Non Pratt - Trouble

From the benches where we end up I can see a flicker of fire in one of the wire bins by the toilets. A small crowd has gathered around it and I recognize Marcy and Tyrone standing together throwing scrunched up paper on the flames. Hannah notices the direction of my gaze.

“Tyrone thought it would be a good idea to burn revision notes.”

“Because he’s never going to need them again…?”

“Yeah. If it’s an idea of Tyrone’s, it’s probably a bad one.” Hannah looks at me. “Thanks for keeping quiet about what happened at Rex’s party.”

“No one to tell.” I shrug, half-joking, half-truthful.

“Thanks anyway. I could do without the trouble right now.”

I hear the “right now”, but I don’t really know if I should question it, so I don’t. Hannah reaches out and puts her hand on mine, sliding her fingers between my gloved ones and squeezing. I’m not sure what this is about, but I squeeze back, although it’s hard to tell how much through the inch-thick material.

“I can’t work you out, Aaron Tyler, but you do seem to have a knack for doing the right thing at the right time.”

“I haven’t done anything,” I say, mystified.

“That’s the point,” she says and takes her hand away.

“Hannah, I need you to take Lola shopping with you.” My mum never asks favours, she commands them.

Only I cannot accept this command. I. Really. Cannot. When Gran asked to see a picture of the scan I was forced to tell her I hadn’t gone. That is not what I expected of you, Hannah. The depth of her disappointment brought me to tears in seconds — even thinking about the look in her eyes is enough to cause my chest to burn with guilt. She stood over me as I rang to book in a new scan with my very angry midwife, and Gran’s arranged to come with me, in case I fail her — and the baby — again.

Christmas Eve isn’t exactly the best time to get out of family duties, but I’ve got to try. If Jay hadn’t deserted us to go on a last-minute ski trip with the other half of his family, I could have palmed this off on him. As it is, all I’m left with is: “I can’t take Lola with me. I’m buying her presents.”

Mum rolls her eyes. “I knew you’d leave it late. Look. I’ve bought her everything on her Christmas list…”

Everything?! I saw that list — it was, like, three pages long.

“I’ll say some are from you. I’m already doing that for Jay. You don’t even have to pay for them.”

I just stare at Mum. I’m having trouble processing my irrational rage at her for buying Lola everything she wants and for suggesting she’ll decide which ones I can give to my sister, as if I’m as thoughtless as Jay, who couldn’t even be bothered to come home, and… I think my brain just timed out. Shit. Come on, brain, get it together, or the second person you end up telling about the baby will be Lola.

This year I bought one Christmas card. I open the cellophane, take out the card and open it.

Blank, like my mind.

I stare at the white space so long that I lose sight of everything around me, something I’ve been known to do. There are no words for what I want to say.

I fold the card shut and close my eyes.

I see my nightmare.

Eyes open, Aaron. Card open, Aaron.

“What are we doing at the hospickal?”

“Hospital,” I correct Lola gently and pat her hand. On my other side, Gran squeezes my shoulder as she uses me to balance on the paving. It’s been salted, but none of us want her to slip — although I guess there are worse places to do it than right outside A&E. Once inside, the three of us head to the maternity unit.

“Name?” says the woman at the desk.

“Hannah Sheppard.”

“What’s going on, Hannah?” Lola is tugging insistently at my jacket.

“I’ll tell you in a minute.”

“You said that ages ago.”

“…down there.” The woman is pointing to a partly occupied row of chairs.

“Sorry? I didn’t catch that.”

“If you take a seat down there, someone will call you.”

“Thanks.”

“White book, please.”

“What?”

“She asked for your white book, love,” Gran says, in a way that isn’t actually helpful.

“Yes, I know!”

“No need to shout at Granny Ivy!” Lola starts to cry.

I look desperately at Gran and at the woman at reception, who hasn’t quite lost it on the patience front. Yet. I flounder around in my bag, knowing that I’ve got the stupid thing with me because I have to take it with me all the time in case I get hit by a falling piano or something and whoever treats me needs to know how pregnant I am. I taped the cover of a magazine over it so it wouldn’t look so suss — there it is!

“This is a copy of Cosmopolitan,” the woman says.

“No, my white book’s inside,” I explain. Only she flaps the cover open and she’s right: it is a copy of Cosmo, and I start to panic that I’ve left my white book on the kitchen table…

I close my eyes and try to ignore Lola’s wails and Gran’s helpful “hormones” stage whisper to the woman at the desk.

“Gran. Can you take Lola to sit in the chairs, please?” I say. And just like that they’re gone and I breathe another slow breath and put my bag on the desk and dig around until I find my white book with the massive headline that announces that this is THE SEX ISSUE, which makes me smile. It makes the woman at the desk smile too.

“Why are we here? Is something wrong with Granny Ivy?” Lola is still hiccupping a little when I join them.

“Come here, Lolly.” I pull her up onto my knee, exchanging a glance with Gran, who wanted me to tell Lola before we got here. “There’s nothing wrong with Granny Ivy.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

“Is there something wrong with you?”

“No.” I’ve got to be quick because I can see the idea terrifies her.

“Good.” She throws her arms around me and I can feel her patting Gran’s hair.

“I’ve just got to have a test for something,” I lie, because what else am I supposed to do? The second person to find out my news cannot be Lola. It just can’t.

“Hannah Sheppard?” A woman in a shapeless blue top and trousers steps out into the corridor and I stand up. Then I sit right back down again.

“I can’t do this.” I’m shaking and I can see Lola’s getting worried, but I can’t help it. “Gran, can you come in with me?”

She looks at Lola and back at me. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

The hall is packed with towers of suitcases and presents when I open the door. Mum is looking frantic because she can’t find the spare key to give to Next Door so they can come and feed The Kaiser whilst we’re away. Dad is looking in the bowl by the door.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks, not looking up from the change he’s sifting through in his quest for the key.

“Nowhere,” I say. That causes him to look up. I’m usually more forthcoming about such things.

“Your mother wants to know if you’ve packed your thermal underwear.”

We’re going to see Gran — Dad’s mother — for Christmas. In Yorkshire. I would be insane not to pack my thermals after last year’s “surprise” hill walk. I answer with a nod and pick up the cat, who’s trying to chew the corner off one of the presents. He gives in with bad grace and lets me hold him close, lets me feel the solidity of his fat furry body.

I drop him gently back to the floor and think of the days when holding the cat and smelling his fur was the only thing that brought me comfort. I wish we could take him with us.

It doesn’t look much like a baby to me, but according to the woman who actually knows what she’s talking about, it’s perfectly healthy — although I lose count of how many times I’m told off for leaving it so late, since it makes it impossible to date accurately. I don’t tell her she doesn’t need to. She keeps trying to chat to me, thinking I’m worried about what I’m seeing and the fact that I’ll need to have a different test for Down’s, but the thing that’s worrying me the most is that I’ve left Lola on her own in the corridor outside.

Gran asks if we can have an extra picture, but you have to pay and I didn’t come with any cash.

“I’ll get one for you, love…” But Gran doesn’t have anything smaller than a twenty on her. The nurse tells her there’s a tea counter down the corridor and Gran toddles off to get some change whilst I nip out to check that Lola’s where we left her.

She is.

“Is everything all right?” she asks, looking up from the game she’s playing on my phone.

“Yup,” I say, noticing a bit of ultrasound jelly is soaking through my top.

“Is that a Smartphone?” The nurse is standing at the door, looking over at us.

“Uh-huh.” I’m distracted, trying to rub off the excess jelly without anyone noticing.

“So it can take pictures?”