Marrying Mr Valentine (Standalone) (One Month Til I Do Book 2) Page 7

  I smile kindly, placing my hand on her shoulder. ‘You don’t have to lie to me, you know.’

  She looks over at Hartley who’s watching us intently. He quickly looks away. Discreet Hartley, real discreet.

  ‘Does Sir know?’ she asks, her eyes drooped, as if already knowing the answer.

  ‘Yeah,’ I nod with a grimace. ‘I didn’t tell him though,’ I insist quickly. I don’t want to lose her trust. ‘He overheard us the other day.’

  She sighs. ‘I thought so. He’s been treating me differently.’

  Differently? I bloody hope not. If he’s treating her like a little slut, I’ll kick his arse myself.

  ‘He’s not being a dick to you, is he?’ I ask, my voice rising despite me trying to talk myself down from the increasing anger growing inside me.

  She snorts a laugh, then does an eye roll. ‘No. He’s just being a bit overprotective. Plus, I can see he’s disappointed in me. Every time he looks at me it’s as if I can see him thinking “what wasted potential”.’ She looks to the ground with a sad smile, her spine bowed over.

  I rub her shoulder. ‘He’s not disappointed in you. He’s disappointed for you, because he saw a bright future for you and he’s scared it’s all going to go down the toilet.’

  She sighs. ‘And is it? Am I doing the right thing?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Do you want an...’ I look around to make sure no one is listening. Luckily, they all seem oblivious. ‘Abortion?’ I whisper.

  ‘No,’ she says sternly with a shake of her head. ‘But what if my parents don’t support me? What if they force me to...’ she looks around to check no-one is paying attention, ‘you know. Get rid.’

  God, the thought of parents forcing their daughter to do that makes me feel sick. Where the hell has the compassion in the world gone? But she must be overreacting. Everyone dreads telling their parents they fucked up, but the fear is normally worse than the aftermath.

  ‘Surely they wouldn’t?’

  Her eyes fill up with tears. ‘You don’t know them,’ she says, her voice wobbling. ‘They’re strict Italian Catholics.’

  Oh Jesus. I once went to summer camp with a girl from that background. She felt so bad after snogging Jake Weilders that she did the rosary. It took forever. So long I had to make new friends. Easy going sluts are far more fun, as it turns out.

  ‘So surely they don’t believe in... you know... the other option.’

  She shakes her head about, clearly trying to pull herself together before anyone notices she’s about to burst into tears. ‘That doesn’t mean they’d allow me to keep it after.’

  After? Wait. She’s not saying... no, she can’t be.

  I grab her arm and pull her over to the side, further away from everyone.

  ‘Are you seriously telling me they’d make you go through a pregnancy only to then have it adopted?’ I whisper-hiss, barely able to conceal my disgust.

  She shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I could just be worrying for nothing. But, I just... I don’t see them congratulating me.’

  Okay, that sounds a bit more normal. She’s clearly being a drama queen.

  ‘They’d be weird if they did. But listen, if they try to force you into doing anything you don’t want to do, then call me.’

  ‘Why are you so nice?’ she asks, crossing her arms across her chest, her body angling away from me. ‘Are you trying to groom me or something weird you hear about on the news?’

  ‘What?’ I splutter. ‘Of course not!’

  Although I can’t help but be impressed that she watches the news. So much potential.

  ‘I was only joking,’ she shrugs. ‘Well, half-joking at least.’

  ‘I guess I feel a little protective of you for some reason,’ I admit, reminding myself not to get too attached. She isn’t a temporary replacement for Belle.

  ‘Do you have kids?’

  The simple question that never fails to throw me. I steady myself, and try not to react, but it’s hard when you feel as if you’ve been kicked in the heart.

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  It’s not a complete lie. I don’t have any kids. That doesn’t mean that I never did.

  She smiles brightly at me. ‘Well, you’ll make an amazing mum one day.’

  I feel the liquid pool in my eyes before I have a chance to reason with my emotions. I was an amazing mum. That didn’t stop it from happening though.

  ‘Thanks.’ I shake my head, desperate to change the subject. ‘So, are you going to tell me who the father is? Please don’t tell me it’s one of those tools.’ I point over towards the lads that wolf-whistled me.

  Her eyes fall to the floor. Oh crap. It is.

  ‘No way!’ I shriek, unable to hide my surprise. ‘Which one?’

  ‘Ben Payne,’ she admits on a sigh.

  As if I know which one that is. I look over, just in case they’re wearing name tags today. Damn it, just my luck.

  ‘And I’m guessing you haven’t told him?’

  She shakes her head. ‘Look at him. He’s an idiot. There’s no way he can help me. I can’t believe I even did anything with him. But you know... vodka.’

  I smile, patting her on the shoulder. ‘I really do.’

  At the end of the day I’m helping Hartley to clean up. It’s shocking how much mess teenagers can make with just a bit of paint. I swear there’s more paint on the floor than on the actual props.

  ‘God, kids really are rubbish at tidying up after themselves, aren’t they?’ I moan, scrubbing off a particularly stubborn bit of dried on paint. I hope to God he was supplying them with washable paint and not the stuff you put on living room walls.

  ‘Yeah, sorry. You shouldn’t have to do this. I keep forgetting you’re not actually on the staff. You go on home.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t mind.’ More like I don’t want to leave him. Or don’t want to go home by myself to watch my parents cuddled up on the sofa. It’s sad when you’re jealous of your parents' relationship, with only the family cat for affection. And she’s shit at conversation.

  ‘So, I saw you talking to Anna earlier,’ he starts, appearing to be vague. I know better. Here comes him digging for information from me.

  ‘Yep,’ I nod, choosing not to elaborate.

  He waits for me to supply more information, but I avoid his gaze, forcing him to talk.

  ‘Did she tell you who the father... no, scratch that, that makes it sound too mature for these idiots. Who the baby daddy is?’

  I roll my eyes, but nod. ‘Yes.’

  He looks at me, waiting for more. ‘And?’

  ‘And I don’t think I should tell you. She told me in confidence.’

  ‘Oh, come on, they’re kids!’ he says sharply, his jaw tense.

  It pisses me off that he can disregard her emotions so easily, just because she’s only sixteen. If anything, at sixteen is when you feel the most emotions, all at once. Everything is the end of the world. Only in her case, it might just be.

  ‘She may only be sixteen years old, but she has a wise head on her shoulders. She’s going to be fine.’

  He scoffs, eyes narrowed at me as if I’m mental. ‘Jesus, do you live in cuckoo land? This is the worst thing that could have happened to her.’

  I scoff back at him. Jesus, he’s a drama queen.

  ‘I really think you have the wrong perspective. She’s pregnant, not dying.’

  ‘Her future is!’ he shouts, throwing his cloth back into the soapy water. ‘God, why does it always happen to the ones with the most potential?’

  I get that he’s frustrated, but he needs to see that this isn’t the end.

  ‘If she works hard, she can have it all. Go to college or something. It’ll just take longer than she originally thought.’

  ‘Oh, don’t give me that crap,’ he barks back. ‘You don’t believe in all of that having it all stuff, do you? Be honest, one or the other always suffers.’

  ‘Not always,’ I snap, the feminist inside me flaring her nostrils in rag
e.

  He rolls his eyes to the ceiling. ‘We’ll have to agree to disagree.’

  I don’t care what he says. I’m going to do everything in my power to ensure Anna has every opportunity possible open to her. If her parents or Hartley won’t fight for her future, then I will.

  ‘We’ll just have to do that,’ he snaps, taking the bucket and storming off.

  Yeah, thanks for helping out tonight, Nadine. Arsehole.

  Chapter Seven

  Tuesday 16th January

  All of this thinking about Anna and her baby has me thinking about Belle a lot. Well, a lot more than normal. Of her little toes and her wrinkled fingers, her fingernails already so long. I remember holding her tight and studying every detail of her. But where there should have been warmth there was coldness. Where I should have felt her heart beating against mine, there was nothing but stillness.

  When it happened, the idea of having another baby was so far away from what I wanted. I just wanted her back. Joshua wanted us to try again straightaway. As if I could just forget her and think oh well, I can always have another baby. Like I didn’t just carry her for nine months: feel every kick, listen to every heartbeat at the scan, think of a possible name for her. He just didn’t get it.

  But now... I don’t know. I’m scared to go through it all again, but my urge to have another baby is growing by the day. Even if the urge is only there for ‘someday'. I’m all too aware that I’m thirty-two. Time is ticking away. In another few years my fertility will fall off a cliff according to those scaremongering health magazines I read.

  So today I’ve decided to visit my doctor and find out where I stand with my biological clock. Get more of an idea.

  ‘Miss Roberts,’ the doctor calls.

  I look up, braving a smile. The stern looking male doctor does a nod, barely recognisable to the human eye. I’ve met him before. That’s his version of a beaming smile.

  I stand up, gulp, and follow him into the small room. Being here brings back far too many memories. Memories of me crying, asking for something to help ease the pain.

  The doctor sits down, crossing his legs in a very feminine way. ‘So, Miss Roberts. What can I help you with today?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘I want to know the chances of me getting pregnant.’

  His eyes widen ever so slightly, obviously surprised. ‘Ah. I didn’t realise you were in a new relationship.’

  ‘Err... I’m not,’ I admit bashfully. ‘But, I’m very aware of my age and I just want to know the quality of my eggs.’

  ‘Okay,’ he nods, his face still not showing a hint of emotion. ‘Well, unfortunately the NHS won’t send you for a scan to assess the quality of your eggs until you’ve been actively trying with a partner for over a year.’

  My shoulders sag. Bloody fantastic.

  ‘But I can order a blood test to see if you’re ovulating before your cycle?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ I nod. That’s something I suppose.

  ‘You can of course pay to go private and get the scan, but there are things you can do in the meantime to increase your chances. A healthy diet, cutting out alcohol, mild exercise.’

  ‘Yeah, the usual,’ I nod. All the things I did when I found out I was pregnant with Belle.

  ‘There is also the risk of being on Fluoxetine while pregnant.’

  I knew he was going to mention my Prozac. I’ve been on it since Belle and after about four long months I finally felt it bringing me back to my old self. Now I feel completely normal, able to hold down the burning emotions of my grief for long enough to get through the day.

  Yet I’m terrified that if I come off it, I’ll revert to how depressed and anxious I was. And the truth is that even if I only go back to five percent of how low I was feeling, it’s not worth it. I can’t go through that agony again.

  ‘Would you recommend I come off it?’ I ask, dreading his possible answer.

  He raises his eyebrows in alarm. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t recommend that straightaway. You could have some serious side effects. Fluoxetine is one of the better studied antidepressants of pregnant women and it’s unlikely to cause birth defects. But it is possible that if taken throughout the pregnancy a baby could develop neonatal adaption syndrome. That’s when the...’

  ‘No.’ I shout cutting him off. ‘I don’t want to put any potential baby under any risk.’

  He smiles sadly. ‘Nadine, I understand with your history you’d be concerned, but you have to remember that you were suicidal at one point. It may be safer for you to continue with them during the pregnancy. It’s far better for the mother to be mentally well.’

  I scoff. ‘Yeah, tell someone who’s lost a baby that. Oh wait, you just did.’ I can’t help but be harsh.

  ‘If you’d prefer, we could work on weaning you off it slowly, starting with reducing your amount?’

  I twist my ring around my finger. That sounds a bit better. I want to do everything in my power to get my body in peak condition. Not that I have any idea who I’d have a baby with. Maybe I could get a sperm donor and do it on my own? I know my parents would help out.

  ‘Weaning me off. How would that work?’ I enquire.

  He checks his computer. ‘You currently take two 20mg tablets at night. I’d suggest alternate days where you only take one tablet.’

  I at least expected him to suggest coming down by 10mg first, but a whole half a dose? That seems extreme.

  ‘And will I have side effects?’ I ask, already fearing what I’m going to go through.

  ‘You could possibly have some,’ he nods, ‘but Fluoxetine is the easiest SSRI to wean off due to the Prozac staying in your system longer. Give it a go.’ He types on his computer, an awkward silence descending over us. ‘But I notice that you never took up my offer of therapy. Without that you might not have the tools to cope.’

  I snort. ‘I don’t need to sit in a room and tell some stranger how I’m feeling. I have my family and friends for that.’

  He smiles tightly. It’s his version of rolling his eyes. ‘Okay. I can only suggest it. For now, would you like me to schedule in a blood test?’

  A blood test? Oh, he means to check if I’m ovulating. I think about it for a moment.

  ‘No thanks. I already know I can ovulate anyway, it’s just to know how many quality eggs I have left. I’ll probably go private. But I’ll try to reduce my dosage in the meantime.’

  He nods. ‘Any problems, come back and see me.’

  I walk out of there feeling both hope and worry. Hope that I can have another baby someday but worry over how my body will react to less drugs. Can I really cope with my own mind and grief without the drug I’ve come to rely on?

  Wednesday 17th January

  Last night was my first reduced dose. Only one tablet, instead of my regular two. I felt positive going to bed. He said I wouldn’t get many side effects. I probably wouldn’t notice a thing. This morning however, I woke up feeling awful. My head pounded with a heavy headache as I forced my tired limbs to get out of bed.

  My hands shook, and I felt so agitated, so on edge.

  I’d have stayed at home if I hadn’t booked in cake testing with Clara and Hartley. Part of the service we offer at The Duck & Goose is to include everything so there’s minimal stress for the bride.

  So, I force myself to drive there, using every bit of deep down strength to pull myself together. Let me tell you, it takes a lot. I can’t shake the feeling like something terrible is about to happen. The panic claws at my throat.

  This can’t just be from the reduced tablets, can it? Maybe it’s women’s intuition that something terrible is about to happen. God, I hope it’s not Florence and the baby. I say a silent prayer to the God I don’t believe in that she’ll be okay. Not her.

  I’m just finishing styling the cake portions, sure they don’t look quite right, when suddenly my ear bristles from the cold outside.

  ‘Boo.’

  I nearly jump out of my skin, spinning round to see Hartley
looking at me with amusement dancing in his eyes.

  ‘Jesus!’

  Just the thing someone already living on their nerves needs, a shock.

  He grins. ‘Nope, I go by Hartley.’

  Bloody idiot.

  ‘God, you almost gave me a heart attack. How the hell did you sneak up on me without me hearing? You’re a damn tree.’

  He frowns, fighting the smile pulling on the edge of his lips. ‘Sorry? Did you just call me... a tree?’

  I burst out laughing, glad for any emotion over than fear. ‘Let’s be honest. You’re a total tree.’

  ‘As in...?’ His raises his eyes, awaiting my answer, a hint of amusement in the side of his lips.

  God, can he really not figure it out himself?

  ‘You’re all like... hench and stuff.’ God, I don’t want it to sound like I’m flirting with him.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ he grins playfully. ‘Been checking me out, have ya?’ He flexes his bicep in a jokey manner. ‘I can’t blame you.’

  ‘Oh please,’ I scoff with an eye roll, looking down at the cakes so I don’t have to look him in the eye. ‘I know some women are impressed by that, but not me.’

  ‘Really?’ he laughs.

  I look back up at him, his forest-greens alight with humour.

  ‘Yes, really.’ Why is he even flirting with me when Clara should be walking in any second? ‘Anyway, where is Clara?’

  His turn to roll his eyes. ‘She said she can’t get the time off work. Sent me instead. More like doesn’t want to eat any cake.’

  ‘She doesn’t eat cake?’ I repeat in barely concealed horror. ‘Not even wedding cake?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Nope. Even when we go out for dinner I end up eating desserts by myself.’

  God, what kind of weirdo is she? Who the hell doesn’t like cake? Is he sure she’s not a robot? She clearly mustn’t have feelings. Everyone with feelings has cried over a huge slab of cake while stuffing yourself silly.

  ‘But I bet she steals half of it... right?’ I mean, she must be a woman.

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head sadly. ‘She’s got ridiculous self-control.’