Run, Mummy, Run (9 page)

She heard his sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness, I was getting worried. You didn’t say you had a meeting away from the bank.’

‘No, it was last-minute. You shouldn’t worry so much. I’m fine.’

‘I can’t help it, Aisha. You’re so very precious. Oh, damn,’ he laughed. ‘Wellington boot coming.’

She laughed too at the phrase they still used for an interruption. ‘OK, see you later.’

‘Yes. The station at six. Take care. Love you.’

‘Love you too, Mark, very much.’

G
od, or whoever he was, must have been listening and smiling down on Aisha, and must have decided that her request was not too ambitious and well within his power to grant. The following month, her period was late which, combined with the vague feeling of nausea and her sudden aversion to strong smells such as coffee and garlic, made Aisha think she might be pregnant. She said nothing to Mark, but each night in bed before she went to sleep she said a silent prayer of hope and thanks which ended,
Please, God, let it be so.

Mark, who knew exactly when Aisha’s next period was due, said nothing either. The knowledge hung between them, palpable and duplicitous, until ten days had passed, when Mark arrived home from work with a pregnancy testing kit. He produced it with a little flurry from his briefcase, after the evening meal, and set it on the table between them. Aisha eyed the box suspiciously; it had some silly name like ‘First to know’.

‘Oh dear,’ she said, finally looking at him. ‘Do you think we should? There could be lots of reasons why I’m late. It’s not been two weeks yet. Will it work so soon?’

Mark nodded. ‘These tests are far more sophisticated now, Aisha. Ten days should be plenty of time. If we don’t get a clear reading on this occasion, we can repeat it in a few days. We want to know as soon as possible, don’t we?’

Aisha nodded, and then watched as Mark slowly removed the contents of the box. There was a folded instruction sheet, a small Perspex bowl, and a litmus-tipped stick in cellophane. Aisha was surprised that was all there was, given the importance of its task. Mark placed the stick and bowl on the dining table, and unfolding the instruction sheet, began reading aloud, slowly, deliberately, as if she might otherwise fail to grasp it.

‘The urine sample must be early morning, the first of the day,’ Mark repeated, running his finger along the line for emphasis. ‘The result must be read immediately. If the litmus stick changes to dark blue then the result is positive. See here.’ He tapped the sheet. ‘Any of these other shades means the result is inconclusive and the test has to be repeated a week later.’ He glanced up. ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re not pregnant, Aisha, just that the hormone hasn’t built up sufficiently in the urine to be detected. Women are different in the amount they produce, particularly in the early stages of pregnancy.’

Aisha nodded. ‘It sounds pretty straightforward. I got an A for my Science GCSE, so it shouldn’t cause me too much of a problem,’ she said, trying to lighten their mood.

Mark threw her one of his stern paternal looks and refolded the leaflet. ‘Good, I’ll leave it in the bathroom tonight then, and we can do it first thing in the morning. And, Aisha, well done. I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever be doing this test.’

So had she. Her stomach contracted at the thought that there might be another reason for her late period – anxiety or stress – and Mark might yet be disappointed. He put his arms around her shoulders and kissed her tenderly.

‘Let’s just wait and see the result, shall we?’ she said, drawing back. Then, silently, she added,
Please, God, make it so.

They went to bed early that night for, as Mark said, once they were asleep the waiting wouldn’t seem so long. Aisha remembered that that was exactly what her parents used to say on the eve of her birthday, Christmas, or a planned outing, when she had become overexcited and couldn’t wait for the following day.

Aisha slept fitfully that night, plagued by a dream that she was back in the school science laboratory and her teacher was standing sternly over her, and she was unable to perform a simple experiment with a Bunsen burner and salt-water solution. She was wide awake before the alarm went off, acutely aware of what she had to do. Mark was still asleep on his side and facing away from her, breathing regularly. Careful not to disturb him, she eased back the duvet and, slipping out of bed, crept round to the bathroom where she silently slid the bolt on the door. The pregnancy testing kit was already neatly laid out on top of the toilet cistern – Mark must have done it before he had come to bed. The litmus stick had been removed from its cellophane wrapper and was balanced across the Perspex container. The instruction sheet with the salient points highlighted by a yellow marker pen was propped conspicuously in front of it. It was typical of Mark, she thought, to be so precise and practical.

Setting the litmus stick to one side, Aisha picked up the little Perspex bowl and sat on the toilet. She released just enough urine to fill the bowl to the marker, then carefully placed it on the side of the sink before emptying the rest of her bladder. Quietly lowering the toilet lid, she washed and dried her hands, but didn’t flush the toilet as the noise would be sure to wake Mark.

She stood looking at the pale yellow liquid in the little bowl, momentarily overwhelmed by the significance of what she was about to do. It seemed more than just a test for pregnancy, but one which could confirm or deny her competence as a wife and her role as a woman. Silencing the rising wave of panic, Aisha picked up the litmus stick and, barely able to watch, dipped it into the urine sample. At the same time she heard the bedside alarm begin to bleep. Within seconds, Mark was at the door.

‘Aisha? Are you all right?’ he said, rattling the handle and then, finding it locked, knocking on the door. ‘Aisha? What’s the matter? Why’s the door locked? Are you ill?’

‘I’m fine. I’m just going to the loo,’ she said steadily. ‘Don’t worry, I know what to do.’

He fell silent outside the door as she carefully removed the stick from the urine and tapped off the excess liquid. She brought the stick up to her line of vision and watched, barely able to breathe. It was changing colour, definitely losing its creamy, off-white appearance and slowly darkening. But how dark was it turning? How dark should it be? She carried the instruction sheet and litmus stick to the centre of the room and stood directly under the overhead light. The bar chart on the leaflet showed six subtly graded shades, ranging from the negative creamy-white to definitely positive dark blue. She ran the tip of the stick down from the top until she came to the best match and her heart skipped a beat. It matched the last and deepest shade of blue, and she stared, transfixed, unable to believe what she saw. There was no mistake, it matched perfectly – she was most definitely pregnant.

Returning to the toilet, she flushed it and, before opening the door, remembered to say a final prayer of thanks. ‘Thank you, God, thank you so much. I shall never forget your generosity.’

Mark was ecstatic. He kissed and cuddled her and insisted on making breakfast that morning. He prepared it all while she showered and dressed, and when she came downstairs he led her to the breakfast bar and helped her onto the stool.

‘What a lot!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is this all for me?’

He nodded, pleased. ‘You’re eating for two now.’

There was a bowl full of bran flakes, two slices of toast and honey, a banana and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. Beside the glass of juice was the multivitamin and mineral pill, which she’d been taking each morning for the last six months. Mark poured the full-cream milk onto her cereal, then picked up her spoon and passed it to her. She smiled as she took it, and to please him, because his efforts couldn’t go to waste, dipped in the spoon and began eating, although she would much rather have had a dry cracker to settle her early-morning nausea.

Mark perched on the other stool with his mug of black coffee and watched her eat, like a doting mother hen, she thought. ‘Once you’ve stopped working,’ he said, his excitement obvious, ‘I’ll be able to look after you properly. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed every morning; then you’ll be able to get up slowly, at your leisure. If you hand in your notice straight away, you’ll be finished by ten weeks.’

She concentrated on the bowl of sickly cloying bran flakes and made a conscious effort to swallow each spoonful as Mark continued.

‘The most dangerous time to miscarry is twelve weeks,’ he said. ‘That’s when the placenta takes over from the ovaries. It’s vital you finish work by then and get all the rest you can. I can’t wait to have you home, my love, my precious one. What a clever girl you are.’ He kissed her cheek again.

Aisha paused from eating and looked up. ‘But, Mark, supposing, heaven forbid, I did miscarry and I had left work … I wouldn’t have a job. Shouldn’t I take maternity leave so all my options are left open?’

Mark shook his head solemnly. ‘No. You won’t miscarry if you’re sensible and rest. I know some women work until the end, but that’s because they need the money. Happily we’re not in that position, so there’s no point in taking risks.’ He downed the last of his coffee – normally all she had for breakfast – then tore off a strip of kitchen towel, wiped his mouth and threw the tissue in the bin.

‘I’m supposed to be meeting a new client at eight,’ he said. ‘Will you be all right going in on the tube alone? Or shall I cancel so I can come in with you?’

She smiled at his concern. ‘No, I’ll be fine. Please don’t worry. I went in yesterday by myself and I’m just the same today.’

‘If you’re sure,’ he said and hovered. ‘It will be quite a feather in my cap if I win this contract. There’s a lot of competition.’

‘Yes, you go,’ she said again. ‘I’ll be careful, I promise. And you always phone me when I get to work anyway.’

He was standing behind her now, and placing his hands on her shoulders he lightly massaged her neck. ‘Have you any idea how special you are, Aisha? I’ve never been so happy in my life. I can’t wait to have you home and all to myself. I’m going to spoil you something rotten. Both of you!’ He laughed, and kissing the top of her head, said goodbye.

He called another goodbye before she heard the front door open and then close behind him.

Aisha remained where she was, the spoon hovering over the bowl of congealed bran flakes. Yes, she did feel special, very special indeed, and she could imagine how well Mark was going to take care of her and their newly conceived child. And if it crossed her mind what she was going to do all day after she had stopped work, and was waiting for the birth, it was only fleeting, for the alternative of ignoring Mark’s advice and miscarrying was far too awful to even contemplate so she struck it from her mind. She would type a letter of resignation as soon as she got into the office. A month’s notice from today meant that she would only be nine weeks pregnant when she left work, which would be well within the twelve weeks danger time Mark had said. She knew she couldn’t afford to take any chances, she might never get a second opportunity.

With new resolve, Aisha plunged the spoon into the pulpy cereal and started eating again. If she could get used to this brown mush, she could get used to anything. She just needed to accept the fact that her life was going to be very different for seven months and would require planning to fill her days. Once the baby was born, she would be fully occupied, of that there was no doubt, and before then she could catch up on reading and seeing her parents, both of which had slipped, what with work and married life.

One month and two days later, the entire management team and departmental staff left their desks early on Friday afternoon and gathered in the conference room with drinks and savoury nibbles for Aisha’s leaving presentation. Dave Trent, the area manager, spoke very highly of her in his speech – dedicated, loyal, committed and unfailingly conscientious. He said there would be a gap created by her departure which would be impossible to fill. Everyone clapped as he presented her with Mothercare vouchers worth £150, bought with a collection from all the staff.

When Aisha rose to her feet to thank them, she suddenly found she was overcome and had to swallow hard before she could speak. She said how much she’d enjoyed working for the company and being part of the team. She thanked her boss for his kind words and said she would miss them all dearly. She then recounted how, on her first day at the bank, as an overzealous and naïve graduate wanting to make a good first impression, she had signed all her colleagues’ letters hoping to save them the trouble. They all laughed, hardly able to imagine that naïve graduate compared to the confident business woman who stood before them now. Dave Trent called out that at least she wouldn’t have that problem in her new role and they laughed again.

But later, when she was alone in her office, as she packed away the last of her personal belongings and prepared to leave for the last time, Dave Trent came to find her. He closed the door and stood awkwardly, his hands thrust deep into his pockets. ‘Any time, Aisha. If you find bottles and nappies aren’t enough, there’s always an opening for you here.’

She kept her head down and concentrated on clearing her desk. ‘Thanks. I appreciate that, Dave, but you’ll find a replacement soon enough. I’ve heard Bill Hutchings has applied. He’s more than capable of doing my job.’

Dave took a couple of steps towards her. ‘I dare say he’ll get the post if you’re definitely not coming back. But it takes more than business acumen to run an outfit like this; it requires diplomacy. Do you know that since you’ve been manager here we haven’t had one disciplinary or head office complaint? That says a lot about you, Aisha. I hope that Mark appreciates just how lucky he is.’

She looked up. ‘Thank you, Dave. He does, he really does.’

Of course Mark appreciated her, he told her every minute of the waking day. He fussed and worried, petted and waited on her, and wouldn’t let her do anything that could be deemed detrimental to her or the unborn child. He telephoned Aisha from work, two, three, four times a day. ‘Just to make sure you’re not overdoing it,’ he would say. ‘You know how I worry. You are resting, aren’t you?’

Aisha would immediately stop whatever she was doing and sit down. ‘Yes, I’m resting,’ she said.

If Aisha wasn’t in when Mark phoned, if she had gone to the shops or simply for a short walk, Mark would leave a message on the landline answerphone, stating the time he’d called, and that he would call back in ten minutes, then he would ring her mobile. She found she didn’t need her mobile so much now she wasn’t at work so she didn’t always have it with her charged and switched on. But if it was with her and Mark phoned he would ask her where she was, how far she’d walked, and when she was returning home. ‘Please be careful, Aisha,’ he said. ‘I beg you, for all our sakes.’