Misconception

by Rebecca Freeborn

  When he pushed open the glass door to Amelia’s rooms, the waiting area was empty. He knew Amelia had made their appointment late in the day so they wouldn’t be faced with a room full of pregnant women, and Tom was grateful, both for Ali’s sake and for his own.

  Amelia was standing at the reception desk when they entered. ‘Alison, Tom,’ she said with a warm smile. ‘Come in.’

  She ushered them into her office and Tom knew she was deliberately avoiding bringing them into the other room. The one with the ultrasound machine.

  He and Ali sat down in the two adjacent chairs and Amelia took the third. A red manila folder rested on her lap. Tom couldn’t keep his eyes off it.

  ‘How are you guys doing?’ Amelia asked.

  Tom opened his mouth to say the same empty words he’d been saying to everyone, but Ali spoke over him.

  ‘What’s the verdict?’

  Amelia hesitated. Opened the folder. Looked down at the stapled report, as if she didn’t already know what was in there. ‘As is often the case, the results were inconclusive. There was some evidence that the blood supply between Elizabeth and the placenta was cut off at some stage, but we don’t know the exact cause of her death.’

  ‘I didn’t feel her move at all the day we went to the hospital.’ Ali’s voice was quiet, calm. ‘If I hadn’t waited so long… could we have saved her?’

  Amelia looked up from the report, her expression pained. ‘I’m sorry, Alison, but by the time you noticed the lack of movement, it was probably already too late. Her body showed signs of early maceration, so I’d say she died the day or night before.’

  ‘Could it have been from me sleeping on my back?’

  Tom willed Amelia not to entertain Ali’s idea, not to feed her conviction.

  ‘Of course you know that we advise against sleeping on your back while pregnant,’ she said slowly. ‘But it could have been caused by any number of things. I just can’t give you a definitive answer. I’m sorry.’

  Tom cleared his throat. ‘But it’s unlikely, right?’

  Amelia didn’t respond straight away, and Ali stuck her chin out. Tom knew there was one more question coming. He tensed.

  ‘And earlier?’ Ali said. ‘When I told my friend earlier in the week that the movement had slowed down, she said I should call you. I thought she was overreacting. If I had… if I had called you… what would you have told me?’

  Tom looked at Amelia. She was pressing her lips together, as if she didn’t want to answer the question. Why wasn’t she shutting this down? Why couldn’t she just say no, there was no way Ali had been responsible? How would that hurt anyone?

  ‘I would have advised you to come in for an ultrasound.’ Amelia looked upset. ‘I’ve been over and over this in my head, whether there’s something I could’ve done. Something I should’ve seen, much as I’m sure you have. I would have checked the baby’s position and heartbeat, but realistically, whatever caused her death, I probably wouldn’t have been able to see it. There’s been years of research into the causes of stillbirth, but the rate still hasn’t changed. It’s just one of those terrible tragedies that we often can’t explain.’

  None of them spoke. Amelia closed the manila folder and gave them a grim smile. Her eyes shone bright, as if she were on the verge of tears. ‘I’m very sorry, once again, for your loss. But you should know that the risk of it happening with subsequent pregnancies is very low—almost as low as it is for anyone else. If you are planning to try for another baby, I would advise starting sooner rather than later. You’re likely to be more fertile in the months after the birth, and considering your fertility history—’

  ‘There won’t be another baby.’ Ali’s voice cut quietly across Amelia’s.

  Her words almost knocked the breath out of Tom. Through the last bleak month, he had held onto the possibility of another child, something to give them hope again. He’d assumed that once Ali had emerged from her pit of grief, she’d want the same thing. How could they go back to the way things were before?

  ‘I understand you may not be ready to make that decision for a while,’ Amelia said. ‘I just wanted you to know that there’s no reason why you can’t have a healthy baby if you change your mind down the track.’

  Ali nodded curtly. Tom didn’t say anything. He reached out to her, but she stood up from her chair abruptly. ‘Are we done?’

  Amelia followed them out of her rooms and into the foyer in front of the lifts. ‘I’m sorry again. I really do hope I’ll see you here again one day.’

  Ali was silent on the walk to the car. She hugged herself against the brisk wind, her blonde hair whipping around her face in ropes. Even once they were in the car, she still didn’t speak. Tom started the engine but didn’t move. His hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. How could she be so cold and emotionless? Tom loved Ali. He loved her wholeheartedly, but there’d always been this kernel of her personality that had troubled him, particularly in relation to her mother. It had bothered Tom that she could just cut off her only family like that. But after Elizabeth, that cold hardness was becoming almost unbearable.

  ‘Please,’ he said at last. ‘Please will you go back to the psychologist? I really think it’ll help.’

  The muscles in her jaw tightened. ‘I don’t need to see her again. I’m fine.’

  ‘You’re not fine. We’re never going to get past this if you don’t confront what happened.’

  Ali stared straight ahead. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise there was a guidebook on how to grieve after you’ve lost a baby.’

  Tom slammed his hands down on the steering wheel. ‘You don’t need a fucking guidebook, you just need a heart!’

  She looked at him then, her lips trembling. ‘That’s not fair, Tom.’

  ‘Shit, I’m sorry.’ Tom leant over and put his arms around her. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just hurt that you said you don’t want to have another baby.’

  Ali didn’t push him away, but she didn’t embrace him in return either. She felt fragile in his arms. After a moment, he let her go and put the car in gear.

  She didn’t speak on the drive home, didn’t refute his statement, didn’t reassure him that she hadn’t meant it.

  Ali

  Ali’s day ran on a familiar script.

  Alex hadn’t brought up the topic of the psychologist again, and Ali didn’t mention that she hadn’t gone back. Everyone seemed more comfortable to have the old Ali back, and she strived to make them believe that person still existed, that she hadn’t been swallowed whole and transformed into a dry husk of a woman. But all the while, she worked to ignore that little voice in her head that kept trying to tell her none of this really mattered.

  On her third Friday back at work, she was picking up a document from the printer room when she overheard the correspondence staff talking. She paused, the document in one hand, to listen.

  ‘Alex wants to go for drinks after work today,’ said one. ‘He’s shouting the first round and everything.’

  ‘Tight-arse Alex is shouting drinks?’ said another. ‘In that case I’m definitely coming!’

  ‘Has anyone invited Ali?’ asked a third in a low voice.

  There was a brief pause. ‘Nah, Alex said not to tell her about it. She’s had enough to deal with lately.’

  The document crumpled in Ali’s hand.

  ‘Fair enough,’ the second voice said. ‘I feel bad for her and all, but if she starts crying that’s definitely gonna ruin the Friday night vibe, know what I mean?’

  ‘Sophie, you bitch!’ the third voice said, but there was a note of glee in her voice.

  Ali left the printer room and went back to her office. It was only when she sat back down at her desk and straightened out her document that she saw the palm of her hand was crisscrossed with paper cuts.

  * * *

  That afternoon, she waited until most of her colleagues had left the office before shutting down her computer. She sent a quick text to Tom:
Going out for drinks, be home a bit later, then she packed up her things and headed out to the Union Hotel where she knew they would be. Her heart stammered with nervousness, but she held her head high. What she needed was to get back in the swing of socialising, and the Union, with its narrow section of bar where it got too crowded and too loud to carry out any deep and meaningful conversations, was the ideal venue.

  This place had been her haunt since she’d been at uni, back when it’d still been a dive—before the new owners had covered the walls with dark brown wallpaper with gold leaf, and converted it from a pub at which you might get gastro into a gastropub. She’d spent many a Friday night happy hour here as a journo, and had scored a few scoops from loose-lipped political advisers, lubricated from one too many drinks. She’d met Tom here. All the bartenders knew her. The place was as familiar as her office.

  Alex, who was leaning over the bar, credit card in hand, was the first to see her. Surprise flashed across his face, followed by guilt, which he quickly covered with a brash smile. ‘Al, didn’t expect to see you here!’

  She gave him a light punch on the arm. ‘That’s because you forgot to invite me, you bastard. I hear you’re buying everyone a round?’

  He looked relieved, as if he’d been expecting her to lay into him. ‘Sure thing, babe. What do you want? Champers?’

  At first her colleagues were tentative with her, but as the bubbles giggled down her throat, her nerves relaxed and she found herself making small talk. It’d been almost a year since she’d last had a drink, and her limbs were already pleasantly fuzzy by the time she’d reached the bottom of her first glass. She felt her phone buzz from her handbag with a message, but she knew it would be Tom checking up on her, and the shadow of reality loomed over her. She didn’t get it out to look at the message.

  ‘Another drink, Ali?’ Kamala called from the bar, and she found herself saying yes.

  She was deep in a light-hearted venting session with Alex about the departmental media staff when she realised she was smiling. It seemed like so long since she’d felt good. Her legs were rubbery, as if she were standing on a bouncy castle, but the effect was not unpleasant.

  ‘Looks like you need another drink,’ Alex said. ‘And I’m feeling generous tonight, so what’ll it be? Same again?’

  Laughter bubbled out of her, and she had to stop herself from clapping a hand over her mouth to stuff it back in. It felt wrong to be happy this soon. ‘I’d better not. I’m a bit out of practice. Two drinks and I’m almost on my ear already. In fact, I should probably go home while I can still walk in a straight line.’

  He slung an arm over her shoulders. His breath was beery as he landed a kiss on her cheek. ‘It’s good to see you smile again, Al. Great to have you back.’

  The thrill of approval ran through her. ‘It’s great to be back.’

  The pleasant feeling lingered as she left the pub. It was only as she got on the bus that she remembered the message from Tom, and she got her phone out of her bag.

  Mind if I join you?

  Her smile dimmed. The shadow perched on her shoulder again.

  Tom

  Sorry, just saw this. Already on my way home.

  Tom stared at Ali’s reply, a wave of hot anger breaking over him. He’d been waiting at work for the last hour and a half to hear from her, hoping that perhaps they could reconnect over an after-work drink. Her phone was practically attached to her so he didn’t buy her story that she hadn’t seen his message. She’d been ignoring him, preferring to spend time with her political cronies over her own husband.

  But by the time he got home, his anger had simmered down. Ali had been through so much, she deserved a night out. When he walked in the door, he was surprised to hear music playing on the stereo and to find Ali in the kitchen, cooking. There was colour in her cheeks. If he didn’t look too closely—and he’d got in the habit of not looking closely—she almost looked happy.

  ‘How were your drinks?’ he asked.

  Her expression faltered as she looked up at him. ‘Good. Sorry I missed your message.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ He joined her behind the bench. ‘What are you cooking?’

  ‘Carbonara. Hungry?’

  He stood behind her and put a hand on her waist, inhaling the smell of frying pancetta. Then he turned her around to face him. ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better.’

  Her body stiffened slightly, and her gaze flicked away from his face back to the stove where the spaghetti bubbled away. Tom put a finger under her chin, gently tilted her face upwards and landed a kiss on her forehead. She gave him a lopsided smile. ‘I’d better drain that spaghetti.’ She stepped out of his arms and moved to the stove. Steam shrouded her as she tipped the saucepan of boiling water and spaghetti into a colander. Then she transferred the spaghetti into the frying pan with the pancetta and poured the egg yolks over the top, stirring slowly until it coated every strand. She served a generous helping into a bowl and grated parmesan over it before handing it to Tom.

  ‘Looks delicious,’ he said. ‘Where’s yours?’

  She grimaced. ‘I’m not hungry. I’ll have some later.’

  ‘Come and sit with me at least? I’d like to talk to you.’

  She sat down at the dining table with him, but an awkwardness hung between them as they talked about their days. For a second there, he’d thought the old Ali was starting to come back to him, but she was retreating once again. If she wouldn’t talk to him, if she wouldn’t go back to the psychologist, maybe he could bring someone to her.

  Before

  Ali felt like a fraud walking into the play cafe without a child. The tsunami of noise assaulted her senses as she paid the entry fee and opened the safety gate. Her gaze slid over the crowd of parents and children.

  ‘Ali! Over here.’ There was Kayla, sitting at one of the bright red tables with the bright yellow chairs, her cappuccino in danger of being swept onto the floor by the belligerent three-year-old who wriggled in her lap. Claudia sat across from her, head bent over her red-headed daughter whose grubby face she scrubbed at ferociously with a wet wipe. She looked up as Ali reached their table.

  ‘Ali, hi!’ Claudia stood up and hugged her, then gave Ali’s belly a quick rub. ‘How many weeks now?’

  ‘Twenty-two,’ Ali said.

  ‘OK, off you go.’ Claudia patted her daughter on the bottom and the child scampered away.

  Ali sat down in the chair beside Kayla, looking around at the bright plastic play equipment. ‘Jesus, it looks like a rainbow threw up in here.’

  Kayla chuckled. ‘Welcome to your future, hon. I know it’s hard to believe now, but in a year’s time you’ll be dying to come to this place for some peace.’

  ‘Peace?’ Ali raised her eyebrows. ‘Can you not hear those kids screaming?’

  Kayla and Claudia both started laughing. Ali didn’t understand what was so funny.

  ‘Spend a week stuck at home with a toddler and you’ll be ready to stab yourself in the eye with a fork,’ Claudia said.

  Ali couldn’t help laughing. ‘I think I’d take the fork over this.’

  ‘So anyway, guys, I’ve got a secret.’ Claudia leant forward conspiratorially. ‘Number three is on the way.’

  ‘Oh, how lovely! Congrats!’ Kayla leant over, her daughter teetering precariously on her lap, and hugged Claudia with one arm.

  ‘Congratulations,’ Ali said.

  ‘It’s an oopsie-daisy baby, to tell you the truth,’ Claudia went on. ‘We never planned to have three, but what can you do? These things happen.’

  Familiar jealousy stabbed at Ali. It had taken her two years to achieve a viable pregnancy, and yet all around her, women seemed to fall pregnant without even trying.

  ‘So we’ll be able to go through it all together, Ali.’ Claudia’s eyes, shining with happiness, made Ali smile. All that was in the past now, and Ali never dwelt on the past.

  Ali

  The doorbell rang at ten o’clock on Saturday morning. Ali was on h
er third coffee and still in her dressing gown, huddled on the couch, the mug clasped between her hands.

  Tom looked up from where he sat at the dining table, reading the paper. ‘I’ll get it.’

  She frowned at his retreating back as he headed towards the front door. He’d been trying to encourage her to have a shower and get dressed for the last hour, and now Ali realised why as familiar voices floated up the hallway.

  Not Jehovah’s Witnesses. Worse.

  Her friends.

  Kayla and Claudia had tried to call her every couple of days, but she hadn’t been able to face them. How could she bear to be around these two women who had so effortlessly done what she could not? So she’d let their calls go to voicemail and ignored their texts. Let herself believe it was just because she was too busy at work.

  The three of them edged into the room. First Kayla, her face creased with worry. Then Claudia, partly shielded behind her. Tom followed them, a sheepish grin on his face, like he was the biggest fucking genius on the planet for organising such a surprise. The fragile sliver of hope she’d experienced leaving the pub last night vanished. She couldn’t maintain the act for them, the people she was closest to.

  ‘Hi.’ She got to her feet and gathered her gown more tightly around her. Kayla took a few steps towards her, but Ali automatically folded her arms across her chest in defence. Kayla stopped, looking helpless.

  ‘Ali…’ Then she buried her face in her hands for a few seconds and took several deep breaths before trying again. ‘Ali, I’m so sorry.’

  Claudia stepped out from behind Kayla at last. Ali tried not to look, but her eyes were drawn downwards against her will. There it was, the perfectly round bump, like an oversized basketball. Her eyes snapped back up to Claudia’s face.