’t need to sit in a room and tell some stranger how I’m feeling. I have my family and friends for that.’

He smiles tightly. It’s his version of rolling his eyes. ‘Okay. I can only suggest it. For now, would you like me to schedule in a blood test?’

A blood test? Oh, he means to check if I’m ovulating. I think about it for a moment.

‘No thanks. I already know I can ovulate anyway, it’s just to know how many quality eggs I have left. I’ll probably go private. But I’ll try to reduce my dosage in the meantime.’

He nods. ‘Any problems, come back and see me.’

I walk out of there feeling both hope and worry. Hope that I can have another baby someday but worry over how my body will react to less drugs. Can I really cope with my own mind and grief without the drug I’ve come to rely on?

* * *

Wednesday 17th January

Last night was my first reduced dose. Only one tablet, instead of my regular two. I felt positive going to bed. He said I wouldn’t get many side effects. I probably wouldn’t notice a thing. This morning however, I woke up feeling awful. My head pounded with a heavy headache as I forced my tired limbs to get out of bed.

My hands shook, and I felt so agitated, so on edge.

I’d have stayed at home if I hadn’t booked in cake testing with Clara and Hartley. Part of the service we offer at The Duck & Goose is to include everything so there’s minimal stress for the bride.

So, I force myself to drive there, using every bit of deep down strength to pull myself together. Let me tell you, it takes a lot. I can’t shake the feeling like something terrible is about to happen. The panic claws at my throat.

This can’t just be from the reduced tablets, can it? Maybe it’s women’s intuition that something terrible is about to happen. God, I hope it’s not Florence and the baby. I say a silent prayer to the God I don’t believe in that she’ll be okay. Not her.

I’m just finishing styling the cake portions, sure they don’t look quite right, when suddenly my ear bristles from the cold outside.

‘Boo.’

I nearly jump out of my skin, spinning round to see Hartley looking at me with amusement dancing in his eyes.

‘Jesus!’

Just the thing someone already living on their nerves needs, a shock.

He grins. ‘Nope, I go by Hartley.’

Bloody idiot.

‘God, you almost gave me a heart attack. How the hell did you sneak up on me without me hearing? You’re a damn tree.’

He frowns, fighting the smile pulling on the edge of his lips. ‘Sorry? Did you just call me... a tree?’

I burst out laughing, glad for any emotion over than fear. ‘Let’s be honest. You’re a total tree.’

‘As in...?’ His raises his eyes, awaiting my answer, a hint of amusement in the side of his lips.

God, can he really not figure it out himself?

‘You’re all like... hench and stuff.’ God, I don’t want it to sound like I’m flirting with him.

‘Oh yeah,’ he grins playfully. ‘Been checking me out, have ya?’ He flexes his bicep in a jokey manner. ‘I can’t blame you.’

‘Oh please,’ I scoff with an eye roll, looking down at the cakes so I don’t have to look him in the eye. ‘I know some women are impressed by that, but not me.’

‘Really?’ he laughs.

I look back up at him, his forest-greens alight with humour.

‘Yes, really.’ Why is he even flirting with me when Clara should be walking in any second? ‘Anyway, where is Clara?’

His turn to roll his eyes. ‘She said she can’t get the time off work. Sent me instead. More like doesn’t want to eat any cake.’

‘She doesn’t eat cake?’ I repeat in barely concealed horror. ‘Not even wedding cake?’

He shakes his head. ‘Nope. Even when we go out for dinner I end up eating desserts by myself.’

God, what kind of weirdo is she? Who the hell doesn’t like cake? Is he sure she’s not a robot? She clearly mustn’t have feelings. Everyone with feelings has cried over a huge slab of cake while stuffing yourself silly.

‘But I bet she steals half of it... right?’ I mean, she must be a woman.

‘No.’ He shakes his head sadly. ‘She’s got ridiculous self-control.’

God, a woman who doesn’t like cake. That idea is so foreign to me.

‘Whereas I like dessert so much sometimes I order two and pretend one is for her.’

I snort a laugh. My kinda guy.

‘I really wouldn’t have put you two together,’ I blurt out before thinking.

Oops, that didn’t sound good. I can only blame the medication withdrawal. It's forcing me to be honest. I don’t have the time or energy for too much bullshit right now. Not that I can tell him that.

He snorts. ‘Gee, thanks.’

‘Sorry, just... how did you even meet?’ I ask, trying to move the conversation to something happier.

I’d imagine they run in completely different circles. Plus, the more I talk to him, the calmer my body is feeling, as if a serene mist is ascending over my body. It’s probably having company and not just being stuck inside my own head, but regardless I don’t want it to stop.

He smiles sadly, as if replaying the memory in his head.

‘In a bar. She was on a hen do, dressed up ridiculously with a pink feather boa, and she asked if she could kiss me to win a dare.’ He smiles, as if he remembers her being adorable. I have no idea how Clara could ever be seen as adorable. The woman doesn’t eat cake for Christ’s sake. ‘She was a lot more chilled out then.’ I bet. The thought of her wearing a jokey feather boa is enough to give me a stroke.

‘So, what’s changed?’ I can’t help but ask sarcastically, but come on, that isn’t the woman I’ve met.

He shrugs and sighs heavily. ‘I don’t know. She’s taken on more responsibility at her dad’s company.’

I call bullshit. More responsibility doesn’t mean you turn into a bitch. She’s clearly always been one, and he’s been too blinded by her vagina and tits to care.

‘It’s another reason why I definitely don’t want to work there,’ he elaborates, looking out of the window at the blustery day. ‘It’s not worth the stress.’

‘And being a teacher is stress free?’ I laugh hysterically. Jesus, I sound nuts. Maybe I am nuts? Maybe without the medication I’m a real regular fruit loop who shouldn’t be allowed around sharp objects.

He joins me in a chuckle, thankfully not seeming to notice my hysteria. ‘No, but it’s different. You know that if you touch one student, it’s all worth it.’

‘You know you shouldn’t touch students, right?’ I joke. God, I’m hilarious. Maybe these meds have been holding me back from reaching my full potential as a stand-up comedian.

He shoves me playfully with his shoulder. I almost fall face first into the plate of cake, he’s that strong.

‘Hey! Remember your strength, Lenny!’ I shout, creasing over in laughter.

‘Lenny?’ He frowns, his eyes narrowed at me in bewilderment.

I nod, shocked he’s taking so long to get it. ‘From of Mice and Men.’

‘Oh... the book,’ he finally nods.

‘Jeez, you can tell you don’t teach English.’

His eyebrows narrow as if suddenly realising something. ‘Wait, wasn’t he retarded?’

‘No one says retarded anymore, idiot. You must have missed the PC talk at work. He had... difficulties, yeah.’

He lowers his chin. ‘And you’re comparing me to him? Saying I’m all muscle and no brain?’

I snort a laugh. ‘No, it was just a joke. But now you mention it...’ I burst out laughing again. All of this laughing is calming my erratic heart.

‘Do you always insult your clients like this?’ he asks with raised eyebrows.

‘Just the ones I like.’ I wink. Jesus, why the hell did I just wink? Am I flirting with him? Openly flirting with him while he picks out his wedding cake? What the hell is wrong with me!

He stares at me as if trying to figure me out. I break away from his intense gaze, scared if he keeps looking he’ll be able to see all my secrets.

‘Anyway, cake. What flavours were you thinking?’

He shrugs, leaning on the bar. ‘I don’t know. Cake flavour.’

I roll my eyes. ‘Jesus. This is going to be harder than I thought.’

‘That’s what she said!’ he jokes.

I double over laughing. God, why are we both in such silly moods? Either way, it's distracting me from my panicky thoughts.

‘Okay, let me be professional.’

He stands up straight and nods, a smile still on his lips.

‘Let’s start with a basic vanilla sponge with vanilla icing and jam.’

I pick it up on its tissue, my hand shaking so badly I’m sure he’ll notice, and hand it to him.

‘Are you not going to feed it to me?’ he asks, opening his mouth in a big 'O' shape. ‘Or are you too hungover?’

‘Hungover?’ I snort. ‘What are you talking about?’

He points to my hand. ‘You’re shaking. Big night out, was it?’

I can feel my cheeks reddening. Damn these withdrawal symptoms. A normal client, not as laid back as Hartley, wouldn’t find it so funny.

‘I didn’t go out,’ I insist.

‘Okay, if you say so.’ He rolls his eyes jokingly. ‘So, feed it to me.’ He pops his mouth open again.

‘No. This cake isn’t grapes and we aren’t in ancient Rome.’

‘Such a shame.’ He takes the cake and wolfs it down in one go. The animal. Is it wrong that I find it sexual? Of course it is Nadine. The guy’s getting married.

‘Like?’ I ask, my pen hovered over my review sheet on my clipboard.

‘Yeah, it’s nice,’ he nods indifferently. ‘But what else you got?’

I immediately strike that out. A man can’t have a cake he finds ‘nice’ on his wedding day. It needs to be spectacular.

‘Okay, we have a fruit cake next.’ I hand it over to him.

He breaks it in half. ‘Try it with me? I can’t bear the way you look at me with anticipation while I chew. It’s weird.’

I bark a laugh, but you don’t have to ask me twice. I take the offered-out bit of fruit cake and eat it. Mmm, I love fruit cake. I just need a cup of tea with it.

‘So?’ I ask eagerly, some fruit still in my mouth.

He shrugs. ‘Yeah, I mean, it tastes like fruit cake.’

I sigh. ‘Don’t you have a flavour in mind when you think of your wedding?’

He sighs. ‘Nope. Do people actually think things like that?’

‘Of course.’ I insist. ‘For some men it’s the only thing they want input in.’

‘That’s bloody sad. You must deal with a lot of fatties.’ I roll my eyes. ‘Okay, what would your wedding cake be?’

He’s challenging the wrong broad. This bitch has had her dream wedding uploaded to Pinterest since it was available online.

‘Easy, lemon drizzle.’

‘Lemon drizzle?’ he repeats in barely concealed horror.

What the hell is wrong with lemon drizzle? I’ll show him. I grab the sample and stuff it into his mouth, the icing squished around his lips.

‘See, nice right?’ I grin, barely able to stop myself from breaking out into belly laughs at the shock on his face.

He chews, because he has no choice. I really did shove it in there. What’s come over me? I need my Prozac, that’s what.

‘Wow, someone really likes lemon cake,’ he says, still with a mouthful.

‘Sorry,’ I grimace. ‘I’m... not really feeling myself today.’ I fiddle with my clipboard, so I don’t have to look him in the eye. ‘So, look, do you like the cake? Or do you just want to blow off the whole wedding?'

He frowns, clearly taken aback. I really shouldn’t have come into work today. This was a mistake.

‘Why do you ask?’ he says calmly. Too calmly. It fucks me off.

‘I don’t know.’ Oh, fuck it. I might as well be honest. ‘I guess you don’t seem very happy. Most guys I meet that are about to get married look excited, not terrified whenever I mention it.’

He swallows down the last of the cake. ‘Yeah, well, I bet most of those men chose to get married themselves.’

I swallow hard, confused. What does he mean, chose to get married themselves?

‘Well you asked her, didn’t you? That’s as much choosing as I can think of.’

He smiles sadly at me. ‘She proposed to me.’

‘No way!’ I can’t help but giggle. That’s Clara all over. Not relying on a man for anything.

He shoves my shoulder with his. ‘It’s not that funny!’

‘Sorry, but just imagining her taking it into her own hands gives me the giggles.’ I snort another laugh. Especially because he’s such a big strong man.

‘Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.’ He has the slightest hint of a blush on the top of his cheeks.

‘Sorry. She is a force to be reckoned with. But you still didn’t have to say yes.’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘Didn’t I? She asked me in front of everyone at her 30th birthday party. I doubt that would have gone down well.’

The girl’s a psycho.

‘Ah.’ I suppose I can see how that would have made it that more awkward.

‘It was all okay. I had it under control. We weren’t planning on getting married for at least two years. I had time to figure out how to get out of it.’

‘And then I called,’ I say, filling in the blanks.

‘Yep,’ he nods. ‘And all of a sudden I’m getting married in just over a month.’

‘Fuck.’

‘Yep, fuck indeed.’

But he can’t blame it all on me. ‘I’m sorry that me calling has put you in this situation, but...’

‘But what?’

‘Well you can’t marry someone if you don’t love them.’

‘I do love her,’ he says defensively. ‘I just... I guess I love her like I would a best friend. I don’t get those squirms in my stomach when I look at her anymore. It’s like we’ve outgrown each other.’ His eyes find mine.

God, he’s beautiful. I can see why she’d be fooled into thinking he was in love with her if he’s giving her looks like this.

‘I think you really need to think it through. This is a big deal.’

‘I know,’ he says, his face pained. ‘I just always imagined when I married someone I’d be totally, ridiculously, over the top in love with them. Not just... going with the flow.’

‘You have to tell her.’

He closes his eyes tight. ‘But I’ll break her heart.’ He opens them again, as if begging for me to understand. ‘I’m not a heartless bastard. I don’t want to humiliate her like this. Her family have already told half of England.’

I smile sadly back at him. It does sound tough, and I can understand what kind of pressure he’s under. Hugh has already warned me that we can’t fuck up this wedding and here I am telling him to walk away.

‘I really shouldn’t be encouraging you to do this anyway. I’m just here to plan your wedding.’

‘And sort the costumes for my students,’ he adds with a chuckle.

I laugh too. ‘Yeah, I got talked into that. Good luck getting out of that engagement.’

He locks eyes with me, suddenly appearing serious. ‘What if you were happy enough before and then something comes along to make you realise happy enough is not as happy as you want to be?’

Why is he looking at me so intensely? My pulse starts racing under the scrutiny of his gaze. Is he... no, he can’t be talking about me, right?

He shakes his head, as if realising he just spilled his guts.

‘Sorry for just sprouting all of that. It must just be pre-wedding nerves. You won’t repeat it, will you?’

I force a smile. ‘Of course not. Your secret's safe with me.’