‘You left me, Scott! I know Australia was an amazing opportunity for you, and I completely understand why you wanted to go, but there wasn’t even the option of you of doing anything else. You made it pretty clear that you didn’t want to compromise and that you were heading off with or without me.’ I scrape my chair back and get up before I say something we both regret. ‘And to top it all off, you didn’t even stick around after we spent the night together! I’m ten weeks pregnant, the baby’s yours, so make up your mind about whether or not you want to be part of our lives.’
I storm out of the Silver Spoon, stopping to give the father of my baby one final glance. The ball’s in his court now: he knows everything and it’s up to him to come to a decision about his role in things. He catches me looking at him and I hold his gaze for a moment before I hurry away.
*
‘How does a vintage tea party sound? Or we could do Hollywood glamour.’
I shake my head and hold in a laugh as Emma wracks her brain to think of more potential themes for my baby shower. As soon as I let her know I’d told Scott about the pregnancy, she insisted on coming over to hear all about it and discuss all things baby.
‘I’m only ten weeks pregnant Emma, we’ve got plenty of time to think about the baby shower!’ I chuckle. ‘But a vintage tea party sounds nice.’
‘It’s your first big scan in a couple of weeks,’ she points out. ‘Then the rest of the time will fly by! Talking of scans, have you booked an appointment with your GP yet? They have to refer you to the maternity unit at the hospital, and the sooner you do it the better.’
I can’t help but smile. Emma is probably the best person in the world to go through a pregnancy with; she’s organised almost to a fault and knows when everything needs to be done.
‘And have you told Fred you’re pregnant?’ she continues when I don’t offer a reply. ‘You can’t go around lifting huge sacks of flour now, you know.’
‘Yes, I’ve told him,’ I reply. ‘He told me I’d make a brilliant mum and not to worry about the bakery because he’d organise cover. I know what he’s like though Emma; he’ll try to do everything by himself.’
The thought of Fred trying to run the bakery single-handedly sends a note of dread through me.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ she assures me. ‘He’ll organise some maternity cover for you and everything will be fine. Anyway … how are you feeling? About the baby, I mean.’
The question hits me a little harder than expected, probably because I haven’t really had time to think about how I feel. Ever since I found out, my time has mostly been taken up with worrying about what Scott’s reaction would be.
‘Um …’
I want to come out with some intelligent, well-thought-out comment that shows I’ve considered how having a baby will affect my life emotionally, financially and physically. However, ‘um …’ is all I can manage. Emma giggles and shuffles round to face me.
‘If I’d just been told I was ten weeks pregnant with my ex-boyfriend’s baby, I’d probably say “um” as well! Are you excited or scared or …?’
I puff air out through my cheeks and feel my hands come to a rest on my stomach. I look down at it for a moment and my heart rate quickens. The reality of the situation begins to overwhelm me and I feel a cold sweat rush over my skin.
‘I’m absolutely terrified,’ I admit. ‘I didn’t plan on having kids so soon, and I definitely didn’t plan on being a single mum. Emma, I … What if I mess it all up? What if I can’t do it? The kid could grow up absolutely hating me because I was a terrible mum! I don’t want that to happen.’
Out of nowhere, I burst into tears. Huge, wailing sobs burst from my chest and I throw my head into my hands. I start to realise how utterly ridiculous this whole situation is, and start laughing instead. My sobs mix with my giggles to form strange sort of hiccupping sounds.
‘Are you OK?’ Emma asks, trying to keep her own laughter to herself. ‘You sound like a cat being strangled or something!’
I lift my head up and wipe the tears from my eyes as my breathing returns to normal. ‘I’m not OK, Emma. But I think I will be, eventually; I just need to get my head around the fact I’m having a bloody baby with my ex-boyfriend. This is definitely not how I saw things playing out, that night at the George Hotel. Do you remember when I did that speech at my high school reunion and Scott walked in?’
She nods, a wistful smile playing on her lips. ‘Oh, I remember; I was the one who posted some of it online so he’d see you kicking ass! You two might work things out though, you never know. How did he take the baby news?’
I screw my eyes shut and tell her about our confrontation in the café. How he’d asked if the baby was his, how he’d initially thought he’d been invited for a getting back together chat, and how shocked he’d been when the word ‘pregnant’ had been mentioned.
‘Must’ve been quite a shock for him,’ Emma says. ‘He thought you wanted to get back together with him, next minute he finds out he’s going to be a dad! I think he’ll come through for you, you know. He’s not a bad guy, Cleo.’
Her final words sting and make my insides twist into knots, mostly because I know she’s right.
‘You’re right,’ I choke out. ‘He’s not a bad bloke. I just … I can’t get past the fact he left me. Why did he do it, Emma? Was it me, was I not enough? Or did he just make a mistake? If I let him back in, he could decide he wants to leave me again. Only this time, he’d be leaving our baby too.’
Emma reaches over and squeezes my hand. ‘I don’t know why he did it, but I do know this: you are more than enough and you always will be. And no matter what happens between you and Scott, you’ll be an amazing mum. Whether he stays or leaves again, nothing will change that. Think of everything you’ve achieved so far: two years ago, you made a bucket list and now you’ve ticked so many items off! How many people can say they’ve done that? You swam in a tank with sharks, Cleo. Having a baby will just be another huge adventure. And I’ll be the best fairy godmother in the whole world.’
Emma switches the TV on and settles on one of our favourite trashy reality shows. I look down at my stomach again; it’s amazing that there’s so much going on inside me right now, yet no one could visibly tell. I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a dark forest, the path through it shrouded in a thick fog. I have no idea what the next few months are going to bring and I’m petrified.
The only thing I can do is take it one day at a time.
*
I’ve always hated doctors’ surgeries.
The smell, the eerie silence and the selection of ten-year-old magazines are bad enough, but what really gets to me is the impending sense of doom as you wait for the doctor. Even if you know you’re just going for a routine check-up, there’s always that niggling worry that you’re about to be told you have some rare disease with no known cure.
I’m here on my own today. I was lucky to get a cancellation when I phoned up earlier, and Emma was already at work so she couldn’t come. She offered to tell her boss she was ill, but I said no. She’s already done more than enough for me, after all. I’ve texted Scott to let him know I have a doctor’s appointment, but he hasn’t replied. I’m guessing he’s still angry with me after our argument in the café.
So here I am, waiting to see the doctor and secretly expecting to be told some devastating news when I go in. Sitting opposite me is a very tired-looking mum, trying to contain her very excited toddler. He seems