Page 2 of The Baby Plan

“Would you mind coming with me?”

Sophie followed the doctor through a set of swing doors, along a dreary, antiseptic-smelling corridor and into a small, empty consulting room.

“Take a seat,” suggested the doctor, gesturing towards a chair behind Sophie.

“I’m all right standing,” Sophie responded, despite the sudden shaking which had taken control of her.

The doctor took a moment before speaking again, her tone soft but professional, the delivery measured but clipped. “Natasha’s car came off the A23 outside Brighton and she drove into the crash barrier soon after midnight. There was no one else involved, but Natasha’s internal injuries were extensive. She was unconscious when she came in, but we were able to identify her from items in her purse, and you were down as her next of kin. She didn’t suffer and would have been unaware of what was happening. She never regained consciousness, and I’m afraid she passed away a little while ago.”

Sophie’s legs gave way beneath her. She instinctively grabbed hold of the chair and sank down into it. In that moment her body processed what her mind couldn’t: giddy, trembling, her senses shrinking in; her thoughts froze, void of comment. It was too much. How? Why? It couldn’t be right — it couldn’t be! A mistake must have been made — Natasha had to be alive. It had to be someone else. But as much as she longed to, she couldn’t fall for the comfort of her own desperate lies.

“Would you like to see her?”

Sophie managed to somehow nod her agreement.

“If you’d wait here, I’ll get someone to take you.”

Sophie sat, motionless, her entire being trying to take in what had happened in the space of a few hours: her sister — her only living relative — was gone. The only person who remained who’d known her for the whole twenty-seven years of her life. They hadn’t been close for years, hadn’t even seen one another for an awfully long time, but, none the less, Sophie felt a terrible, heart-rending loss, as if she were totally alone in the world. Trapped in her pain, the tears came.

Eventually, a nurse knocked tentatively and entered. Sophie half smiled in reflex when he introduced himself, automatically going through the rituals of polite society despite what was happening. Trancelike, she was led down numerous corridors, none of which she paid any attention to until they stopped outside a closed room.

“Take as long as you need,” the nurse said, holding open the door for Sophie to pass through.

She stopped at the threshold, gathering her resolve and trying to calm her racing breathing and trembling limbs again. One gut-wrenching step at a time she walked slowly in, only able to approach the shrouded figure on the bed by dehumanising her, focusing solely on the indistinct, amorphous contours of the drawn-up hospital sheet. By detaching herself from the situation.

She barely registered the, “Come out to the nurses’ station down the hall if you need anything,” as her escort slipped away.

The bed was surrounded by a huge assortment of medical equipment, all still in disarray and dumped on a selection of trolleys. Everything was turned off now. Despite the hour, vague, distant ‘busy’ noises filtered through to her. The constant soundtrack of hospital life.

Finally, she gazed down on her big sister’s upturned face. She seemed... peaceful. There were cuts to her cheeks and forehead, but she must have been cleaned up because it didn’t look like she’d been in a major car accident, and certainly not one that could have caused her death. What had she even been doing driving towards London at that time of night?

It was clichéd, but Natasha could easily have been asleep, Sophie thought. Her skin was pale but still flushed with health and vitality. It’d been maybe three years since they last met but, relaxed and still, Natasha now seemed the younger of the pair, far younger than her thirty years, the one in need of protecting. Part of Sophie expected her sister’s eyes to pop open at any moment and for her to ask where she was and why Sophie was staring at her with tears running down her face.

She was sobbing she realised; deep, shuddering, primal sobs.

Remorse coursed through Sophie: she and her sister may have been polar opposites in so many ways, but Natasha was the only relative Sophie had left. Maybe she should have done more to put the past behind them and work on a relationship with her sister. But there was nothing to be done about that now, and that knowledge, and the regret that went alongside it, was very hard to deal with.

Sophie tentatively leant forward and stroked Natasha’s long, blonde hair, “Goodbye,” she said quietly.

There was a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” croaked Sophie, wiping the tears away with her sleeve.

The door opened and a large, motherly nurse came in.

“If you could follow me to the desk and show me some ID, there’s paperwork to go through and I’ve got Natasha’s belongings for you.”

“Could I have another minute?” asked Sophie.

“Of course, darlin’, take as long as you need.”

* * *

Sophie walked to the reception desk, where she signed forms in a daze, the bureaucracy of life not stopping even now. She was handed a large carrier bag full of the possessions found with Natasha.

“There’s a mobile phone in there that’s been ringing non-stop,” a nurse said. “I’m afraid we had to switch it off.”

She remembered to thank the nurses for everything they’d done but left as soon as she was able to, wanting to be alone. She took some time to compose herself on a bench outside the Accident and Emergency entrance before she got back in the car to drive home.

Remembering what the nurse had said, she turned on Natasha’s phone. The pin code was Natasha’s birthday, the numbers she’d always used. At least that was something she knew about her sister, Sophie comforted herself.

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