Page 97 of Dublin's Danger Dancer

“You really wanna do this, you and me?” I ask.

Chapter Twenty-four

“You wouldn’t think half the population are Irish descendants. No one in this feckin’ country understands a single word I say,” Liam says, exasperated, placing a cup of steaming Starbucks down in front of me. “I mean, we are talking in English. It took me close to ten minutes to order two lattes. Talking about no fat, skim, no foam, triple, venti, soy. You’d have thought I was saying the theorem to reach Mars out loud.”

I smile at him. When he’s nervous, he babbles.

“We better go.” I say rising to walk to the lift.

Liam tries to take my weight as if at any minute I might collapse and need resuscitation.

“We’ve had this conversation, Liam. I can walk.”

“I haven’t been to the gym in weeks. You’d be doing me a favour, letting me carry you.”

We are at an extremely clinical, glass fronted treatment facility with a ceiling so high my eyes can’t pinpoint the roof. The facility is surrounded by majestic fountains spraying steady streams of meditative water straight up. I study the droplets falling down wondering if Florida ever imposed a water ban.

“Mr and Mrs Ahern. We’re right through here.” says a peppy American voice belonging to a woman dressed like she’s about to audition for Mad Men.

I stand staring nervously at her clipboard. Liam picks up my Starbucks and I see him inwardly repressing his desire to criticise me for forgetting the drink he’d worked so hard to get me.

The lifts journey to the fifth floor ends with a swoosh in both the lift and my belly. I glide my hands over the bump sending our baby love through my fingertips.

I was already wearing my first pair of maternity jeans. If I lived I planned to fit all of my jeans with this glorious elastic waist.

We walk behind the woman, the giant mustard bow tied at her neck flapping as we follow her into a bright white room where my doctor is looking over the latest data from my treatment.

Liam is nervous. More so than normal. He even refused to have sex with me this morning. Since, he’s been agitated and fidgety, as if he was expecting bad news.

He pulls me by my hand and tugs me into him. His arms encircle me so hard from the side I’m forced to pull back to stop him from squishing me.

“Please take a seat,” says the doctor.

Liam twirls one of the stylish white round chairs that look like a teacup cut in half to me. And then twirls me around to face the doctor like I’m a toddler.

He unbuttons his immaculate silver suit where hairs poke out of his unbuttoned shirt and sits next to me.

“It’s not good news,” the doctor says.

Liam inhales so sharply, the noise cuts through the room.

“The latest drug treatment hasn’t been as successful as we hoped. The disease is still progressing.”

I swallow hard rubbing my bump. “But the baby. The baby’s okay?” I ask anxiously.

“Your baby is fine, but we’re going to recommend you deliver at thirty-two weeks. It’s early, but any more than that’s going to put too much strain on your organs and it’s a risk we just can’t take.”

“What about the other drug? The second drug that we have to try?” Says Liam.

We’re going to start that today. The doctor pauses “but you should know that the first drug is more successful with patients, so this is a longer shot for us.”

“When today?” I ask.

“Mary is going to get you set up. We’ll monitor you here for a few hours and then you can go home. But if you feel any symptoms, just call the number that we gave you. Okay?

“Okay,” I say.

“Dr, what is the likelihood that this round of drugs is going to be effective?” Liam asks.

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