Judith Myers got up from her desk, smiling happily at the other people in the room, anxious to disguise the pain which was gnawing at her stomach and groin. She tried to tell herself that it was muscle strain. She’d been away from work for too long and now bending over a drawing board all day. . .
The idea quickly vanished as she felt a searing jab of agony in her side. She stood still in the corridor for a moment, leaning against the wall, feeling as if someone had kicked her in the side. She put one hand to the throbbing area and felt it gently, the pain seemed to recede somewhat and she hurried down the short flight of steps which would take her to the toilets.
Once inside, she was relieved to discover that she was alone. She locked herself in one of the cubicles and sat down on the toilet seat, rubbing both sides now, taking short breaths. The pain seemed to be moving deeper into her groin so she stood up and slipped her tights and panties down to her knees, probing gently at the lips of her vagina with her index finger. She withdrew the digit after a couple of minutes, her hand shaking, her eyes half expecting to see it stained with blood. The incident the other night had frightened her but the doctor had told her that slight bleeding was not uncommon so soon after an abortion. Bleeding from the navel however, was uncommon but a trip to her own GP had revealed no complications and, despite Andy Parker’s protestations, she had returned to work as soon as possible.
Now she pulled up her underclothes and unlocked the cubicle aware still of the pain which seemed to be spreading throughout her abdomen. She felt a sudden wave of nausea sweep over her and just, made it to one of the sinks. Bent double over it, she retched until there was nothing left in her stomach. The pain, curiously, seemed to vanish. Judith spun both taps to wash away the mess, cupping some water in one palm and swilling it around her mouth. She looked up, studying her reflection in the mirror. Her face was the colour of rancid butter, the dark brown of her eye-shadow giving her the appearance of a skull. She pulled some paper towels from the dispenser and wiped her mouth, tossing the used articles into a nearby bin. Then, once again, she pressed both hands to her stomach.
“Judith, are you all right?”
The voice startled her and she turned to see Theresa Holmes standing just inside the door.
“It’s OK, Terri,” she said.
“You look awful,” Theresa told her. “Do you want me to fetch the first aid bloke?”
“No, I’ll be all right. I just felt sick.”
Terri crossed to the sink and stood beside her, the ruddiness of her own complexion a marked contrast to the palour of Judith’s. She was two years older and the women had been friends ever since Judith joined the firm.
“A friend of mine, she had an abortion,” Terri said. “She had stomach trouble for months afterwards.”
Judith smiled sardonically.
“Thanks, Terri, you’re a great comfort.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. All I’m saying is, I think it’s common to feel bad soon after one.”
Judith shrugged.
“It’s been over three weeks now,” she said.
She went on to describe the incident the other night.
Terri frowned but could offer no helpful information or advice. She asked Judith once more if she felt fit enough to come back to work and the younger woman nodded.
At two o’clock that afternoon, Judith Myers collapsed and was taken home, a slight swelling in her stomach noticed by no one.