“How do I look?” I asked, without taking my eyes off my reflection in the mirror.
Adam came up behind me, put his hands on my burgeoning belly, and kissed my cheek. “You look really hot.”
“Hot” was not how I felt, but it was obvious that Adam clearly found my changing body appealing, as he hadn’t left me alone for the past few weeks. While I wrestled my huge boobs into something resembling a hammock, I’d often find him just sitting on the edge of the bed, watching in amazement, and lust.
It had taken a while for us to get used to the idea of my pregnancy, and we had alternately fought, and then made love, often all in one night.
Just a few weeks before, we’d had a huge row over what I was wearing. “You’re not going out dressed like that,” Adam had said, as he watched me stepping into a new black dress, ready for a night on the town with Pippa and Seb. I’d loved it when I’d seen it in Whistles, as its bodycon shape had hugged my slim hips—my bump wasn’t yet visible.
“Since when?” I teased. “You know you love me in a tight little number, and the beauty of this one is that it’s going to grow with me.” I stretched the Lycra material outward over my tummy as if to prove the point.
“That was then, but this is now,” he said seriously. “I don’t want you going out like that.”
I turned to face him. “Are you being serious?”
He nodded and looked away. “You’re carrying my baby now, you need to dress accordingly.”
“And what is ‘accordingly’?” I laughed. “Am I supposed to be wearing a tent, even though I’m not showing yet?”
“Just show some respect,” he said. “For me and the baby.”
“Oh, come on, Adam. You sound like your mother. How I choose to dress or not dress has nothing to do with you.” I looked down at myself. “This outfit would have driven you crazy a few months ago. Nothing’s changed, I still look the same, but you’re honestly telling me I’m being disrespectful?”
He’d come at me then, and grabbed hold of my wrist. “You’re pregnant and you’re happy to go out dressed like a hooker, are you? You’re going to get the wrong kind of attention, and I’m not having some drunken letch coming on to you when you shouldn’t even be out.”
“Oh, I’ve heard it all now,” I shouted. “I’m two months pregnant and I’m not supposed to go out ever again? I’m not changing.”
I picked up my bag and headed for the bedroom door.
He’d stood there, his bulk filling the frame.
“Move,” I said, sounding more controlled than I felt.
“You’re not going.”
My heart was beating out of my chest, and my throat felt parched. The beginnings of a tension headache banged against my skull.
I looked at him, my eyes imploring him to move, but he stayed fast. It was a battle of wills.
“Move,” I repeated.
“No.”
I banged at his chest with my fists. “Move out of the way!” I yelled, tears of frustration streaming down my face. “I swear to God, if you don’t move—”
He caught hold of my wrists and pushed me back into the wall. I thought he was going to spit more vitriol at me or, worse, raise a hand to me, and I cowered, preparing for the onslaught. But instead he kissed me, his tongue delving deep into my mouth. I didn’t want to respond. I wanted to show him that I was still as mad as hell, but I couldn’t help myself. He ripped my tights as he tore at them like a man possessed, and I cried out as he entered me.
“Does that hurt?” he asked.
I shook my head. He’d looked at me then, as if seeing me for the first time.
“I’m sorry,” he said, everything about him suddenly yielding and docile. “I don’t know what came over me. You just look so amazing, and…”
He called out and I felt his legs buckle as his head nuzzled my neck, looking for support. He was panting hard. “Are you still going out?” he managed between breaths.
“Yes,” I said, smoothing down my dress. I wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. Was that normal? How could two people fight and lash out at each other, only to be making love a couple of minutes later?
I’d gone out, but not enjoyed myself. Not drinking when your two mates are getting off their faces does not make for the best of nights. Maybe Adam was right: things were different, and they would be different forevermore.
I looked in the mirror again, tucking my blouse in and then pulling it out again. At just over three months, it was becoming more difficult to disguise my protruding tummy, but today it didn’t matter. Today, for the first time, I could put it on display, be pregnant and proud, but I just felt fat.
“Nothing fits,” I cried, as I rummaged through my wardrobe, looking for inspiration yet seeing nothing. I could feel myself getting worked up, and there was a tightness across my chest.
“What you’re wearing looks great,” offered Adam again, as he watched me battling with hangers and throwing tops and trousers onto the bed. He could say it until he was blue in the face, but I didn’t look great, feel great, or any other great. I just wanted to undo the restrictive buttons on my trousers, lie down on the bed, and cry.
“Do we have to go?” I moaned, sounding like a three-year-old.
“You haven’t seen my mother in ages, and we need to tell her our news,” he said, as I groaned inside.
“Can’t you just tell her over the phone?” I begged.
“Em, we’re going to have a baby, and she’s going to be a grandmother for the first time. It’s not something you tell someone over the phone. And it won’t be so bad, because James is coming with his new girlfriend, so that’ll mix up the dynamics a bit.”
I wanted to scream. How the hell was I going to get through this? I hadn’t seen Pammie since the whole hospital debacle, and I’d ignored two voice mails. Adam had dropped her at her last “chemo session” and was thrilled when Pammie called him a week later to say that the doctors were so pleased with her progress that they were going to stop the treatment for the time being. I’d smiled rigidly as he’d relayed the good news to me, all the time tempering down the overwhelming desire to shout, She’s lying!
The very thought of seeing her made me shudder. I hadn’t felt nauseous for weeks now, but I could feel the familiar wrenching in my gut as it reacted to the idea of being in the same room as her. My nerve endings felt on edge and raw.
I imagined her twisted features as she’d no doubt goad me in front of James, daring me to pull her up, and being ready to pounce with the killer blow that she knew would destroy everything I had with Adam. Or perhaps it would be James who’d turn the screw. I felt light-headed as I wondered, not for the first time, about his motivation for doing what he’d done. Saying what he’d said. What did they have to gain by working together to break me down and split us up? Had James told her the truth? That I’d rebuffed him? Or was he a liar, like his mother, and had told her a different version of events? Either way, it didn’t really matter. She could make my life hell and hold me to ransom, but was that what she was planning to do? Surely she’d realize it wouldn’t be wise, knowing what I do about her, but what would it matter by then? Adam and I would be over before I’d even have the chance to tell him how she’d cruelly lied about having cancer.
“I don’t feel well enough to go,” I said to Adam. “I feel sick. Why don’t you go along, tell them the news?”
“Come on, Em, pull yourself together. You’re pregnant, not ill. It’ll be a couple of hours in a nice restaurant and then we’ll be out of there. Surely you can manage that?”
I honestly didn’t know how I could sit in among Pammie, Adam, James, and his girlfriend, forever fearful, waiting for the grenade to explode. Though which one of us was going to pull the pin out first was yet to be seen.
“I’ll look after you,” he said, as if reading my mind. “It won’t be so bad.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, as I realized that the one person I had on my side could be snatched away from me at any time of Pammie’s choosing.