Eight Weeks Later
As the song goes, guess it’s true I’m not good at a one-night stand.
Eight weeks have passed since Scott and I wound up in bed together again, and it’s safe to say things haven’t been easy between us since. Well, they wouldn’t be since he buggered off before I had the chance to make post-coital tea and toast.
As I roll over, some part of me still expecting cuddles and a good morning kiss, my heart sinks. Although the other side of the bed has been empty for a good while now, I’m still not quite used to it.
I haul myself out of bed and feel a wave of nausea wash over me. It’s been there for a good few weeks now; most likely a virus that I just can’t seem to shift. Fragments of the morning after our one-night stand play in my head; waking up feeling hopeful that things would move forward between us; a dull ache in my stomach when I realised he’d legged it.
My head hurts just thinking about it.
Suddenly, a cold sweat grips me and I rush off to the bathroom to be violently sick. When it’s over, I splash some cold water over my face and take a few deep, cleansing breaths. Being sick like this brings back some unpleasant memories that I’d rather not think about.
When I move back into the bedroom, I see something at the window that makes my heart twist in my chest: Scott passing on his way to work. He stops, looks up at the window and waves. Hot tears well up in my eyes and I bite down on my lip to stop myself from crying. I turn away from the window and screw my eyes shut, knowing that he’ll probably walk away a few seconds later. We’ve been in this routine for nearly two months now and it hasn’t got any easier.
He’s tried to tell me how sorry he is for leaving so suddenly. Apparently, he had a job interview to get to and thought I might need some space after our night together to figure things out. I know he wants us to try again, but I can’t let that happen. He’s left me once already, what’s to stop him doing it again?
How on earth did my happily-ever-after go so badly wrong?
*
My mum always says there’s no better cure for a broken heart than throwing yourself into helping other people.
I hold that piece of advice entirely responsible for why I turn up an hour early for my Carb Counters meeting. As group leader, it’s my job to get the space ready, which usually only takes about five minutes at most. There really isn’t an exact science to putting chairs in a circle, after all.
My two best friends, Emma and Zara, have come along on the pretext of giving me a hand, but I know they want the gossip on Scott, and they know that I know. I’ve deliberately not told them anything, preferring to keep the details to myself. I don’t really want them to know that I woke up to an empty bed that morning eight weeks ago, and I’m not sure if that’s out of embarrassment or because I don’t want them to think badly of Scott.
‘So …’ Emma begins, her voice bright and cheerful. ‘Looking forward to tonight’s session? What workout have you got planned?’
I can’t help but smile as I move some chairs to the centre of the room. My best friend definitely wouldn’t make a good actress.
However, I decide to humour her for a minute or two. ‘I’m thinking of doing an aerobics routine. You know, really torch some calories and get everyone’s metabolism going. What do you think?’
Emma’s bright grin becomes a little more pained. She’s absolutely bursting to ask me about Scott, but doesn’t want to dive in right away. The small talk is driving her crazy; she looks like she’ll spontaneously combust any second.
‘Sounds good to me. What do you think, Zara?’
I look up just in time to see Emma shoot Zara a pointed look. There’s clearly been a discussion between them before they arrived to help me tonight.
‘Yeah!’ Her voice is loud and stilted, like she’s acting in an awful straight-to-DVD movie. ‘That sounds brilliant!’
Emma grunts in frustration and throws her hands up in the air. ‘OK, I give up. Cleo, what’s the deal with you and Scott? He came back nearly three months ago, something happened between you two and you haven’t said a word about it. You haven’t had us round to your house to drink wine, eat ice cream and gossip. In fact, you haven’t even told us what happened! Are you OK?’
I feel a lump rise in my throat and my eyes begin to water. One look at the concern on Emma’s face finishes me and I collapse onto one of the chairs, throwing my head into my hands while I sob my heart out.
Emma’s arms are around me in seconds. She pulls me in for a comforting hug as strangled wails burst from my chest.
‘Everything’s ruined,’ I sob ‘It all went so wrong.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ Zara soothes, pulling up a chair next to me. ‘There isn’t much that can’t be fixed. What happened?’
I back away from Emma and wipe my eyes with my sleeve. ‘Guys, it’s really bad. We—’
Before I can tell them the gory details about my night with Scott, the door to the community centre swings open and the rest of my Carb Counters group swarm in.
‘Hiya Cleo, love!’ The group’s administrator Linda gives me a wave as she sits down to set up her moneybox and weighing scales.
‘Sorry guys,’ I murmur. ‘It’ll have to wait till later.’
*
The night is a successful one, with over two stone lost between all the group members since the last weigh-in. I beam with pride, as I get ready to do my exercise routine with them. I had some reservations about becoming a group leader at first, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever done. Each of them has their own reasons for why they want to lose a few pounds and to help them do that is a great feeling.
I step out onto the stage to greet my audience, feeling a rush of excitement as I see them. This reminds me of my days as a ballet dancer: the thrill of coming out of the wings, greeting your audience and starting your performance.
‘OK let’s get going, shall we?’ I head over to the old-fashioned boom box at the left-hand corner of the stage and switch it on. Pounding dance music blasts out and signals that it’s time to get started.
‘Let’s start with some high knees,’ I suggest.
I jog on the spot and bring my knees up as high as I can. The rest of the group follow suit, although with varying degrees of effort. The ones not giving a hundred percent don’t faze me; they’re still participating and that’s the main thing. As I prepare to switch to jumping jacks, I feel my stomach twist itself into knots and a cold sweat wash over me. My skin becomes clammy and the scene in front of me blurs for a split second. I stop for a moment to catch my breath, bending at the knees and putting my hands on my thighs.
I’m going to be sick. There are only a few minutes to go until the end, and I’m going to be sick. Great.
I will the feeling to pass, for my stomach to stop spinning like a tumble dryer, but it doesn’t. If anything, it gets worse.
‘Everything OK?’ Zara asks, shouting to be heard above the blaring music. ‘You look a bit—’
I don’t hear anything that follows. The world around me goes fuzzy then I fall to the floor. Everything goes black.
*
When I wake up, I’m lying on a hospital bed. Fear grips me and I sit bolt upright. How on earth did I get here? My head spins and my vision goes in and out of focus. I feel myself sink back onto the pillow and screw my eyes shut. Something feels wrong; the nausea from earlier today has made a very unwelcome return and I’ve obviously not at the hospital for no reason.
‘Hey, you’re awake!’ Emma pops into view, holding a cup of takeaway coffee in her hands. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘How … how did I get here?’ I ask, slowly pushing myself up. ‘What happened?’
Her face falls and she takes my hand. ‘You fainted, Cleo, right as the workout was getting started. Don’t you remember?’
The memory slowly trickles back into my mind and I can suddenly remember hitting the deck in front of everybody. My cheeks heat up and I cover my face with my hands.
‘Oh god,’ I groan, ‘I remember now. I hope I didn’t frighten everyone too much.’
Emma shakes her head and smiles. ‘Sheila said she felt a bit funny, but that’s about it! Are you feeling better?’
I nod my head. ‘I suppose so. I was sick earlier today and that’s kind of come back now, but I don’t feel like I’m going to pass out again.’
The curtain pulls back a moment later, and a doctor appears holding a clipboard. He has an eager expression on his face and looks like he’s fresh out of medical school.
‘Nice to see you’re awake, Miss Jones,’ he says with a smile. ‘My name’s Doctor Andrews, I’ll be looking after you today. Is this the first time you’ve fainted?’
I nod my head. ‘Yeah, this has never happened before. I’d just started a workout with the slimming group I run when I felt a bit funny. Next minute, everything went black.’
Doctor Andrews nods and looks down at his clipboard for a moment before turning his attention back to me.
‘And have you had any other symptoms?’
‘Well, I was sick this morning and I’ve been feeling a bit off recently. But that’s probably something to do with the fact that I’ve just split up with my boyfriend.’
I eye him nervously, hoping he’ll agree with me, but he doesn’t reply. Just pushes his glasses up his nose as a crimson blush creeps over his pale skin.
‘When was your last menstrual period, Miss Jones?’
The abrupt nature of the question makes my jaw drop. I’m far from being a prude, but I feel more than a little awkward discussing my monthly visits from Mother Nature with a doctor who looks about twelve years old.
‘Um … I’m not sure,’ I reply. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t think I had one last month. But that’s normal isn’t it? I mean, everyone misses one occasionally don’t they?’
I look to Emma for reassurance, but don’t get any. She tries for a nod, but it doesn’t quite do the job.
‘Of course they do!’ she squeaks. ‘It’s perfectly normal. I think.’
Doctor Andrews nods slowly. ‘Well there could be any number of reasons for a missed period. When I put it together with your other symptoms, I think it would be wise to check your blood pressure and also do blood and urine tests. Just to rule a few things out.’
I feel my heart rate begin to quicken. ‘Rule what out?’
‘Try not to worry Miss Jones, it’s just routine.’
Easy for you to say, I think, you’re not about to be poked and prodded with a needle. Possibilities of what he could be trying to diagnose run through my head and none of them are good. Of course I know what the obvious diagnosis is, but it can’t be true. It’s definitely not that.
‘Listen …’ Emma trails off, purses her lips then decides to speak again. ‘Why don’t you let me give Scott a call? I know you two aren’t together anymore, but he’d want to know you’re here, don’t you think?’
I shake my head as Doctor Andrews wraps the blood pressure cuff round my arm. ‘No Emma, please don’t call him. We haven’t really been in touch since he got back and I don’t want to worry him over nothing. This is probably just an infection or something; they’ll give me some antibiotics then send me home.’
I can’t quite work out if I’m saying this to reassure Emma or myself. A bit of both, I suspect. As I feel the needle go into my arm, I close my eyes and grit my teeth while Emma squeezes my hand. I’ve always hated needles, but today I’m even more terrified than usual. Doctor Andrews could be screening for a rare tropical disease, for all I know.
Call it female intuition or the impending sense of doom I’ve had since my disastrous one-night stand with Scott, but I have a feeling something is very wrong indeed.
*
After providing Doctor Andrews with a urine sample, there isn’t much I can do except wait. He assured me the results wouldn’t take long to come in. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something told me he already knew what results to expect.
‘Do you mind if I go and get something to eat?’ Emma asks. ‘I’m absolutely starving. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s Carb Counters friendly!’
I roll my eyes and smile. ‘You have my permission to go and find the juiciest hamburger in this place and eat every last bit of it. Bugger the Treat Points allowance today!’
My best friend grins back at me and heads off in the direction of the canteen. My stomach gives an ominous growl and I start to feel sick again. When I hear footsteps approaching again, I assume it’s Doctor Andrews coming to give me my test results.
Except it isn’t.
It’s Scott.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, feeling a curious mixture of delight and anger. ‘How did you know I was here?’
As if on cue, Emma turns up carrying some sandwiches and crisps. Her jaw drops when she sees Scott standing in front of my bed.
‘Let me guess,’ I say. ‘Someone told you I was here.’
‘Yes she did.’ Scott’s face is set into a stern frown. ‘And I’m glad she got in touch with me because I’d have had no idea what was going on otherwise! We’ve barely spoken since I got back, Cleo. I said I was sorry for what happened after we—’
‘I don’t want to talk about that right now,’ I say, cutting across him. ‘Can we leave it till later?’
‘We’ve been “leaving it till later” for weeks now,’ he says. ‘I’ve told you time and again why I did what I did, but as usual you won’t bloody listen!’
My blood begins to boil and I could quite happily slap his beautiful face. Instead, I fold my arms across my chest and fix him with my patented Death Stare.
‘Go away, Scott,’ I reply with all the venom I can muster for the man I still love, which isn’t a whole lot. ‘I don’t want you here, OK? Just leave.’
I’m only half telling the truth. Although I can barely stand to look at him right now, there’s something comforting about him being here. He’s always made me feel like everything will be alright.
‘At least tell me why you’re here,’ he says, taking cautious steps towards my bedside. ‘When Emma let me know you’d been taken to hospital, I rushed straight down here to see if you were OK. I still care about you, you know.’
I sigh and decide enough is enough. ‘I fainted at my Carb Counters meeting, OK? I started to feel funny then I passed out.’
I decide not to tell him I’ve been sick and missed at least one period. He’ll only jump to silly conclusions and overreact.
‘Cleo, that’s serious,’ he says, taking a seat next to my bed. His face is the colour of sour milk as he tries to phrase his next question. ‘Have you been …? I mean, you haven’t …?’
‘No,’ I say, knowing exactly what he’s trying to avoid saying. ‘I haven’t binged or purged for over a year now. It’s definitely not that. Now, please just go. I’m fine, honestly. There’s nothing to worry about, I’ll be out of here in no time.’
We exchange weak smiles, and I see him instinctively reach for my hand before pulling away. I feel marginally better for reassuring him instead of pushing him away. No matter what’s happened between us, it’s incredibly hard to hate him.
‘OK, if that’s what you want.’ Scott heaves a sigh and hauls himself to his feet. ‘If you need me or anything, just give me a call, alright?’
I nod, not meeting his gaze. He mumbles a goodbye then heads off back down the corridor.
‘Thanks for that,’ I say to Emma, my voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘That was just what I needed today!’
‘I’m sorry – I just thought he should know what’s going on, that’s all! What is going on, Cleo? He waltzed back from Australia three months ago, you two had some sort of reunion, but then … nothing. You haven’t said anything about what happened that night.’
I round on her, ready to fire some ammunition of my own. ‘Oh yeah? You split up with Ben what, six months ago now? All you’ve told us is that it “wasn’t working”, but you won’t say why.’
Her cheeks turn pink and she falls silent for a moment. ‘This isn’t about me, OK? At least I gave you guys an explanation, even if you don’t think it was a good one. And what about this whole fainting thing? It’s never happened before. You told the doctor you’ve missed a period and been sick. You’re not … pregnant, are you?’
I snap my head round to look at her. ‘No way, it’s impossible! I don’t know what’s going on with me right now, but I’m definitely not having a baby. Once I get out of here, I’ll tell you what happened with Scott, I promise.’
Doctor Andrews approaches, a beaming grin lighting up his sallow features. At least he’s not about to tell me I’m dying, I say to myself.
‘I’ve got your test results back,’ he says, flipping to the relevant page on his clipboard. ‘And it looks like congratulations are in order.’
My blood freezes in my veins. Is he about to say what I think he’s going to say? I pray to whatever deity will listen that I’m wrong.
‘W-what do you mean?’ I ask, feeling my entire body begin to tremble.
‘You’re pregnant, Miss Jones. About ten weeks, judging by your hCG levels. Congratulations! I suggest you schedule a booking in appointment with your GP, just to get the ball rolling. In the meantime, drink plenty of fluids, avoid strenuous exercise and get plenty of rest. There’s a tiny little human in there.’ He points to my stomach and his grin widens. ‘Do you have any questions?’
‘You mean apart from how the fuck did this happen?’ I say. ‘Nope, none.’
Doctor Andrews looks at me, as if he’s not sure whether to explain the mechanics of conception to me or not. I guess he’d draw a diagram with crayons if I asked him to. He gives a little nod then walks off towards the wards, with seemingly no idea that he’s just blown my entire world apart.
The facts are irrevocable: I’m ten weeks pregnant. With my ex-boyfriend’s baby.
Oh shit.