The Two Week Wait (30 page)

‘So.’ She sits down on the bed next to him. Luckily it’s a working-from-home day for him: he is still under the duvet, but she is due at the gallery in less than an hour.
‘Shall we get this over with?’

‘Sure.’

Just as he says this, she feels a faint twinge. Or maybe it’s because she needs to pee so badly. It’s your imagination, she tells herself. And her mind
is
working overtime
– even her dreams are filled with tadpoles, litters of kittens, pushchairs, eggs . . . She’s been so apprehensive, waiting for this day, but finally it’s fourteen days since their
donor’s egg collection and Rich has relented and agreed to do a test.

Rich stays where he is while she goes down the hall to the loo. Less than a minute later she is back with the stick.

They both sit there watching, willing the blue line to appear.

Seconds pass. No line.

A minute: still no line.

Two minutes. Is that a faint one Cath can see, just beginning to emerge to make a plus sign on the indicator?

She wills it to sharpen, feeling Rich next to her, willing just as fervently.

*  *  *

‘Right. Turn it over,’ orders Adam.

Lou flips over the stick.

They both stare at it.

They stare at each other.

Then they stare at the stick again.

Still, neither of them can believe it.

Their jaws are open, a spot-the-difference cartoon of shock and surprise.

Adam reacclimatizes first. He leaps up from the sofa and pumps his fist in the air. ‘Yesssssssssss!’ he cries.

*  *  *

‘It’s really hard to be sure . . . ’ says Rich eventually.

‘I know,’ says Cath.

‘There’s definitely a faint blue line going that way.’ He picks up the stick and peers at it closely.

‘Maybe . . . ’ She examines it carefully too: she can see what he means. ‘Perhaps it’s too early to tell.’

‘Could be.’

‘I know they don’t give an accurate reading until after implantation of the embryo. Shall we try another one?’

‘Have you got another?’

‘Mm,’ Cath admits. ‘I bought a few.’

‘Go on, then.’

She heads back to the bathroom. As she opens the cabinet she feels another twinge. This time, there’s no doubt about it.

You can spot a little and still be OK, she tells herself as she sits down on the loo. She knows this from all the forums online.

She tries to pee: only a trickle comes out. How stupid of me to think I could do another test so soon, she thinks. Crestfallen, she goes back into the bedroom, sits down once more next to
Rich.

‘Can’t go,’ she says.

‘Do it later, then,’ he urges. ‘Take one with you to work.’

‘I suppose I could do that . . . ’ She picks up the instructions to read how long she would need to wait. Suddenly – ‘Ow!’

‘What?’

Pain shoots through her belly, familiar. It takes a few seconds to pass. Once it’s eased, she reaches down, runs a finger between her legs; it feels damp. She looks closely. It appears as
if it is – but her skin is pink, it could
not
be . . .

To be sure, she wipes the dampness on the sheet.

A smear of pink.

No doubt, then. It’s blood.

‘We mustn’t get too excited,’ says Lou.

‘It’s very early days,’ agrees Adam.

‘You can’t tell anyone I’m – I mean, we’re – pregnant.’

‘No,
you’re
pregnant,’ says Adam. ‘I hate that “we” thing.’

‘Do you? Phew. So do I.’

He pats his tummy. ‘Mine’s all food. And a bit of beer.’

Lou laughs. ‘Anyway, not a word to a soul. OK?’

‘OK.’ Adam’s expression is serious; he’s grasped it. He gets up from the sofa. ‘I’d best get to work.’ He picks up his bag, pauses on the threshold.
‘You going to do another test later, to be more certain?’

Lou nods.

‘You have to leave it a few hours. Lunchtime would be good, I guess.’

‘Sure. I’ll call you.’ Lou is too exultant to be annoyed by his interference.

She closes the door behind him, sits down on the sofa; immediately jumps up again, restless. Despite her instructions to Adam, she is desperate to tell someone. The news is too exciting, too
big, to contain. She is well aware that most people keep news of a pregnancy quiet until they’re through the first trimester; nonetheless, there’s one person many women
would
let
know this early. Their mother. But the idea of telling Irene? Lou can hear the interrogation already.
How will you manage financially? How well do you really know this man? Who will the child
belong to if you and Adam fall out?
Yada yada yada.

The irony is that a lot of her mother’s fears are mirrors of her own. But right now she doesn’t want to be filled with someone else’s vexation; she wants to share her joy, even
if it’s pre-emptive. Who can she trust to keep it to herself, and who will be nothing but happy?

Ah, yes. Of course. She may well be busy getting breakfast, but with luck she’ll be able to spare a minute . . .

Lou picks up her mobile and rings Karen.

*  *  *

By lunchtime there is no need for Cath to do another test. She’s bleeding so heavily there’s no possibility it is mere spotting.

‘This is the most expensive period I’ve ever had,’ she wails to Rich on the phone in her break.

‘Oh, honey.’

‘I can’t believe we spent all that time and money and it came to nothing.’

‘I know,’ he sighs. ‘Me neither.’

She sniffs. ‘I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet.’

‘No.’

For so many weeks – months – her focus has been on getting pregnant. She can’t grasp that in just a few hours her hopes – and Rich’s – have been shattered.
She feels as if she’s yet to catch up with her body mentally and emotionally; she’s disoriented, floundering. Being at work doesn’t help: no one is aware of what she’s going
through, which only makes it more unreal. She’s like a horse in a steeplechase without a rider, still galloping keenly alongside the other competitors, but with no chance of winning the race.
She thinks of her donor, wonders if she’s still in the saddle.

And all the while, even through the tablets she took to numb the spasms of pain, she can feel a dull ache in her abdomen, a nagging reminder.

*  *  *

Rich is at his desk at home, online.

Experts estimate that about 50 per cent of fertilized eggs don’t make it, and a further 15 per cent of recognized pregnancies end in miscarriage, so
unfortunately this is very common. It is only since pregnancy tests became so sensitive that people have realized how often early miscarriages can happen. In the past, these very early losses might
not even have been noticed, and the woman would never have known she had been pregnant.

Gently he lifts Bessie the cat from his lap and puts her down on the floor. Then he gets up from the computer, yawns, stretches, looks out of his home-office window onto the
terraced houses opposite. Darkened windows stare back at him – it seems no one else in the entire street is at home.

None of this is really helping, he thinks. Googling the subject has only underlined what a gamble getting pregnant is; even without Cath’s medical history there would be no guarantees.

But for once Rich was slightly ahead of his wife. Perhaps it was the conversation with Mike, Cath’s brother, which alerted him; perhaps it was a result of his own more cautious nature.
Certainly he has been more guarded throughout the last fortnight to balance Cath’s optimism. In any event, he had a feeling this might happen; that she might not conceive at the first
attempt.

By Cath’s own admission it’s not hit her yet. When it does, he knows it will knock her sideways. He struggles to consider where they might go next.

‘It’s a numbers game,’ Mike had said.

But the first hurdle that he can see is huge, possibly insurmountable.

Money.

They haven’t any left. The bank loan is spent; they’re overdrawn; his job is uncertain at best, in danger at worst; and Cath’s earnings are low. As for Judy and Peter –
they’ve been generous enough already. His pride won’t allow him to ask them again.

He should be working; the last thing he can afford is to slack off with the record label in such flux, but he’ll catch up this evening if need be. While Cath is out he can research this
without her being aware of it. He sits back down at the computer and types into Google.

Compare credit card deals,
offers the top listing. Rich clicks on the link.

*  *  *

Karen is making Lou a cup of tea when there’s a ring on the doorbell.

‘I wonder who that is,’ she says.

‘Do you want me to get it?’ offers Lou.

‘No, no, it’s fine, you stay there.’

A moment later she returns to the kitchen with Anna in her wake.

‘Fancy seeing you here!’ says Anna.

‘And you,’ says Lou. ‘I’d have thought you’d have been in London.’ Instead of crisp designer wear and high heels,Anna’s in mufti – jeans and
Breton T-shirt. Even in casual clothes, she manages to look put together, thinks Lou. How come I can never manage that?

‘No freelance bookings this week. It’s all very quiet on the copywriting front.’

‘I thought it was usually busy in the summer covering for other people’s holidays?’ says Karen.

‘It is. It’s rather worrying.’

‘I’m sure you’ll get something soon. You always get work.’

‘Hmm.’

Lou can see Anna is genuinely concerned.

‘Anyway, just thought I’d drop these round.’ Anna deposits a large rectangular container on the table. Through the clear plastic it’s obvious what the contents are.

‘Not
more
blackberries?’ says Karen.

‘Oh sorry, have you got loads?’

‘Look in the freezer,’ laughs Karen.

At that moment Molly comes charging into the kitchen. ‘Anna!’ she squeals, coming to an abrupt halt.

‘Hello, Molly,’ Anna smiles.

I love the way her face softens in the company of children, thinks Lou. She has a sudden yen to give Molly a cuddle.

‘Come and sit on my knee,’ she suggests.

Molly doesn’t need inviting twice; she bounces onto Lou’s lap with unfettered enthusiasm, and continues bouncing.

As she senses Molly’s weight pummelling against her, Lou is aware that using her belly as a trampoline might not be a good idea. ‘Er, Molly, my love, can you bounce a bit less hard,
please? That, um, hurts.’

‘Oh, do be careful, Molly!’ snaps Karen. Then she adds more evenly, ‘Lou’s a bit fragile.’

Molly tilts her blonde head up and round to face Lou. ‘I thought you were better?’

‘Er . . . I am . . . from, er, my operation,’ she says. ‘It’s just . . . ’

At once, Anna’s face breaks into an enormous grin. ‘Oh my God!’ she cries, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘You
are
, aren’t you? How fantastic!’

‘You are what?’ says Molly.

*  *  *

Rich isn’t convinced that a documentary about children living n poverty is the best choice for them on this particular evening, but Cath has insisted they
‘ought’ to see it. The camera pans around a flat in Glasgow revealing damp so bad there is no point in the occupants even decorating.

‘I’ve tried to cut the mould off my blind here,’ says the little girl, Courtney, and holds a strip close to the camera. Never mind that the blinds are made of a stiff fabric
held together by chains – a style Rich would have thought more suited to his office in Milton Keynes than a child’s bedroom – they are shockingly contaminated. Black spots of
fungi pollute every strip. That Courtney has cut small holes into the material only underlines how futile her attempts to deal with the problem are.

Courtney’s mum is doing her best, but the cycle of debt and deprivation has caught her family in a spiral it seems they will never break out of, so much so that the little girl says she
never wants to grow up. Throughout the programme statistics illustrate how situations like Courtney’s are widespread across the country.

By the time the titles come up, Rich feels a mixture of shame and gratitude. At least their cashflow problems are not this horrendous. He has a niggling sense there is something amiss with the
way they are spending money on creating a new life when there is so much need close by. These families are not halfway round the world; there is an estate similar to this Glasgow one only five
minutes’ walk away. Even so, he can’t rid himself of the desire to be a dad; not now it’s been awakened in him. Seeing these children, he longs to look after them better.

He turns to Cath to see if she’s reacted similarly. Tears are streaming down her face.

‘Oh Rich,’ she cries, and collapses onto his chest, clasping at his sweatshirt as if it’s her life support.

While she sobs, he strokes the top of her head, running the fine wisps of her mousy hair gently through his fingers. The gesture helps soothe him too.

So it’s hit her, he thinks, to some extent relieved.

All day he’s been carrying grief for both of them.

‘No thanks,’ says Adam, as Lou offers him yet another sweet. ‘I don’t know how you can still have any doubts you’re pregnant – that’s
your second packet of Fruit Mentos today.’

‘I won’t believe it till I see the heartbeat,’ says Lou.

‘But my dear girl, you’re eating for England and you’ve done three positive pregnancy tests.’

‘Four,’ says Lou. ‘There was the blood test at the doctor’s too. I know, I know. I’m probably being silly . . . ’ Her voice trails off. Up until last week,
her optimism had been growing by the day. Then she’d got a call from the clinic in Harley Street which upset her deeply.

‘So how on earth can you think you’re not?’

‘I’ve not been sick.’

‘Or had a period,’ he reminds her.

But Adam’s assurance is probably a mask for his own qualms, Lou thinks. They are sitting in the obstetrics unit at the Royal Sussex County Hospital. What a journey I’ve come since I
was here with Sofia for the scan before my operation, thinks Lou. Nonetheless, she is wary.

‘I suppose it’s ever since I heard about my recipient,’ she admits.

‘Oh dear, Lou, not that again. You know you’ve done everything you can.’