Page 14 of The Promise
“It’s okay, take your time,” the doctor says softly, looking at me with compassionate eyes. She probably thinks I’m about to tell her about some terrible disease I have orsomething.
“I’m…pregnant,” I admit, feeling lighter as soon as the word leaves mymouth.
“Am I presuming from your reaction you’re not happy aboutit?”
I tell her everything—about my trip to London to my many conversations with Juliette about it all. Thankfully, she doesn’t look at me with the disapproval I was expecting when I admit to wanting an abortion. She just listens to me, which I’m gratefulfor.
“And the father?” sheprompts.
“He doesn’t know yet. We were in a relationship but it’s…complicated.”
“I understand. Okay, Addison, as you’ve decided to continue with this pregnancy, I would advise you start taking vitamins every day. You can pick some up from the pharmacy. Here are some leaflets telling you the basics of what you should and shouldn’t be doing. They’re quite simple, they should ease you in gently,” she says. I can only imagine what kind of message she’s getting from the panicked look on my face right now. “Everything will be okay,” she reassures me after handing all the paperwork over. “You need to book an appointment with the midwife on your way out, but other than that, just look after yourself and get in touch if you have anyconcerns.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely. The pile of paperwork I’ve just stuffed in my handbag gives me the jitters, but I’m sure I’ll befine.
After booking a midwife appointment, I walk the short distance down the street to the pharmacy and stare aimlessly at the pregnancy vitamins. There are about five different options and I have no clue what the differenceis.
“Can I help you?” a shop assistant says from behindme.
“Uh…” I stutter. “I need some…” I wave my hand in front of the shelf, “but which ones? Is there adifference?”
“Honestly, not really. You just need to pick ones you’re happy with. The ingredients are mostly the same. This is the bestseller,” she says, picking up a green box. “It’s doing me okay,” she adds as she pats her belly. “Plus, they’re almost always on offer, so you can’t really gowrong.”
“Okay then,” I whisper, and watch as she picks up three boxes and takes them over to the till. “Do you need anything else? Moisturiser for your bump? Sicknessbands?”
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly, fighting the urge to burst intotears.
“It’s okay, this is a big thing, even to the most prepared women. Here’s a magazine you might find useful,” she says kindly, pulling it from under the counter. “There’s even a twenty per cent off voucher for Mothercare in there; you could treat yourself to a couple of new bras orsomething.”
“New bras?” I ask, my eyebrows drawn together inconfusion.
“Please tell me if this is too forward, but I finish in forty minutes. There’s a café over the street. How about you go and get yourself a drink and I’ll meet you over there when I’mdone?”
I’m stunned by this offer of support. “I don’t want to ruin yourplans.”
“My only plans for the afternoon involve a trip to Mothercare to pick up an order and an afternoon nap, so don’t worry aboutthat.”
“Okay then,” I say, feeling slightlylighter.
“I’m Orla, by the way,” she says with a smile. I look over her briefly. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her light skin, although a little tired around her eyes, is glowing. It’s clear as day she’s very much enjoying her pregnancy. I can’t help but feel I’m never going to look—let alone feel—thatcomfortable.
“Addison.”
“I’ll be over as soon as I’m done. Have a flick through that and then you can fire any questions at me when I get there. Can I just ask one thing ofyou?”
“Ofcourse.”
“They do these incredible strawberry milkshakes. Please could you get me one…or six!” she says with a laugh. “I’m a littleaddicted.”
I take the bag containing my vitamins and the magazine, say goodbye to Orla, and head across the street in search ofmilkshake.
I open the magazine with trepidation. I’m worried it’s going to be full of information and terminology that’s going to have me running to the ladies to have a panic attack, but I’m happy to discover that from the first page, the thing seems to be written for clueless women just likeme.
I read every page and soak up as much as possible. I’m so engrossed in reading about the development between six and eight weeks I don’t realise Orla sits herself down opposite me—and that’s saying something, because she really is quitepregnant.
“Mmmm,” she moans in delight as she has her first sip of milkshake, making me look up. “So good.” And I have to agree; it’s gorgeous. I think I just added an item to my menu. “How are you gettingon?”
“Good. I’m just reading that by eight weeks the baby has fingers and toes; they’re justwebbed.”
