5.6 Hidden Bumps

I stared at the little white stick clenched in my hand as if it were a bomb. Pregnant? How could I be? It could only be Rory and we’ve been careful, so very careful… Except… there was that one time… At the park… Our last meeting… But I can’t be, can I? There must be some sort of mistake here, I mean these tests aren’t 100% accurate, you see it all the time when false results are given. Scrambling, I pulled the box out of my bag where I’d hurriedly stashed it. There were two in the box. The other one would be negative, and then it would be alright again. I did the next test stick, my whole body shaking with suspense and fear.

My heart sank as two more tiny blue lines sealed my fate. I barely even remembered scrunching them up in toilet roll and binning them in my room. All I know is that I just sat, by myself, in a state of total numbness. Pregnant. That meant I was going to have a baby. A baby… In this mess of a life… How could I? How could I do that to a child, an innocent child? In this house, with a psychotic brother who’s just chucked his girlfriend out for being pregnant, for Christ’s sake. Fear constricted my throat as my thoughts turned to Simon… What would he do to me, when he found out?

As I sat there panicking, a thought slowly began to form in my head. Did he technically have to find out? My pulse racing, ideas started dancing round my mind. I could start working from home. Stick to my room, unless Simon was at work or out… Wear floaty dresses… All I had to do was avoid Simon. And this house is huge, there are places I could hide the baby and he’d never hear him or her crying… Could I do this? I couldn’t get rid of it. Not my baby. I realised I was clutching my stomach protectively. No, this is my mistake. This little life inside me shouldn’t have to pay for it. I made my mind up, once and for all. This baby is mine. I’m going to have him or her. He or she is going to stay in this house. And my brother, my evil, rancid brother, is never going to lay a finger on my child while I’m here.

A couple of weeks later, while Simon was still in bed, I tried to get through to Rory. I had to tell him, just had to. Dialling directory enquiries in Sunset Valley, I chewed nervously on my nails as the operator scanned the phonebook for his details. I knew this would be my only and last chance to get through to him, even if it was a long shot. ‘How do you spell the surname again, miss?’ the drawling voice on the end of the phone said. ‘S-t-o-v-a-l-l’ I replied anxiously.

‘Sorry miss, no matches for that name.’

I don’t know why I was surprised, to be honest, but my heart sank as I hung up the phone. Rory was going to be a dad, and he didn’t even know. I had no-one to talk to. Well, there was someone… Checking Simon was still fast asleep, I quietly slipped out the back door and crossed the fields behind our house.

It really brought it home, seeing Dad’s grave. I hadn’t been to it before, in the family cemetary. But there it was, alongside all my ancestors. My Daddy. At least I could come here. Mum was useless, I gave up ringing her ages ago. An answering machine is nice, but it’s not a parent. Reading the epitaph on the gravestone, I broke down in tears. How on earth could I do this? On my own? Standing there, wiping my tears away, I felt a soft breeze against my skin. I don’t believe in ghosts or anything like that, but at that moment something my Dad said to me when I was younger came back to me. ‘Of course you can do it, Summer. You can do anything. You just have to believe in yourself.’ I’d been struggling with my maths homework, and Dad had walked in just as my textbook was flying across the room. I was in a full on tantrum by that point, just wailing ‘I can’t dooo itttttt!!’ into my equations. He’d picked up the book, calmed me down, and sat with me while I finished. I’d ended up with full marks.

It’s not the same. Of course not. But why can’t I do it? The least I can do is try. Smiling, I laid a hand on the gravestone. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

I signed off at work, taking a laptop to carry on working from home. And there I stayed for the next few months, tapping away on the keyboard, aware of the presence outside my door. Simon couldn’t work out what I was doing, and it was killing him. My door was always locked, so short of knocking the door down he had no access to me, and he’s far too important to carry out menial tasks like that. It felt good, if I’m honest. It was a small victory over my brother. I liked it, even if the sound of his trainers on the wooden floor through the wall creeped me out. I could almost hear him listening through the door. The curiosity must have been torture for him.

Good.

Fortunately, Dad had kept all the old books when we’d had the house done up. My pregnancy guide was a tattered copy of Totally Preggers that looked and smelled about a hundred years old. Still, it was my bible. Pregnancy and childbirth hadn’t changed, had they? I followed it to the letter, resting when my back started to hurt, eating the right foods when I managed to get downstairs to the kitchen, everything that I could do. I started to worry, however, when I flipped ahead to the baby section. The ‘Essential List’ of things for the baby leaped out at me. A crib, bottles, babygros, where on earth was I supposed to get these from? My heart dropped.

It occurred to me a few worry-filled days later that perhaps Dad hadn’t chucked out our old baby things. I mean, the book was ancient, and he’d kept that, tucked away on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. I waited for Simon to go to work before searching every inch of the house. I’d just come down from the attic, exhausted and covered in dust, when I noticed a door I’d never been through before. It was the spare room that Dad had had built, a fourth bedroom that had never been filled. Unless… I went over to the door, and tentitively turned the knob.

There was no wallpaper on the walls; no carpet save for a green underlay. The air was thick with dust, and only one old lamp flickered feebly in the corner, barely lighting up the room. But what it did light up was my miracle. There, piled up in the corner, were mine and Simon’s old baby things – cribs, a high chair, toys, even Simon’s old teddy Bandit, amongst all sorts of other old things. Dad must have used this as a store room. As I walked over to the baby stuff, I imagined Dad carefully stacking everything away, imagining the future, his potential grandchildren, being a grandad… The baby kicked. Placing my hands on my ever-growing bump, my secret, I smiled to myself. We were going to be just fine.

My optimism was short lived, sadly, when my stomach was racked with immense pain just a week later. I’d been just about to start working when my waters broke. Then labour started.

It hurt. A lot.

For what seemed like an eternity I lay on my bed, my pillow stuffed in my mouth to muffle my screams. I couldn’t do this, how could I? It was just so painful, each contraction ripping my body in half. And yet… it just felt… natural? All I knew about labour was from one tatty book and yet my body knew instinctively what to do. I hadn’t even realised I was pushing until the head was out. Gritting my teeth and holding my pillow over my face, I gave one last push, praying that my baby would be safe, would be healthy.

And then it was over.

Panting, I looked in shock at the little baby girl on the bed between my legs. She wasn’t crying. She was just looking at me, her big eyes almost inquisitive, her tiny hands making little grabbing motions at me.

She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

Picking her up gently, I prayed she’d stay quiet as I made a dash for the bathroom, ignoring my pain. Bathing her in the sink, I wrapped her up tight in my old baby blanket. As I held her close to me, tight in my arms, she made her first noises – no crying, it was almost as if she knew she had to be quiet. Just gurgling noises. In my labour-addled mind it was almost as if she was reassuring me, telling me everything would be alright. Biting back the tears, I held her close, and made her a promise.

As long as I’m here, I’m going to protect her. No-one is going to hurt her, not one soul. Not Simon, nor any of his criminals. I’m going to stop them, I’ve got to find a way. For her. For my daughter.

I looked at her again, deep into her big eyes. They were Rory’s.

I named her Saoirse. It means Freedom.

Its what we’re both going to have one day. I’ll make sure of it.