Seven Days: The Complete Story (42 page)

I rant and
scream. For so long I’ve held my anger in. I’ve never let out my
feelings about the things that have happened. Ever. So, I guess
this is the time. If Nicholas wants to blame me I can be just as
awful in return. “Why are you being so mean to me? What have I
done? I didn’t make Joel go away. I didn’t ask him to sell his
share of the company. This is not my fault. I loved you both but
ever since he left you’ve changed. You treat me differently and now
you look at me as if you hate me. Do you love Joel more than me?
Because if that’s the problem I’ll leave. You and Joel can continue
your happy fucking bromance without me. I don’t need either of you.
What on earth could possibly be so bad that we can’t work through
this together?”

“You have no
idea.”

“Then
enlighten me. Clearly, I’m not smart enough to figure it out on my
own.” I’m trembling now. I’m trembling not because I’m angry at
Nicholas but because I know this is the beginning of something big,
something we might not be able to control. If I don’t stop now,
words could be said that can never be taken back. Although I fear I
may already have said them.

“If Joel wants
his share, I’ll have to sell. His share runs into the tens of
millions, Sadie. Despite what you might think I don’t have that
amount of cash at my disposal.”

“But… but why
blame me?”

“Because this
is your fault. I should have stayed single. I should never have
begun a relationship with you. I should have stayed out of it and
let Joel have you. You bewitched me with your eyes and your laugh.
You made me fall and now I can’t get out of the fucking hole I fell
into. You said you’d hurt me and look what’s happened. Fucking
Bingo!”

“I… I…” I
reach out to him.

“No! No more.
I’m going to the office.”

“It’s
Saturday. Why are you going to the office on a Saturday?”

“Because I
can’t fucking think straight when you touch me. I need to be away
from you so I can try to make some sense of this shit. You’ve
fucking killed me, Sadie. You’ve ruined my fucking life.”

My lip
wobbles. “Please don’t leave, Nicholas.” My voice is so small I’m
sure he doesn’t hear it, because he’s already at the door to the
garage with the keys in his hand. “You… you… promised.”

The slamming
door is my answer.

I wander about
the house after Nicholas leaves, aimlessly picking up things and
turning them in my hands. It’s as if the objects around me are
somehow changed because Nicholas and I have fought, their colours
are duller or I can’t remember ever seeing them before or
something. I can’t believe we’ve done this to each other or that
Joel has such a hold over us when he’s not here, that he could
cause us to argue so. Nicholas is my life, my blood. He’s the
father of my baby. I need him to love me and want me. I want to
marry him, to be his forever. I don’t want to fight.

After a while,
I go into the bedroom and curl up on his side of the bed. There’s a
lump under the pillow which I identify as the t-shirt he wore to
bed last night. It was cold. Nicholas feels the cold. I pull the
balled up top from under the pillow. I take off my own top and slip
the t-shirt on, next to my naked skin. I hug it close to me,
inhaling the scent of him that lingers in the cotton and wipe my
tears on the hem. Then I lay back on the bed and try to sleep.
There’s a dull ache in my lower back but I discount it because I
know I’ve been on my feet a lot today when I should have taken it
easier. And when I wake, Nicholas will be beside me. I know he
will. He’ll have forgiven me and we’ll stand at the kitchen bench
and cook the salmon. We’ll kiss across the salad bowl like we
always do.

Later, I am
woken by a stabbing pain in my abdomen. The bed is wet and I am
still alone. Disoriented, I look about me for Nicholas but he’s not
there. Clasping my stomach, I pad into the living room, hoping he’s
watching the replay of the footy on TV. He knows I get tired with
the pregnancy. He never wakes me if I nap.

From the
bedroom door, I see the living room is empty, the TV off. Nicholas
still hasn’t come home. A second pain grips my stomach and I double
over. It’s like someone is driving nails into my belly or twisting
a corkscrew through my skin multiple times. A bout of food
poisoning would be preferable to this agony. I start to panic. The
wetness in the bed, the cramps can only mean one thing but the baby
can’t come yet, it isn’t due for seven more weeks. We haven’t made
a decision on a name. We have to have the wedding and sail off on
our
Loveboat
honeymoon. Sucking in gulps of air, I waddle
into the kitchen looking for my phone. The pain is enormous and I
lean against the bench for a second trying to calm myself, trying
to think of what I should do next. Maybe, if I stay really still it
will stop.

Or maybe
not.

I clench my
teeth and wince. It’s not real labour, I think. It can’t be. Not
yet.

I repeat this
mantra a few times but I can’t even convince myself. The baby is
coming and I am totally unprepared. I am standing in the kitchen in
a too big t-shirt and wet underwear and I haven’t got a clue what
to do next.

Shit. I
haven’t packed a bag. The hospital said I should have a bag ready
to go. Nicholas and I joked about what I should put in it and now a
bottle of champers and a vibrator seem to be among the few things I
can remember. There is not one sensible, useful thought in my
head.

I. Am. So.
Disorganised.

Damn it all to
hell.

As a third
pain takes hold of me, I grip my stomach and try to ride it out.
The breathing we’ve been practising in the pregnancy classes makes
it feel better so I concentrate on slow and steady, in an out, in
and out until the pain begins to subside. Then I return to the
bedroom. I have a shower and manage to shave my legs while gripping
the tiles for dear life. I dress in loose yoga pants— because I
totally want to whip out a few poses to keep myself busy— then
alternate between laying on the bed with my knees up because it
feels more comfortable and scrambling about in the walk-in-wardrobe
like a woman in the throes of, well, I have no idea. At last, I
find the carry-on bag Nicholas bought me for Christmas. I take a
deep breath and begin to throw random things inside it
like

granny knickers, maternity bras,
sanitary napkins, a peasant dress to wear home from hospital, a
disposable camera. I steal some of Nicholas’ expensive shampoo and
his new toothbrush from the bathroom. He won’t care. Once the baby
is here everything else will be superfluous.

Ooh, a
hairbrush. I’ll need one of those.

Next, I wheel
the suitcase to the baby’s room where I add nappies, a few little
jumpsuits, a teddy and a bunny rug. I have no idea what for. Then I
stop. I stare at the jumble of crap I’ve piled in the case. This is
utterly ridiculous. There’s no way I’m ready to be a mother, I
can’t get myself ready for a hospital visit. And where the hell is
Nicholas? I’m having a fucking baby! I haven’t waxed my girl parts
and I so wanted to have attractive girl parts when the medical team
went poking about down there.

I hit on an
idea. I’ll call Emily.

But why?

Maybe I should
call Nicholas first and the hospital.
Then,
I’ll call
Emily.

Or maybe I
should time the contractions? Aren’t I supposed to do that?

Shit it all,
why does my brain have to choose this moment to become
non-functional.

At last, I
decide to do all four in the order I thought of them so I zip the
bag closed and head back to the kitchen to find my phone. I dial
Nicholas. It goes to voicemail.

“Pick up
Nicholas, please, please please,” I say. “The baby is coming. I
need you.”

I wait five
minutes but he doesn’t ring back.

So I call
again. I try his office phone and it rings for thirty-seven rings
before I give up. Clearly, he’s angrier at me than I thought. But
now isn’t the time to be angry. He needs to be here, massaging my
back and telling me how wonderful I am. There’s plenty of time for
a hissy fit later.

Getting a
little desperate, I send him a series of texts that make no sense,
while I wait for Emily who is coming to drive me.

<
The bacon is
coming>

<*baby>

<
I’m on my way to the
homosexual>


<
Hogs spit
>

Hot lips man>

Damn fucking bastard autocorrect!!!! >

It takes five
attempts and some shouty capitals before I finally get out the
message I meant to send in the first place.
EMILY IS DRIVING ME. I’LL SEE YOU THERE>

*****

It’s dinner by
the time Emily and I reach the other side of the city where the
hospital’s situated. I’m surprised at how well she navigates the
traffic. I mean, she’s not that good a driver at the best of times
and my gripping the seat and wailing doesn’t add anything good to
the equation. She tries not to be tense with me, keeps telling me
to stay calm and breathe, but it’s all so hectic I’m positive she’s
channelling her frustration onto other drivers to stop herself from
screeching at me. She’s given at least three people the finger when
they’ve cut in front of her. And we won’t mention the moment she
wound down her window and screeched, “Get out of my way, you
morons. Can’t you see my best friend is having a baby!” to a bunch
of very scary looking bikies.

“Are you sure
Alex is okay with you doing this for me? I don’t mind getting a
cab,” I mumble between breaths that are coming faster and
faster.

‘Cause
frankly, a cab ride would be a little less frantic than Emily’s
driving.

“Alex is a
Grade A arsehole, Sadie. And right at this minute, his head is so
far up it, he wouldn’t have a clue where I am. So, yes, he’s fine
with it. Mostly because he doesn’t know.” She swerves into the
entrance of the hospital and slams the brakes on so hard I almost
give birth in my seat.

Emily leaves
me in the drop off zone at the front door and goes to look for a
place to park the car. I wheel my bag to the reception and am
immediately ushered into a room where they give me a swath of forms
to complete. Thank God, I had the sense to bring my wallet with me.
There’s no way I would have been able to remember all the numbers
and codes I need. I can barely remember my name. Emily appears
though the door in the foyer as the midwife, who introduces herself
as Valerie, is putting me into a wheelchair. It’s mortifying been
pushed along when I’m capable of walking but she assures me she
likes to embarrass everyone in this fashion and that a wheelchair
will be the least of my embarrassments over the next few hours.
Then she gives me the loveliest smile. It’s like one my mother
would have given me.

And I’m
tearing up again.

“You okay, my
love?” she asks.

Apart from the
fact the baby is trying to rip me in two? I swipe a tear away and
focus on breathing. “Sure. Just being a sook. I’m a bit scared. I
wish my mum was here.”

“Would you
like me to call her?”

“Do you have a
direct line to heaven?”

Cue awkward
pause.

“Sorry,
Valerie,” I say. “That was out of line.”

“I’ve had lots
worse said to me in the labour ward, don’t you worry. I know you
didn’t mean it. Won’t be long and you’ll have a gorgeous baby in
your arms.”

Valerie wheels
me into the lift and we watch the doors close. “This is your
birthing partner?” she asks, indicating Emily who’s standing beside
us, my suitcase firmly in her grasp.

“This is my
best friend, Emily. My fiancee, Nicholas, is on his way from work.
At least, I hope he is.” I pull my phone from my pocket with the
intention of texting him again. It could have happened he didn’t
get the other twenty-five I sent.

“You can’t
have that on in the hospital,” the midwife says. “Hospital policy.
Mobiles mess with the machines. And, nobody needs a blow by blow on
Facebook. So tacky.”

“Do people
actually do that?”

“You’d be
surprised.”

I look at her.
I look at the screen of my phone. And being the good girl I am, I
follow the rules and turn it off as another contraction rips
through me. God, I hope Nicholas comes soon. I don’t think I can do
this without him.

The next hour
goes by in a blur. The nurse settles Emily and I in the delivery
suite. Emily bustles about looking in cupboards and giving me a
rundown on the amount of space in the bathroom. I think she’s
nervous too, so I ask her to come sit by me and tell me more of her
wedding plans. Assuming there’s still going to be a wedding.

“I wish we had
tequila,” she remarks. “Are you sure you didn’t pack any in that
pile of stuff I found in your case? I’m going to refold it by the
way. God knows what you were thinking.”

“Nope. No
tequila. But there might be a couple of shot glasses, I’m not
sure.”

She looks at
me like I’ve lost my marbles.

I think I
have.

“So.” Emily
changes the subject. “I might pop down and grab a bottle of water
and a sandwich. I haven’t eaten a thing all day and if Nicholas
doesn't show is hot little patootie here soon, I’m gonna be in for
the long haul, yeah?”

“I can
organise something for you,” Valerie says. She’s hooking me up to a
blood pressure machine and taking my temperature. I like that
they’re being so cautious.

“Nah. It’s
fine. I’ll be back in ten. Is that okay, honey bubble?”

“Sure. Don’t
be too long.” I give her a limp smile. I need her here. I feel
awfully alone all of a sudden. As cosy as this room is, it feels
way too big, like there’s room for a small army if something goes
wrong.