Page 33 of Prognosis Do Over

He shrugged. ‘I was walking past this antique shop and saw it in the window and thought of you.’

Lou’s fingers were shaking as she carefully undid the yellow tissue paper. The wrapping was like a work of art, several layers of yellow artfully blended together, and it seemed almost a crime to disturb it.

Nestled amongst the paper was a little silver box. It was quite heavy for its size and Lou picked it up, loving the feel of its weight as it fitted snugly into her palm. She rubbed her finger over the decorative engraving. ‘Oh, Will,’ she said, tears burning her eyes, ‘it’s lovely.’

‘Open the lid,’ he said.

Lou flipped it open gingerly with her thumb, and gasped as a row of tiny ducklings moved along a conveyer belt, disappearing at the end and then reappearing at the beginning again one at a time, to the strains of ‘The Blue Danube’. She shut the lid and then opened it again, fascinated by the antique handiwork.

‘I thought you’d like it,’ he murmured.

She smiled up at him, stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, avoiding the temptation of his mouth. ‘I love it,’ she said. ‘Thank you. I’ll treasure it.’ She looked at it one last time, and then slipped it into her handbag.

He nodded and smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Lou...about everything.’

‘I know,’ she said, hearing the genuine despair in his voice. She felt her Braxton Hicks start again, and unconsciously rubbed her belly. ‘It’s better this way. For the kids.’

A really strong one cramped her uterus, and Lou gasped at the impact, grabbing onto the roof of her car as it squeezed tight.

‘What?’ Will asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

She held up her hand to shush him as she breathed her way through it. ‘Just a Braxton Hicks,’ she assured him, when she could finally talk.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked. The pain had looked really strong. ‘You’re not going into labour, are you?’

‘Will!’ she said, glaring at him as another squeeze began its grip. ‘It’s nothing. I’m paranoid enough about this. You’re not helping.’

‘What can I do?’ he asked, as her increasingly white-knuckled hold on the car alarmed him.

Lou bit her lip and struggled to breathe through another one. ‘Just shut up for a moment. They’ll pass in a few minutes.’

Will wanted to do more. He wanted to touch her belly and relieve her of the pain instantly. But he held out his hand instead, and was pleased when Lou took her hand off her belly and placed it in his. She gripped his hand hard, and he waited until her grip had eased off completely before he checked how she was again.

‘Fine now, thanks,’ she said, releasing Will’s hand and the car.

‘Are you going to be all right to drive?’ he asked as she opened her car door.

She laughed. ‘I’m pregnant, Will, not disabled.’ Although as her bump squashed against the steering wheel she wondered anew how much longer she was going to fit.

‘Tight squeeze,’ he said.

She looked up at him to find him grinning. She admired his flat belly enviously, and ran her hands over her own expanse, barely able to remember her body before the baby. ‘I’ll remember that in twenty years’ time, when you’ve got a beer gut,’ she said.

He chuckled and shut her door for her. ‘See you Sunday?’

She nodded. ‘Sunday.’

And then she drove out of the car park and away from Will and the hospital as fast as she could. She could see the collection of buildings in her rear view mirror, and Will standing there staring after her.

Tears blurred her eyes as she drove further and further away, until the hospital and Will were a speck in the distance. She had just left everything from her past behind and embarked upon a bright new future — she hoped.

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Sunday morning dawnedand Lou felt terrible. If there hadn’t been so much money riding on her plait she would have pulled the covers over her head and stayed in bed all day. Her back ached, and she’d been up intermittently all night with mild diarrhoea. As it was she didn’t drag herself out of bed until nine, and the shaving ceremony was starting at ten.

She took her time in the shower, washing her hair. The plait was being donated to a charity wig place after, so she wanted it to be clean. She supposed absently that she was going to save a heap on shampoo and conditioner.

Leaning heavily against the glass in the shower she breathed through her first Braxton Hicks kicked in for the day. The cascade of warm water running over her bump and back lessened the severity, and she made a mental note to add the use of a shower to her birth plan. And then she made another mental note to actually get on with writing her birth plan.

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