The Ice Marathon

by Rosen Trevithick

  I could still run away, I told myself. I could sneak out the side door and send a text reporting a change of heart. I could do this myself, without this stranger. Yet petrified as I was, I knew that it would be unforgivable not to tell him.

  The door opened again. There he was – the father of my baby just casually strolling in. I’ll never forget how he looked at that moment – both completely alien and entirely familiar.

  I was struck by how square he looked – square shouldered, square jawed, even his hands looked square. Could my round, curvy body be harbouring a square baby?

  “Well, this is unexpected,” he said, with a smile.

  Oh crap, he thinks this is a date.

  “Sit down,” I told him, and then realised that he’d already taken a seat.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, trying to peer into my eyes, which were fixed on the saltshaker.

  I wasn’t aware that I was crying until a tear landed on the cloth beneath me.

  He placed a finger gently under my chin and tilted my head towards him. I didn’t recognise his touch at all. If I hadn’t seen him walk in, I’d swear that was the back of somebody else’s finger kindly pressing against my chin. I couldn’t bear to make eye contact.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked. I noticed that there was a sympathetic quality to his voice now, which I’d never noticed before. He sounded almost … nice. This troubled me even more than if he’d been condescending – it reminded me that I didn’t know him at all.

  How was I going to do it? How was I going to tell this stranger that there was a member of his family hanging out in my womb? I knew that ‘there is a member of your family hanging out in my womb’ was the wrong choice of phrase, but was there a right one?

  “I’m pregnant,” I whispered.

  “I can’t hear you,” he said. Then he held my hand. “It’s okay, take your time.”

  I couldn’t believe he was being so patient. If a woman with whom you’ve had a one-night stand calls you and then bursts into tears, there are only two probable causes.

  Finally, I managed to make eye contact. It was then that I realised he was petrified. He was trying not to show it, but his eyes betrayed him. The brows were arched and unsteady.

  “It’s not an STD,” I said quickly.

  “So you’re …”

  “Yes.”

  He breathed in suddenly, drinking in a large quantity of the air around him. He gazed at me, his eyes widening further with every hair of a second. He grabbed my glass of water and took a gulp, only to choke on it and splutter.

  “Are you okay?” I asked,

  He nodded as he skirted drowning.

  “Do you want some water?” I asked him, foolishly.

  Finally, he managed to splutter, “How long ago was it since we … It feels like months ago.”

  “It was.”

  “I’m only twenty-five.”

  “I know, Nicky told me.”

  “Does she know?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Forget what she says, what do you say?” I demanded. Then I apologised, softly. How could I expect him to say anything? He’d known for less than a minute. I’d known for two days and I still didn’t have a clue what to say. “Sorry,” I said. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s a big shock.”

  Suddenly, he looked annoyed. “How long have you known?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “Two days, I swear. I called you as soon as I could.”

  “You kept my number then?”

  I looked guilty. “I got it from Nicky,” I mumbled.

  Simon tugged at his hair. He cupped his chin in his hand. He kept taking in brisk breaths, but not following them with words.

  “There’s more, I’m afraid.”

  “Twins?” he said, sounding even more panicked. Or was he joking? Who would joke at a time like this? You need to know a person before you can resolve the subtleties of their humour.

  “No,” I said, with the slightest hint of a laugh. “No,” I repeated softly, in case it wasn’t a joke. “The thing is, I have a health condition.”

  He looked up. Somehow, he managed to look even more concerned than he had done already. His eyebrows almost reached his hairline.

  “It’s bipolar disorder.” I wondered if he knew what that was.

  “No,” he said. “You can’t have. You seem fine.”

  “I am, most of the time. Almost all of the time.”

  “I mean, you’re feisty …”

  Thanks for reminding me.

  “But nothing unusual, for a woman.”

  “What do you mean, ‘for a woman’?” I snapped, automatically.

  “I just meant …”

  “Forget it; we’ve got more important things to discuss.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry.”

  “I just meant that you seem emotional, but not in an unhealthy way.”

  “I am healthy.”

  “Well then …?”

  “I’m well because I respond to lithium.”

  “Okay … Well then, what’s the problem?”

  “Lithium is dangerous to the baby.”

  He didn’t have any muscles left to tense. His whole face was already a pallet of fear and confusion. Eventually, his fingers crept across the table, walking his hand towards mine. He placed his fingers gently on mine. “What are the dangers?”

  “It means that the baby could be … damaged.” The words stuck in my throat like trying to regurgitate ice cubes. “For example, there is a big risk of heart defects.”

  He froze. He just stared at me. His hand went cold.

  “I need to find out more, but I think there’s something called an Ebstein anomaly …”

  “Does this mean you’re going to …” he trailed off. Beneath the heap of emotions, he suddenly looked desperately sad. “Do you want to … Are you going to …”

  “I don’t know,” I said, fighting back tears. “Maybe I should, but it feels wrong.”

  Chapter 5

  I felt peculiar about Simon coming to the ultrasound – almost irritated. I felt as though he was intruding on one of the defining moments of my life. I reminded myself that it was also a defining moment in his life. We were in this together – almost strangers, yet most intimately entwined.

  Nicky was there too – a welcome tie to that which was familiar. I felt most odd, remembering that the last time the three of us were together; I had been bickering with Simon about the cast of Coupling; now we were awaiting news about the health of our baby.

  The weather was cooler today, but my brain humidity made up for it – saturated with emotion.

  The worst part was the guilt – the tug of war between the two extremes of my feelings. It felt terrible to vocalise but I hadn’t wanted this baby. It was the wrong time, the wrong man, and the wrong conditions. On the other hand, what could be worse than hearing that the little person inside had a terminal defect? A part of me – a very dark, selfish part – hoped that I would find out something definitive, which would take the crucial decision away from me. I despised that part of me and repeated ‘Please don’t let my baby be sick’ over and over in my head to neutralise the despicable thought. I tried to remind myself that whatever happened today, there would be options.

  “We’re just gathering more information,” I reminded Simon. “Good news doesn’t necessarily mean I’m keeping it and bad news doesn’t necessarily mean that I won’t.”

  “I know, and I’ll support you whatever you decide to do,” he said, as if reading from a textbook on how to be the perfect partner. He always had said the right thing when it came to the baby; he had offered his wholehearted support and emphasised that it’s my body, my choice … But I couldn’t help thinking back to that conversation over dinner, about how abortion felt wrong. Even though he was visibly terrified, I knew that deep down, a part of him wanted me to have our baby.

  I’d been taking lithium for twenty-three
weeks. One website estimated that the chances of a heart defect were almost one in ten, not to mention the many other complications lithium could cause. By now my baby was the length of a ruler from head to foot; even if he or she suffered from an anomaly, would I be able to say goodbye to somebody I’d nurtured to the length of a ruler? I tried to remind myself that exploring hypothetical scenarios was a waste of emotional energy. I had to wait and find out the results of the scan – not long now.

  The ultrasonographer looked ordinary – just an ordinary woman with mousy hair, fine facial features and grey eyes. I don’t know what I expected but this woman had the power to find out whether my baby had a cardiac defect – potentially whether it might live or die. In my mind, I’d expected a God (whatever a God might look like).

  “We’re particularly worried about heart defects,” I told her. “I’ve been taking lithium.”

  “All right,” she said calmly, as if the risks were negligible. “If you could lift your shirt up …”

  The coldness of the gel excited me with its promise of progress. Yet, as she approached me with the stick, a part of me wanted to scream at her to stop, but instead I lay there, paralysed with anticipation.

  “Are you all right?” asked Nicky, from my left. I was just about to answer when I realised that she was looking across me, and directly at Simon.

  “Am I missing something?” I asked.

  They exchanged looks again. The atmosphere was familiar. I’d experienced it once before, when Dave had mentioned a race.

  “I lost somebody because of a heart defect,” Simon said, softly.

  I was stunned. Poor Simon – today’s ordeal was hard enough already, without it evoking painful memories.

  Then it happened – my baby appeared on the screen. I felt an avalanche of emotions. The little being looked so much like a person – head, body, tiny little arms … Already he was upside down – ready to come out – begging to be born. The thought of being parted from him now felt like having my insides turned through a mangle.

  “I’m happy to say you seem to have a healthy baby,” said God.

  “What?” I asked. I’d been so wrapped up in my fear that the good news – the probable news – felt like a total shock. “Are you sure?” I asked. Could I dare to believe that my worst fears had been eliminated?

  “There are no obvious heart or skeletal defects. However, you and your baby will need to be monitored throughout your pregnancy and immediately afterwards. The obstetrician will talk you through this in more detail.”

  “But there’s nothing big?”

  “There’s nothing obvious at this stage.”

  “So this is good news?” checked Simon.

  “Yes,” she said, smiling. “This is good news.”

  I didn’t notice that Simon was holding my hand until he squeezed it. For somebody who hadn’t wanted a baby, he wasn’t half smiling.

  “Do you want to know the sex?” asked the lady.

  Simon looked at me. I nodded.

  “Yes please!” we replied, in unison.

  “What would you like?” asked Nicky.

  I was surprised to note that I hadn’t thought about its sex once – I’d been so focussed on the baby’s health. I supposed that I might prefer a girl – a baby girl would be a little version of me, and feel less like an intruder than having a little version of Simon inside me. But then again, watching a little boy grow up would be fascinating. I just wanted to meet him or her.

  “I don’t mind either way,” I said

  “Me neither,” agreed Simon.

  “It’s a boy,” the lady told us.

  “Yes!” whooped Simon, punching the air. I found myself laughing. Nicky was chuckling too.

  I had been wrong – there were no options. Now that I’d seen my baby, there was only one road ahead. He wasn’t an ‘it’ anymore, but a tiny little boy – our tiny little boy. I wondered how Simon would take the news. Watching him dancing with delight, I felt certain that he’d be happy with my decision.

  Three days ago, the very thought of having a baby horrified me, but this experience – seeing my son on the screen, hearing that he looked healthy, seeing Simon react to the news – it changed every part of me, irrevocably.

  * * *

  We sat in the park enjoying the beautiful weather and our post-scan buzz. A gentle breeze and puffy clouds thwarted the sun’s desire to cook us alive. I was elated. I was having a beautiful baby and I felt that nothing could burst my bubble.

  “Are you all right?” asked Nicky, for the fifth time.

  I smiled. “Never better.”

  “You and Simon seem to be getting on all right …”

  “Admittedly, he was pretty sweet in there.”

  “I was fighting back tears when he started dancing!”

  I remembered Dave, and how much Nicky must long to see him dance at a scan. “It will happen for you,” I assured her.

  “I hope so,” she said, looking into the distance.

  Simon returned from the ice cream van carrying three fruit juice lollies.

  “Didn’t have any Magnums?” I asked. I distinctly remembered asking for a ‘large, gooey choc ice on a stick’.

  “I thought fruit juice would be better for the baby.”

  What? Argh!

  Suddenly I felt the urge to slap him. The realities of having a baby with a man I didn’t know flooded back to me. True, we’d shared something special at the scan, but Simon was still the infuriating, self-assured plonker that I’d met at dinner. How dare he tell me what was best for the baby growing inside me?

  Two teenagers walked past enjoying Cornettos. I felt certain that ice cream would not hurt a baby. However, even if I marched over to that van and demanded a choc-ice, sooner or later I would be required to make a sacrifice that I could not avoid.

  Still, sacrifices for the good of my baby were one thing, taking orders from the likes of Simon was something else entirely. I may be sharing my body with his son, but that did not give him the right to boss me around. I took a lick of the lolly – it was actually damn delicious, but that was beside the point.

  “Don’t you have to get back to work?” I said, pointedly.

  “No, I’ve taken the whole afternoon off.”

  I looked at Nicky and frowned. I had enjoyed sharing the ultrasound with Simon – really, I had – but now I needed some space. I was going to have to make many adjustments over the coming weeks, and I wanted time to make my way at my own speed.

  “I’ve worked out what I’m going to do to help,” he said, abruptly, as if sensing my need for space and stomping on it.

  “With what?”

  “Our son, obviously.”

  Already I didn’t like the sound of this, or his look of smug satisfaction.

  “I’m going to find you a house.”

  “What?”

  “Well, you’ll be wanting somewhere to live when the baby’s born, and finding houses is what I do best.”

  “I’ve already got a home!” I told him. “Haven’t I?” I asked, turning to Nicky.

  “Of course, for as long as you need it,” she replied, putting an arm around me.

  “You can’t bring up a baby in a flat!” he scoffed.

  “Um, actually, I grew up in a flat.”

  “There aren’t enough bedrooms at Dave and Nicky’s,” he added.

  “He won’t need a bedroom right away.”

  “But he will eventually.”

  “I’ll deal with that when the time comes.” Why was he rushing me? Only this morning we hadn’t known whether we would have a baby or not, and now he was trying to interfere with my living arrangements.

  “Dave and Nicky work full time. They’re not going to want to listen to a baby screaming all night.”

  “Hey!” interrupted Nicky, “Don’t speak for me please.”

  “Listen to me!” I shouted, getting frustrated. “There is nothing I want less right now than help finding a new home!”

  He looked t
aken aback, as if somebody not needing his help was the most inexplicable thing in the world. “Why are you shouting?”

  Nicky glared at him. “Simon, your timing is appalling.”

  “But I’m right though, aren’t I?”

  * * *

  It was a grey day in a lazy August. The idle month had neither bothered to bring us the joy of sunshine nor the interest of rain. It just churned out cloud upon cloud.

  Coming off lithium scared the crap out of me. I could remember life before medication and it was not a happy time. Still, I’d exposed my little boy to far too much of that poison already. The sooner I could get the drug out of my system, the better. I wanted to come off it right away but my doctor said that the withdrawal had to be gradual.

  I sat on the sofa looking at my fluffy mauve slippers, the same fluffy mauve slippers that I’d been wearing the night that it all began. How weird to think that I’d wandered into the kitchen in those very slippers, completely unaware how much my life was about to change.

  Why was I lying here waiting for something to happen? It had been two weeks since the doctor started lowering my lithium dose. I wasn’t going to suddenly combust.

  I needed to do something to take my mind off it. If only it weren’t Saturday. I could really benefit from getting stuck into a case or two at the office. Perhaps a DVD was in order …

  Two and a half episodes of Black Books later, the doorbell rang. Nicky and Dave were at Dave’s parents for a family dinner, so I ambled over to the intercom.

  “Hello?” I sang.

  “Hey Emma, it’s Simon.”

  Oh shit. “Dave’s away this weekend.”

  “I know; it’s you I came to see.”

  Dammit.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want Simon to be involved in my son’s life; it was just that spending time with him made me want to claw his eyes out. Granted, he had shown a sweeter side, but most of the time, I found him smug, stubborn and opinionated. Then there was the five year age gap, and not in the favourable direction.