felt as nauseous. She would look like Alice, too, a little dark-haired sprite. I hadn’t scrutinized the scan, liking the edge of uncertainty, but all the same, I knew.
‘Shouldn’t we tell the girls?’ He was bent to lace his shoes. ‘Twenty-four weeks – they’re bound to notice if they haven’t already.’
‘Kids don’t look at their parents’ bodies,’ I replied, though sometimes I’d caught Alice’s eyes scanning me with a quick flickering glance. ‘Alice is anxious about her work. Let’s wait a bit longer.’
He shrugged. I could tell from his face that his focus had shifted to the day ahead. He put on his jacket, kissed me again and clattered downstairs.
‘Don’t forget supper this evening,’ I shouted.
He said something I couldn’t hear. Then he called the girls to get into the car, and, after a few minutes, the front door slammed.
Two hours later I was waiting for Megan in the café. The smell of coffee, the background hum of talk, the crashing as plates and cutlery were cleared had become familiar over the past few months. Soon this
place would be thousands of miles away. An unfamiliar dart of apprehension, like the echo of a contraction, went through me and was gone.
There was a little fluster of chairs moving. Megan was there, out of breath. ‘Sorry I’m late. We’d run out of Andrew’s meds and I had to dash to the pharmacy.’
‘I ordered your cappuccino.’ I watched her unwind a scarf, affection jostling with pity. Andrew seemed more like a patient than a husband.
‘I’ve emailed my friend David in Gaborone.’ She leant back as the waitress put a frothy cup of coffee in front of her. ‘He should have some help sorted for you by the time the family arrives.’
I’d imagined working in a garden in the cool shade of a large tree, the baby sleeping by my side, the girls splashing in a pool or sitting next to me at a table doing their school work. A less cluttered life. Why would we need anyone to help? ‘We’d have to get references beforehand,’ I said carefully. ‘It might be difficult.’
‘David runs an orphanage.’ She looked away, her cheeks stained with colour. ‘All his workers have to be carefully checked.’
‘How about we keep it in reserve for now?’ I touched her hand and she smiled.
‘The girls will be a help anyway,’ she said. ‘ Have you told them yet?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m still worried for Alice. Right now she’s anxious she’ll lag behind her school mates while we’re out there; my pregnancy could be the last straw.’
‘She seemed fine last Tuesday. ‘We were talking about the trip. They can’t wait. I hope Botswana lives up to their expectations.’ Megan sounded oddly cautious, as though sounding a warning.
‘But you told me they’d love it.’ I stared at her, puzzled. ‘Especially Alice – I remember your words.’
‘Something happened out there that frightened me but it was a long time ago.’ Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘You’ll be fine.’
She hadn’t mentioned this before. Thinking back, we had never discussed her childhood, though I’d told her about mine, secret things I’d never told anyone before: how my father, blind with weeping, had turned the car over on the way home from the funeral, trapping us both inside, or how for years after that I dared not bring a friend home in case he broke down in tears. Now she was trusting me. ‘You were frightened at a mission school? By the nuns, you mean?’
‘I wasn’t at the mission school. I boarded in South Africa, on a church scholarship.’ A little frown appeared on her forehead.
‘Tell me about it.’
She lowered her voice. ‘It started because I looked
different. My mother made my clothes. I was fatter than the rest and my hair was red. There was a girl who told the others to leave me out – she was popular so no one spoke to me.’ She paused, then finished in a whisper: ‘After a while, I got the feeling that I wasn’t real.’
The
‘Shouldn’t we tell the girls?’ He was bent to lace his shoes. ‘Twenty-four weeks – they’re bound to notice if they haven’t already.’
‘Kids don’t look at their parents’ bodies,’ I replied, though sometimes I’d caught Alice’s eyes scanning me with a quick flickering glance. ‘Alice is anxious about her work. Let’s wait a bit longer.’
He shrugged. I could tell from his face that his focus had shifted to the day ahead. He put on his jacket, kissed me again and clattered downstairs.
‘Don’t forget supper this evening,’ I shouted.
He said something I couldn’t hear. Then he called the girls to get into the car, and, after a few minutes, the front door slammed.
Two hours later I was waiting for Megan in the café. The smell of coffee, the background hum of talk, the crashing as plates and cutlery were cleared had become familiar over the past few months. Soon this
place would be thousands of miles away. An unfamiliar dart of apprehension, like the echo of a contraction, went through me and was gone.
There was a little fluster of chairs moving. Megan was there, out of breath. ‘Sorry I’m late. We’d run out of Andrew’s meds and I had to dash to the pharmacy.’
‘I ordered your cappuccino.’ I watched her unwind a scarf, affection jostling with pity. Andrew seemed more like a patient than a husband.
‘I’ve emailed my friend David in Gaborone.’ She leant back as the waitress put a frothy cup of coffee in front of her. ‘He should have some help sorted for you by the time the family arrives.’
I’d imagined working in a garden in the cool shade of a large tree, the baby sleeping by my side, the girls splashing in a pool or sitting next to me at a table doing their school work. A less cluttered life. Why would we need anyone to help? ‘We’d have to get references beforehand,’ I said carefully. ‘It might be difficult.’
‘David runs an orphanage.’ She looked away, her cheeks stained with colour. ‘All his workers have to be carefully checked.’
‘How about we keep it in reserve for now?’ I touched her hand and she smiled.
‘The girls will be a help anyway,’ she said. ‘ Have you told them yet?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m still worried for Alice. Right now she’s anxious she’ll lag behind her school mates while we’re out there; my pregnancy could be the last straw.’
‘She seemed fine last Tuesday. ‘We were talking about the trip. They can’t wait. I hope Botswana lives up to their expectations.’ Megan sounded oddly cautious, as though sounding a warning.
‘But you told me they’d love it.’ I stared at her, puzzled. ‘Especially Alice – I remember your words.’
‘Something happened out there that frightened me but it was a long time ago.’ Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘You’ll be fine.’
She hadn’t mentioned this before. Thinking back, we had never discussed her childhood, though I’d told her about mine, secret things I’d never told anyone before: how my father, blind with weeping, had turned the car over on the way home from the funeral, trapping us both inside, or how for years after that I dared not bring a friend home in case he broke down in tears. Now she was trusting me. ‘You were frightened at a mission school? By the nuns, you mean?’
‘I wasn’t at the mission school. I boarded in South Africa, on a church scholarship.’ A little frown appeared on her forehead.
‘Tell me about it.’
She lowered her voice. ‘It started because I looked
different. My mother made my clothes. I was fatter than the rest and my hair was red. There was a girl who told the others to leave me out – she was popular so no one spoke to me.’ She paused, then finished in a whisper: ‘After a while, I got the feeling that I wasn’t real.’
The
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