I Heart Forever

  ‘Apologies,’ I said, waving a conciliatory shoe in his direction. Closing the blinds, I returned to my spot on the sofa, keeping the stiletto close by.

  ‘Your dad might call,’ I told my nano-bump. ‘We should stay up in case he does, just for a bit. And to make sure whatever random builder has my spare key isn’t a serial killer.’

  It didn’t reply but it didn’t complain either.

  ‘We’re going to get on just fine,’ I said. Patting my stomach, I pulled a blanket up over my chin and settled in for my first night alone with my baby, one hand on my stomach, the other on my shoe.

  You really couldn’t be too careful these days.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When people call New York ‘the city that never sleeps’, they’re usually talking about the shenanigans people get up to after one too many cocktails, the karaoke bars that never close, or the dawn walks across the Brooklyn Bridge, Alex singing in my ear while I carried my high heels in my hand. How things had changed. I might have had my high heels in my hand all last night, but instead of pulling a walk of shame the morning after the night before, I was as clean and fresh as a daisy as I passed by all the dirty stop-outs on the subway as I headed into Manhattan at 7 a.m., on my way to a doctor’s appointment.

  ‘The good news is, everything looks great,’ Dr Laura, friend of Jenny’s and superstar OB-GYN, announced from somewhere between my ankles. ‘You’re between eight to ten weeks along. Closer to ten, I would say. Do you recall the date of the first day of your last period?’

  ‘I’m not even certain what day today is,’ I replied, dazed. ‘Ten weeks?’

  How could there have been a little person living inside me without my knowing for ten weeks? I thought I had nine months to prepare, all the websites I’d read had said forty weeks but I’d just had ten weeks pulled out from under me. I was already a quarter of the way along. Then again, I’d found a packet of Polos in my coat pocket three weeks earlier that had expired in 2009 so maybe this shouldn’t feel like such a shock.

  ‘Honestly, I’m not sure,’ I admitted. ‘I don’t really keep track and things have been so busy since Alex has been out of town. I hadn’t realized how late I was until, well, I realized how late I was.’

  ‘Don’t worry too much about it,’ she said, flipping on a screen suspended from the ceiling to show a black and greenish-grey image I’d seen on what felt like a thousand Facebook walls.

  Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to your uterus.

  ‘This,’ she pressed a cold plastic wand to my stomach with one hand and pointed to the screen with the other, ‘is your baby. Congratulations, Angela Clark, you’re going to be a mommy.’

  ‘Oh fuck,’ I whispered as I stared at the screen.

  ‘Oh …’ Dr Laura turned the same shade of pink as the soft cotton smock I was currently sporting. ‘I’m so sorry, is this a sensitive issue? Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ I replied, realization hitting me like a ton of bricks. ‘You said Mommy, not Mummy. I’m going to have an American baby.’

  Dr Laura laughed, slightly more relieved than amused, as she froze the picture on the screen. I, on the other hand, wasn’t quite sure what she was laughing about. It was a legitimate concern. I couldn’t be a mom! I didn’t have the training. Moms wore straight-leg mid-rise jeans, they had neat, side-parted bobs and drove SUVs to soccer practice. I wanted to keep my jeans skinny and my hair long and sleep in while Alex took the kid to watch football down the pub. Could you even take kids to the pub in America? These were questions I hadn’t even thought to ask.

  ‘I know it’s sometimes tricky for people this early into the pregnancy but,’ she pointed at a grey blob that appeared to be pulsating in the bottom corner of the screen, ‘can you see your baby?’

  ‘That’s it?’ I gazed up at the screen, not entirely sure what I was expecting, but it didn’t look like anything. Then again, the thing was still tiny and still in my belly; it wasn’t going to be holding a giant lollipop and waving at me from inside its cot, was it?

  ‘That’s it,’ she confirmed. ‘There will be much more to see at your next appointment.’

  That was it. That thing, bopping around in the corner of my uterus. That was my baby.

  ‘Is that to size?’ I squinted at the screen. It felt like something impossible, like winning the lottery, finding a pair of Louboutins on sale in my size or Michael Fassbender moving in next door.

  ‘No,’ Dr Laura made the image even bigger. ‘The baby is around the size of a pea right now.’

  A pea. All this for something the size of a pea.

  ‘And when can you tell me what it is?’ I asked, crooking my neck to try and get a better look. It looked relatively chilled out, which was good news, because it meant it was already taking after its father.

  As she moved the wand off my stomach, the live streaming special, Inside Angela Clark, froze, and my baby became a static image. Immediately, I wanted her to restart the scan but instead, she began cleaning the gel from my belly. ‘You mean the gender?’ she asked.

  ‘Well, I’m assuming it’s human,’ I replied. ‘So, unless there’s something important you want to tell me now …?’

  ‘Twenty weeks. Unless you want it to be a surprise.’

  I shook my head. Absolutely not. No more surprises for Angela, not even of the Kinder variety.

  ‘Surprised enough, to be honest,’ I said. ‘Book me in for that scan.’

  ‘The only thing I’d like you to be careful with is your blood pressure.’ Dr Laura turned to a small printer at her side, pressing buttons until it whirred into life. ‘It’s way too high. You need to avoid all unnecessary anxiety otherwise you’re going to end up on bed rest and I know that sounds great but it really, really isn’t. Is there anything going on right now that could be causing undue stress?’

  Oh, I don’t know, I thought to myself. Husband AWOL in South East Asia? Best friend’s wedding? New boss? The prospect of my staff losing their jobs? The prospect of me losing my job? Potential murderous builder running around Brooklyn giving copies of my keys to every criminal in the five boroughs? Completely unexpected and unplanned pregnancy?

  ‘Not that I can think of,’ I replied calmly.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Keep it that way.’

  She handed me a small, black-and-white image of the inside of my womb. It was weird, I avoided looking at photos of the outside of my stomach at all costs, but I couldn’t stop staring at this one.

  ‘That’s it?’ I asked, pulling my legs out of the stirrups. They seemed oddly comfortable. ‘I’m done?’

  ‘We have a lot of literature for you to take away and read,’ Dr Laura said, nodding. ‘And I’m going to prescribe some vitamins, but other than that, yes. Felicia at the front desk will schedule your follow-up visits.’

  ‘But there’s a baby in me?’ I’d always been exceptionally talented at stating the obvious. ‘You’re going to send me back out into the streets with a photo and some vitamins? I’ve never had a baby in me before, I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Angela, women have had babies in them for literally hundreds of thousands of years,’ she said, resting a gentle hand on my shoulder. ‘And everything will be great as long as you keep that blood pressure down. But there are some antenatal classes in your area I can recommend if that would make you feel better?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied, suddenly doubtful. ‘Will it?’

  Classes made me anxious. What if I wasn’t as good as the other mums? What if they’d been preparing for months, drinking juice and doing yoga rather than drinking gin and doing sod all?

  ‘The classes can be really helpful,’ Dr Laura smiled. ‘I’ll have Felicia send you the details.’

  ‘Any chance Felicia could have the baby for me as well?’ I suggested. She raised her eyebrows and sighed and I realized I’d outstayed my welcome. ‘Thank you for fitting me in this morning,’ I said, giving her a small hug, holding up the sonogram behind her he
ad. ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘You’re going to be just fine,’ she said again. ‘Both of you.’

  Both? Oh god, I was pregnant. Just when I was starting to feel better, she had to go and start me off all over again.

  Three years earlier, Jenny had dragged me to Dr Laura’s office to get fertility tests. Back then, I’d been so impressed with the calming, spa-like décor, I’d taken photographs of the waiting room and sent them to Louisa back in England. She replied with a photo from the doctor’s in our village at home. Grace, my goddaughter, was holding up an issue of Take a Break magazine from 2009. But even the soothing natural tones and comfy couches couldn’t calm me as I stood at the desk, waiting for Felicia to finish on the phone.

  Out of everything going on, I couldn’t decide whether I was most worried about my unnecessarily high blood pressure or the fact I still hadn’t told Alex I was even bloody pregnant. Work, Jenny, and my seafaring parents were going to have to wait for my anxiety levels to go down before I even considered dealing with them.

  I couldn’t believe I still hadn’t heard from Alex and yet I remained absolutely certain that I wasn’t going to have to raise this child alone because he definitely wasn’t dead in a ditch – I would know if he was, wouldn’t I? On the other hand, I was certain I could feel the beginnings of RSI in my thumb from refreshing every possible inbox, waiting for Felicia to hang up the bloody phone.

  ‘Angela?’

  Hearing someone say your name in a questioning tone of voice was hardly ever a good thing, and today it definitely wasn’t. I turned to see Delia, my friend and now ultimate big boss, standing behind me in the waiting room. Without thinking, I rammed the sonogram down the back of my jeans and went in for a hug.

  ‘Hello, you,’ I said into Delia’s glossy, highlighted hair. ‘What are you doing here?’

  She laughed and pulled a strand of hair out of her nude lip gloss.

  ‘It’s an OB-GYN,’ she replied, still smiling. ‘What do you think I’m doing here?’

  ‘No way,’ I gasped. ‘Are you pregnant?’

  ‘Holy shit, no!’ Delia pressed her hands against her chest, her eyes opened as wide as they would go without falling out onto the floor. ‘Are you?’

  Cue hysterical laughter.

  ‘Not even,’ I snorted as I choked on my words because, oh fuck, I was. ‘I was passing and Dr Laura is a friend of Jenny’s and I’ve met her once or twice so I thought I’d stop in and say hello and see if she could maybe fit in a quick pap smear or get a coffee or something. You know, standard. You?’

  Delia pressed her lips together into a thin, restrained smile. ‘Birth control.’

  ‘Birth control, yeah,’ I sighed. ‘That makes a lot more sense. And it stops you getting pregnant! It’s basically the opposite of pregnant! Good for you.’

  I held my breath for a second, waiting for Delia to call me out on my spectacularly bad cover-up but she was already scanning emails on her phone.

  ‘And this would not be a great time to tell my grandpa I’ve decided to screw my career and get knocked up,’ she replied, actually shivering as she dropped the phone back in her bag. ‘Besides, I’m pretty sure you’ve got to be sleeping with someone to get pregnant. I can’t remember the last time I did anything other than work.’

  ‘I don’t need convincing of that,’ I said, keen to get away from the subject of career-destroying pregnancies. Brilliant bloody timing, Clark. ‘It feels like I haven’t seen you in months.’

  It didn’t feel like months, it was months but I was trying to be nice and trying to change the subject.

  ‘I know, it’s been crazy with all the changes. I finally understand why grandpa was hardly ever around when we were kids,’ she lamented, shrugging her Chanel Maxi Flap Bag onto her shoulder. It was lucky Delia was such a nice person, otherwise it might have been hard to empathize with a woman toting an eight-thousand-dollar handbag to a pill check-up appointment. ‘We haven’t even talked about Jenny and Mason. I’m so happy for them! Can we try to do cocktails soon? Me, you, Jenny? Erin if she’s around?’

  ‘Let’s do it,’ I nodded, already trying to come up with excuses as to why I wouldn’t be able to drink. Stupid baby. ‘Jenny is terrifyingly organized already. There’s every chance she’ll have actually had the wedding by next week.’

  Delia leaned in and lowered her voice. ‘She’s not pregnant, is she?’ she asked before straightening up to clarify herself. ‘Not that it matters if she is.’

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ I replied, thinking back to all the champagne she put away at Erin’s house. ‘I think she wants to get it all locked down. Once she’s made her mind up about something …’

  ‘She usually changes it two weeks later?’ Delia finished.

  ‘I think Mason is going to hold her to this one,’ I said with a smile. He had to, he was going to be paying off that ring for the rest of his life. ‘Hopefully we’re not looking at a repeat of The Great Pomeranian Puppy Debacle of 2013.’

  ‘Sometimes I think about that dog,’ she replied with a soft, wistful smile. ‘Anyway, I need to go see the doctor and I’m pretty sure you have a magazine to run. Have you met with Joe yet? Isn’t he amazing?’

  ‘Amazing,’ I replied, smiling with every single one of my teeth. ‘Just the best.’

  Definitely not an intimidating wanker who existed solely to test me and already thought I was a complete idiot who didn’t know how to read a calendar. Although in fairness, I’d brought that last one on myself.

  ‘I knew you’d love him; he’s such a visionary,’ she said with far more confidence than was warranted. ‘Did he tell you his girlfriend is English?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘And do you know her?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘Eh,’ Delia shrugged. ‘We should all go get dinner sometime. I’m sure you’d get along.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure,’ I agreed, wondering whether Delia actually believed all British people were best friends. I had a feeling anyone who was involved with Joe Herman and I wouldn’t have too much to chat about, unless she also spent ten dollars a month on a VPN service just so she could hide her internet IP address and watch the latest episodes of Come Dine With Me on Channel Four’s website.

  ‘Let’s get those drinks in the diary,’ Delia reminded me as a nurse in soft-pink scrubs called her name.

  ‘You bet,’ I replied, sweating as I headed out to the lifts.

  This was going to be a long nine months.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘Are you out?’ Cici asked as I staggered past her desk at the end of the day.

  Spending the night on my settee had seemed like such a good idea last night, but I’d barely slept a wink. Add that to my early morning doctor’s appointment, an entire afternoon of budget meetings, and an email from my mother informing me that my father had almost got into a fistfight with the head of the onboard kids’ club because he crept up on him while dressed as a lobster, causing Dad to have ‘a little accident’, and I was very much ready to leave. Everyone else was long gone, either having nicked off at lunchtime or disappeared dead on the dot of five. It was the day before Thanksgiving, a holiday I forgot about every single year until Alex reminded me – only this year he wasn’t here to give me the nudge …

  ‘I’m meeting Jenny,’ I confirmed, wishing I was headed home to my bed. ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘You should go home and rest,’ she said, flipping down the screen of her laptop. ‘You look terrible. Like, worse than usual.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I muttered.

  ‘Drawn.’ She wasn’t finished. ‘Like something is sucking the life out of you. Which it kind of is.’

  ‘I don’t really have time to chat about this right now, but I am touched.’ I glanced up at the clock on the wall, the last thing I needed was for Jenny to storm in here. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Angela!’ She stood up and slapped her hands on the d
esk. I stopped and blinked. Cici had never actually shouted at me before. Sneakily tried to ruin my life, yes, but never actually shouted. ‘I’m serious. You need to take better care of yourself, you look like balls.’

  Ignoring the insult, I let myself smile a little at her genuine concern.

  ‘And also, I want a job on the editorial team.’

  The smile faded away.

  ‘Cici, you can’t be serious?’ I said, looking at my assistant. Her pout suggested she was. ‘We don’t have any openings right now.’’

  ‘You could find one,’ she replied. There was a fine line between confidence and arrogance and Cici straddled it like an Olympic gymnast. I hated myself a little, but I couldn’t help but be impressed. ‘I’ve decided. I want to be an editor like you.’

  It was the most terrifying thing she could have said.

  ‘We can talk about it tomorrow,’ I promised, desperate to get out the door. ‘But if you’re really serious about getting into an editorial role, this isn’t the best timing. We’ve got all the restructuring going on and I don’t know what we’d be able to offer you.’

  ‘Yeah, but I read this thing that said you should aim high and then, even if you fail, you’ll fail high,’ she said as she reapplied her hot pink lipstick without looking in a mirror. That skill alone was probably enough talent to get her my job at some glossy mags. ‘So, I’m aiming high.’

  ‘And where did you read that?’ I asked, dreading the answer.

  She shrugged. ‘Instagram?’

  It checked out.

  ‘We’ll talk about it on Monday,’ I said softly. ‘Big plans for tomorrow?’

  Splaying out her fingers to check her impeccable manicure she sniffed.

  ‘Dinner, family, the usual,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure we’ll all be kissing Dee Dee’s ass as is de rigueur.’

  Ooh. Tension.

  ‘You’ve got loads to celebrate too,’ I said, desperately trying to think of something. Anything. ‘Your hair looks amazing right now.’