So why are they worried now?
He squirts some cold jelly onto my stomach and starts prodding with the wand, pressing a lot harder than my previous scans. It’s heartbeat echoes around the room. Phew. Thank God it’s okay.
‘We’re worried you’re in premature labour. If we are forced to deliver we’ll need to know. Ah.’ He points at the screen. ‘Breach as I thought.’
‘Which means?’ I’m losing it now. You can hear it in my voice. The hysteria is here to stay. Goosepimples have risen down my arms, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
He purses his lips. ‘If we’re forced to deliver you’d have to have a c-section.’
‘C-section?!’ I shriek. What the fuck is going on here? ‘The baby is too small. It’s too early.’
Fuck. Fuck.
He smiles briefly. ‘Please don’t panic, Miss Bellswain. For now, I want to admit you onto the ward so we can monitor you overnight. See if your contractions peter out by themselves or if they increase.’
Okay, so there is a chance they’ll stop by themselves.
‘What if they increase?’
‘We can give you some medication to slow down the labour and some steroids to build up the babies lungs. They’re not developed yet and ideally we’d like to get you to week thirty-four at the earliest.’
This guy is wrong. Now is clearly the time to panic. I can’t give birth to a premature baby that’s lungs haven’t developed yet. Will it survive without proper lungs? And even if it does are we looking at a lifetime of problems ahead of us?
‘I know this is a lot right now, but please don’t worry. We’ll put you on codeine for the pain. All you have to concentrate on is relaxing yourself.’
Easy for him to say.
‘Was this brought on by the accident?’ I ask, pointing down to my fractured foot.
He nods. ‘Potentially. But it’s important not to blame yourself. This could have happened for a number of reasons.’
But it could be my fault. Well mine and Arthur’s fault.
I try to call Arthur again as they wheel my bed into a lift and transport me to a ward, but again it goes to voicemail. They drop me off in a room with three other pregnant women of varying stages and ask me to do a urine sample.
I try to call his PA again, but a nurse tells me that phones aren’t allowed on the ward and that I have to turn it off. I quickly type a text message and shoot it off to Arthur and Eloise before begrudgingly turning it off. I hope to God the message gets through.
Arthur
Its past nine p.m. by the time I get out of the meeting. There was a scandal with a minister who was forced to resign so we had to do a reshuffle. It sounds far easier than it is. Naturally someone is promoted, but that causes a domino effect of having to fill all of the other positions.
Exhausted I retrieve my phone from the cubby hole as I leave number ten. I need to call Charlotte. She must be getting sick of my coming home so late. I know I am.
I’ve never felt so bad in my entire life. I still can’t believe I ran over her foot. For fucks sakes. Six weeks on crutches is going to kill her. She’ll have them right up to thirty-seven weeks. She’ll be huge by then and having to struggle around on crutches. I can’t believe I’m such an idiot.
I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself. But the thing that scared me the most is that I hurt the woman I’m… God, I don’t even know how I feel. I’m a mess.
I turn my phone on to call her and see she’s rang me three times. Eloise has rung me seventeen times. What the hell is going on? I ring Charlotte back immediately, my heart racing. It goes straight to voicemail. Damn. I see she’s also sent me a message.
Been admitted to a ward in maternity. Don’t panic but they say I’m having contractions and might be going into premature labour. x
Oh and the baby is breach. x
What the actual fuck Charlotte?
I grab my coat and run out into the street, hailing a cab. I ring Eloise after shouting to the driver to take me to the hospital as fast as he can.
‘About fucking time,’ she snaps as soon as it connects.
I’m not used to staff speaking to me like this.
‘Eloise, what happened?’
‘Ugh, I know about as much as you. I called the hospital and they won’t tell me anything because I’m not family. What a joke.
‘Don’t worry I’m heading there now.’
‘Good. Report back, Arthur. She shouldn’t be going through this alone.’
And yet she’ll go through so much alone when she’s with me. I’ll always let her down.
It hurts my heart to admit.
‘I will.’
I eventually get to the hospital where I’m directed to the maternity ward but warned that visiting times are over. Yeah, like they’re going to stop me.
I finally get to the maternity ward after following ridiculous coloured arrows on the floor and buzz their doorbell.
‘Hello?’ a tired voice answers.
‘Oh, hi. My fiancée got taken in earlier today. I think she’s on this ward.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Charlotte Bellswain.’
There’s a pause. ‘Yes, she’s here but I’m afraid visiting times ended two hours ago.’
‘Please. I can’t get hold of her.’ I’m not above begging.
‘Can’t bend the rules for anyone, I’m afraid. We’ve got a lot of pregnant women in here who don’t need the added stress.’
What a fucking jobsworth. I’ll be writing a letter to her superior.
‘Can you at least tell me how she is?’
‘She’s being monitored overnight. No immediate action is to be taken unless her contractions increase. I can pass on a message if you’d like.’
‘Yes, please tell her…’
That I’m scared. That I need to see her face. Need to know the baby is okay. Need to tell her that I’m falling in love with her. Woah, where did that last one come from? I’m not capable of love. I don’t have the time or energy to give it.
‘Please just tell her I tried to come see her,’ I say lamely instead.
‘Will do.’
I walk away knowing everything that I want is on the other side of that door.
21
Thursday 19th November
Charlotte
Trying to sleep in a hospital is hard with your leg raised by a pillow, the nurses constantly coming in and out to do our observations and being hooked up to this baby monitor that beeps loudly. I’ve barely drunk any water because detaching myself from it and hobbling down the corridor to the bathroom is such a pain in the arse. It’s extremely hard when you know that the man you’re falling for doesn’t give a shit about you.
I waited all night for him to turn up and reassure me. I waited for no avail. The pain hasn’t exactly got worse, but my body is growing tired of it. The tightening’s are just being more poorly received.
I have to say though that if this is labour pain, its far better than I feared. The machine measures my tightening’s with numbers. Every now and again it goes over a hundred, beeping louder, causing me to panic, but no one comes rushing in.
I want nothing more than to sob hysterically but I can’t. Not with the other women on the ward. There’s always the risk that someone would recognise me and sell the story. That’s the last thing I need.
The doctor finally comes around and checks my chart.
‘Right, let’s see. And you’ve had no bleeding since yesterday?’
I shake my head.
‘Well the contractions are still coming, but they’re not increasing in speed which is a good thing. We’ll do a speculum and as long as you’re not dilating I’m happy to send you home. As long as you promise to come back if you have any more bleeding or if the tightening’s increase in speed.’
I nod. I should be looking forward to leaving, but right now I don’t even feel like I have a home. I’m just a house guest for Arthur. An inconvenient grower of his bab
y that he has to accommodate.
The doctor gives me a speculum, which basically means me opening my legs and him coming at me with a gigantic torch and prod. I really wish I had someone’s hand to hold when that happens, but I reassure myself that I’m a strong, independent woman who is capable of doing this alone.
‘You’re good to go,’ he announces. ‘I’ll send a nurse to discharge you.’
Arthur
I stand outside the maternity ward with a bunch of flowers and a get well soon balloon, counting down the minutes until visiting time. Three more minutes until I can beg for Charlotte’s forgiveness. I didn’t sleep a wink all night worrying about her.
The door opens and I look up, wondering if they’re opening early. Instead I see Charlotte being helped out by a nurse, shuffling on her crutches. She looks pale, dark rings round her eyes from lack of sleep. She’s still wearing the same creased clothes as yesterday. Her hazel eyes widen when she spots me. There’s vulnerability in them and its then it hits me fully, I’ve hurt her far more than I ever feared. The strong act she puts on is just that, a façade to protect herself.
‘Charlotte.’ My voice is pained but it still doesn’t communicate how sorry I am. Nothing can.
She walks slowly towards me, pausing to tuck some hair behind her ear.
‘I am so sorry, Charlotte. I came here last night but they wouldn’t let me in.’
‘Really?’ Her voice is quiet, her soul downtrodden. I hate seeing her like this.
‘They didn’t tell you? The nurse said she’d pass it on.’
What a bitch. She clearly has no idea she’s playing with people’s lives here. Or who I am. I’m going to lodge a formal complaint.
She shrugs.
‘These are for you,’ I offer lamely, presenting the flowers and balloon. Now I feel stupid for bringing them when she can’t even hold them.
‘Thanks.’ She walks ahead of me, surprisingly fast despite the crutches. ‘You can get back to work. They’ve told me to take another day off.’
I rush after her. She stops at the lifts.
‘Charlotte, please forgive me,’ I beg, imploring her to look at me.
She shrugs, her eyes not meeting mine. ‘There’s nothing to forgive, Arthur. You haven’t made me any promises.’
My heart sinks. How can she think so little of herself? Of us?
I stand in front of her to halt any quick escape. ‘You might not think so, but I have. Damn it, I’ll make them right here right now. I promise to always be here for you and the baby.’
She scoffs. ‘I wish I could believe you.’
The lift doors open and we both walk in.
‘Charlotte, yesterday the message didn’t get to me until I was out of the meeting. I rushed straight here but they wouldn’t let me in. Please understand, I would have been here in an instant had I known. You should have told my assistant it was an emergency.’
Her head shoots to look at me, her eyes hard. ‘Oh, so this is my fault. Okay.’
‘No, of course not.’ I sigh, pulling against my hair. I’m saying everything wrong-again.
‘Because silly me, I didn’t want to tell your PA that I was bleeding, potentially losing our baby.’
Shit, she was bleeding?
‘Why didn’t you call and say something when they’d admitted you?’
‘Because they told me phones weren’t allowed. Most women came in with a partner. Someone to rely on. Meanwhile, I’m on my own while I’m told I might be delivering early. Jesus, they had to give me some spare pyjamas because no one had brought me in a bag. I haven’t even brushed my teeth this morning.’
I literally couldn’t feel worse. Except then her chin wobbles and I know she’s going to cry. I step forward just as she breaks down in tears. I scoop her up and into my arms, letting her crutches fall to the floor. She sobs onto my chest while I stroke her hair back off her face.
‘I’m so sorry, Charlotte. You and the baby mean so much to me. More than you’ll ever know.’
She pulls back to look up at me, forcing a smile, but I know, deep down in my chest, that she doesn’t believe me. That it’s going to take a hell of a lot of convincing. Now, I’m more committed than ever in proving that to her.
Monday 23rd November
Charlotte – 32 Weeks Pregnant
Arthur asked me to consider taking early maternity leave again but I’ve refused. Yes, I might be on crutches and I might have had a scare resulting in a hospital visit, but I’m still perfectly capable.
Well, okay maybe I shouldn’t use the word capable. I need help doing every damn thing. It’s like having your arms cut off. I have to shower with a chair and this weird condom thing over my foot. I now have a weird kind of disabled trolly I can use to put stuff in and help me from room to room. James dropped it off, just trying to help. Annoyingly it is helpful, but I feel so unattractive hopping and jumping around the place. I’m sure that was her intent.
If I’m honest I don’t feel up to work. I feel like bursting into tears whenever Roger even so much as looks at me. Not just from his resentment at having a pregnant employee, but from this whole sorry situation I’ve gotten myself into.
After finally getting to grips with the fact I can’t truly rely on Arthur, I’ve become more realistic about my situation.
I don’t want to trust him or what he can offer us. I want to provide it myself. I’ve been looking after myself my whole life. I should be good at it.
I’m writing up meeting notes when I get the urge to fart. I could really do with just letting this one slip out. I’ve got too much work to do to be going to the toilet every time I fart and wee. Especially with the added trauma of hobbling there on crutches with everyone passing me asking if I need some help.
I cannot believe how much wind I’m carrying around these days.
I check around and then slowly relax myself. Only… woah, what’s happening here? This isn’t a fart at all. This is a shit. I’m going to shit myself. Again.
I suck it back in as best I can, grabbing my crutches and trying my best to hurry up. Only I fall on my foot. Oh crap. Pain radiates up my leg causing me to shriek out loud.
And… I’m pretty sure I just started to shit myself. I struggle with the crutches, pushing past the pain and struggling up and towards the bathroom.
My bowels make an unspeakable noise. I’m sweating now. I can feel my neck is slick with sweat. This can’t be happening again.
I finally reach the bathroom, bash the door open, drop the crutches and hike my dress up. Then I let the evil unfold. Whatever happens now it’s too late. I’ve shit myself in a public place. Again. There is no going back from this.
Tuesday 24th November
Charlotte
‘I can’t go back there. I just can’t,’ I moan to Eloise on the phone early next morning.
She laughs. ‘I don’t blame you. Although I don’t think many people noticed.’
I sigh. ‘El, don’t pretend like no one has noticed the crazy disgusting pregnant person I’ve become.’
She chuckles. ‘Okay, people have obviously noticed you’ve changed. But what I’m saying is that not many people witnessed you shit yourself.’
‘Thank God.’
‘They did, however, see you leaving in a new dress sobbing hysterically on me. I think that might have done more damage than good.’
‘See! It’s all so humiliating.’
I just want to crawl into a pit and hide until this baby arrives. God knows I’m not fit for the public.
‘So tell Arthur you want to take early maternity leave. He’s bloody suggested it about ten times.’
‘Yeah, I know. But I made such a huge fuss about not needing to. I hate going back on my word.’
And having to rely on his promises and not myself. This puts a spanner in the works for my independence plans.
‘Honestly, don’t worry about it. I’ve got to go. Speak later.’
I get myself into the kitchen, knowing I should be getting r
eady about now. I hate the thought of letting Roger down, but… God I don’t know if I can work there anymore.
It’s not just the shitting myself incident, its all of it. The constant anxiety of getting something wrong and pissing Roger off. I realise now that it weighs heavily on me. Maybe that’s the reason I went into early contractions. Maybe this is all my own fault.
Arthur walks into the kitchen putting his phone back into his pocket.
‘Charlotte, I’d like you to reconsider early maternity leave. I think it should start today.’
I look back at him with raised eyebrows.
‘You spoke to Eloise?’
He desperately tries to hide his grin, but I forgive him because he’s so cute when he smiles.
‘I told her to text me whenever I need to know something.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Good to know.’
‘Whatever. Stay at home. Rest.’
I know what he’s really asking me is to trust him. I desperately want to, but I just don’t think I can.
22
Saturday 28th November
Arthur
I’ve somehow been talked into coming to Ikea with Charlotte. I’ve tried to get out of it. What women in her right mind wants to go to Ikea with a fractured foot? She found out that you can hire a wheelchair while you’re there. She’s the one saying she doesn’t want to be treated as if she’s disabled and now she’s wanting to hire a wheelchair. I’ll never understand women.
I tried to explain we can order everything online and that we can afford higher end stuff, but apparently she just loves Ikea. Says I have to eat some meatballs while we’re there too. Sounds bizarre if you ask me.
We get her into a wheelchair, but she insists she push herself along because we’ll need me to push the trolley. Then we’re thrust into a strange world of fake rooms. Charlotte’s eyes widen as she wheels from scene to scene, explaining what she likes about each thing. How it would or wouldn’t go in the flat. All while being practically sandwiched between other members of the public. The entire population of London must be in here today.
Whitehall Baby: A Surprise Pregnancy, Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy Perfect for Chick Lit Fans Page 15