Bad Boys of London: The Complete GYPSY HEROES Collection (23 page)

Layla

M
y mother says I must have been born under a lucky star: I’ve not experienced any morning sickness. I wanted to carry on working until the baby was due, but neither my family or BJ will stand for it.
What’s the point if you are planning on giving it up after the baby is born anyway?
I suppose they have a point. Still, I would have preferred it to be my decision.

I stand in the shower, water sluicing down my shoulders onto my braided hair and dripping over my growing belly. In the fast-moving water, my growing mound looks like an eyeball. I imagine his tiny transparent fingers clutching and unclutching at nothing. An animal instinct makes me curve my hands around my belly protectively.

It is a constant source of wonder for me, knowing that a human being resides inside me. I think of his tiny little heart beating, his mouth opening and gulping amniotic fluid. During the ultrasound, it showed as a black bubble in his stomach. But the miracle that makes me smile the most is the thought that every half an hour or so his tiny bladder is emptying. My rude son is peeing inside me!

I wonder what he will smell like, how his story will unfold.

BJ wants to call him Tommy. Over my dead body, I informed him in no uncertain terms. I want my boy to be called Oliver or one of those really cool American cowboy names like Sundance or Texas Jack. At the very least, something proper like Charles or Phillip.

But Tommy is a proper Irish name, BJ insisted.

I love my husband to death, but Tommy? Ugh. No. Never. Like I said, over my dead body. I get out of the shower and rub rich coca butter on my tummy and hips before I get dressed. BJ is in the gym. A one-hour loop of Lost Frequencies
Are You With Me
is playing in the background. I listen to it so often I am sure my son will be born humming this tune.

The phone rings. It’s the hospital.

‘Mrs. Pilkington?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is St. James Hospital. This is Nurse Mary Varenne.’’

‘Hello.’

‘Dr. Freedman would like to see you and your husband as soon as possible.’

Alarm bells start ringing in my head. I clutch the receiver with both hands. ‘Why?’ My voice is a frightened whisper.

‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. But it is urgent that both your husband and you attend his surgery immediately.’

‘What’s wrong with my baby?’  

‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Pilkington, but I am just passing on a message. I have two appointment slots available.’

‘Give me the first one.’

‘Can you make it at two o’clock today?’

I swallow. Today! They want me to come in today! Shit! How urgent is this situation? I feel cold inside. ‘Yes. My husband is busy all day. Can I come alone?’

‘I’m afraid you have to come with your husband,’ she insists.

‘All right, we’ll come in together.’ My voice is a scared, foreign whisper.

‘Good. I’ll book you in.’

I don’t run straight away to tell BJ. No, no, I won’t frighten him unnecessarily. Suddenly I feel protective of him. He is so big and powerful, but I know that, on the inside, he would suffer far more than me. Mentally and emotionally, I am the stronger one. I will not show him my fear. Maybe it is nothing. Or maybe it is just a little thing.

She had sounded so serious though.

I touch my belly. Whatever it is, we will see it through. I walk into the kitchen and look around me. Everything looks the same. But it’s as bewildering as a dream landscape. Perhaps I am still asleep. I blink and take a large breath. My hand flies up to my mouth to shut off the scream that wants to escape.

I walk to the island and I have the distinct sensation of weightlessness, as if I can float away like a helium balloon. I grab hold of the edge of the granite counter. I am gripping it so hard my knuckles show white. I stare at them with fascination. I am in such a state of shock I can’t actually think. My mind is a complete blank. I take another deep breath and exhale noisily. It could be a mistake. That must be it. It happens all the time. I cling to the thought.

‘It’s most probably a mistake,’ I whisper to myself.

I walk to the phone and dial Jake’s number. He’s always solved all my problems for me. I listen to the blurred sound of the rings in a daze. I terminate the call at the third ring and put the phone back down on the table. It’s silly to call him. I’ll call him when I know more.

‘Oh God!’

Did they detect an abnormality during the scan? I wrap my arms around my stomach. Tears gather in my eyes and spill down my cheeks. ‘I love you. I don’t care if you are disabled or anything. I’m here for you. You chose me and I chose you. No matter what, you are coming into this fucked up world.’

A smile comes to my face.

‘You’re coming into this family, boy,’ I say fiercely. Strange how loud and strong my voice has become. ‘Nothing. Nothing is going to stop you from being born. I’ll protect you with my dying breath,’ I promise.

I go to the mirror and wipe my eyes. I smile at my reflection.

‘Are you with me?’
the melodious voice of Lost Frequencies asks.

Yeah, I’m with you. I’m your mother. I’ll always be with you no matter what. Come, let’s go tell Daddy that you are super special.’

I walk along the corridor and stop in front of the gym. I pause and compose myself. When I open the door, BJ turns to look at me. His face is instantly concerned. I never disturb him while he is training. He puts the dumb bells he is working with down.

‘What’s up?’

I start walking towards him and immediately his large strides eat the distance between us and he envelops me in his arms.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asks with a frown.

I attempt to smile, but from the expression on his face, I don’t think I pull it off. ‘The hospital called. There might be something wrong with our …,’ I take a deep breath and, though I try to hold the tears back, my eyes fill up, ‘…baby.’

‘What?’ He stares at me, his eyes wide and blank with horror.

I start to babble, the words hurried and stumbling over each other. ‘It’s all right. I think I’m all right with it. He’s come to the right home. You and I will love him more than any other mummy or daddy, right?’

‘What the fuck are you talking about?’ he asks. He is white under his tan and he is staring at me as if he has never looked at me properly before.

The tears start running freely down my face. ‘There’s something wrong with our baby.’

‘No,’ he snarls and pulls me into his arms. He holds me so tight I make a strangled sound. He lets go of me instantly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,’ he whispers.

‘You didn’t.’

He stares at me in shock and disbelief. ‘Could they have made a mistake?’

You cannot imagine how much hope that hopeless question gives me. I throw my arms around him and hug him tightly. ‘I was thinking exactly the same thing.’

We hold each other for I don’t know how long. Both unwilling to look the other in the eye, and stop pretending that it is all a huge mistake. Eventually, I know it will have to be me. I know that this tiny little life is mine to steer. I pull away.

‘I was counting back the other day and I know we conceived him on our very first night together. Whether they are wrong or right, we’re having this baby, right? He chose us to be his parents, right?’ I sniff.

He pulls me close to him and groans, ‘Oh, Layla. Of course, we are. He’s ours no matter what.’

We drive to the doctor’s in complete silence, both of us terrified of what awaits us at the hospital. A nurse shows us to Dr. Freedman’s office. We walk into his room hand-in-hand behind her. Dr. Freedman is a tall, bespectacled man. He looks up and smiles tightly. He is ill at ease.

‘Mr. and Mrs. Pilkington. Please, have a seat,’ he says politely indicating a set of blue chairs opposite him and letting his eyes slide away to some papers on his desk.

It is a surreal moment. I don’t fear. I know in my DNA that, no matter what, I will protect my baby. I’m so aware of this moment that I can actually feel and experience everything. I sense the doctor’s discomfort. I feel BJ’s fear seeping out of his pores like something alive and tangible. I hear the faint sounds of people walking down the corridor. For them, it’s a normal day. But for me, I can taste the disinfectant that the doctor used after the patient before us.

I can do this. I sit down and turn my head to watch BJ take the seat next to me. It hits me that this is a much bigger deal for him. I am clear in my head. No one. No one. No one can shake me. I turn to face the doctor.

The doctor’s eyes are weary. He has done this too many times and is clearly dreading the task at hand. I smell his abhorrence of what he is about to say. Wordlessly, he pushes a box of tissues towards me.

I frown and look at BJ. His beautiful mouth opens and closes. And we realize that something is not just wrong. It is horribly wrong. It is worse, far worse than what I have imagined. Oh no.

NO. NO. NO

My darling BJ. So powerful and yet at this moment, felled. I reach my hand out and he envelops it in his own. I smile at him. He does not smile back.

‘What’s wrong with my baby?’ I ask.

Dr. Freedman coughs and clears his throat. Behind him, I can see a poster of a skinless human body with all its veins showing.

‘There’s nothing wrong with your baby,’ he says. ‘It’s you.’ He says this gently and neutrally, but the room swings wildly.

THIRTY-TWO

Layla

‘T
here’s no easy way to say this. The ultrasound you had on the 15
^th
showed that you either have endometrial cancer or hyperplasia that will likely rapidly progress to cancer. I’m so sorry.’

The unexpectedness of what he says is so great that I don’t react at all. I feel myself go blank and numb. The big C? Me? Impossible. I’m born under a lucky star. I’ve been so spoilt. So sheltered. So fortunate. It’s just not possible.

‘What the fuck are you talking about? Can you fucking talk English?’ BJ erupts aggressively.

Dr. Freedman shifts uncomfortably in his chair. It’s obvious that he is not used to being spoken to so rudely. It is only BJ’s size or pity that keeps him for retaliating. ‘Your wife has a large mass in her uterus. It surrounds the baby on the top and sides. The rapid growth from total absence at the dating scan to what it was yesterday, makes me strongly suspect that it is certainly malignant and aggressively so. You should have been told at the ultrasound session yesterday, but the sonographer wanted to run the scans by me before making such a drastic diagnosis.’

‘You’re saying my wife has cancer?’ BJ asks in disbelief.

‘Yes.’

BJ jumps up so suddenly and with such force that his chair crashes to the ground. He slams his hand on the desk, his black eyes boring into the doctor’s, and shouts, ‘No, this a fucking mistake. How do you know the test results haven’t been mislabeled? You do those fucking tests again.’

‘Please, Mr. Pilkington. Sit down and calm down. This outburst is not going to help your wife.’

I reach out blindly for BJ’s hand. His hand closes over mine. I look up at him. ‘Please, BJ,’ I whisper. For a second he doesn’t respond. ‘Please,’ I beg again.