CHAPTER FOUR
Arriving home at last, feeling chilled to the bone and exhausted, I switch on the lights and boost the heating. Then I make a cup of tea and go through to the living room and flop on the sofa, preparing to unwind with some mindless channel hopping.
Then I spot the voicemail message flashing on the home phone.
I sit bolt upright to listen to it.
It’s Richard. Has he finally made a decision about us? Perhaps he wants to get back together.
My heart beats faster as I hear him say he wants us to meet up the following night. He even suggests our favourite restaurant – a little Italian place we often went to on a Saturday. He signs off, saying he’ll see me there tomorrow night at eight and to call him if there’s a problem.
I slump back on the sofa, my head in a whirl.
I’ve missed him. A lot. Ours has never been the most passionate, can’t-keep-our-hands-off-each-other sort of relationship, but I’ve always thought that was probably a good thing. We loved each other and I regarded him as my best friend, which was surely more important. Plus, of course, we were both now keen to start a family - Richard even more so than me.
I smile to myself. Having a baby is sure to bind us together even more firmly. I’ve really missed my best friend. And I need him more than ever, now that I have Mum’s diagnosis to cope with. Richard doesn’t even know about that yet. I’ll be able to tell him tomorrow night.
A feeling of sheer relief washes through me.
At least one area of my life is about to get back on track!
*****
Next day, I’m awake early, zinging with energy, which surprises me after the emotion of the previous day. I actually find myself singing in the shower.
‘You look chipper,’ says my colleague, Mandy, when I arrive at the surgery. ‘Has something happened?’
A smile bursts through. ‘You could say that. I’m meeting Richard for dinner tonight.’
‘Are you two back together, then?’
I cross my fingers. ‘I think we might be.’
During the day, I manage to do my work efficiently, but all the time I’m thinking of my dinner date later, planning what I’ll wear. I might even call in at the hairdresser’s on my way home. Treat myself to a make-over!
At last, it’s late afternoon and almost time to leave. Mandy and I are both at the front desk.
I check in a mum who’s worried about her young son, and I spend time trying to reassure her. After they’ve gone through to see the doctor, I think to myself: That will likely be me soon! Scared stiff whenever my child develops a fever in case it’s something more sinister!
‘I’m here for my twelve-week scan,’ I hear Mandy’s patient say.
‘Okay.’ Mandy peers at the computer screen. ‘And your name?’
‘Giselle. Giselle Hunter.’
I swing round, my legs turning to jelly. That’s her. That’s Thing.
She’s pregnant?
Thing suddenly glances over and - catching sight of my face, which must be drained of every last remnant of colour - she frowns. ‘Are you all right?’
Mandy swings round to look at me. ‘Jeez, you look terrible, Ellie. Go and sit down. I’ll be through in a minute.’
Glancing at Thing’s little rounded belly in the skinny T-shirt, I swallow down a wave of nausea then I scuttle through to the back office, where I plop down in a seat, as my world crashes around me all over again.
When Mandy comes through to check I’m okay, I can’t find the words to explain. So I just tell her I’ve got a sudden, splitting headache, at which point she orders me home immediately.
As I’m leaving, I spot Richard’s car parked a little way along from the surgery in a side street, and all the strength drains out of me. He’s obviously waiting for Thing to emerge from her scan. He was no doubt avoiding the surgery car park in case I spotted him there and put two and two together. I guess tonight wasn’t about us getting back together. It was all about breaking the news of his excitingly imminent bundle of joy!
There I was, clinging to the hope that Richard was coming back to me, when all the time Giselle Hunter was providing him with exactly what he wanted. A baby. And probably a far better sex life thrown into the bargain!
I feel so stupid and humiliated.
Of course Richard was never coming back to me . . .
*****
I walk home in a daze, feeling as if my insides have been ripped out. There will be no happy reunion. No Richard to share life’s ups and downs. No baby to plan excitedly for. Just a shadowy future that I can’t even bear to think about.
I manage to hold it together until I arrive back, but as soon as I close the front door behind me, my grief wells up. I get as far as taking my coat off and throwing it on the kitchen table before I sink down on a chair, bury my face in my hands and sob.
I’m crying for the collapse of my relationship and all my hopes and dreams, and another, even more horrifying loss – having to watch my mum decline as Alzheimer’s slowly takes her away from me.
When I finally haul myself up and go in search of tissues, it’s growing dark outside. I make some tea and put loads of sugar in it, having heard it’s good for shock, but then I can’t stomach it. Pouring it away, I stare out of the window at the houses opposite. There’s already a gleam of frost on the cars parked in the street. It’s going to be a freezing cold night.
It’s all about survival from now on. Finding a way to carry on so that I can be that support Mum so desperately needs now. But how can I move forward if I’m at the surgery every day, constantly on edge in case I’m suddenly confronted with Thing and her growing bump? I’ll be scared to go shopping in case I run into the lovebirds walking hand in hand. And how will I bear living in this house alone, surrounded by memories of happier times?
Sylvia’s face flashes into my mind.
After Snowy died, she was bogged down with grief, unable to move forward – and the solution for her was a complete change of scene. Getting away and walking on that south coast beach gave her the strength to carve out a new future for herself.
Sitting down at the table, I pull over my laptop, open it up and go online, searching. Ten minutes later, after scribbling a number on the back of a magazine, I’m feeling better.
It’s my day off tomorrow so I don’t have to go to the surgery. This is good because there are some important things I need to do.
I make some fresh tea and take it upstairs, sipping it in bed and thinking about the following day. It feels good to have a plan. Something else to focus on; to keep the image of Thing’s baby belly at bay.
Without a plan, I might just be tempted to take to my bed, pull the duvet over my head and opt out of normal life entirely . . .