Page 75 of So Thrilled For You

‘It is, but I’ve got you. Now, go ring some people. Do you want me to come to Brixton? I’m stuck in Surrey but I can hop on a train and be with you by late afternoon?’

‘I’m actually meeting friends for lunch. I wasn’t going to tell them, but I might.’

‘Tell them. This is real, I promise.’

We chat for a few further moments and I admit I drag it out a bit as I really don’t want to go back downstairs. When we hang up, I wilt on the toilet in relief, my head hanging between my legs, my hair drooping to the ground. Now the crisis is over, I can allow myself a second to let it panic me. I cannot imagine what a disaster it would’ve been if I hadn’t been able to talk Rosa around.

But I did. I did.

I wash my hands even though I didn’t pee and look at my reflection in the mirror. It’s speckled with toothpaste, and between the flecks, I see my face melting off, my hair frizzing, and there’s an undeniable pain coming off me like a literal sweat. I was grateful for this work distraction, but back outside is a world where I overheard my best friend openly bitch about me. It hurts so much I don’t even know how I’m going to drive home with her. I stare out the one-way glass at the dusty mess of countryside and let the view calm me. I allow myself one more deep sigh and, I’m just about to descend back into the party, when I hear a baby cry.

Through the doors, a symphony of women’s voices float up the staircase. The punch must be getting everyone loose andthere’s a collective hum punctuated with the occasional shriek of laughter. There it is again. A baby crying out from down the glass corridor. I turn back, listening out, trying to locate which door it’s coming from. There’s a scream and I grasp the doorknob, ready to go in and help. But I hesitate. What if the mum’s already in there, comforting the baby? They’ll hate me if I barge in. I lean against the wood and listen out for a hushed lullaby, but I just get another shrill scream.

It’s unbearable.

This one is so awful, my bodily response so visceral, that, without even making the decision, I push into the dark bedroom.

‘Is everything OK?’ I call out.

It’s midnight black inside. I blink to acclimatise and the light from the hall streams in, revealing a distraught Woody. He’s standing up in the cot, holding the bars like a caged pirate, face streaming with tears, his whole body shaking.

‘Woody, baby. Shh, it’s OK, it’s OK.’

I glance around for Lauren, expecting her to run through the door any second to comfort him. But now Woody’s aware someone’s in the room with him, he screams even louder. He drops to the bottom of the cot, thrashing around like he’s having some kind of fit.

‘Hey Woody, it’s OK. It’s OK.’ I run over and sort of hover next to him, figuring out what to do. The baby monitor must be broken. I could dash downstairs to tell Lauren, but I don’t think I can leave him for even one minute.

He screams so loud my stomach hurts.

‘Yes, I know. Baby showers are awful. I want to go home too.’

He reaches out his pudgy arms, speaking this weird language, begging me to lift him. Actual real tears spill endlessly down his face.

‘Shh, it’s OK,’ I bend down and heave him out of the cot. ‘We’ll go get Mummy, I promise. Shh, shh.’

Woody buries himself into my shoulder, howling, and I bounce him up and down as he wets my dress with his tears.

Charlotte

I dash to the toilet the second Nicki unwraps her last gift. I don’t even fill in the final slot of the spreadsheet. I’ve bled through my makeshift sanitary towel and I gasp with actual horror. I’ve bled through my knickers and some of it has dried to either side of my thighs in this heat. I wipe and blood comes off the toilet tissue. I’m going to have to get to hospital immediately. This blood cannot be argued with – I can’t manifest away this much biology. I bite my wrist until it leaves a mark and then try to mop myself up. When I shakily open the bathroom door, there’s a line of women waiting, and I apologise sheepishly before running to locate my phone. Nicki isn’t on her throne. Most people have dispersed to the kitchen to top up their drinks. Lauren’s still sat down, red-faced and laughing with that terrible Phoebe and her terrible undercut. I should be helping with drinks, but the blood . . .

The blood . . .

The heat’s still a surprise as I run outside and down the long gravel driveway. I only have one bar of reception but it’s enough to get through.

‘Charlotte, are you OK, babe?’ Seth asks. ‘Matt got picked up by the taxi just fine, I promise. He should be arriving any moment. It’s all going to be per—’

‘I’m bleeding,’ I tell him. I fold over, holding my stomach, sweat dripping across my back as the sun throbs down on me.

‘What?’

‘From my vagina.’ My wobbling lip vibrates through my voice. ‘There’s a 20 per cent chance it’s a miscarriage. Wewon’t know for sure until I get to hospital. If they hear a heartbeat, the odds improve drastically.’

‘Charlotte.What?Are you OK? Where are you? Fuck. You’re bleeding? For how long?’

‘Just an hour.’

‘An hour? Why aren’t you in hospital?’

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